Insignia posted this picture of the Redwoods in her wonderful blog B Log
There appeared to be some meaning to a tree daring to lean sideways, in a world of conservative trees growing straight up to reach the sky. (Being a UC student 40 years ago sort of put things in perspective :-))
(photo by Insignia) Upright Republican trees, standing, taking the pledge, frowning a bit on the wayward Democrat branch going across, what they think is the wrong way....
Whether its Meg Whitman or Arnold, you still need to stand up and put that hand across your heart....
My friend NU, posted this photograph in her Wordless Wednesday series.
Comments in the King's Marathi and Queens English....
(photo by Nupur Phatak) वनातील सौंदर्य स्पर्धेत कडक इस्त्रीचे , बांधा खुलवणारे डिझाइनर गुलाबी वस्त्र परिधान करतात काही ; स्तब्ध पोझ देउन टाळ्या , शिट्ट्या आणि बक्षीस घेउन जातात …. आणि रंगमंचावरील हिरवा पटल मान हलवतो आणि चुरगळलेल्या जमिनीवरच्या गुलाबी आशांना सुस्कारा सोडून सांगतो , “बयो, स्पर्धा हि अशीच… कुणा एकाच्या जिंकण्यात बाकी सर्वांच्या मनाचा चुराडा …..”
Beauty pageants in the woods, with a display of pink designer beautifully cut outfits; they smile and pose, and glide away amidst whistles, applause and awards.....
Somewhere, the mature green backdrop on the stage, sadly shakes its head, looks down at so many lying crushed and dry on the ground, sighs, and says, "Lady, that's competition, for you.... the winner rests on the cushion of crushed aspirations of thousands....."
Harekrishnaji posts wonderful landscapes and travelogue pictures on his very informative blog ,UNKE DUSHMAN HAI BAHUT AADMI AACHA HOGA,which has an English-spelled Marathi title , but is a Marathi blog.
My comments, as before, first in the King's language, Marathi, and then a translation, in the Queen's English......
(photo by harekrishnaji) कधी उभे होते ताठ कण्याने, बरोबरच्या लहान सहान वृक्ष वेलींमध्ये फांद्या गुंतवून; पानात रमणारे पक्षी, घर समजून मस्ती करणारी माकडे ; मुळाशी कधी फुरंगटून बसलेले मशरूम , कधी विसावा घेत आजोबा.
आज शहरातील माकडे इथे बुलडोझर घेउन, घर, नव्हे फार्म हौस बांधतो म्हणतात ..... कणा अजून ताठ आहे पण वादळे निभावून नेणारा हा , पैशाचा पाउस सहन करू शकला नाही ......
It always stood ramrod straight in spirit, yet concerned and involved in the affairs of branches and wandering stems; indulgent toward the birds who nested. and monkeys that thought of it as "home".
Not to forget blooming mushrooms crowding at its roots, along with, sometimes, a tired grandfather, napping , in peace....
Some Simian townies had come with a bulldozer, claiming to build, homes, nay "farm houses".....
The spine still holds ramrod straight but lies on the ground;
For someone who faced innumerable storms in life, it was difficult to counter this immense raining in of money.
He posted this saying "Smelling Good! I tell you !"
Looking good too !
(photo by Kavi Arasu)
Respectable in their sober cream and white sarees they gather and crowd together in the background, secure in their sedate upright lives taking life as it comes.
These new fangled rosy cheeked modern types, each willfully taking off on his own, darting through the green, tangling with the leaves, trying to peer over each other's heads....
Check out Sylvia's wonderful quotes along with the photos .
(photo by Sylvia Kirkwood) Rocks of the ages, Jagged and huge tough barriers holding up through the years....
A lashing of rain, Erosion in a groove of the rock face, and the water trickles, drops, flows, deep into the mind, somewhere, zigzagging across willing itself to see the Sun again as it feeds the roots of something, trying to grow and bloom, green and clean.
Sometimes, the toughest and the strictest, minds have a secret soft corner.
(The can-can (more correctly not hyphenated, as in the original French: cancan) is regarded today primarily as a physically demanding music hall dance, performed by a chorus line of female dancers who wear costumes with long skirts, petticoats, and black stockings, that hearkens back to the fashions of the 1890s. The main features of the dance are the lifting up and manipulation of the skirts, with high kicking.......)
(photo by Kavi Arasu) Paan-Paan, the dance, bitter sweet expressions of art, as they stand, in formation, clad in green and a silver headdress, accesorized with handheld red pom poms.... ............. ................ The kick happens after you eat the paan.
My friend NU posting her pictures on Wordless Wednesdays, had this view of Delhi from a descending plane.
Delhi implies some other visuals. (My comment, first in the King's language, Marathi, and then the Queen's...
(photo by Nupur Phatak) बालपणीचा हट्ट, बंगल्यातल्या चंदू सारखा आग गाडीच्या सेट आण… आज , पंचवीस वर्षा नंतर खादीचा कुडता , सोन्याची चेन घालून विविध लागे बांधे जमवून तो विमानातून खूप मोठ्या खेळातल्या खिसे खूळखूळवणार्या शहराच्या सेटशी खेळतो … का शेठ्शी?
Hankering after and pestering his mother, for a train set, just like that of Chandu , from the Big House, Today, 25 years later, clad in Khadi, a gold chain at the neck, nurturing his contacts and links he, the boss man sits in a plane, for an aerial tour; playing with the biggest obscenely remunerative, highway set. of his life....
or should we say a set of "high" connections in his life ?
My friend , Sylvia says ,"This shot of the moon I had zoomed in and when I downloaded it from my camera I realized I had caught the leaves of a tree in our neighbor's yard against the moon. I thought it was kind of an interesting capture. The moon wasn't so big, but the leaves surely were! If you look close it's kind of like a face -- the man in the moon, maybe???
I just wondered what the man (in the moon) might be thnking.
(photo by Sylvia Kirkwood)
Millions of miles up there he looks down on Earth, with an expression, bordering on the whimsical.
First they sent 3 guys, with a funny vehicle, and one took small steps while another drove around in the sky like a intergalactic Greyhound bus.....
So many spaceships then whizzed around, some, to Mars!
And then there's this lady hiding behind trees, and taking pictures.
(photo by Kavi Arasu ) Wild in freefall tangling with the salty seabreeze; millions of us dashing on to dug up roads, policemen raincoats, A/c cocooned cars, roaring bikes, and some, chattering, shivering wet.....
But some encounter the blue of a tarpaulin and we move in rivulets, till we drop, a bit sedately , on to some outstretched hands, outside a tea tapri, warm with a sense of ginger, warmth and welcome.
How many raindrops can boast of such flavourful last moments on earth ?
Beneath the petals spread in clinical precision shoulder to shoulder fresh and blue clustered en masse secure in the safety of numbers, are the hardworking, rough skinned upward looking leaves flaring out tangled mostly in tolerance, in each other, some purple at the edges due to strain, some coming up with new ones, and some, slogging away beneath in proletarian style so that the blues may enjoy their day in the sun.
Another great photo from NU, ellicited this comment on her blog in Marathi, hereafter called the King's language :-) .....The translation in the Queen's language, follows ...
(photo bt Nupur Phatak) मावळातील रणरणती दुपार, आयुष्याच्या संध्याकाळी , क्षणभर ती विसावते , थोडीशी पाठ सरळ करून पदराने तोंड पुसून मानेवरचा घाम टिपते ; दगडावर बसू का ? का उभीच राहू ? आपण चालत राहिलो , तर आयुष्य बदलतं, पुढे जात राहिलं पाहिजे ….. आठवते हिरवाई, धुंद पावसाळा, वाऱ्याचे लपंडाव, उडवलेले पाणी , आठवणींचा शिडकावा सुखावून जातो ती पुन्हा वाकते काठी टेकते , ह्या कोरड्या आयुष्यात पाणी फक्त तिच्या डोळ्यात असते
A summer afternoon, searing the Maval plains, and the old lady, in the evening of her life, stops and straightens. just a bit, wiping the sweat of the years from her brow with an edge of her old saree....
Maybe sit a while on the rocks, or should I stand and keep going ?
Life progresses as she moves ahead, immersed in the cool thoughts of green over the years, wild monsoon rains, truant winds, and the cool spray of young memories gladdens her tired mind....
Stick in hand, she gets up and continues.
In her dry life today, the only water there is, resides in her eyes....
The same woods, the same tree, the same leaves mingling with each other, sometimes like kids, in groups, sometimes, like older adults, sedate, posing on a branch.
Some are green, some appear light, some dark. They mingle shrugging off the opinionated dewdrops, facing up to a new morning behind a tough looking trunk of some tall leader.
The light, dark and green transforms into one another in fun cocking a snook at the sun.
We must be the only species that talks about color and race.
At 63, India has become like Mumbai, fast, glamourstruck, drunk and focussed on money, power, and attitudes, with no time for anyone lagging behind. Somewhat like some people I see at this stage of my life (61), so focussed and drunk on individual sucess, they are almost a deserted island themselves.
But there is also an India , out in the hinterland, where they work hard, slog, and still take delight in the prize going to someone else, because he or she is part of them all; the land, the rivers, the greens, browns, and the people.....
We grew up together, This Country and I; She elder to me by two...
Nursery years spent in wide eyed wonder, getting educated; me in school, and she, in the Beginnings of Governance.
Like a child, totally trusting of it's parents There was a sense of belief and trust; Tall leaders, respected across regions and A sense of participating in thegrowing up and bringing up of a country.
The roads forked. The road less travelled was mine. More was her's. So divergent, you would think, The Mai-Baap were different.
Mine, concerned about my values, responsibilities, my education, yet sacrificing; but the country has been swamped, with leaders who think Truth is old fashioned, Work is Jingling pockets, Communication, means Threats, Service, means getting photographed standing holding hands in chains with others, protesting something you don't understand but were paid to do.
T'was as if Teenage and Freedom beckoned; One a freedom given on a platter red with sacrifices; Another, grabbed by a teenager impressionable, running wild, despite a glare of an older eye.
Education ? Pay up ! Transport ? Wait .You're late ... Examinations ? Cheat. Job? Who is your uncle ... Food ? Starving is in Style.. Rotten de Foie Gras...
Communication ? its your choice, Guns, Abuse, Blackberries ? Sports ? Are you mad ? Building stadiums and crashing deals gets you more..... Religion ? Abuse, misuse.... No fear of God, but fear of Power.... Rules ? Make them , break them !
Work ? Grades ? You can get one without the other. Shirk, and there is nothingto evaluate, so you pass. Work, and the man with the cushioned chair, and towel on his chair, puts a red mark against you, black in his pocket.
But somewhere, in this ocean of misgovernance, are a few waves, still making a difference.
Doctors, who still remain in public health, treating the maladies of too little amidst too much, brushing aside "bypass"ing riches; Teachers, who feel it's Divali and Christmas, when the young diffident chap exults over passing, an exam on sheer grit... Lawyers, who fight, for those who cannot spell "fee", Students, who spend weekends, coaching those, threatened by alphabets, Children, who share their books and toys, with the kid with the shining face and hopeful eyes; Young professionals who spend weekends, ecstatic at the success of an older lady they taught, who learned to read; Technologists, who work, on their own, to bring drinking water , to folks who simply had a dried up river..... miles away
The answer is very simple.
Many moons ago, We were WE;
Today, amidst the Pseudosmart SMS's, Designer words, Acted attitudes, Role Playing, Ego money-massagers and Asset Accumulators, We are "I".....
The answer my friend, doesn't blow in the wind, what little you get in the concrete labyrinths of a crumbling city;
My friend NU posts photos on Wednesdays. Sometimes I post poetry as comments on those. Recently , I posted my comments as a poem in my native language, Marathi. Then she got a comment on that, asking her for a translation, as the person asking belonged to an area of India that spoke a different language. (We simply beat the rest of the world in the number of languages we have here, not to speak of the dialects).
I attempted the translation.
See both below ! In the King's (!) language and the Queen's English :-)
(photo by Nupur Phatak) हिरवाई तीच , तृण हि तेच , त्यातून घुमणारा वारा हि तोच ; पण आजकालच्या जगांत तारे इतके झालेत कि प्रत्येकाला वेगळा चंद्र लागतो … कधी अवखळ गुलाबी , कधी लहानपणचा चकचकीत पिवळा , कधी शिस्तीत रागावलेला ज्वलंत नारिंगी, आणि कधी तरी म्हातारपणी संथ वाहणार्या आयुष्याच्या निळ्या पाण्यासारखा ….. आणि हिरवाई तील एक झाड फांद्या झटकून वर बघतं आणि म्हणत , “मला पण खेळायला कोणीतरी हवं, मी या चंद्रांना फेसबुक वर फ्रेंड रिक्वेस्ट पाठवू का काय ?….”
The same greenery, the same blades of grass, And the same wind breezing through…. But in today’s world, there is such a surfeit of stars, all hankering after their own moon… A bashful coy pink, sometimes, a shiny childhood yellow; then sometimes, an angry older orange, and sometimes, a cool blue to match your calm, older, slowly flowing life… But somewhere, a flighty green tree, thrusts and brushes down its branches, looks up, and says, “I think I want to play too; You think I can send a friend request to one of the moons on facebook ?”
Upright
