Needling the Pain .....

Unsolved inexplicable pain, needs innovative solutions. Particularly, when it is attributable to misbehaving nerves.

Like burning feet, when you lie horizontal. Burning similar to what would happen if you stood in a puree of 1 kilo of very hot green chillies.  It is a bit of an spine engineering problem,  skewed by some supersensitivities developed by  easily influenced nerves.

The body conducts a flight or fight response  thing when stressed. The Sympathetic Nervous system leads that, using a hormone thing called Epinephrine. Just in case it goes overboard, our body has a Parasympathetic Nervous system , that tries to cool things down, by countering it with a hormone Norepinephrine. 

Similar to what happens in the real world, sensitivities change over a period of time, the bodily environment bears the brunt, and results , sometimes in the aforesaid burning feet.  The muscles are the ones that shorten, stiffen and you suffer.

Dry needling is a procedure (different from acupuncture) that pokes and nudges your muscles deeply, into remembering and going back to their golden age. Clearly rebuked, the nerves behave, and pain reduces.  After several sittings.

Why am I suddenly telling this ?  Because I might do this.  Due to the burning feet.

I have researched this. Seen some things that have a bearing on stuff happening in the real world.

And a poem happened.

 Clearly, the doctor  will not be poking near the neck.  But elsewhere.

I only hope I can smile like this lady when they start to poke. (In medical terms, IMS or Intra Muscular Stimulation)......

Fight or flight, under the auspices of the Hypothalamus, Pituitary, Amygdalic Sympathetic High Command, *** actions as per the rules of the Epinephrine Party, and the neuronic unrest prevails, trying to get the troubled, persecuted and pinched nerves to shout and burn. In a democratic body, the Parasympathetic Opposition, does its own campaign sending in folks of the Norepinephrine cadre to cool things down. Life is no longer that simple. In the old days, Sympathetic and Parasympathetic behaved with some restraint, acknowledging each others capabilities.

Today, the Sympathetic Party mired in the politics of ATP amidst the Muscle constituency, aided by two faced fibres and twisted ligaments, has corrupted the Parasympathetic folks. Some just put on a show of opposing, but are secretly supportive of the Epinephrine Doctrine. The poor public muscles and far away joints burn in a poverty of resources, and get stiff and short in anger. This unholy alliance of political convenience must break, a la Maharashtra Politics; each party, now on its own, managing its own resources punishing the wayward, rewarding the workers.

Like Lord Shri Krishna promised, to appear on earth, when the Yadawi wars would go out of hand, we await the fine touch of needles, piercing the muscle hearts, to stimulate them, needling them, into thinking bravely once again. Clearly,  as in politics, the HPA HighCommand remains untouched, unwilling to learn a lesson. It is the hoipolloi Sciatic dadas Sural bens and Plantar Singhs**** that bear the brunt.

***Hypothalamus, Pituitary,Amygdala ~ Command centres in the brain that decide. The Body Capital, with the High Command.

**** Sciatic , Sural and Plantar ~ Nerves of the lower limbs and feet .

Bending Unbending मोडेन पण वाकणार नाही .....

There was a time when phones had to do with communication, quality of hearing, performance machine life expectancy , and so on.

Today, phones have become thinner, more expensive, more conscious of looks and image in the public, and fairly dispensable. Some even bend when required, if sufficient pressure is applied.

The Consumer Reports Magazine even performed tests to ascertain the pliability of phones under pressure, and presented a chart.

Kind of took me back to the days of the old, sturdy, black, rotary phone of my childhood.  When both phones and folks, tended to have the guts to remain unbending under all kinds of pressure.

Just saying ...
 

There is in life

a real optimum value

for everything.

Like in politics,

those that cost

a lot to us,

are the first to bend.

The old ones

were

tough,

rotary,

and always came back

to the place they started from

when the numbers changed.

They don't make them

like that anymore.

Stars in her head .....

A greatly wooded academic campus, and a greatly talented photographer cum doctoral student make a great combination.  Silk cotton trees shedding this light cotton like fluff are found across the campus.

Many years ago, I stayed next to one such big tree, and collected enough fluff to make a soft pillow.

Clearly, this doctoral student has some other ideas.

The neurons of IITB,
slogging away
amidst potholed tumtum ** axons
and synapses
graced by bovine visits,
fire away in delight
as the various stages
give way
to the final defence;
 
Not of treks undertaken,
or butterfly clicks,
or flowers in bloom,
or yummy Gulmohurian* hogs,
but
serious wordplay
thoughtplay,
and analysis
all scribbled within four walls.

Streaming out
through the lush hair
the highly individualistic neurons,
tired after semesters of slog
keep their distance
from each other,
and shine.

"Oye",
said one neuron to the other,
"Don't get all mixed up,
the hair will look grey.....
Instead,
fire and shine
like the stars she sees
when she lies like this."

**tumtum ~   campus buses  
*Gulmohur ~  Campus cafetaria named after the preponderance of Gulmohur trees on campus.

Evolution of the Bird Brained....

My friend Shail Mohan, shot this politically significant photo, in the  Vedanthangal Bird Sanctuary in Kancheepuram,  in Tamil Nadu , in March 2014.

Just that, maybe then, she didn't know how politically significant it was, given that national elections were soon announced.

Common Spoonbills,  looking at  "chamchas **" (in the Indian political context) from  new heights as it were.  The spoon type beak; no comments required.  The very alert security conscious black cormorants, on the lookout.

And the Grey Heron political acolyte, suitably subservient , a few steps below, preferring to be ambiguously grey, instead of Fair & Lovely.....

Sometimes
it is a Spoonbill
and sometimes
it's a chamchaa.

The former,
loquacious
on top of the world,
asking "Who's the Boss ?",
dipping the spoon
scooping amidst the bills,
his black cormorant guard cats
on the lookout,
their backs to him;

And the latter Heron,
noncommittally Grey
to avoid being slotted,
answering
"Boss, you are !",
just as a chamcha should,
few branches down the tree.

Today, the birds are fit for politics.



**Chamcha ~ hindi word for "spoon" ,  used for those political disciple, acolyte types

Flying Compulsions....

My friend ,  Shail Mohan of Thiruvananthapuram, Kerala (India' southern most state ), has blogs dedicated to a canine quadruped, winged creatures , and  botanical greens in and around the lush area where she lives.  She is also a repository for information on Birds of Kerala, and posted this photograph , of what she calls a "displeased" Cattle Egret,  clearly frowning and feeling upset about something.

Cattle Egrets are so called because they follow cows/cattle  around,  sitting on them and picking and making a meal of the ticks and insects on their skin.   And yes, they flit across cattle, trying to find something to sustain themselves.

Maybe be just a coincidence, but it reminded me of something....     :-)

Lumbering Leaders
of the Bovine type,
stepping
through a crowded electorate,
chewing up the green|
for concrete,
snorting with power,
eyeing new hangers-on
and ignoring
old ones.

And the Egret Partywalla,
displeased,
rethinks
seeing stuff
from a birds eye view.

With elections
around the corner,
sniffing power equations
and changes,
it is time to
fly off,
and look elsewhere
for
new backs to scratch ?

Flowering minds....

My friend Priyadarshan Kale , is an expert on all the "roads less travelled " in Western Maharashtra.

He recently travelled north of Mumbai in the Suryamal area , and came across these little girls, busy collecting wildflowers, and making "venis" or floral traditional hair adornments by weaving them together.   When curiosity led him to go closer and photograph their efforts, they spontaneously offered the finished item to his wife.

He posted some amazing photographs of this here.    Under  रानफुले आणि वेणी.


I've actually done this more than 50 years ago in my childhood, when there were more greens and less concrete in our lives.  And we didn't have to drive out of cities to see wildflowers.

I actually wondered what the wildflowers were thinking.  And the answers came in Marathi .  

Watch the slideshow.....

"कुणा एका सूर्यमाळा वरची फुलं , 

ऐटीत डोलत , 

पावसाळी हिरवाईत तुडुंब बुडून 

एकमेकात गुंतून कानगोष्टी करत …। 

बघता बघता 

एका माळकन्येचा फुललेला चेहरा न्याहाळत 

एकमेकात अजूनच गुंततात . 

तिच्या कलाकारी बोटांच्या जादूत 

न्हावून निघतात, 

आणि कुणा एका राजाभाऊना 

सामोरे जाउन म्हणतात , 

"आज कालची बोटं , 

बटणे दाबतात, 

क्लिक करतात , 

वेळी प्रसंगी निर्देष करून अरोप करतात, 

संगणकावर बाराखडी गातात; 

पण जेव्हा आमच्यात गुंतून, 

आम्हाला गुंतवून केशाभूषणे बनतात 

आणि 

कुणा एका काकींच्या चेहऱ्यावरचा आनंद दिसतो न, 

तेव्हा वाटतं , 

आपण किती भाग्यवान, 

आपल्याला माळकन्येचा हात लागला …."

The Sasambara Sacrifice .....

The proletarian leaves of the "ovaa" or ajwain plant, take on a very exciting hue when called by exotic names like Sasambara or Coleus Aromatica.  This plant proliferates even if you stick a small branch into the soil, and very often, house balconies in  Mumbai,  are adorned with these plants, with abundant leaves.

Traditionally, the leaves are plucked, washed and coated with spiced Besan batter and fried in hot oil to make very tasty Bhajiyas.  Every one has their own recipe, and my friend Amit Amembal,  posted this visual of  some,  made with a replacement of besan by maida and cornflour.

Kind of felt like the modern generation of owaa bhajiyas had taken over.   Ignoring the old traditional besan types and all.

And then I wondered how it must feel to be an Owaa/ajwain leaf.  

 

The sasambara ladies,
laden in soft green,
and slightly heavy sarees
and used to a
fragrant crowded house
with so many of their friends.

Modern life means
you go out into the world
and hob nob
and move up.

But their life
is all about
an abhyanga snaan ,
followed by
meeting Conservative Besan types
and Modern Maidas,
all wearing Spicy deos,
and running off
with them,
into what can only be called hot oil.

Some show a bit
of their original green spirit,
some allow a complete
overshadowing of themselves.

A short fragrant life,
never about
hobnobbing and going up ,
but about bringing smiles,
after ensuring
that the generations after them
continue to follow
a life of harakiri
for the benefit of greedy bipeds.

Grafting the Mind

Trees, may be considered non human. It still doesn't stop them from displaying some amazing traits, as they grow, and go through their lives.

Particularly when you think of things like grafting.  There is a parental Root stock, tree/plant and a Scion is grafted on to it, so as to become a part of the family.  The Root stock   and the Scion, with the help of simple binding technology, accept each other, mingle  and grow, mostly improving the quality of their lives and fruit.

We narrow minded, selfish, humans, set great store  by the original flesh and blood. There are rules for Scions and or Scionesses.  And their social grafting.  And despite being the proud owners of evolved cerebral cortexes, analytic minds and emotions,  we haven't learnt the art of accepting  gracefully, something given to us to nurture.  Even while commenting on Scions grafted on to others.

Today, we destroy trees.  No wonder, sick minds proliferate in such a world.

Just read the paper....

The Root Stock Tree

Memories of a secure childhood,
a bashful pubertal 

shooting up,
An adult dense leafy flowering,
Facing storms
and Floods of emotion,
And then,
a responsible calming down,
learning to offer your best,
Shelter, Fruit, and useful Limbs....

Yet,
something missing,
and a Scion graft happens,
Binding tissues and minds,
A fortunate mingling and acceptance,
Another childhood,
Another growing,
Another learning,
A rich fruiting,
A sense of belonging....

The
unfortunately evolved Homo Sapiens,
Narcissistic
in their
presumed individual purity,
learn NOTHING from the trees.

Drunk on their own cerebral black,
Hurtful in the extreme,
unable to nurture 

a new scion or scioness,
seeking a home.

Clearly,

A Sign of the Times.

Trees uprooted and killed,
Dwindling greens
torrential showers,
boiling tempers.

Senseless selfish Homo Sapiens
Blind in their mind
Deaf to a call,
Trampling good sense
to pieces
creating a brain
full of trash....

We simply learn nothing from the trees, do we ?