Round of Music

This post declared winner at the Blogadda "Dream Job" contest , July 30,2010.

Submitted for the Blogadda "Dream Job" contest.






Good thing you asked.

Because
I will learn,
once again,
to Dream.


An interrupted Dream,
a crashed Job.
But my
Core Competence
is my Strong mind.

In a dark world.

Budding years,
playing with lots of little girls
singing lustily
in the rains,
keeping beat
to the raindrops
on the roof,
the earth aroma,
wondering about
the wild wind
with its besura howling.

But the colors
of the monsoon
eluded me;
like
I never knew
what my
parents
siblings,
friends,
or even enemies
looked like;
I was born blind.

I stand tall
today,
the star
of the Blind School,
and expert in Braille,
and a magician
with the violin,
which I teach
to those
that ask,
as I travel,
with my friend
the Cane, and my dog, Jyoti.

I am so glad you asked.

My Dream
is to be
a
Primary School
music teacher,
and
teach kids
to enjoy music
without
the mandatory
sound of swear words,
gun shots,
drumrolls,
tears,
shouting and
canned applause......

Those that so wish,
I will
teach
the violin;
like magic with
a cane of a
different type
as it
pats a taut wire here,
and strokes a mind there.

And so
I applied for a job,
forms, references, CD's,
and of course
my brilliant photo,
with the dead eyes.

They put me
in some Category,
and then,
between
sips of tea,
nods of "understanding",
fingers
running down a list,
denied me
the job
because
I was
considered
"100% disabled" ...

I am so glad you asked.

I just have
a Dumb, Blind question.

My Dreams
rest and grow
in my Mind's Eye,
and I lose myself
in the sounds of music
interspersed
with the innocents'
efforts to sing...

Will you let me do this Dream Job, gratis ?

Love -All, START !

Winner of the Blogadda "Is Indian Media Misusing its freedom?" contest.

Submitted for the Blogadda "Is Indian Media Misusing its Freedom?" contest.


Our media
is like a game
of Badminton;

You serve
events,
they observe;
sometimes
rushing to the Net,
sometimes
tossing a question
from way back there;
sometimes
a quiet drop
of a hint
at the net,
but mostly
they return
as good as
they get........






The court
is often slippery
with the sweat
of honest people,
but
all
that exaggerated sliding,
and exulting
on reaching,
stretching
their imagination
sometimes,
instead of
flesh and blood facts....

Sometimes
the referee
turns a blind eye
to
an actual touch,
something
stepped on,
beyond boundaries;
and
how can we
forget the
"lobbies"
on the side...

Sometimes
"in" is "out",
and other times,
outsiders
are in.....
Its
all a game
to them,
complete
with
shouting and yelling folks
on the side,
drowning
the earthy sound
of an innocent wood.....
an occasional clash
of partners
standing
on the same line...

It
really
boils down
something shuttling around
desperately
here and there,
like Saina would have said,
helped
by a racquet,
or is it racket ?

Misusing , did you say ?
Probably.
Responsible ?
Nah !
They're just
tossing around
the freedom
they've grabbed from us.....
and
Like most of us,
They've always played to win .....

Life Rocks !

Does it ?

In response to a great post by Radha .....

(Photo courtesy Radha at Musings of a Night Owl )

Its a Rocking Life,

Standing
helmet less,
on a precipice,
a ledge
on the 15th floor,
plastering
the plumbing interface
a tub bigger
than
my entire house...





The setting sun
makes no difference
as I climb down
unprotected stairs
and reach home
to sit
in a dripping corner
on a rock
protruding
up
through the ground.


In my twelve
cubic feet
it is
always
darkness at noon.
As in life,
i need
to tread carefully
on
uneven ground.

Like I said,
Its a rocking Life.

Anatomy of the BANDH...

The human body,
is like
my country.

You get out of it
what you put into it.

The intestinal ministry
at the centre,
takes in all kinds
only to
check,
modify
and distribute it
to
the heart state,
the brain state,
the limb state,
the kidney state,
the recently bifurcated
lungs state.

But
we abuse it
in our
reckless
heavy
uneconomical eating,
falsely enjoying
undeserving rich tastes,
with gravies
loaded
with unaccounted
strange
terrorizing
ingredients.

Transport suffers,
so much junk
on the roads,
plasticky fat
studded avenues
blocking
all movement
swirling around
huge
life sucking
statues....

Disgusted,
Suffering,
the tired limbs
retaliate,
declaring a Bandh.

Lungs
doomed breathlessly,
meet each other,
agree to join,
a Bandh;

Kidneys, filtering
with great effort,
essential stuff,
also plan to join.

The Brain,
sinking into violence
in the throes
of agitating
misguided neurons,
unfortunately joins.

Huge losses of sense,
probably in millions
of thoughts,
and
very soon,
tired
of pumping
good ideas and thoughts
of cooperation
daily
year after year,
minute to minute,
the heart,
quivers,
beats
a final retreat,
and declares,
the final BANDH...

Visible eyes, Invisible people

Winner of Blogadda's "Being Invisible" Contest announced July 9, 2010

Submitted for the Blogadda "Being Invisible" Contest

I can't see myself
doing this -
no wonder,
I am invisible...
Hankering
for some
visible scenarios....

Sailing in
through
the front exit of the bus,
and the yuppie
in the ladies seat
sees his briefcase
walk by itself
in the aisle;
he gets up,
I sit !

Walking past
400 people
in a queue,
all cursing
the passport office;
I breeze in,
sight an empty chair,
and sit,
nod at my neighbor,
and crib,
"How long must we wait?...."

Breezing into Mantralaya
with a camera
filming ministers
and others
cutting deals,
allotting houses for
undeserving folks,
I will change the details
invisibly,
in visible ink,
and drop the films
at the Indian Express...

Filling petrol,
and
I will reverse the price rise,
as
the existing rate
shows up
much less,
no matter what they try.

I'll visit
shops that hide
stocks and kerosene,
shout from the rooftops,
and quietly put up a banner there...
With a copy
to a newspaper

I'd love to
fill up
my bag of vegetables,
quietly,
as the mustachioed chap
boasts about
French beans 80 Rs a kilo.....

Traffic signals,
of course will turn red
the minute I arrive
blowing my
ever present whistle,
and nothing will change
till all the grandmas
and children
have crossed over,
on their way
from school....

I'll walk into
exam centres,
and guide invigilators
to those who
blatantly copy;
they wont be able to move
till the candidate
has left...

And I'll find my way
into places
that prepare documents
that do
unnecessary repairs,
and change the details,
so they repair houses
in crowded
lower middle class
areas,
otherwise scheduled to crash....

I will
gather baskets of fruits
from those
that
cater to chauffeur driven
memsahibs,
and take them over
to the orphanage
on the other side
of the tracks...

The day will end,
and
in a blink of the eye,
I will reappear.

Actually,
there are folks
who are born invisible....

The government ignores them,
schools ignore them,
housing ignores them,
documents ignore them,
water ignores them,
food ignores them.....

I am looking
for something
that will make them visible...