The Bhakti poetry is not dewy-eyed infatuation. This is a scorching, all-consuming desire that cauterises, purifies and eventually illuminates every crevice of human consciousness.
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Arundhathi Subramaniam draws a parallel between the present age of political bhakts and their blind devotion to their leader, and poets of an era long gone by whose devotion to God was not blind
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From soft-focus romance to lament and critique, there’s a poem about the rain for every mood.
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How will the world end? With a whimper, as Eliot predicted? Or in a yawn, as Pope said it would.
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Bhakti is no juvenile love affair. The word has been used to describe blind faith to a political regime, writes cultural curator, Arundhathi Subramanium
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