# My Son’s Father Confessor

- Link: https://writersworkshopindia.com/2020/04/07/my-sons-father-confessor/
- Published: 2020-04-07T01:08:53+00:00
- Author: shuktara

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**Author:** Mohan Ramanan[⌊A sample cover of the book: navy blue coloured handloom sari with gold embossed nameplate and lettering for the title and author's name. The border of the sari lines the right hand margin of the cover.⌉](https://writersworkshopindia.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/04/My-Sons-Father-Confessor-scaled-1.jpeg)
**
Pages:** 128 **Year of Publication:** 2019 **Price:** Rs 350 **ISBN: **978-81-944057-
7-1 (9788194405771)

_**About the Author**_
 Mohan Ramanan was born in Kolkata in 1949 and was educated
there, in Bangalore and in Chennai. He obtained a Ph.D. in modern poetry from the
Birla Institute of Technology and Science, Pilani, in 1978 and started teaching 
English at the University of Hyderabad the following year. He retired from the university
in 2014. Professor Ramanan has published widely and on modern poetry in particular.
He has held fellowships at Amherst College, Barcelona University, Missouri Southern
University and Merton College, Oxford. This is his second collection of poetry; 
his first volume, _**[Grills and Other Poems](https://writersworkshopindia.com/books/poetry/redbird/grills-and-other-poems/)**_,
was published in 2014 by **Writers Workshop**, India.

_**Teaser**_

_Funeral Games_

When one goes what does one go with?
 A bed of sandalwood To suppress the smell 
Of guts, intestines and flesh—

Next day your heir
 Makes up an ashy image of yourself— Of what you once were— You
have graduated from gross to subtle body; Water is sprinkled and The ashes find 
their way to the nearest river, tank or pond Or perhaps the sea; Then comes the 
slow but inexorable observance Of a thirteen-day regime— It helps your survivors
to sublimate their grief; Your subtle body is now ready for The manes and is released—
while your Inheritors parcel out your belongings Painstakingly put together To remind
posterity Of what you did not achieve— Of love frittered away Of passions which 
did not last A summer’s day— Why then, son, should you grieve? The body has dissolved
in the elements, Your soul lives to fight another day.

_**Contents**_
 85 poems