Hail the Knight !

Bozo Amembal , Mumbai's premier blogger dog just got awarded !

No it was not something he can display on his blog, or something for which he had to appear in front of someone in his finery as some band played. Nor was it a gift certificate to Flipkart etc for writing something in praise of something.

 This was a public award, which actually came via the postman, who must have proudly announced his name while ringing the bell. No kneeling in front of anyone, shoulder taps with swords, and some one saying "You may rise!" . 

(In fact Bozo is known to have leaped upto the postman's shoulders, instead  of a sedate "rising")

Bozo is now Sir Bozo Amembal, as you can see.  And will be wearing his special award on all special occasions in the family.

His thoughts on this momentous occasion...

A lifetime
of companionship,
a lifetime of loyalty,
a lifetime of dedication,
as he grows
from a
mischievous puppy
into a responsible sensible adult.

He understands
but cannot speak,
and his actions speak
more than words.

A quiet appreciation
of all the good
that he is blessed with in life.

Like the Hapoos Mango said,
it is all about
being the good child of the tree,
partaking of
the goodness of the Earth,
and then giving it back
to all those around you
season after season,
year after year.

Awards come
automatically
to those
who are seen to be
the Hapoos
in lives of others.

Those who get wax polished,
preen and
show off their labels,
like imported apples,
all take and no give,
end up 'applying'
for awards....

Just saying....

A Grand Summer Debut .....

After Bozo, Mumbai's premier blogger dog, it's time for the feline folks. This time from the well known Bitey clan of Minneapolis, MN. USA.   Introducing Liza  Bean Bitey, of Pearl Mansions, Minneapolis. 

You might think she has just spotted a bird, or a butterfly or a pesky insect  and is mobilizing to pounce. 

No. She has other plans. Bigger ones.

And like most ladies running for office,  she is planning to go with her entire  3 part name : Liza Bean Bitey. (This is her name at birth; she isn't married to anyone in public life)

Clicked by Brian Vork-Zambory.
 

Liza Bean
of the Minneapolis Biteys..

She has suspected so
for some days,
but must confirm.

Pearl
with her laptop,
enjoying
an approaching summer day
in the lawn
that waits
for a summer facial,
and Liza watches,
eyes widening
as her duplicate
appears on the screen
after a Pearly tap
on the human keyboard.

The same eyes,
the same whiskers,
the same alert ears
to news
about herself,
the same coverage
by the Greens
and
the same amazing ability
to keep things
about herself
hidden
from the inquisitive
buzzing and flapping types
with whom she has
tangled violently before.

The one in the laptop
can stay there.

But Liza Bean
slurps some milk,
chews a fish,
and
licking her whiskers clean,
thrilled
at her own qualification,
declares herself
a candidate
in the forthcoming election...

The Pearly Feet Lament

It is currently fashionable to go on vacation and take a photograph of your feet.  A friend in India cycled to the banks of the Narmada, lay in the grass and clicked his well shod feet, and posted on FB.  He inspired a poem .

Now my friend Pearl from Minneapolis did NOT go on a vacation , but still posted a photograph of her feet  , possibly ensconced in fluffy slip-ons ,  as she sat admiring the flowers and red car. (Maybe she was just reading the paper).

I am partial to bare feet, and do not enjoy wearing footwear in the house.  In empathy which all such feet which are constantly covered up , I present ,  a cry from the heart by the feet,  the Pearly Feet Lament.

The Pearly Feet Lament

You drive,
you run,
you walk,
you climb,
you slide,
you kick,
you twist,
and I am always
covered
with insecurities and doubts
even in water
where I am smothered
uncovered.

Then you sit back
at a window
with lovely flowers
trees, lawns,
and a red car,
and doesn't it strike you,
that the shoes hurt,
they block my vision,
and that I need to see it all too ?

Photos are taken
of those on vacation.
And not me.

All those pedicures,
and nothing to show the world.

Sigh.

 

Born of the Heart.

Nature often conspires to show us something useful. If we only noticed.

My friend Vidya Vartak Joshi, posted this amazing photograph,  of a typical summer scene in the garden.  Greens in profusion,  leaves intermingling, some heat affected dehydrated types, some prosperous hefty loaded  jack fruit types, and amongst all this,  an amazing mango sapling making a new life  in a coconut palm trunk. 

So many lessons there for us opinionated types.   Mothers are mothers. Age and blood has nothing to do with it. When the wish to do good and help exists, Nature and the Universe , conspires to make it work.  

Hail the monsoons ! 

Ripened in place,
poked, scratched, and bitten
by simians and birds,
one day she
gets deliverance
as she falls free,
brushing
leaves, branches
and occasional concrete
to rest
in a lonely geriatric
senior citizen coconut trunk,
bereft of its palms.

In a world of greens,
where childless trees,
occasional ornamental types,
some leaning on others,
some dehydrated,
some in blossoms,
some about to give birth,
and some
prosperous ones,
carrying the burden
of their large amorphous green ,
as yet labelled mama's boys
clutching on,
they let the fallen lady be,
letting her
pick up her own life,
her own domicile,
and welcome her
whole heartedly
to their world in the Sun.

We,
of the rules, labels,
morals and reservations,
need to learn.

The Evolution of Smart Chairs

In this era of Smart phones, Smart cities, Smart cars, Smart televisions, Smart watches,  and so on, it should not surprise anyone to know that even rickety chairs are now turning Smart.

This photographed clicked by my friend Vivek Patwardhan on one of his trips in the hinterland of Maharashtra.  So many political flags claiming a position on the chair. 

In a democratic setup , everyone has a right to turn Smart.  Including the DNA of the Chair.

I wonder if we will ever get Smart roads ....    

 

पूर्वी खूप खटाटोपाने , लबाड प्रयात्नांने , गोड बोलून , खोटं बोलून, बेकार आश्वासने देउन, खुर्ची मिळाली कि लोकाना वाटे कि आपण आयुष्यात वर आलो , आता खुर्चीला सुद्धा पत्ता लागला आहे . झेंडे लागले, कि ती आपली आपण वर येउन बस्ते.

It is a truth earlier universally acknowledged, that immense unethical efforts, tricky statements, lying, sweet talking and giving false assurances, usually leads to the occupation of Chairs of High Authority, much aspired for. Now even the Chairs have learned. The minute the flags are fixed, the Chair simply elevates by itself.

Canter Tales....

The contrast is so in-your-face. Today's digitised, mechanical 3-D printing, and yet again, today's careful, unmemorized, but lovingly remembered, and moulded craft, that harks back to a time, when things were so personalized.

My friend Vidya Vartak Joshi, posted this amazing sculpting of a horse , which she obtained at the Devrai Art Village in Panchgani , in the mountains near Wai.  Devrai Art Village is an NGO that works with Adivasi craftsmen evolving new products suited to contemporary tastes using traditional means.

The background of the photograph,  simply spoke volumes.

And the words got off to a trot.....
 

Those
crafted with
digits of knowledge,
printed for posterity
in books
perused while coffeeing ,
speed, accelerate, fly
and stop,
kowtowing only to numbers.

Some
crafted with
emotional memories,
careful encompassing
by artistic hands,
a nurturing and moulding
of images
of their companions
in the business of life,
happily canter through your mind,
bringing a smile,
as you wait
for a tail to swish,
a look,
and a neigh
saying,
"Remember the childhood rides ?....."

The "Ananta"nic....

A beautiful capture of the stages of birth of the Ananta flower.  So great is the care and environment, that  it is not important whether this is a fancy garden .  It is actually ,  Deepak Amembal's  Mumbai balcony.

Just now posted by my friend Deepak Amembal.  And the next photo, will be that of two flowers blooming together , not believing their luck ; that of being born in his balcony with wonderful care and a great photographic chronicling of the event.

Small events . But with a HUGE message .
 

A great conception,
nurturing and caring,
along with so many others;
a willing sharing of
the manna from the earth,
with others
in need,
wrapped in the "anant"onic sac
amidst tough mentor stems,
and sheltering leaves.

To each
it's special season
of birth and growth,
with the same excellent care.

To grow
and dedicate a life
celebrating a God,
or perhaps
to adorning the queen's hair.

A slow aging and withering
and a passing away
leaving behind
Nirmalyam,
the lovely fragrance
of a life well lived.

And nowhere,
did anyone ask
or care
or react,
on whether it was
a male
or a female flower.

It is only
in the world of bipeds
that it is dangerous
to be born,
and sometimes even before,
be declared,
female....

Historic tussles ....

Like The BJP and Congress, there is an old ongoing tussle going on in Bandra between Bozo, Mumbai's blogger dog, and Desert Storme, a metallic fashionista.

 The bone of contention is my friend Deepak Amembal, who actually lives with Bozo, but sometimes takes off in an unexplained manner for days together with the Desert Storme.

Clearly the beginnings of a great Bollywood  movie.  Old enmities, biker group villains in black outfits,  exhaust smoke, roars,  barks, and leaps . I mean , the fashionista always travels with mirrors.... 

More so, in the light of  of the Desert Storme's recent efforts at getting a wash and makeover.  At some fancy place in Ghatkopar. 

Bozo simply does not approve.  And he knows that those who get kicks out of sipping petrol will never understand.  There is  something to be said for being your age. 

I mean, can there be anything better, than being given a great bath by a family member, followed by a rub, and some delicious dosa later  ? 

We fellows
take all our spots
hurts, injuries,
doubts,
and changes of color
in our stride,
because
we observe
life around us
and that's how life is.

What can I say
about a self obsessed
Desert Storme,
that prefers to spend time
amidst Hondas
and I20s, I10s, Dzires
and Swifts,
gets all carried away
by filmy looks,
and then
insists
on a Fair and Lovely transformation
in Ghatkopar ?

ओझे

Sometimes, a picture suddenly brings to mind an old song.  This was an amazing click by my friend Prasad Paranjape on his recent trip to the Nagzira Tiger Preserve.

And it immediately brought to mind a famous song from the marathi movie  "Saamna", with  गीतकार : आरती प्रभू, गायक : रविंद्र साठे, संगीतकार : भास्कर चंदावरकर, चित्रपट : सामना - / Lyricist : Aarti Prabhu, Singer : Ravindra Sathe, Music Director : Bhaskar Chandawarkar.

 A different take on what they meant in the movie .  But maybe equally applicable here....

Unfortunately these songs cannot be translated into English.  They possibly risk losing their heart.

कुणाच्या खांदयावर कुणाचे ओझे...

कशासाठी उभे राहावे चवड्यांवर रेलून
राजे लोक फळे आमची बळकावणार झेलून
नियम फक्त आमच्यासाठीच असतात अजून
आणि अति सावधानतेत आयुष जाते सारे

कुणाच्या खांदयावर कुणाचे ओझे....

कुणाच्या लालची दृष्टी पुढे मन जाते विजून
ह्या वनात्न आम्ही आता कुठे जाउ पळून ,
मुलांना सांगतो "जपून जगा " किती हो घोकून
आपल्या हातात काही नाही, दुसरेच होती राजे

कुणाच्या खांदयावर कुणाचे ओझे...

संपून जाते सारे , उत्तरे सुचत नाहीत साधी ,
आयुष्यात धावत धावत कधीतरी समाधी ,
किंवा शक्तिशालींच्या समोर बळी पडू आधी
नदीकाठी विजयोत्सव साजरा करतील राजे

कुणाच्या खांदयावर कुणाचे ओझे...

Brun Kaurava in the time of Breakfast ....

There are food photos that are beautiful works of art, and then there are those , which make you ravenously hungry the minute you look at them.

This one , of the dramatic encounter between the Omelette and the Brun Pav, falls clearly in the latter category, clicked as it is , by my friend Deepak Amembal, just before having breakfast.

Gifted golden hearted folks , with a great taste in life, and being overpowered , by the smooth operator, Brun Pav.

Why do I think this is a reflection on our society......

कधी कधी आयुष्यात आपल्या हातात काहीच नसतं . अचानक एखाद्या वाडग्यात पडणं , जरा कुठे आसपास चा पत्ता लाग्तोय तेवड्यात कन्द्याञ्चा तांडा हसून हसून अगदी तुकडे होउन त्यांना येउन मिळ्ण , "मी पण , मी पण " म्हणत हट्टी हिरव्या मिरच्यांची , "अग जरा दमाने घे"" आस म्हण्णार्या कोथिम्बिरी समवेत ह्या सगळ्यात उडी , आणि मग देवाचे नाव घेत, काटे चम्छ्याना चुकवत चुकवत एका गरम तव्यावर धावत पडणं , आणि चटके सोसत सोसत , आपल्या आयुष्याचा ह्या वळणावर एका प्लेटीत येउन नशिबाला सामोरं जाणं . आणि एक विचारवंत बृन मस्का , थोडा लोण्याचा थर लेउन जवळ येउन म्हणतो, "खरच ! हेच निष्काम कर्म . कुठल्याही फळा ची आशा न ठेवता आपले कर्म करत रहाणे …. वाह ! " पण आजच जग कसं आहे , बघा ! कि हाच बृन मस्का अधाश्या सारखा त्या ओम्लेट वर तुटून पडतो । आणि आपण कौरव असल्याचे सिद्ध करतो …

Sometimes, you cannot control what life has in store for you. Falling, all broken, into a bowl, and a shower of hee haw onions, all cut up and rushing to meet them. Immature selfish Mirchis going "Me too, me too" despite the Coriander leaves advising caution, only to later fall in themselves. A dodging of angry forks, a beating and a final desperate escape on to a hot griddle, all the time wondering, between hot burning touches, what future life now has in store. And a prosperous philosophical Lord Brun Maska, slathered with the butters of Life, approaches close, admires it all and says, "Wah ! Lady Omeletta, This is , Nishkaam Karma ! Doing your stuff without hoping for the fruits of your labor...." But she doesn't realize the ways of this world. The aforementioned Lord Brun Maska, all in pieces at the sight of Lady Omeletta , greedily devours it all. In the Plates of Kurukshetra despite the teachings of the Geeta, someone has to be the Kaurava na ?....."