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.
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
From soft-focus romance to lament and critique, there’s a poem about the rain for every mood.
How will the world end? With a whimper, as Eliot predicted? Or in a yawn, as Pope said it would.
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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