एका दुधाची गोष्ट.....

आज माझी फेसबुकची मैत्रीण निहारिका भिडे  , हिने  ताज्या लोण्याच्या आठवणी अचानक जाग्या केल्या.  लहानपणी बघितलेल्या आणि काही घरांमध्ये अजूनही राज्य करणाऱ्या  रव्या ,  आणि दही घुसळून बनणारे  अदमोरे ताक ,  अचानक तरंगणारे ताजे लोणी ,  त्या लोण्याचे सन्सनाटी  आयुष्य ,

आणि मग अग्निपरीक्शेने प्रगट होणारे   तूप . 

एकिकडे तूप साखर लोणी आणि पोळी /ब्रेड ,  भाकऱ्या /लोणी , चकल्या/लोणी , आणि मग अचानक त्याच्या दुग्ध भूतकाळ  सामोरा येतो … 

एक विचारवंत दही ,
मन घट्ट करून
आपल्या कौटुंबिक इतिहासाचे मनन
करण्यात मग्न.

एका वासराच्या हिश्यात्ला भाग ,
चुलीवर ढवळून निघालेल्या उकळ्या ,
कधी स्वस्थ कोमट आराम ,
मग काही स्वप्नांना लागलेले विरजण ,

कर्मभोग कधी सुटत नाहीत ,
आणि मग एका रवी ने केलेलं मंथन ,
मधूनच हळुवार ताकात फिरणे ,
कधीतरी बर्फाचे पाणी थोडे घालणे ,
मग खेळकर बाळ लोण्याना एकत्रित करणे,
झेलणे ,
आणि समजावून ,
अलगद पाण्याच्या वाडग्यात ठेवणे .

एकिकडे ताक
आपले प्रारब्ध लक्षात घेउन,
कधी गोड,
कधी आले-मिरची युक्त ,
आणि कधी हिंगाष्टक घालून
अत्म्समर्पणास तयार .


काही लोण्याची जन्मवेळ शुभ ,
आणि ते
कौतुकाने साखरेबरोबर ,
मधाबरोबर,
अगदी भाकरी आणि चकली बरोबर सुधा
उर्वरीत आयुश्य बेततात

पूर्व कर्माची फळे
आयुष्भर भोगावीच लागतात .
वयात आलेल्या लोण्याची
मग कढई परीक्षा ;
एका काळ्या लोखंडी रागावलेल्या कढईत
असहाय्यपणे पडणे ,
कुणा एका हळदीच्या पानाने
"आगोबाई, जरा उशीरच झाला हो …"
म्हणत समजवायला येणे ,
आणि मग हळु हळू
सर्व स्वप्नांचा एक बेरी चुराडा होऊन
एका सुबक सोनेरी साजूक तुपाच्या
तळाशी गोळा होणे .

ओट्यावर मनन करण्यार्या दह्याला कळून चुकतं ,
की वासराच्या हिश्याचे घेतल्याने ,
धडा म्हणून,
व आपल्याला दुसर्याचे मन कळावे ,
म्हणून
दुधाला इतक्या क्रीयाकार्मातून जावे लाग्ते.

आपल्या नशिबात असते
ते कधी चुकत नाही ,
आणि आपण इतके विद्वान
की आपण त्यातून काही शिकत नाही .      

Matching, matching !

If you think idlis and beauty have nothing to do with each other , think again.

If you think idlis are just about beauty and have no social conscience , think again .

My friend Deepak Amembal, simply restrained himself from immediately digging into this amazing breakfast, till he clicked this photo and posted it.

I just got full seeing it, had my cup of chai, and wrote this poem.  :-)


 

Being beautiful
is not about being
Fair and lovely,
or stubbornly puffing up
in fermented anger
in a steaming world.

It is about
acknowledging,
that the surrounding saambaar
with its participating
colorful veggies
golden onions,
conservative stiff kadhipattas,
and hidden tangy imli
makes you and your life
even more beautiful.

And humoring
a young chutney,
that thinks
it adds to the beauty,
and insists on joining up,
saying,
"Matching , matching ?"

Baba Endorphin goes to school .....

Again and again , something in our anatomy , that reflects society.

This is a visual , supposed to be of a myosin protein molecule dragging a big ball of endorphins along an active filament into the inner part of the brain's parietal cortex. (video courtesy Youtube)

Endorphins produces feelings of happiness on being sensed by the brain.

You could even possibly set this to music .

Or you could imagine a Mom, treading carefully along a narrow path, leading a playful chubby son to school .

Try ....

Ma Myosin
harried amidst
a multitasking life
beset with a messaging public
creating so much
cortex traffic.

And she gently leads
a playful Baba Endorphin
along the synaptic life path,
holding him firmly,
waving to a
neuron here,
glaring at a glia there ,
step by step.

A short distance away,
the Parietal Kindergaarten awaits
a chance to celebrate
the arrival of Baba,
lighting up the filament path
for Ma Myosin.

Fake Posers, Kharis, and Life.....

Khari,  the flaky , crumble-and-melt-in-the-mouth-while-awaiting-the-tea-onslaught biscuits, for some,  are nostalgia , and all about having tea at chai tapris , with a plateful of these sourced from a big glass bottle. Some even enjoy it for breakfast...

My friend , Nutsure Satwik,  probably posted this photo, in between , crackles of these interspersed with sips of amrut-tulya tea.... 

Growing up in a house where maida was persona-non-grata,  and we had an electrified stone grinder (जातं ) , long before it became a commercial product,  there was a certain sense of earthiness in what one ate then, whole wheat, veggies and home made butter/ghee (in controlled quantities) , dal khichadi with veggies and poha papad , for breakfast and so on .

And so Khaaris , do not inspire a longing in me.  

They inspire poetry .  :-)

Such a refined life.

A wheaty parentage,
cousins
of the roti-phulka brigade,
but these are a class apart,
obsessed and hi fi ,
sifting out
the hoi polloi earthy browns
and the wheat germ types.

They are like that only.

A craze for Fair and Lovely,
thin translucent skins,
slathered with
face washes of tumultous ghee,
and folded over and over
in an effort
at not leaving anything out
in a effort
to impress.

A societal "coming out" party,
a blooming
in a hot oven,
and a pose
displaying the layers and innards
stiff with fashion.

And a Paratha,
rich with
onion, mint and mooli kids,
smoulders in a plate
next to the dahi
and pickle,
and says,
"When will these
powerful refined folks learn,
that life isn't about
sitting safe and uncrushed
in a bottle,
with special security,
pretending to slum it
with cutting chais in tapris;
but about honestly mixing
with
other green children of the earth
and creating
a new useful day
with them,
on the Tawa of your Life ...."

As the alu said to the dahi,
"It is all
about convenience and show;
Did you see
how they used me for votes
with Samosabhai in Bihar ?"