Inside Outside......

Srushti Mandar Rao, is a young artist I saw recently through a friends posting on FB. She has a wonderful website here. She also blogs at :

http://worldbeyondcolours.blogspot.com/
http://asensitiveartist.blogspot.com/
http://fondoffood.blogspot.com/p/srushti-recipes.html

Do visit her Official FaceBook Fan page here, and click on LIKE !

Currently planning is on for exhibiting her works in Mumbai. She has a series of art works under categories like "Faces", and "Body and Mind" and so on. Hope you enjoy them all .

In the meanwhile, here is one of her pieces that got me intrigued.....

(painting by Srushti Mandar Rao)







Is this
a creative,
but enclosed
one ,
looking out
thru a mind window,
dreaming about
bringing
colors in
our dull lives ?




Or
is it
about
a free me,
outside,
agonizing
about
how to liberate
a mind,
lost
in
its own prison,
somnolent,
on carpets
of colors ?

Dumb Dialogues

My friend, Sylvia from Seattle, is often out at the beach, and notices things many of us don't.

Makes you think, doesn't it ?

(photograph by Sylvia Kirkwood)
Drunk
on their
own
powerful thoughts,
they sit
virtually unspeaking,
on the appointed benches;
one ,
all tight
dry and clean,
the other,
immersed
in some
moving
sea-weedy sands.

The world goes on,
wave after wave,
frothing and mixing
raising a toast
to
the snowy mountains,
Cheers to Life !

And the
lone seagull,
swooping around
wonders
why
these two
belonging
to the thinking tribe
have nothing to say to each other.....

Howzzat !

Australia play India today. Many will bunk office, claim outside work trips, sit unmoving through the various innings, quote history, gorge on food, lose appetites, glare at someone asking a question, swear at foolish bowling, and basically lose their minds.

Sometimes one wonders if life is cricket. Except for some , it is an unending lifelong-everyday-day-international played in the grounds of Life..............







Life,
she said,
threw bouncers at her;
She ducked some,
She faced some,
and became strong
in the process
of absorbing
angry looks,
muttered abuse,
and disdainful spitting.

Sometimes,
a slow one
made her think,
though momentarily.
Misled
into shoving it away,
she saw
the pillars shaking behind her.

Someone was
always spinning;
sometimes an imaginary yarn,
sometimes
a violence,
that appeared to go elsewhere,
but was directed to her.

She removed her
helmet of doubts,
wiped her
brow,
squinting at those
planning to destroy....

Sweeping
fashionable fools,
Flicking stuff
far behind her
crossing boundaries
set for her;
An almighty
shove
high up there
as her confidence
grew
like the projectile
that hit
the stands of
those
who understood and supported her...

Sometimes
in a pose reminiscent
of a Nataraja,
sometimes,
down on her knees,
slapping out
all the
dangers and troubles,
everything
meant for her.

And Life,
in a white coat,
held its hands,
sometimes high up,
sometimes
as if,
indicating the
green expanse,
giving her
all the resources
she needed.....

She looked up,
blinded
a bit by the
flooding sweat,
and more by
some tears of
relief and joy....

It looked like she would win
at last !

Power Moon ?

This photo has been taken by my friend Runcil Rebello. The interesting thing is that's him in the photograph too.

So while you figure out the self timers, the running, and the angles, I think it is time to reveal something about, what purports to be, a Power Moon...

(self photograph by Runcil Rebello, moon incidental)

He is the mafia
that
controls
the Tides
in the lives of folks.

A millennium
of
watching
the earth go by
below,
he sees
the new upheavals
as the innards
convulse
destroying
the dreams
of a Zen Nation.

And he does nothing
as the Tides,
his chamchaas,
suddenly rebel
and swear allegiance
to the
convulsing One,
crashing and wiping out
in one giant wave
those men
women and children
that
had done no wrong.

This Moon,
like our ministers,
who do aerial surveys
after calamities,
shamelessly
comes
amazingly,
closer than ever
and pretends to look
concerned.

Power Moon ?

Standing Tall.....

Some folks like my friend UmaS have a great knack of photographing excellence. Visible, invisible, or in shadow form. And they exult in the fact that it gives their height a new meaning, on a morning of a hot and sunny day.

It certainly does. And she certainly stands tall.....

(photo by Uma or her daughter)
Its the height
of a mind
that matters.

Tall enough
to bend
so a child
can come into your arms..

Tall enough
to kneel,
and bow
at the feet
of the God with the Flute…

Tall enough
to bend and offer
a sturdy shoulder
for a lonely grandma,
to rest her head…

Tall enough
to keep
your own aside
and rush
to attend
the comfort
and wellbeing
of
a troubled one…

The Sun too,
impressed,
hides behind you,
and
Ma Earth,
exults
in repose,
as she
bears
happily,
the weight
of
your tall shadow.

The Ballad of the Blue Moon

My blogger friend IHM posted this photo of the special moon on her blog.

This fantastically framed moon was photographed by IHM's husband in Delhi.

Super blue moons graced our skies on the 19th of March, 2011. The sort of things that have been happening on our Earth, I don't blame the Moon for trying to get closer to find out.

(photo by IHM's husband)
Endlessly
traveling around
like this
for donkey’s years,
powered
by the
Big Sun Boss.

Sometimes,
you take a
slight diversion,
for fun
and
to take a closer look;

An entire civilization
goes wild
clicking me,
pointing scopes at me,
and getting hyper
and drenched
in tides
of
superstition,
and
alarm.

I’ve been watching too,
and everything
is unchanged;
cheating,
corruption,
wars,
money,
politics,
lying,
violence.

No wonder I feel Blue.

The Fate of the Flamingoes.....

The Sewri mud flats and swamps on Mumbai's eastern seaboard, are home to pink flamingoes migrating from the west every year. The dirty, swampy, ignored flats are a natural gestation place, and the flamingoes lay eggs there, because it is safe.

The government in its usual "wisdom" plans to build a bridge there up to Nhava Shiva across the bay, despite environmentalists warning against spoiling the natural ecosystem.

My friend Runcil Rebello went on a trip there, and took some wonderful photos. Have a look at the other photos here.

Before the bridge happens, and the flamingoes depart.

(photo by Runcil Rebello)

The flamingo ladies
traipse daintily
towards
the meeting venue ;
they must stop
the wild Nhava bridge
that threatens
to tear
thru their swamp.




She's been flying in
every year
eastwards from Gujarat,
in the pink of health.

Its her maika***,
be it
dirty,
marshy,
algae-ly green,
foot sinking trash.

And so,
its the safest place
to lay her eggs,
away
from the
predators
and natural jackals
of the city.
She too is safe,
from hunters
of the meat;
her slender wiry frame
doesn't appeal
to the Carnivores of Mumbai.

What she doesn't know,
is that the same
jackals and crooks
eye her maika,
with gleaming eyes.

The project
will take a toll
of her life,
but will earn
infinite
toll income
for the crooks....


***maika :maternal home
.
.

Dabeli ki shaadi ****

Some folks experience sudden inertia when passing stuff like this on the roadside in Mumbai. Made in front of you, the flavors tickling the nostrils, as the butter cracks up in delight on the old large gridlle, the big question is whether to eat first or photograph first.

When was the last time you felt like that about McD ?

(photo by Kavi Arasu)

Its getting
hot
and the
old
dark wedding hall
is patched up
with some
silver
to please
those who will arrive.



The place now sizzles
with
fat butter kids
sliding in fun,
the Pao Groom,
freshly brushed,
opens up
and relaxes
warmed by the
butter and silver...

And she arrives,
a potato paithanee,
studded
with
peanut prints,
pomegranate colors,
woven with
masalas,
and lashed
with tamarind streaks,
spicing up her life.

She looks back
at her parent
eyes full and flowing
as she
is sprinkled with onions
holding on to
the coriander.

Then it's on
to another life
as
a Dabeli wife
protected
by a a Pao....

A short,
exciting life,
as the fellow
singes the Pao edges,
sprinkles the
weeping chutneys,
and hands the two
over
to some
thoughtless
greedy humans,
saying,
"Behenji, Dus Rpuya !"

*** Hindi for "dabeli's marriage"
.
.

Tearful Skies

A picture taken by a blogger friend Sujatha , through what she calls the "moonroof" of her car, on a starlit/moonlight winter night possibly somewhere in Washington DC.

And , then again, one is, not surprised by the teardrops on the glass roof....

(photo by Sujatha Bagal)

Sky Akka***,
presiding
turn by turn
across
flooded countries,
killing fields,
drunk dictators,
cheating politicians,
uncontrolled guns,
starving populaces,
molested children,
rampant pirates,
embarassing Leaks,
can't hold
her emotions
any longer....


She shakes
away
her clouded eyes
with a slight
disgusted rumble,
despairs
of the
greenless trees below,
and
weeps
drop by drop,
sometimes copiously,
and sometimes pausing
for a blue breath,
at the bareness of it all......

***Akka : elder sister
.
.

Connections....

I never knew one could get philosophical about a set of chains, possibly holding a swing in a park . But some folks do. Another great photo from someone who sees immense meanings in the simple and ordinary.

And then some other folks also notice the gaps :-( .....

(photo by Kavi Arasu)
The Big Plier Man
up there,
the Ironsmith
of our Destinies...

Some links
arm in arm,
so tight...

But some links,
where
He leaves
a small gap
as he presses together
the plier arms.



Think,
worry,
try to leave,
through the gap,
squeezing through,
twisting to
face the scratchy skirmishes.

You think
you can go it alone,.

But
you are never
alone.
So many well connected,
co-opertive folks,
hanging together,
chained
and
looping across
the Branches of Life.

The Gap is not
so you can escape;
it is there
so you can learn how to join in.....

Footwears of the Mind

My young blogger friend Kalyani Wakkar, didn't realize what would happen, when she kicked of her sandals at the beach, and ran to commune with the waves and the sun. Her friend Parag Mahale clicked a photograph, another oldish friend saw it on FB and a poem happened....

(photo by Parag Mahale, modeled by Kalyani Wakkar and her sandals.)

Some sandals
stick
to the owner
everywhere,
absorbing
every cut,
pokey stone,
lash of cow dung
and wet mud,
but
keeping
the feet
clean,
unfeeling,
and the person
devoid of nerves...


But some,
like a good friend,
share the
heat of the road
on a summer afternoon,
the stumble
across
an innocent pebble,
inadvertent puddle thumps,
the
little scratches
of stuff in the sand,
and stand
patiently aside,
encouraging
and
waiting,
as you decide to get your feet wet
in some
new waters
once again......

And when
a
particularly big wave
of something
arrives,
and you run back,
they remain,
overcome by the foam,
but bravely facing up,
faithfully waiting for you....

Survival of the ......

Flying swoops on innocent folks , is not an unknown happening. In politics as well as elsewhere. Sometimes, these events sensitize you to what many think could be ordinary events at , say, a beach. My friend , Kavi, thinks this is worth documenting.

(So do I. )

(photo by Kavi Arasu)



So many
launder
black fortunes
into white;
throw sand
in the eyes
of the powers that be.....
And those in control,
gutlessly
ebb away
like the tide
that dissipated at the beach.



But sometimes,
the flowing tide
brings in
a few,
inadvertantly misled
into
a rich wet patch.

The water recedes,
taking along
the 'clever' ones,
and
as the
ordinary
confused one
struggles to live,
the Black one swoops down.

A Show Capture
while the real ones get away....

Mind Games.....

Most people are stunned by the Williams sisters, Nadal, Federer etc on the tennis courts. But some are enraptured by undulating nets, sometimes due to sharply impacting tennis balls, maybe a touch of a sliding raquet, or a fast frisky run of a dedicated ball boy. My friend Kavi Arasu belongs to the latter category. See more of his sports pictures here.


(photo by Kavi Arasu)
The mind ,
like
life barriers
shuns opacity of thought.


Challenges
served
from the other side,
the hint of direction,
visible through
black Net lashes,
a sudden
intake of breath
followed
by a
determined
studied return;
sometimes a slide,
sometimes a fall,
sometimes a polite return,
sometimes a sharp one,
sometimes a disdainful toss,
and
sometimes
you win the game,
as the
bright yellow
shots
aimed at your mind,
bashfully
collect
at your feet,
on the other side
watched
by a
magnanimous blinking
of
your Net
of black eyelashes....