The Brave and the Desolate

Sometimes the desolate appears as magnificent as the snowy mountain peaks. That is , if you have a special eye,and are travelling in Nepal, See this for more magnificence....


(photo by Kavi Arasu.)

Like a
mother,
spreading her
threadbare shawl
to shelter
...the leafy little ones,
she faces
the impending
winter chill,
shorn of her own personal protection.




Amidst the
chilly flows and
silver snowdrops,
beneath a
threatening sky,
she has lost all she has,
except her indomitable spirit.

And the sky turns
purple in shame,
as she
looks up,
brave at the peak,
spreads out her hands,
as if to question it,
demanding an explanation
on why the world is so harsh
at the top !

Middle Magic

This is a comment on this delightful post. Flying back from Nepal, he tangles , desolate in a middle seat, with two Nepalese natives in adjoining seats, who avidly wait to sight the ocean., while he hankers after a piece of snow topped mountain peaks , brilliant in the sun.

(photo by Kavi Arasu, courtesy the suddenly availabe window seat)


Immovable,
strong,
and tall in life,
some stand,
impervious to
the vagaries of destiny,
unaffected with
travails of aging,
cloudy memories,
loss of green,
and stark realities.



A Balance
delicately managed
far away below,
by the rippling waves
glistening in the sun,
turning every way
indicated
by
the tides of life.

We live on,
in between,
swinging
wildly,
between
the stoic
and the submissive,
hankering,
the haves
after the have-nots.

Strangely, that is life;
Ecstatic, worried,
tense, peaceful,
troubling,
and sometimes,
demanding.

And the old man of the North
winks in the
face of a shining sun,
smiles at the Ocean,
and says ,
"Did you see
those 3,
clicking
on their ambitions,
in the jet Airways
contraption
that just went by ?"

Dawn Weddings at Nagarkot

He calls this his Lifetime Best . We hope he does many more like these, and actually holds an exhibition. See here to check out his other photos...

There is a chance that one will run out of words.....

But for now, these happened......

(Photo by Kavi Arasu, in Nagarkot, Nepal)

Nagarkot pines
wrapped in
nine yard misty silks,
bustling around,
some significant ones
at the hilltop venue,
some,
loitering below
fooling
with the wayward clouds.

The staid old mountains,
some with a white mop
at the top,
wait patiently,
indulgently ignoring
a restless breeze,
as it threatens
to become a wind.




The Valley bride,
awaits ,
covered in
mist,
occasionally peeking
out,
smiling
at the sound
of the morning birds,
serenading her on her Big Day.

There is a hint
of brilliance,
a growing light,
the staid mountains
relax at the
warming in their white mops,
there is excitement
amidst
the singing valley birds,
and the Nagarkot
Pine Mamis
check out stuff,
peering through their misty silks.

The Baraat
has arrived,
bearing
the worlds
brightest,
warmest
and biggest
golden wedding ring....

Hummers and Bummers

He posts stuff that makes you think. And calls them the only Hummers in town.

I agree.

(And would you believe it, little children who speak Marathi, (my mother tongue), actually call the cow ,"Humma" ! .....:-)

"Out of the mouths of babes" and all that .......


(photo by Kavi Arasu)
A bovine
stroll,
a slow beat
pulling
human anxiety loads
nosielessly
on the
original
two wheel contraption.

King of the
uneven roads,
mountain paths,
you search
for its
non existent
carbon footprint,
amidst the
wheezing two wheelers
charging
through
the main thoroughfares
as the
temple top deities
in Madurai
watch....

This is
indeed,
our
High Mobility Multipurpose Wheeled Vehicle,
HUMMER;
but
what a BUMMER,
its been
taken over
by those that
scream ,
sneeze
and honk
with displays
of
horsepower.

All one can say is
Moooo!

A Gem of a choice......

This poem was originally posted by me on my main blog Gappa, simply because it commemorated this amazing achievment of 50 centuries in cricket by 37 year old, Sachin Tendulkar, who is probably the finest example of what a universally admired and nationally loved personality can be, whether in sports,or for that matter , anything. Most ordinary, taxpaying, young,old, sportsloving, sportswatching and God fearing folks in India think that he qualifies brilliantly for the Bharat Ratna (= Jewel of India), the nations highest civilian award , given on Republic Day, 26th January.

I post it here in this poetry blog for the sake of completeness :-)



Some stand
on the shoulders
of parents,
zeros without them,
convinced
that a fall,
will be cushioned,
by mattresses
stuffed with
papers of certain colors,
obliging officials,
and the
rights of innocents.

And some,
years after
slogging years,
feet firmly on the ground,
eyes willing the ball,
stand tallest
at 5ft 5inches,
as they
swipe,
cut,
flick,
and sweep,
occasionally
in an arc in the sky,
22 x 50 x 100
of them.......

A slight smile,
a deep exhaling
as he removes the helmet
and looks up
into the beyond
seeking
his father,
who showed the way,
but left him
to define his own paths
by hard work,
quiet concentration,
and respect.

At 37,
his fathers child
and a favourite child of the country,
his is not to
sit back and gloat;
he mobilises
to face
a Protean swing
and spin...
eyes sharp,
mind calm
a billion prayers empowering him.

Mothers wish
for a son like him,
Coaches pray
for a student like him
Fathers smile
when they watch him,
children puff up
when they talk about him,
and blades of grass
on the cricket grounds
all over the country
shiver in excitement
as they recall being part of it all....

He stands tallest
as he calls himself
an Indian first,
in the face of
mindless statements
by those with mortgaged minds.

How many
Republic days must go by
before someone
in high places
realizes
that
the
next choice for
Bharat Ratna
is obvious........

Bending rules to explore.....

One sees interesting photos , sometimes simply by chance, with interesting comments.

Have a look here .

And sometimes one sees similar attitudes in the trees and the society . In the land of greenery, coconut and areca nut plantations, and the brilliant coastline : Kokan. Where , like everywhere else, the youth are exploring other worlds.....

Grateful to Shri Atul Kulkarni for allowing me to use this photo in my post...

(My comments , as before, first in the King's language, then the Queen's....:-)


(photoby Atul Kulkarni)
एक काळ असा होता,
सगळे नियम पक्के पण सोपे होते ....
कोकणच्या हिरवाईत ,
सनातनी माड ताठ कण्यांनी
हिरवी पगडी सांभाळत
सागराकडे डोळे वटारून बघत
उभे असायचे,

पाटाचं पाणी
भाजीपाल्यात कौतुकानी वाहायच,
विशीतला मुलगा भिक्षुकी संभाळायचा
आणि
तेरा वर्ष्याच्या बनूच लग्न
रत्नागिरीच्या पटवर्धानांकडे ठरलं,
म्हणून वाहिनी हुरळून जायच्या ...

आता माड म्हातारे झले,
काही वाकले, थकले,
काही मुलं-मुली
वेगळ्या वाटेनी समुद्रा पल्याड
जायच्या बाता करतायत ,
स्वताहाच्या हिमतीवर
वाकून वाकून बघतायत .......
आणि एक वयस्कर माड
सुपारी बाईंना
सुस्कारा टाकून म्हणाले ,
" पूर्वी देशावर जायचे,
आता परदेशी जातात..
कळलं न ?"

Time
was when
life was
about simple rules.

Conservative
coconut palms
stood
ramrod straight,
intensely
gazing
at the
perennially
waving sea,
their palm fringed
headgear,
intense in dignity .

Back home,
the mountain springs
continued to gush
in innocence,
through the homestead,
fussing over the vegetable patch;
the twenty something
young fellow
searched his way
through
his fathers footsteps,
and
the lady of the house
exulted over
the fixing
of
a great match
in Ratnagiri,
for Banu,
the 13 year old
marriageable daughter....

Today,
the coconut palms
bend in a tired
helplessness....
the children talk about
new lands
and new paths,
often
leaning
across the ocean
visualizing new worlds.

And the elderly palm,
nudges the
slightly bent
areca nut tree,
sighs,
and says ,
"Listen !
Life is unchanged.
They all go,
eventually;
earlier it was inland,
and now
it's always beyond the seas,
Ok ?....."

Sunrise at Nagarkot

He is a lucky person to be able to wander in the Himalayas , clicking sunrises at dawn, that too, at the onset of winter. This is at Nagarkot, Nepal.

(photo by Kavi Arasu )

Rarified gold
in the midst of
Sagarmatha ***
and Kanchenjunga,
He emerges
...at dawn
acknowledging
the
loitering
and crowding
clouds,
watched by
geriatric mountains.





And just sometimes,
He is overcome,
by the crowds at Nagarkot
all single mindedly
shivering
and
focusing
cameras
on His arrival,
and takes refuge
behind the pines
on the hill.

A deep breath later,
emerging,
simply
and undeniably,
icy hot.

*** Mt. Everest in local parlance

Encounters of the fluid kind.....

Encounters at Aquariums. Noticed by my friend Sylvia, in her post, as a part of the Weekend Reflections series .


(photo by Sylvia Kirkwood)

Some,
sitting with their mothers,
held safe
all wrapped up and fed
on the counter
of the
aquarium display,
unaware of their
luck....



And some,
separated at birth,
to live
alone,
in a small
watery enclosure
with fake trees,
artificial lights,
and
piped air...

A moment of
realization
as a vision
of mother
appears
fluid,
in his memory,
a gift
from the little one
watching from outside....

Eyes of the ......

My friend Sylvia, shares the skies above Seattle, in her Skywatch Friday photo post....


(photo by Sylvia Kirkwood)
Golden rays
glistening clouds
pewter waves
on resting waters.

But to some ,
it is an uneven sky
beset with clouds
and birds scurrying home
before
the descent of the dark.

Just like a
woman
with hair pulled back,
face in the wind,
celebrating
a great evening,
while
another,
on the same evening,
wildly
shakes her head,
her hair falling forward,
and is frightened
by what she sees
through the
tangled
dark
strands of fate.

In pieces....

Stems
and impressionable branches
bending under
some great
and willful blossoms;
then
a careful nurturing
by a
firm hand
anchoring it
to a
stiff
but occasionally bending
bamboo cane....
and it grows up,
strengthened
in head and mind,
as she towers,
years later
in benevolence
over
its own branches
lushly laden,
some with fruit,
brushed by some blossoms.

Cracks and scrapings,
loss of an aging bark,
breakages of confidences,
drying
of expectations,
animal abuse,
have matured
her into a
tolerant ,
shelter.

She can only
look up skywards
when,
at the end of a
wistful day,
Fate appears
in the form
of a
chain saw
in the hands
of someone
she trusted,
when
green meant green
and not
green with envy,
with a frill
of disdain......