Saturday, August 26, 2017

And the Lord watches ....


My friend Deepak Amembal posts interesting pictures from around the city, and this one was posted during the ongoing Ganesh festival.

A contrast on the streets of Mumbai.

Hordes of youth, in some kind of representative tshirts, jeans and shoes , who sit idly on walls,  having spent an entire morning dancing wildly ,  with contortions  to some disgusting filmy electronic loud music which has nothing to do with the Lord; the group sponsored by some big political person.

And a lady worker, busy lugging her voluminous load around, carrying all of societies dirt and left overs  to some dump, so that the Lord may be welcomed somewhere in a cleaner environment.  Beast of burden, she recycles the plastic and paper waste from trash, by lugging it someplace to sell it.  Her work is her worship of the Lord. And she does her work impervious to the crass celebrations around her.

Both get paid.  That is the strangest thing.


Some,
think they serve the Lord,
in Tshirts bearing HIS name ,
jeans and shoes,
whiling away time on walls
when they are
not twisting their bodies
in tune
to some disgusting song;
perhaps they get paid.

And some,
regardless of the Day,
always serve the Lord,
by being dedicated to
their daily work,
transporting the trash
of society to dumps.
The Lord must be made welcome
in a clean place.
And perhaps, she gets paid too.

It is clear who the Lord prefers.

Sunday, August 20, 2017

The Bhakri Star


If there was a field called Food  Art (and if there is one, I am not aware ), my friend Swapneel Prabhu from the "Angat Pangat : Rediscovering Traditional Maharashtrian Cuisine" Group on Facebook , would probably be on the teaching faculty.

After a successful effort at making Bhakri under his Mom's guidance,  it translated into him designing what he calls a Tapas platter comprising of, in his words,  Jwarichi/Jondhlyachi (Sorghum) Bhakri.
Bajrichi (Pearl Millet) Bhakri, Nachnichi (Finger Millet) Bhakri, Shepu Thecha (A hand pounded pesto-like mix of lightly charred green chillies ,garlic and   some dill for a fragrant burst and finished  with a generous squeeze of lime). This turned out to be the pièce de résistance of the meal.
Then a Metkut Gojju (is there a Marathi name for this Metkut and curd preparation?), Limbaacha Loncha (sweet-sour-spicy lime pickle), Loni (White Butter)  and  Gul (Jaggery).


And finally some white onion. 


Dont know about the Tapas, but this has to be the most  studded  bhakri star to have been sighted in recent times.

How come ? Read on .   First in the language of the Bhakri, and then, in the language of the Queen !



आंबाविरहित आंब्याची डाळ , म्हणे हमस ,
आणि आमच्या सुशीलाची आठवण काढत
सूशी सुशी म्हणत
कशात कशात गुंडाळलेले भात प्रकार ...

आपल्याकडील समृद्ध खाद्यसंस्कृती
आणि हे काय "
असा कोणीतरी म्हटलं
आणि अचानक
भाजलेली भाकरी पापुद्र्याचा 

आ वासून बघतच राहिली....

एक गडद निळ्या, नव्हे,
जवळ जवळ काळ्याच प्लेट वर
ज्वारी, बाजरी आणि नाचणी भाकरी
तुकड्यांनी धरलेला चांदण्यातला फेर ,
मध्यभागी दह्याच्या प्रेमात आकंठ बुडलेले मेतकूट ,
आणि बाजूनी चमकत चमकत
लसणा वर जळणाऱ्या मिरच्यांचा
थोड्या शेपूंना सहन करत ठेचा ,
आपले थंड व्यक्तिमत्व पाझळत भारदस्त लोणी ,
खाराच्या आहारी गेलेले लिंबू
आणि ठामपणे आपला कडकपणा दाखवत गूळ .

भाकर्याना काहीतरी राहून गेलाय असं वाटलं
आणि तेवढ्यात
युद्धावरून विजयी,
पण खर्या योध्याच्या खुणा दाखवत
हाताने फोडलेला सफेद कांदा ,
विश्रांतीला हजर .

'टपस ' वगैरे माहित नाही ,
पण तपास करून सुद्धा
इतके सुंदर चांदणी सापडायची नाही .
 The age old Amba Dal
with sour overtures of kairi
now being bossed over by Hummus,
the beauteous Susheela,
being made fun of
by rice wraps masquerading as Sushi.

"What has our traditional food culture
been reduced to?"
a sudden overheard comment,
and a Bhakri, unbelieving,
sits gaping,
its layers wide open and steaming...

Then the appearance of a
dark black china plate ,
and strips of
jowar, bajra and ragi bhakris
in star formation,
twinkling
at the metkut in the centre
in raptures over a welcoming dahi;
a chilly burning in rage
at the garlics
paying attention to the dill;
an old style butter
playing "exclusive" in the midst
of the newbies;
a lemon, winking at being
amidst all the flowing spices,
and in direct challenge to the
tough acting butter,
a stodgy piece of jaggery,
old style sweetness.

The bhakri star,
searching for the X-factor,
and suddenly rejoicing
at the arrival
of a white onion,
nursing its wounds,
having been smashed by
a greedy human fist.

They all shine together
in tasty culinary support
of the bhakris.

You wouldn't find search a star
if you searched for it
anywhere in the world.....!

Thursday, August 17, 2017

The best quilt in the Universe!!!!!


My friend Peggy Pearl Zambory from Minneapolis, is a prolific published blogger , and recently put up a post on FB , showing a lovely quilt her mother-in-law made and gifted her . (My mother-in-law had gifted us one too, like 42 years ago. ; i guess all nice folks get gifted quilts ! ....)

Somehow the pattern of the quilt, and the  choice of color, , brought to my mind, some issues, that are actually burning issues of the day , in these troubled times. 

It also told me how we should treasure the quilts we have !



The dark grey of winter,
the spring of red flowers,
amidst the green,

the peacocks and birds of summer,
all mixed up
supporting each other firmly,
connected so well by lines,
and forming a protective cover
for silk cotton newborn fibres
mixing with some fun foam.

The quilt is a need
for all seasons
and older Moms realize that;
at a time
when some "elders",
having never experienced
the beauty of unity,
try to cut up the squares
and divide the pieces
on the basis of color.

Friday, July 14, 2017

ग्वाकमोले बन गया पिठलं !


फेसबुकवरील माझा मित्र अरित्र दास  याने नुकतेच एक आवोकाडो  विकत आणून , त्याचा ग्वाकमोले नावाचा पदार्थ बनवायचा यशस्वी प्रयत्न केला . आनंदाच्या भरात फोटो काढला  आणि फेसबुकी टाकला .   गोंधळ एव्हडाच की ह्या सर्व प्रयत्नात फोटोमध्ये हिरवा रंग पिवळा दिसू लागला .

चरित्र दास ने मग "ग्वाकमोले  पिठलं" म्हणून  ह्या पदार्थाचे नामकरण केले .

मला उगीचच ग्वाकामोले साठी वाईट वाटलं .  प्रेसिडेंट म्हणावं आणि ओबामा च्या ऐवजी ट्रम्प ने समोर यावं असं थोडंसं झालं .

वाचा .....

  अवोकाडो परिवारात
तसं सर्वांना खूप "कडक " शिस्तीत
वागावं लागे .

बाहेरच्या जगात पदार्पण कारण्यासाठीसुद्धा
अवोकाडोच्या देठाची परीक्षा;
मऊ किती, फळाच्या देठाशी रंग कसा ,
वगैरे तपासण्या .

असच एक फळ अचानक अरित्राच्या हाती लागले,
आणि अगदी प्रचलित पद्धतीप्रमाणे
एक मोठे बीज काढून
आतला गर हाती आला .

एखाद्या आळणी देशात स्वाभाविकपणे भेट द्यावी
असं ह्या घरात पडायला
तिखट मिरच्यांचे आणि मवाळ टोमॅटोचे आगमन ,
आणि मीठ , साखर, इत्यादींचा दुजोरा .
आपल्या मूळच्या देशातल्या
"ओले ओले !" च्या ऐवजी
"आले आले !" म्हणत ग्वाकमोले बाईंचे पदार्पण.

मग कोणीतरी येऊन फोटो काढणे
फेसबुकवर टाकणे
आणि त्यांना ग्वाकमोले पिठलं संबोधणे ...

"Mi nombre no es pithla"
Mi nombre es Senorita Guacamole! "
अरित्र, तुला मेतकूट म्हटलं तर चालेल का ?




ह्यावरअरित्र ने उत्तर दिलं , "चालेल!" !!!



Sunday, June 4, 2017

पाषाण उवाच ....


आपल्याकडे जुन्या वस्तू टाकून, सोसासोसाने  नवीन उपकरण घेण्याची पद्धत रूढ झाली आहे .  ब्लेंडर, फूड प्रोसेसर वगैरे याचा खूपच वापर आपल्याकडे  मोठ्या शहरातून होतो. जस, "मला पाट्यावर वाटता येत नाही ", तसच, "मला काठीने तारेवर कपडे वाळत टाकता येत नाहीत " असे पदोपदी ऐकण्यात येतं .

अश्या वेळी , मेलबोर्न मधली माझी मैत्रीण सौ. शुभदा गोखले , तिचे जितके कौतुक करावे तितके थोडेच !  एक मोठे जातं , एक छोटं , दोन खलबत्ते, एक पाटावरवंटा , ह्या गोष्टींचा नियमित वापर असतो. सोबत विजेची उपकरणे असतात , तरी पण पाट्यावर वाटलेली चटणी , डाळ , आणि रवीने घुसळलेलं ताक, वेगळंच !

माझ्या माहितीप्रमाणे इंग्लंड मधली माझी मैत्रीण , सौ प्रीती देव यांच्या कडे ही अशीच उपकरणे आहेत . (त्यांच्या कडे कोळश्याची  जुन्या पद्धतीची शेगडी पण आहे )

एका मेलबोरनी सकाळी मागील दारी बसलेल्या ह्या मंडळींसाठी हि कविता ...




सगळे दगड दगड जमले
कि एखाद्या गावचे
सगळे लोक जमल्यासारखं वाटतं .

मागील दारी कट्ट्यावरची फरशी ,
आपल्या सख्यासहेल्यांना घट्ट धरून,
पिढ्या पिढयांचे ओझं पेलवत ,
आणि तरीही काहीही कुरकुर ना करता गप्प ...

एखाद्या द्वाड मुलासारखे दोन्ही खलबत्ते ,
इतके सुदृढ
कि त्यांना बत्त्यांनी ठोकलं ,
तरी खाली पोतं ठेऊन ठोकावे लागतं ,
नाहीतर फारशी तुटते;
आयुष्यभर दणके खात ,
स्वतः मसाले, लसूण चटण्या , दाण्याच्या चटण्या
यांच्याशी चकाट्या पिटत वेळ घालवणे
हे परम ध्येय.

ह्या उलट पाटा .
सौंदर्य वैगैरे चेहर्यावर नसतं ,
आपल्या कर्मात असतं , अश्या ठाम मताचा.
चेहर्यावर जितके व्रण, तितकं काम उत्कृष्ट.
बरोबर वरवंटा.
​एकीकडे बारश्यात सजून पाळण्याभोवती फिरणे,
तर इकडे रोज ,
पाट्यावर आरामात पहुडलेल्या
मिरच्या मीठ, कोथिंबीर, खोबरं प्रभूतींना
ओंजारून गोंजारून
निवडणुकीत हरवल्यासारखे चिरडणे.
कधीतरी डाळी आणि कैर्या लोकं
पण अनुभव घायला येतात.

दळून पूड कशी करावी ,
ह्याचा आदर्श म्हणजे जातं .
दोन गोलाकार दगडांमध्ये थोडे थोडे धान्य टाकून,
मैत्रिणीबरोबर दांडा धरून ,
फिरवलेला वरचा दगड ,
वेळीप्रसंगी दगडाच्या डोळ्यातही ऐकून पाणी येईल
आणि ते पुसायला फिरणे थांबेल,
अश्या गायलेल्या सुंदर ओव्या,
आणि ऐकत ऐकत एका मऊ जुन्या साडीवर
खाली कौतुकाने पडणारे पीठ .

​एका सुंदर सकाळी ,
नरकचतुर्दशीच्या दिवशी लौकर अंघोळी करून ​
जणू सकाळ्ळच्या उन्हात जणू
बसलेली ही सर्व मंडळी.

उलट्या ऋतूंच्या देशात असली म्हणून काय झालं?
एकत्र जमली कि तोच दसरा आणि तीच दिवाळी ....

Saturday, June 3, 2017

A Cabbage Life


One of my friends on a certain Facebook Group dedicated to Traditional Maharashtrian Cuisine posted a query pertaining to various ways people cooked cabbage.   There was a huge response.

It just occurred to me that if I was a cabbage, I would have been totally overcome.

It also occurred to me that as a cabbage , I would have something to say.

 Like everyone else , on FB .

I first said it in Marathi, and then in English.   Read.....




जन्मानी ब्रासिका ओलेराचिया,
पण लाडाने कोबी हे नाव ;
चार चौघान सारखे बालपण ,
आपले एक एक हिरवे कौशल्य उलगडत
मिरच्या कढीपत्ते आणि मोहरी मंडळींबरोबर
हसत खेळत , त्यांचे तडतडण ऐकत
घालवलेला वेळ.

आणि मग किशोर वयात
बदललेली दृष्टी ;
पाणी पियुन तर्रर्र झालेल्या डाळी ,
रंगेल टोमॅटो ,
दिसायला लहान पण तिखट वृत्तीचे आले ;
"फेर अँड लव्हली असोत आम्ही " असे म्हणत
जणू किसून धावत येऊन पडणारे खोबरं ,
"अहो थांबा की!" म्हणत धापा टाकत येणारी कोथिम्बीर ,
आणि कधी कधी तर
सर्वत्र आपला वावर कसा असतो हे दाखवत
ठामपणे आत पडणारे बेसन .

आज काळ परदेशी मेकअप आल्यापासून
कोबी स्वतःला पुनश्च ब्रासिका ओलेराचिया समजून
मॅगी मसाला ए मॅजिक लावायला शिकलीये .

पण खरं विचारलात तर
तिचा आवडता प्रकार म्हणजे
चिरून, मीठ साखर दाण्याचे कूट
कोथिंबीर मिरची घालून
लिंबू पिळून ,
वरून कढीपता हिंगाची फोडणी घालणे
आणि सटात आरामात चिंब भिजून राहणे .
आणि शंकर महादेवन सांग गुणगुणणे :
"या रिमझिम झिलमिल लिंबू धारा तनमन फुलवून 

जाती
सहवास तुझा मधुमास हिंगाचा गंध सुखाचा हाती
हा धुंद फॅन चा वारा, हा कोवळा शहारा
उजळून रंग आले, स्वच्छंद प्रीतीचे
चिंब भिजलेले, रूप सजलेले
बरसुनी आले रंग प्रीतीचे... "
Born Brassica Oleracea,
but called Cabbage;
a childhood like all others
in India,
opening up each layer
of her being,
as she enjoyed fooling around with
chillies, kadhipatta
and angry mustard seeds.

And then a teenage
that changed everything;
Some dals ,
redolent and reeling with
the imbibed water,
casanova tomatoes,
spicy and crushing gingers,
and the Fair and Lovely grated coconut
rushing it,
followed by a
breathless set of coriander leaves.
And always,
some besan,
trying to add itself out of sheer habit .

These days, Brassica Oleracea,
has taken to adorning herself
with foreign makeup
like Maggi Masala-e-Magic.

But if you really want to know
what she loves,
it is to get together with
salt, sugar, chillies,
crushed roasted groundnuts,
coriander and lemon juice,
rejoicing under the onslaught
of a terrific hing kadhipatta tadka,
and enjoy the wet season
in a bowl,
humming Shankar Mahadevan's Song,
slightly modified :
 
"या रिमझिम झिलमिल लिंबू धारा तनमन फुलवून जाती
सहवास तुझा मधुमास हिंगाचा गंध सुखाचा हाती
हा धुंद फॅन चा वारा, हा कोवळा शहारा
उजळून रंग आले, स्वच्छंद प्रीतीचे
चिंब भिजलेले, रूप सजलेले
बरसुनी आले रंग प्रीतीचे... "
 

Monday, May 22, 2017

A Jilebi Philosophy


My friend , Prachee Gokhale  from New Zealand, recently decided to make Jilebis. This involves passing some fermented viscous dough through a small aperture (like that of a squeeze bottle) , and have it falling in artistic spirals , into hot oil; the fried designs are then immersed in sugar syrup and they emerge as jilebis, usually greatly loved by everyone.

Sometimes, the designs are different, not in perfect circle spirals, but in random shapes. There is no difference in taste. At all.  But entire generations grow up, thinking that circular spirals is the only perfect way of making jilebis.  And sometimes , this kind of thinking pervades life.

Think again.  I did and came up with something these  jilebis teach us.  (A little bit of deeper thinking, had me recalling  spiral structures and DNA.  Never mind. I am sure Watson and Crick did not have jilebis in mind. )

Read on to understand why......



Thoughts fer̥menting
with a bit, nay, a lot of help
from those with a

sour mentality,
and a sudden outpouring
into hot oil
through a small aperture.

Sometimes
the design is mixed up,
unique, misshapen, broken
and sometimes ,
a thing of beauty,
all wrapped up in its own curves.

The sugar syrup, like life,
doesn't differentiate.

It makes them all equally sweet .

It clearly, knows,
something,
we humans do not.






Wednesday, April 26, 2017

Caramelized Lives....



My friend Deepak Amembal has an amazing wanderlust, which he shares with his motorcycle and his car. Currently driving through Goa, he has been posting wonderful scenic photos, and recently posted one  of a caramel custard,  which he probably devoured minutes after clicking it.

Carmelization of sugar has fascinated me. When many experiments in cooking have ended in an unavoidable caramelization of sugar where none was expected,  it is nice to look at a dish where sugar was deliberately caramelized.

Naturally , I saw a political message in all this. There are no free desserts in life.....


There is egg white
and flour white
and sugar white.


But the attraction here
is the golden brown caramel,
a result of sugar
throwing caution
to the winds,
and burning up a brown storm,
before all the whites
pour in.

A piece, slightly shaky,
as if on tenterhooks
as someone spoons a piece.

Unlike in the biped world,
peace reigns in a multi color
caramel custard world,
where the custard simply accepts,
that she would be nowhere
without the caramel .

Something Trump needs to know
as he digs into
his own caramel custard
in Florida.

Thursday, April 13, 2017

Mind Calls....

 
When you live away from your folks in another country, and sometimes memories come flooding in,  it is comforting to look at old photos which you took. 
 
 My friend Preeti Deo who lives near London, recently posted this wonderful capture of doors and windows "that speak" , which she clicked at Jalna , her native place in India. 
 
For some reason,  this photograph spoke volumes to me. Mostly about closed minds, slowly making and effort to open up, and how we must do our bit to help. A burning question today, where mental health issues are being addressed.
 
A poem in Marathi was the immediate result. I did an English version later.
 
 
(photo courtesy Preeti Deo)
 
मनाचे कप्पे .

काहींच्या मनाचे कप्पे
तुमच्यापासून
त्या निळ्या दरवाज्यासारखे बंद असतात;
आतल्या आत , कधीकधी
अनागोंदी , अव्यवस्था , आणि गोंधळ ,
आणि मग अचानक कधीतरी
मनातली एक अर्धवट खिडकी उघडू पहाते;
एक मूक निशब्द आर्त हाक असते,
आणि मदतीसाठी खिडकीतून बाहेर धरलेला
अदृश्य हात असतो .

आपण तो पकडायचा असतो,
आणि खिडकीच्या आतल्या मनाशी संवाद साधायचा असतो
जेणेकरून
आतला गोंधळ व अनागोंदी ,
आटोक्यात येईल .

यश येईल
जेव्हा खिडकी सोडून
मन आपले सर्वात मोठे मनोद्वार
उत्साहाने उघडून
आपल्याशी संवाद साधेल.
मग आपल्याला कितीही उंच चढावं लागलं
तरी चालेल .

मनातल्या मनात जगायचा नसतं;
पण जगाशी संवाद साधून श्रीमंत व्हायचं असतं ​.....
 Some minds,
perhaps loaded to the brim
with brownian thought motion,
confusion and chaos,
keep themselves shut from you,
like the blue door;
suddenly , at some point,
a mind window opens,
like a silent scream ,
holding out an invisible hand
for help.

It is ours to hold it,
comfort it, and talk to it,
so as to reduce
the chaos and confusion inside.

Perhaps the mind will learn,
communicate, and perhaps,
open up the biggest door it has.
It is up to us ,
to rush in there to help.
It does not matter
how high one has to climb.

Looking inward is not living.
And holding a dialogue
with the world around you,
enriches you immeasurably.

Friday, March 3, 2017

On being an Appe Patra.... एका आप्पे पात्राची कहाणी ​


I came to Appe Patrams fairly late in life. And I thought they were such nifty stuff. Unlike idlies, the Appe excelled in a taste of their own, despite an inviting chutney lying alongside with come hither looks.

They offer themselves to a multitude of uses, such as making non-fried sabudana wadas, and udid wadas meant to function later as dahi wadas .

I thought it was time to celebrate them . The Appe Patra, that is....

The poem happened first in Marathi, thanks to my friend Vidya  posting a query on FB.  The English version was done later , for my non Marathi friends.




नाही तवा, नाही कढई ,
न्हवतो मी कधीच 'वोक' ;
कोणीतरी म्हणालं
"स्टोव्ह टॉप मफीन पॅन ",
किती मजेशीर असतात न लोकं .

जगात कितीतरी वस्तूंच्या सूक्ष्म प्रतिकृती दिसतात .
फोने टेबलावरून खिश्यात आले,
संभाषणे तोंडावरून संगणकावर आली ,
महत्वाचे चे कागद अल्मिर्यातून
खिशातल्या हार्ड डिस्कवर ;
वाक्यांशातून स्वर काढून सूक्ष्मीकरण केल्याने
आता तुम्ही पाच ते सहा अक्षरात
जमिनीवर गडाबडा लोळू शकता ,
नाहीतर ३ अक्षरात जोर जोरात हसू शकता .

आणि म्हणूनच इडलीचे प्रगत सुक्ष्मीकरण
करण्याचा प्रस्ताव आला ,
तेवहा मी हात वर केला !

मला नाही लागत वाफा , आणि वेगवेगळी भांडी .
इडलीच्या आंबलेल्या आयुष्यात ,
थोडा कांदा , मिरची, आले, कोथिंबीर , मीठ, मिरे
यांचे योगदान मोठे ;
एखादा लहान चमचा तेल तूप घालून,
चमचा चमचा बनवलेले खमंग मिश्रण घातले,
आणि वर घुमटाकृती झाकण ठेवले
कि केवळ माझ्या आत्मविश्वासाच्या बळावर
आप्प्याचं आयुष्य मार्गी लागतं .
एका बाजूच सोन झालं ,
कि पलटून दुसरी बाजू खाली,
आणि जगात पदार्पण करायच्या आधी,
थोडा आजूबाजूनी तेलतुपाचा मेकअप .

कसं असतं ,
एखादी गोष्ट छान दिसली की
सर्व लोक त्याचे अनुकरण करतात .

आजकाल साबुदाणा मंडळी
माझ्याकडे येऊन उपासाचे आप्पे करतात
आणि परवाच कोणीतरी उडदाचे ही वडे केले,
आणि दह्यात पडताच दही धन्य झालं ...

पण कुठल्याही यशस्वी माणसाच्या मागे जशी
एक खमकी हुशार बाई असते ,
तसं माझ्या दुसर्या बाजूस
थेट विस्तवाशी दोन हात करणारा
प्रसंगी डाग पडणारा
खालचा पृष्ठभाग आहे.

इतके सगळं ऐकून
तुम्हाला वाटेल
मी निवडणुकीला उभा आहे.

छे हो! मला तर सगळ्यांनी कायमचे निवडून दिले आहे !
Not a griddle, or a pan,
neither was ever a Wok;
And then
someone in fun,
called me
a Stove Top Muffin Pan.

Yikes.

So many things
have been miniaturized,
in our world.
Hefty phones, from tables into pockets,
Chats from mouths, to computers ;
Important papers from
filing cabinets
to harddisks in pockets;
In an acrimonized world,
you can roll in
uncontrolled mirth on the floor
in 5-6 letters,
and laugh out loud in 3 .

And so when Idliees were the
subject of miniaturizing,
I put my hand up!

Don't need steam,
or numerous utensils.
A fermented Idli Life,
enriched immeasurably
by the onions, mirchies,
ginger, salt and pepper....

A small half spoon of oil/ghee ,
and spoonfulls of mixture,
in the spaces so meant,
now covered with a lid.
Powered by my confidence,
a side cooked golden,
and now turned,
with a bit of ghee/oil,
sliding down the sides,
and the Appe's are set
to face what Life has in store.

Imitation is the best form
of flattery in the Appe world.
I've been doing sabudana appes,
and then someone made udid dal appes,
actively craved by a waiting dahi .

Yes.
Just like behind every man
is a successful firm woman,
I have behind me,
a surface,
that deals with fire and flames 
on a daily baisis,
and comes out with flying dark colors.

You might think
I am campaigning for an election.

No. For the simple reason,
that everyone has already selected me
for Life!