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....