Desert Beauty

Blogger friend, wonderful travel writer, and a someone who simply loves travelling SOLO , and has done so across many countries, Nisha Jha , was someone I first met at a Mumbai blogger meet in November .  Since then , I have been a regular reader of her FaceBook page Le Monde-A poetic travail, and her website .

She has a sharp eye for beauty, and the one below was captured on film at the Annual Pushkar Camel Fair  in Rajasthan. And no, she didn't say what the camel said to her .

For other visuals of what actually happens there ,do read her account of it .  Lots of brown beauties, possibly dudes,  rural fresh food, and tattoos. All this happening as the desert moon slowly waxes to its full size in the Indian month of Kartik.

I guess you never see that at Miss World and Mr Muscle.......

(This poem  is scheduled to  appear as a guest post  on Nisha's Le Monde: A poetic Travail, on December 29, as she possibly makes her way through the rice fields in Cambodia.....)

(This amazing capture by Nisha Jha)

Not for nothing
do they call me
the Queen if the Desert.

The Pushkar fair
is when
us ladies
are at our best.

Heavily lidded
kajolled eyes,
lashes delicate
and floating;
eyebrows are not
in fashion
anymore,
but like your
society types,
with multipierced ears,
I had my nose
specially pierced,
to display
my gold heirloom noserings.

A regular regime
of
Fair and Lovely
and L'oreal Paris,
and I am ready
for
interacting
with Lovely folks
at the Fair.

Special neckwear,
brilliant nostrilwear,
a sand facial,
to get even fairer,
and I've been
practicing
the pout...

Did I just hear someone say,
"Angelina Jolie
Eat your heart out !..."

The auspicious green perspective

This poem is being submitted as a post on

“A perspective on roles of Indian Women”

Indusladies 2nd Annual International Women's Day Blog Contest

A fertile green
in several avatars,
She,
is a story
scripted by
the Trees of the Land.

She is the young rice,
childlike green
in the wet fields,
sometimes petulant, drying away
sometimes overcome and washed away,
but when older,
transplanted
unasked,
elsewhere,
to thrive and give of herself,
the woman of rural India...

She is the dainty rose
in a garden,
next to a rowdy guava tree;
holding her own,
sometimes
coquettish in a maiden''s hair,
sometimes
devotional at the heavenly feet;

She revels in friendship
with the champa tree,
as well as the mogra bush,
and gives space
to the jasmines and parijaats
of the world as well
while supporting those
that remain green,
and grow,
but never flower....

And what do you say
about
Lady Mangrove -

She who tolerates
and thrives
in
salty mush,
daily overcome
by waves and tides of misfortunes
some from the sea,
and some
from the land,
rapacious avaricious killers,
out to replace her..

Chained with the
sisters ,
roots entangled
she stands to protect
erosion of those
she considers her own....

Higher up
Shethani style, She sits,
and flowers in season,
a Page 3
of the woods,
laden with fruit,
some sweet,
that go to far off lands,
but some,
when plucked,
by dedicated hands,
and magically processed
turns into
sweet and tasty delights
for the children of the land.

There is of course
an upkeep
for the grand lady;
but such is life
in this land.

But sometimes,
well entrenched
in the land that
empowered her,
She proudly stands,
sheltering
younger and weaker ones,
in her shade,
as she digs deeper
into the earth for her strength;

The warrior tree,
facing the wrath
of the goonda wind
and hatchet elements,
her proud tough spine,
and roots
hanging down
to clutch the earth,
a Mother
fearless
for the children,
the Ma Banyan,
ageless and tough
against
trespassing winds.

Kalpavriksha sentinels,
some who stand,
tall and tough,
Medha Patkars
and Sindhutai Sapkals,
rising up to the skies
to lead...

They give of themselves
in every way,
honest and ramrod straight;
Seasonal slipping branches
landing with a thud,
and industrious hands
fashion them into baskets
and mats;

Born in fertile numbers
Her little fruits,
are taken away
while some drop off,
after she teaches them
to dedicate themselves
to feeding the hungry,
the thirsty,
the revellers,
and the sick.

Tough nuts to crack,
but soft and sweet inside
like their Mother.

And then,
some,
beauties ,
and 'useful'
in their prime,
now isolated,
hurt,
broken,
unable to counter
loneliness,
withering away
in their own Vrindavans.....

This land
is so rich with
Smart trees,
Thinking geriatric trees,
Young beauteous bushes,
Fragrantly divine trees,
Brave defiant trunks
on Leader trees,
Generous altruistic trees,
Ant like small
industrious greens
enriching the land;
but mostly
taken for granted
by all.....


Women Power;
if only
environment
was religion to us,
and greening our Puja,
the women
would get their place
in the scheme of things...



I would like to tag (as per the rules) and request my friends below to participate....:

1. Uma S.
2. Swati Ram
3. Padma R.

You really want to know what he wants ?

Judged Winner of the "What Men want: contest at Blogadda /Dec 3, 2010

Submitted for the "What Men Want" contest at Blogadda

Extravagant lives,
Vagrant thoughts,
Blackberries,
Stock queries,
Mont Blanc pens,
limitless credit,
attitude debit.......
be they from
even Jupiter, Pluto, Mars or Venus
THEY HAVE ALL THEY WANT !!

But
Dagdu,
who emerges from
Mumbai special
Cloud Commuting
in the trains,
gets ejected out at Borivali,
and rushes to catch a bus
to the eastern part,
luckily
grabs a place
and nods off
amidst
thumps,screeches,
braking,
to dream,
of stuff he really wants .....

A Divali Bonus
so he can
spend and repair
the well
back at his village....

A decent
extra 9 yard sari
for his wife,
who washes her stuff
and dries it every night

He hopes the
childrens textbooks
dont change
with the new minister,
the older child
has preserved his
for the little one.....

They're redeveloping
his area,
and he dreams
of bringing his parents
to a pucca house;
unless the
ministers ,
of course
scam away the land....

Rumor has it that
his factory will shut;
the Union demands their share
from his VRS funds,
there goes his
dream
of a decent wedding
for his daughter....

But despite
a life resembling
the potholed
troublesome
roads
of middle class Mumbai,
he counts his blessings;

A wonderful wife
who helps making a living
preparing lunch tiffins,
An older son
who delivers them to places
before reaching his school,
and a little daughter,
who understands ,
why a new school book is
to be preferred
to a new frilled frock....

This Mars and Venus stuff
is junk.

Like his old father said,
There are
enough men,
but very few
who can be man enough

He sits down
on the uneven earth,
watching the Moon
through a patch
between
an adjoining illegal staircase
and another house.
He has whatever he wants
right here on earth,
as his wife
wipes her hand
on her pallu
and
hands him a glass
of milkless tea.

His son studies
in the dim light,
his daughter
puts the washed vessels away.

He wants
so much more,
but appreciates
what he has.

A loving family,
a job,
a tired body,
and something
those guys in
5 BHK AC flats,
salaries with 6 zeroes,
and tax problems
dont have :

a peaceful deep sleep at night....


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