Lunar questions...

My FB friend Amit Amembal, recently posted a wonderful capture , of what I think is a setting moon. Captured on his mobile phone. And posted it here.

The Monsoon sky in Mumbai, and possibly in the Sahyadri Ghats (which is where I suspect this was clicked) is always a very impressive visual with overpowering black clouds above, and a kind of clearing happening on the horizon, where the normal clouds enjoy moments of peace before the laden ones arrive.

I thought it would be fun for the Moon to be stuck between the two .  If you really want to know what the moon thinks, read on .

I first wrote verse in Marathi (the King's Language), then an effort followed in the Queen's language.  :-) 

Incidentally, I now know three Amembals who take amazing photographs . Just saying .

 (photograph by Amit Amembal)

कुणा एकाचा अवकाशातील फेरफटका ,
मंद प्रकाश ,
अस्तास जाणारा चन्द्र
अणि रस्त्याच्या दुतरफा,
काही शुभ्र फेअर अणि लव्हली ,
अणि काही गडद डार्क अणि लव्हली
मेघना दाटी दाटीने उभ्या .....

गडबडून गेलेला चन्द्र,
हताशपणे सुर्योदयाची वाट पहात
स्वताहाशीच म्हणतो ,
"हे सगळ फेअर अणि डार्क
ज़रा अतीच होतय आज काल,
कोणी सुर्यासारखे ,
साय अणि आंबे हळद लाउन
तेजाने झळकत नहीं हेच खर ....

 The Moon,
after an
active night wandering,
sighing
at his impending departure,
is suddenly aware
of being
the point of interest
amidst
a bevy of cloudy
Fair and Lovelies,
and
Dark and Lovelies
crowding both sides
of the sky path,
threatening to cover him.

A bashful fellow,
he simply
gulps,
and decides to stand firm
waiting for sunrise,
saying,
" All this business
of Fair and Dark
is going too far these days;
How come
no one
displays the glow
of a Sun,
who looks like he applied
Ambehaldi with Fresh Cream
at the crack of dawn ?" 

Pedalling Progress...

A typical scene in suburban Mumbai, captured by my blogger friend Magiceye. A young girl, possibly,  temporarily the head of a family, taking over the childcare, shopping and household work, lugging kerosene cans to the Ration shop, while her parents, are off to work, possibly at a new construction site.

Rampant construction in Mumbai has resulted in bringing in cheap labour from the rural areas, and entire families have moved. In the meanwhile, in rural areas near Satara, in Maharashtra, and some places in Bihar, young girls who were pressed for time attending rural schools miles away while doing their household duties, are being given free bicycles under some schemes and encouraged to attend school. 

You win some. You lose sum.  And some simply bypass a childhood, wistfully watching, what could have been .....

Life is

about choosing

between a fourth wall

and

a ceiling,

or

a crying baby sibling

and making chapati dough,

while your parents work overtime

at a posh

contsruction project.

Life is about

a childhood

accelerated into puberty,

as she stays home

to cook,

clean,

wash clothes,

queue up for kerosene,

ignore fights,

and look after

her brother,

the star member.

While her girlfriends

in her village

now get free cycles

to attend the school

5 kilometres away,

she trudges by,

school-less,

carrying the young brother

through the potholes of life

so one day,

he too can cycle by

like this,

in style....

Kiske paas kaunsi Raj ma Hai ?

I bet you never knew about Saatvic and  Taamasi Rajmas. 

Actually, neither did I.

Till I actually saw the amazing click of Rajma Curry by my friend Magiceye, which he posted here.

Brushing aside the deep urge to gorge on the delicious goodies, I actually did some research on the Life and Times of Raj Ma.  And this is what I found.   Decide who is your own Rajma.

Some,
dedicated ascetic
purple robed Ma's
after
a nightlong immersion
bath,
patted a bit dry
and left to themselves,
sprout in
sheer happiness,
and become one with the earth,
then to rise
and become the next generation,
green,
and ambitiously climbing,
curling around
stiff folks
standing upright in the soil,
only to one day,
get tired of it all,
dry up,
and emerge as little Ma's.

And then are
the Tamasi
purple robed Ma's
that perform Jalakrida
the whole night,
only to be caught
and pressured
and cooked
the next morning.

Angry but excited
at the hot prospect
of socilaizing
with the
Onion Khan,
Tomato Singh,
Ginger Kapoor
 and Garlic Kumar,
while a chorus
of chillies
and popping mustards
performs in the oil,
they bubble over,
pushing aside
the jealous green coriander
trying to see
if the long awaited
Basmati Rao Chawal
has arrived.

At one time,
the ascetic
would have been honored
and called Raj Ma,
for being the eternal mother.

It is a sign
of the
Kalyugi times,
that the Tamasi
Vamp version
gets the title
of Raj ma today,
simply because
she knows the right people
in right places,
like
Basmati Rao.....

Life of Padwalibai....or Miss Snake-Gourd...

I never thought I would be making a poem on a snake gourd.

But my blogger friend Magiceye posted this amazing photograph of Snake Gourd pieces stuffed with some yummy spicy potato filling, sizzling on skewers, and a poem happened.

The story could be that of a humble simple woman, lost in the attractions of fast modern life as we know it, and possibly , one day, harking back to it, and thinking about old times, as she rests .... 

Padwal : Marathi for Snake Gourd...

Her life
is all
about being
green, slim and supple
and humbly
offering her help,
often at
the cost of her looks.

Sometimes,
her mind too,
as they delve deep in,
and ferret out her fibrous thoughts.

A sign of the times,
disposing off tough aspects
of life
and
filling it with
fluffy,
spicy,carbo-energetic
stuff.

She is a bit cut up
but
there is no looking back,
as ,
she unknowingly
gets used
to hanging out on party skewers,
in high fat makeup
slathered around and shining.

A fast life
burning
herself at both ends,
the body showing
effects of
fancy skin makeup.

Trying to be
what you are not,
in the process
of being attractive
to someone else.....

Sigh.

She leaves the party skewer,
to rest a bit
on a china plate,
unaware,
that somewhere to the side,
a tear of liquid fat
has fallen,
thinking about
the old life on the Vine.

Burning thoughts....

My blogger friend Magiceye recently posted this picture as part of the Camera Critter series in his blog Mumbai Daily .

This is a picture of a crow and a few cattle egrets, observing something in great contemplation above a garbage dump in Bandra, the queen of Mumbai suburbs, and home to some interesting politicians....

In view of the recent conflgrations , and massive fire in the state secretariat some distance away (but possibly visible to birds), the common suspicion in the mind of the common man, attributing it to unnatural causes, having to do corruption, one feels this picture conveys the current situation on governance in the country....

In the face
of a life
with
a sinusoidal changing
bottom line,
The Crow Chief Minister
stands
seriously watching
the fire mayhem
some distance away,
accompanied
by his
redoubtable deputies,
at a discreet distance.

Two of them,
publicly
with a brave
pseudo ignorant face,
and one,
kind of
still making up his mind ,
sheltered
and pressurized by others
to whom he owes his place in the shade.

Below them
the real garbage accumulates,
wondering,
if it too
will face the same future
as some stuff
deemed inconveneient garbage by some,
that recently burnt
a birds eye view away
in the distance.

Bozoical remedies......

Bozo, Mumbai's only dog-with-his-own-blog  is back again !  This time, in action , as he carefully searches for doorva/durva grass, or possibly lemon grass to chew.

He is immensely lucky that he has what can be called a grass garden-in-a-pot planted exclusively for him . And despite all these loaded words and nomenclatures, certain police officers will not even give him a second look.

Because Bozo, follows SchwaanVeda, where fellows who have stomach upsets, search for certain grasses and chew them, and then throw up all the bothersome infectious stuff that is making them sick.

His chronicler and mentor Magiceye, clicked him on one of his searches.

Something to learn, for those , who mix vegetation with alcohol, throw up money,  and propagate infection in society.

 And never notice how green the grass is !

I am now convinced
that everyone gets
the world they deserve.

Those who
overindulge,grab,
fight, and hurt,
end up rushing to
hospitals,
where
the same happens to their
confused innards.

But some
who value what they have,
enjoy the food
made with love and simplicity,
and listen to their body,
are blessed
with great folks
and family.

I follow Schwaanveda myself,
and
everytime
a change of season,
a hot summer,
sudden rains
and mountain water
bothers my stomach,
I chew
on doorva grass
and lemon grass
to detoxify.

Earlier I would
wander in the garden
searching...

But no more.

Not everyone
has an
in-house herbarium
like I do,
planted specially for me
and
I only share
my doorvas grass
with Ganpati Bappa..

I've heard
that these
smart evolved bipeds
have a sense of smell
100 times less
than mine.

Even then,
they only keep smelling
scams,
politicians,
cheats,
and money.


To get well
you must have time to smell the grass, na ?

Thou shalt not steal. ...

What do you say, when one fine morning, you find out that there are actually companies/portals/websites, that have no qualms copying some one's blog posts, word for word, title for title, and have the temerity to claim copyright ? This has happened to many friends who blog, even some who take excellent photos.

Some sites  have almost all their content  copied from somewhere else.  Blatantly.

While FB friends mobilize as if by magic , and consolidate energies to right the wrong, even within the hour, some even pinpointing other bloggers who have been plagiarized and their work copied at the same site mentioned above, one wonders why this kind of cheating is done, and why so called educated folks have no qualms doing this.

One then looks around, reads the newspapers, watches the news, sighs, and keeps quiet.....

 (image courtesy Google)

Riches that she dreamt of .

As she
at 4,
walked
trailing her mother
in the supermarket

Chocolates
in shining wrappers,
in heaps
in bins,
to be bought by weight,
and
the tiny hands,
slid up the side,
and then down,
clutching two,
stuffing them under the tee,
simply thrilled with the sudden bounty....

Back home,
the mother noticed,
and distraught,
turned around
and went straight back to the store.

" Ask me, and you will get,
but never ever
lay your hands like this
on what is not yours"
she said,
and taught the child
to apologize,
and had the stuff billed
at an admiring
store counter.

Years on,
the child
continued to learn
the advantages of truth.

Unlike the child,
some never learned
and as grown ups with their own kids,
learned to steal knowledge candy.

Fate has a different treatment
for such folks.

Wordy treasures
of a blogging lady
blatantly stolen,
kept in fancy shelves
and called his own,
by an unfortunate fellow
who made a living that way
calling it,
"Education".

He didn't know
how to fend of the
arrows and bullets,
announcements, and accusations
of an army of women bloggers,
Senapati B.
fighting in the forefront
of a plagiarism war,
as
even the electrons
that flew through the air,
jumped levels
and spit black energy at him.

"Did no one tell you
never to touch what is not yours ?"
they asked;
and asked him to
empty his shelves and pockets
to return the stuff.

And apologize.

Unfortunately,
the fellow,
was surrounded,
not by angry house womenfolk
but
by powerful folks,
who blatantly stole what was not theirs,
changing titles,
putting new covers,
modifying rules,
and abusing the law,
which quivered in their presence.

The little child ,
studied,
truthfully slogged,
and got educated.

The other fellow,
with different role models
got,
a doctorate
in Chorshastra***....


*** Chor = Thief,  Shastra = Science of,

Sab Maya hai !

My blog friend Umashankar Pandey, who is a banker, prolific writer, poet and photographer, recently visited Lucknow, the capital of Uttar Pradesh (India's most populous state), which for sometime now has been in the throes of ruling parties and politicians  going haywire promising the world to votebanks , particularly in the rural areas.  

Some of this has translated into massive tracts of land being dedicated to self worship, with an eye on posterity and a current perception of power by the ignorant voting classes.  Massive concrete domes , statues, lines of huge elephants  illuminated by a mindboggling wastage of electricity  is something done by the BSP political party , which was defeated in the recent elections.  The winning party, the SP, has its own agenda, and rumors of the entire concrete monstrocity being shortly subjected to bulldozing are rife.

Umashanker Pandey posted these photographs in his blogpost Mayan Ambition  , inspired by the planner of the concrete structures, previous CM, Mayawati.

In the meanwhile,  folks still arrive in the big city travelling on train tops, watch wide eyed ,  surprised at the resources not available to them, but flowing freely for some. Schools in some rural areas are somehow managed in sheds, with inadequate  space and sanitary arrangements, and many a smart girl , has had to stay home away from school, to keep away from a populace with prying eyes. 

The  current ruling party , the SP, is just alphabet away from the earlier BSP.  And the mess continues. 

Sheelwati
after a traumatic trip,
atop a crowded train
disembarking
just before the
Lucknow station.

Belongings tied up
with her hopes
in a piece of cloth
on her head
she waits on the footpath,
debating ,
if it is to be her home.

A long walk
by a grandly lighted place,
they tell her
it is Prateek Sthal,
a sign
that
she is allowed
to have aspirations now.

Her eyes
as wide
as the diameter
of the golden domes,
she feels miniaturized
in the presence
of an armada of elephants,
as she walks through.

 Someone pays obeisance
to the statue of a pointing man
and a lady with a purse,
and she too
does the same

 Shuffling through crowds,
she hears
someone say
that there is a plan
to flatten the place with bulldozers.

 Like her life and her mind,
constantly
flattened
by the wheels of
patriarchal tradition.

No education,
in a school
with a commemorative plaque
but
no simple sanitary conveniences for women,
and so she stays home
to keep away from prying eyes.

Really ,
nothing has changed.
“B”SP has changed to SP.
For her,
its a question of
To B or not to B......

Harakiri by the Puri...

Never thought Pani Puri, the Mumbai/Delhi Street food, would serve as poetic inspiration. But hunger and poetry complement each other.

And then my blogfriend Magiceye, seems to be determined to post more and more wonderful photos  of stuff that he then eats.

Traditionally eaten on the streets, the spicy liquid sloshing in leaf bowls as you slurp and crunch through the stuff, it is important that the puris that are stocked in thousands, exclusively protected , remained puffed.

At the end of the day, in life,  it is a learning lesson, when puffed egos are punctured, by a enthusiastic hoi-polloi.

(First photo by Magiceye, the other by Google)

Proud,
golden,
exclusive,
protected in special places,
they sit
in importance
puffed
in their prosperity,
making fake announcements
about
public service
and
dedication to humanity.

But the hoi polloi
know
that they need to be exposed
to
public needs.

A few puffed ones,
their prestige
nicely punctured,
and some newly sprouted and cooked
mung types
rush  in there,
encouraged by potatoes
mashed in excitement,
sometimes
dragging
some Boondi ladies along.

A massive hydration
of tongue tickling
minty, green masala water,
and
the puffed ones,
unable to bear
the load of
public expectations,
dripping a few spicy tears,
simply sacrifice themselves
into
a waiting mouth,
to be crunched into oblivion.

A lesson indeed,
for those
high up,
powerful,
with punctured egos
waiting in line,
resigned to their fate....

Omlettes and the Presidency

On this windy monsoon Sunday morning, you feel full just seeing this photograph of a Tomato Omelette, Maharashtra's veggie answer to what the world calls an Omelette. ( A devil and the deep-blue-sea kind of choice for the chicken; either way it dies)

 My blog friend, Magiceye, possibly after photographing, and eating several of these, must have posted the photographs on 365Project.org

 Mrs Magiceye, please take a bow ! You create all these wonders, and Magiceye gets all the likes and comments......

But it did bring to mind the current item of interest in the National News......

:-))

The important
Chana Chair-atta
in meaningful talks with
Gehubhai;
the Tomato Party
and
the Onion-Mirchi Coalition
sitting all cut up
to one side,
and the PaniMaa
comes sweeping in
with a single powerful Chamchaa,
bidding everyone to unite
for the Batterji....

Sometimes the
All India Ginger-Garlic Bandhu
test the waters,
watching some other
powerful spicy members
jumping in.

Then its a hot trial
by fire
on a smoking  griddle
as the
ChairAtta moves around
holding all together,
firmly,
not allowing them
to separate.... 

Despite the
breakaway
Dosa-Utthappa-Dhirda faction,
for Madam ChairAtta,
this Tomato Presidency Election
is very important.

Two stiff
square
military attaches,
wait to escort,
slowly marching
in golden cadence.

Yes,
it has been
a non-violent event,
but nevertheless,
has drawn some
seriously red  ketchup....

Idlywood

The latest in a series of "eatable" photographs by my blog friend Magiceye/Deepak Amembal, is this highly mouth watering one of Idlies smothered with MolgaPudi...

Molgapudi, is a mixture made out of roasted and ground udad dal, chana dal, red chillies, mustard seeds, kadhipatta (curry leaves) , oil, hing(asoefatida), and salt.

Found in almost every home, it is often the garnish of choice when idlis are carried in school lunch boxes etc (where wet items may spill and are inconvenient).

There is nothing better than digging into idlies , smothered by a a paste of gingelly oil/ghee and MolgaPudi.....

Just brought to mind some places, where appearances are everything ......

Some arrive
like
A Suchitra Sen,
the soft curve
of her white palloo-covered head
and graceful contours,
on a bone china plate
fashionably aloof
from the
proletarian chutney,
and burning-with-ambition sambaar....

Some arrive,
like Paresh Rawal,
hefty
in a white Dhoti,
amidst masses of plates
containing brethren,
carried by fellows
with pencils stuck behind ears,
every one's orders
stuck in their minds,
and
are dug into
by a hungry audience
itching to dunk
them
into a
flustered sambaar
high on color,
but low on quantity...

But some,
dedicated to
a lunch-box life,
make the best
of the Molga Poodi,
cowering,
convincingly
in a box-corner,
and get pushed around
so much
in school bags
in short recesses
and long kicks,
that they emerge
at lunchtime,
hot, red and spicy,
in lipsmacking glory,
like perhaps
an item girl,
an un-badnam Munni,
trying to sing
a Sheila song,
"My name is Idli,

Idli ki Jawani,

yeh saare yum yum cheezomein,

Mai dekh khadi hoon Raanee...."

Bozoical Flights......

Bozo  ,  Mumbai's only-dog-with-his-own-blog  really gets around....  Not only did he recently take off on a flying quick vacation with his family to Lonavla in the Sahyadri mountains, but he also manged to come back, and blog about it in the blog maintained by his friend Pablo of Bandra . Pablo, of course  has an awesome blog of his own at Pablo's (P)awesome Wisdom  .

Magiceye captured an excited Bozo, out on his first long distance trip by road......thinking about folks who keep flying in and out of his life.....

I've often watched
butterflies
and birds
and wondered
what flying was all about !

And then I learned
that
flying wasn't all about
moving wings
alighting on trees,
zipping around
with eats in your beaks
and flitting around....

It was all about
sitting next
to your childhood friend,
in a car,
zipping by,
seeing
buses,
buildings,
trees,
cars,
flying past,
and then
flying into the clouds
through tunnels
past valleys,
to land
so smoothly,
in a wonderful green place
up in the mountains.

Slow taxiing
through gardens and woods,
with my friend,
occasional take offs
on sighting
thoughtless rabbits
and butterflies
ad then great
delicious fun meals
with the family.
lolling around in the grass.

I dont have wings
that I need to use,
but at my age
I get tired soon.

And while,
am back at home,
taking
a long happy nap,
I let my mind
fly
free and far,
thinking about the time
she will be back again
and we will go again into the hills,
and maybe see
those other
noisy things that fly,
with so many people
but don't have as much fun
as I do.....

Bozoical Good Times

For Bozo, Mumbai's only dog-with-his-own-blog, this has been a  very busy and exciting time.  The young daughter of the house who rescued him  as a child and took him home, was expected home on a visit, and there was a flurry of activities.

Dont know if Bozo's friends across the seas know this, but in India, its a BIG thing when a daughter of the house (mahervasheen) comes to her parental home (maher)  on a rare visit(maherpan), busy as she is in her marital home.   And Bozo, as a member of the family was totally involved.

She has now gone back, and as Bozo says, taken the Mumbai Sun with her.  Sometimes, coming down from such an exciting high , tires you. And his mentor and chronicler, Magiceye, clicked him as he was having a cool nap....

Some days
the Sun shines bright
and contrary to
what the doc says,
I feel so light in my heart.

So many years
since I came home
with the
daughter of the house;
lived,
loved
played
and
sat by their feet
as she and her brother,
fought,studied,
fooled around,
and searched their life paths
for the future.

I've been part
of exam days,
result days,
birthdays,
wedding days,
and
farewell bidaii days.
And shared
so many ups and downs.

But this has been
an exciting time.
So many laughs,
rides to airports,
trips in the mountains,
nuzzling up
and being back-rubbed
as she sat
immersed in memories
with a cup of tea...

Yes,
The Mahervasheen was home,
and
I remembered
all the good old days.

Where I come from,
this is a time
for making
a huge amount of fuss
over her,
and great food
and shopping,
not to forget,
me tagging along
in my new Gold medal.

She has gone back,
and taken
the Sun with her;
I now lie,
sleepy
and a bit fatigued
with all the excitement,
watching the Monsoon
arrive for its own Maherpan.....

Secrets of the Bees

My FB friend and photography enthusiast, Suhas  Baljekar from Camberly in the UK, not only takes wonderful photos, but imparts some great information along with it.

Ever wondered  how the bees do not slip on the slippery petals of flowers, when they are drinking the nectar ?

 Scientists at Cambridge University have shown that it is down to the structure of the petals and the ability of the bee to recognise this structure by touch alone.

Petals of flowers have tiny, cone-shaped loops. The size of these cones varies from flower to flower. The fur on the bees’ legs hooks on to these cones. Scientists also found that the stronger the breeze, the more the bees settle on petals that have larger conical loops.

  As he says "nature invented Velcro before man did ".....

Trust human beings to abuse this  velcro mentality.....

(photo by Suhas Baljekar)

Hundreds and thousands of
innocent citizen petals,
opening up
to a new world,
believing
in a new sun
his efficiency,
his learning
and his wisdom.

And the intimidating looking
minister politician bee
slippery in attitude,
and evil in his eyes
greedily
hooks his marauding legs
on cones
belonging to the public,
knowing
there is always
a hole in the loop.

The idea propagates
with an ill wind,
and more
minister-politicians gather
to mess with the helpless petals
who hope
that one day
the marauders
will be stung badly
by their own.

A new day,
more blooms,
more bees
and more hope......

Birdpal

My blogger and FB friend IHM, is lucky to live in the capital surrounded by greenery and flowers, and is able to get some amazing clicks of folks who come visiting and perch on the trees visible from her balcony.

Of course, these folks also get a great view of her balcony, and sometimes, things get traumatic.

Like they do, for ordinary folks who are in danger of being dishoused, because someone somewhere succeeds in selling the land their house stands on, and they are left watching the Fat Cats grinning after having usurped all the milk from the public bowl.....

The expression on the face on the bird says it all...... 

I don't believe this !

In the last year,
I've moved five trees,
dismantling,
losing
and building
again and again
a simple
tenement
for the family
in the corner of a tree.

Now I hear,
that
this tree too will be chopped
as the land
goes to the builders.

What's more
I can see
the fat cat in the balcony
grinning away,
complacent,
stretching,
whiskers glistening
after imbibing
someone else's milk...

Aiyyo!
I so wish
they had passed
a Birdpal Bill.....

Spiltting of the ends.....

Poetry on this blog is , typically visual poetry, in the sense , that a visual inspires verse. These visuals are most often wonderful photo captures by some extremely talented photobloggers , who very kindly allow flights of my imagination to become verse.

 I recently did a hair care survey subsequent to an email request, and it showed up as a status on FB . A blogger and FB friend Bhavana Nissima Upadhyaya   wondered if all that prospect of beautiful hair inspired a poem. 


I thought many folks make poems on beautiful hair. I had a look at the split ends in my hair , and got inspired....someone must write about them too, na ?

(Visual courtesey Google)

Soft
and smeared
in a placental forest
they arrive,
stylishly black,
and simply plastered
the crowning glory
of a new arrival
being ooh-ed and aah-ed by all.

Royal massages
and they sometimes curl up in comfort,
ringlet style
a soft rising up
acknowledging
a maternal blowing of air.

Years
of running
in teenage wilderness ,
short on patience,
cropped close amidst friends,
sometimes orderly plaited,
sometimes defiantly curled,
someone's bad advice
and
they even change
colors completely
listening to someone streaking by,
and join up.

A difficult life,
devoid of all you had,
everything up front and showy,
but with nothing useful inside;
and then
fights happen,
and they majorly fall,
greying in the effort
and
sometimes even split....

Dont panic.
There is no need
of acrimonius courts.

Just a damage control shampoo will do.....:-)

The Monsoon, b. Him, c Shail-in-the-garden

My FB and blogger friend Shail Mohan, lives in Trivandrum, Kerala (India's Southernmost state), that gets the honor every single year of being the first to welcome the Southwest Monsoon .

This year it was a bit late. Naturally, when it actually made landfall , she was out there in her garden , clicking the reactions of the greenery. You can see  the entire gamut of reactions, here.

This amazing click by Shail, besides being eminently prizeworthy, actually made me think about Someone Powerful and Omnipresent Up There.....

(Photo by Shail Mohan) 

Immense and extravagant
scapularity**
and
with clavicles**
to carry the world,
He sits,
alert and observant,
holding the monsoons
in his palms
miraculously
against gravity,
as only He can....

There has been so much
sin,
killing ,
cheating
destruction,
and disrespect
in His name,
that he wonders
if they deserve
to have a good monsoon.

And then he hears
the clouds clamouring,
unable to bear the weight
of the expectations;
the man in the fields,
sitting on his haunches,
looking up,
unable to look at the drying crop,
and
so many ordinary folks
who trudge miles
to drink the water
from wells He fills up
every year.

Loud thunder,
the wind in a whoosh,
he straightens the arm
to sweep the rain
for a six,
as a lady in Trivandrum,
who's been secretly
clicking him,
rushes out
to take a happy monsoon catch.

The Monsoon, b. Him, c Shail....

:-))


** shoulder muscles

Aishwaristic Attitudes

My FB and blogger friend Varsha Tiwary, is a bureaucrat, poet, photographer, blogger and food-as-medicine researcher, currently posted in the capital. 

She recently posted these wonderful captures of peacocks/peahens , and the exquisite beauty, the confidence, the slight plumpness, and the grace, simply brought to mind, a certain Bollywood actress, now a dedicated new mother, who has kept mostly within the family confines for privacy, and  is being criticised for not being size zero.  But who, to keep commitments, put in some efforts and made the mandatory appearance at the red carpet in Cannes, as a brand ambassador for a cosmetic company, who obviously thinks she is still very beautiful. 

Varsha herself  amazingly also thought of Cannes too, and had made her own wonderful poem , before I penned this one. Do read it here.

(All  photos by Varsha Tiwary)

 






A new life event
and a closing in of all around her,
she stands
thoughtful,
a bit puffed
but resplendent at the fence,
having known
what it is
to be at the top.

 


She stands
on a ledge
her reputation
trailing beauteously behind her
gracefully falling
on the gossipy
dried minds
spread all across the garden floor.

 
 



Practicing the red carpet walk
in amazing turquoise grace,
she bends and bows
to acknowledge
the cheers
as the dry gossipers
disperse around her
on the ground.

 
A final climb
on the podium,
puffed in pride
about her little one,
she stands
in exquisite balance
feet together,
surrounded by
so many greens
pushing each other
and up on their toes,
all wanting
to shake hands with her.

Yes, she has made up her mind.
She will
go to Cannes...

Monsoon joy .......

A blog and FB friend Uma Srini shared this Paul Coelho stuff as a Wall photo on FB.

While this may be attractive for someone who is habituated to gently drizzling rain, fashionably useless matching designer umbrellas, orderly rule obsessed traffic,  smooth roads without pockmarks, and a crowd that doesnt bother to look as a lady , with possibly the lower part of her outfit missing, strikes a ballet pose , as she leaps across a wet road,  jumping across roads in India during the rains , is a different kettle of fish. 

They say "To enjoy the rainbow, first enjoy the rain..."

Learn how .

Kapdaa famine frocks,
DevAnand caps covering the chakshu,
Pointless matching small umbrella,
a hand in the pocket,
(clutching a cell phone)
which would have
otherwise
if held out,
put her in balance.

What's so great about
jumping in pointy shoes
on a road
devoid
of
decent potholes,
overtaking rickshaws,
whizzing bikes
and roaring buses
suddenly changing lanes ?

You want to enjoy rains ?
Have garam chai,
pakodas,
and roasted corn
as the rain
drips through
your plastered hair
into the cup,
making it run over
with monsoon joy......

Cloud Convention Chaos

Kerala, the state at the southernmost tip of India , is like the Gateway for the Southwestern Monsoon. Every year, the first monsoon rainfall in Kerala, is enthusiastically reported , and the advancing monsoon watched avidly, by farmers, meteorologists, and TV weathermen. This year , the monsoon is keeping folks in suspense. Clouds gather, mobilize to work together, but just like our legislative representatives, there is much coming together, thundering, and nothing happens, as protests, arguments and fights take over.

 My friend Shail Mohan, who clicked this in Trivandrum says :

 The hopes of Trivandrumites were dashed to the ground as no unanimous consensus could be reached in yesterday's Great Cloud Convention held over their skies as to when exactly rain-work should start. Rebel cloud groups staged walkouts on not being allowed to be the first to give of their bounty. Minor cloud groups could be seen dispersing in disarray as confusion prevailed over the Weatherman's report and the Cloud leader's orders. Meanwhile the hapless Trivandrumites were left to boil in their own juices as clouds big and small sulked in the different parts of their sky."

And then, one wondered, about the Madam Speaker, on the podium, with her marshalls, trying to keep a semblance of order, and finally adjourning the proceedings. 

(photo by Shail Mohan)

And the lady
on the podium
with curly hair
and a smile,
not to mention
a camera in hand,
with two special plantain trees
and a lady dog
standing guard in full uniform behind her,
said ,
"Please, please,
calm down,
let the cloud
have its say,
that is its atmospheric right...."

But the members didn't listen.
They just thundered
and walked away
with the opposition winds
blowing behind them.

As of now,
the sky stands adjourned
till further notice...

Bozoical Olympics

Bozo, Mumbai's only dog-with-his-own-blog is thrilled to bits. These are reunion times, and Bozo is spending some much needed time with the young one who was responsible for  making him a member of the Magiceye family, many years ago.    

Both Bozo , and the young one, are no longer children, and have gone their own ways in life. But in this year of the London Olympics, Bozo appreciates his training and initiation into the sporty things in life, and at the moment isn't saying anything, as he lies near the sofa , getting his back rubbed, wearing his latest acquisition ; his own Gold medal!

The excitement is too much; he keeps shaking his head, despite Magiceye's request to be still,  and so this time, we simply get to see the new medal;  we can always picture in our minds, the expression on his face !

My life
has been like
the Olympics
soon to happen in London.

Soon after birth,
it was
an intense training
in
obstacle races,
where some obstacles
threw stones,
others growled,
and some came after you
with a vehicle.

But I was spotted,
and taken
to home and heart
by my young coach.

A great training
in daily behaviour and practice,
restrained imbibing,
and keeping
the body
and environs clean.

The young coach
has many responsibilities now
and is not always
there
or
even so young anymore.

But I continue to follow
what I have learned.

My sport has always been the hurdles.
And jumps.

So many hurdles,
handling
kids who threw stones,
keeping my temper in check,
controlling myself
from chewing footwear,
and learning to eat
without lugging
the food
all over the place;

Long jumps
across several stairs
on seeing the
young ones
return home,
and sprinting after the car
in the evening
as Deepak drove home 
from work.

High jumps
trying to
pat shoulders
of the young one,
now grown taller then me,
returning home
after many days

A lifetime of this,
and like
our Cricket greats,
I too went for a
medical check up.
To Parel ,
and not to Australia
or UK.

No surgeries,
but they've advised rest.

My lifetime coach
is back
from London
on a visit,
and this time
perhaps in honor
of the Olympics 2012,
I have been given
the greatest gift
any sportsdog
can get....

A personalized Olympic Gold medal
now hanging
proudly round my neck.

Woof !

A Hibiscus Aiiyyo moment ......

My blogger and FB friend Shail Mohan, has recently published a book of poetry, titled "Love, Loss and Acceptance". She writes several blogs, including a prose, poetry , photoblog and one  dedicated to the newest member of the family, Ms Luci.

Many of her photos celebrate the verdant greenery that she lives amidst, and it is not unusual for neighbors trees to be inadvertently showering petals and fruits into her garden.

Sometimes though, some flowers clearly act nosey.   Shail recently flew off on a vacation to a neighboring country, causing great interest in the hibiscus community at the neighbors.  They didn't realize she was back, and were surprised when they finally managed to peer over the wall....

(photo by Shail Mohan)

She clicks,
she writes,
she travels,
she plays with Luci,
she cooks
and she eats.

Then she wrote
a book of poetry
called “Love, loss and acceptance”
and
flew off
to foreign lands.

The neighbors,
agog,
simply unrestrained,
blooming in curiosity,
on their toes,
trying to peer
over the wall,
in the face of
tough warnings from
the faithful plantain tree
and a growling Luci.

Only to see her
aiming with her camera,
as they bashfully look down.

Her love,
their loss,
and
acceptance of a great click
by all her friends…

The sweet Life.....

Blogger and FB friend from Bengaluru, Monika Manchanda, is an IT professional turned food blogger, food-business-entrepreneur and educator. Besides retailing her amazing bakery concoctions at the Chaipaty Teafe chain of eateries, she is busy keeping up with the orders she gets from all the hungry IT companies. She now conducts bakery classes on weekends which are much in demand, and has recently conducted fun baking classes for kids.

She has, been featured in the press , nationally and locally, and this picture was possibly clicked as part of one such feature for the Bangalore Mirror.

It's tough,
managing so many
little ones
with so many varying attitudes.

Little ones
in their individual seats,
occasionally clutching
choco chips
or strawberries
or walnuts,
faces smeared with
a rich creamy sweet smile

Some
flaky rolls and buns
occupying the lower seats,
all wrapped up in themselves,
looking
in exasperation
at the excited cupcakes.

Then some elder ones,
learning
to live in discipline,
with different rules
mixed sometimes,
with forests of cream,
a rain of chocolate scrapings,
redolent with dry fruits,
enjoying their days
in the wetness
of the
sweet pineapple pieces,
wrapped all around
in a chocolatey-white
batik design;
and
a winsome cherry on top,
and two hands held out
to the heavens,
celebrating
an amazing baking Day !

.....
.......And a little voice,
watching from the sidelines,
eyes alight,
twinkling in great delight
pipes up and says,
"If Uncle has finished photos ,
can we cut the cake now
and eat ?"

Ragpickers of the Mind

A sight,  routinely seen during the course of the day in any big city, more so in Mumbai, where some one's trash could be someone else's find of the day.  Trudging around, collecting the city's discards, lugging stuff around to finally dump it all together; not before appraising the contents.

She does this, the cleaning of other people's dirt, day after day, with no protective gear for herself;  probably just a protective thought in her mind, for her kids, for whom she must work at this job...

Typically, those creating dirt like this, are also good at creating dirt within themselves, physically and mentally.  

My friend Magiceye  captured this and posted it as part of the 365project.org 

Rampant
lipidicious waste,
blobs of polymers,
discarding of excesses
of everything in life
except
evil avaricious thoughts,
and
she does her rounds,
daily,
augmenting it all
bag by 10 micron bag
on her
tolerant shoulders,
so our
paths in life
remain unclogged and clean.

And we,
who have so much,
perhaps too much,
indulge senselessly
in those avaricious thoughts,
to thoughtlessly
greedily imbibe
everything
that looks and tastes good,
in life,
without looking inside.

Lipidy wall-scratchy blobs,
wildly roaming
in the body ,
sometimes clogging it all,
and
then rampant
bloody fights
and
expensive angio-flights
in an  ambitious mind.

Pharmaceutical Ragpickers
may be found
at a huge cost
for the body,
but
does anyone know
about
Ragpickers
for the Troubled and Misguided Mind?