Lactobacillus antarguheswara
Continuing my interest in exploring the agency of the human microbiome in health and disease, this project merges influences from devotional poetry of the Indian Bhakti movement. I have renamed a lactobacillus of my gut as Lactobacillus antarguheswara (the god of my inner caves*) and my conversations with this personal god in which the immanent and the transcendent, scientific research and daily life are discussed, form the subject matter of the verses. Inspired by verses of Lal Ded from Kashmir in the north, Tukaram from Maharashtra in the west, Basavanna from Karnataka in the south and Ramprasad of Bengal in the east, I reflect on contemporary times and my life as a migrant. As in Bhakti, this deep personal relation with my gut and skin microbiome is flavoured by various emotions as well as name calling.
At the same time my verses play on the growing field of science communication which bridges academia and mass media, and permeates popular linguistics, with words such as keratine treatment, glycemic index and resistant starch being used by common people. To the large community of science communicators on social media, (which range from science magazines such as Neuroscience News to podcasts such as the Hubermann Lab), I add myself, bombarding the populace with names and images of bacteria, phytochemicals and proteins as part-fact, part-fiction in my verses and visuals.
*This name is inspired from the poems of Allama Prabhu, a 12th century poet-saint from South India, who addressed his poems to his personal god Shiva whom he called as Guheswara [guh (cave)+ishwara (god)] refering to the yogic aspects of Shiva meditating in caves. But I also use other names to call out to my god depending on the qualities of my god or the nature of my relationship (affectionate, motherly, annoyed etc) in the verse.
These verses are waiting to be paired with images influenced by science illustrations.
Verse 1
Krishna ate a grain of rice
and filled a hundred bellies.
O Methanobrevibacter smithii,
you who extracts calories from fibres
munching hydrogen from their ferments
to surge short chain fatty acids for combustion,
you are my Krishna
for the next hundred days
in this cost of living crisis.
Verse 13
Did you plan to knock my faith
in a series of difficulty tests?
Sneaking into the RBA governor
and rising the interest rates?
I cannot offer you lettuce
at fourteen dollars a single head,
this crisis shrinks my cart.
Now my turn to test, you must
weave all nine essential aminoes
from the wand of a single carrot.
O Lactobacillus natkhatiyo**,
your mischief bites you back.
(** natkhatiyo meaning naughty is a nickname to refer to the mischievious Hindu child deity Krishna.)
In summer,
I bathe you in juices
of plums and peaches,
in autumn, pomegranates,
in winter with blood oranges,
in spring, pineapples,
o Lactobacillus ubiquaqus***
god of my crust and core.
Better that devotees
of those other gods
who only pour milk and water
throughout the year.
(*** ubiquaqus from ubiquitous meaning found everywhere, as bacteria are found everywhere including on the skin as well as in the gut.) [Here I also touch upon the theme of rivalry amongst various religious groups which was also addressed in Bhakti poems.]
Verse 46
I am a Ferrero Rocher
with you in my core
and you sprinkled on my crust,
O Lactobacillus ubiquaqus
Else, the middle ganache is
quite bland,
just another lump in a confectionery.
Verse 808
On silken mucus sheets
sunk in glycoprotein cushions,
and soft mattresses of epithelium,
slow waves fanned by smooth muscles…
To see my lord asleep
is as pleasing as to nursing Yashoda or youthful Radha.
In your cosmic dreams
are the metabolites of my life,
o Lactobacillus antarguheshwara
god of my inner chamber.
Verse 812
First cholesterol,
then some bad oral microbes,
and now microplastics, all
want to clog my heart, block me
like a spam telemarketing call,
o Lactobacillus antarguheshwara
god of my inner chamber.
But only your everflowing metabolites
of butyrate and tryptophan
keep my heart and heart open.
Verse 820
You lick radiation in Chernobyl
and microplastics from ocean floors,
why demand of me the choicest fibres?
You shamelessly mutate every hour,
hang with all sorts in public, only with me
you seem to need privacy in a non-leaky gut.
You smoke sulphur from ocean volcanoes
why demand I stay in low AQI?
You float in cities with loudest traffic
why rent a soundproof house for your deep sleep?
O Lactobacillus antarguheshwara
god of my inner chamber, you live in warmongers
why should I deep-breath for your peace?
Verse 860
Hah! would love to see you starve
Fibres temporarily off the plate!
The oil to slide if from farm to table,
blasted.
But whom am I kidding?
I’ll be the one to suffer
o Lactobacillus antarguheshwara
god of my inner chamber.
Who knows. you might chew instead long hairs
of glycoproteins of intestinal mucus
and leave me with ulcers…and why not!
Why should my inner crust
look any different from
war-bombed lands?