Saturday, August 28, 2010

Redwoods in the time of Politics

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....


See,
You need
that
"democratic" branch...

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Survival of the "Fittest" ?

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....."

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Felling a giant

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.

This from his recent post .

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.

...

Saturday, August 21, 2010

what color are you ?

An effort by a lady living in the Woods, trying to capture a butterfly on film, resulted in this.

(Photo by Ernestine Lawson )



She flutters
and
flits
from
flower to flower,
imbibing
the aroma,
the nectar,
and smell of the woods.






She often wondered
why
she was
a mixture
of
black and white
and not colored.

And one day,
she heard
the wet Earth
say ,
"Its all about
being part of a happy
wonderful picture,
showing off
each others best .

It doesnt matter
what color
you
yourself carry
in life ....."

Smelling good ! Looking good !

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....

Leaving
all those
simple young buds behind....

The new generation
will never learn,
will it ?

Thursday, August 19, 2010

Chink in the armour....

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.

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Paan-Paan

(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.

High ambitions

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 ?

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Moon musings

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.

What on Earth,
sorry,
Moon ,
is going on ?

Last moments of a raindrop....

(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 ?

Thursday, August 12, 2010

Ways of the world....

Once again....

(photo by Sylvia Kirkwood)

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.

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Thoughts at the top....

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....



Monday, August 9, 2010

Shady learning

(photo by Sylvia Kirkwood)


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.

Friday, August 6, 2010

A younger sister's lament



Submitted for the Blogadda,
"Mera Bharat Mahaan" contest.


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 the growing 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 nothing to 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;

It's right here !

It's not Mera Bharat Mahan.

It's Hamara Bharat Mahan ......


Thursday, August 5, 2010

Their own moons ....

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 ?”