Big B of Bandra

 
Clearly, it was a matter of time, before Bozo, Mumbai's blogging dog, gave in to starry influences. And Magiceye caught him in a pensive moment.....   (Psst. Magiceye away with his favourite heroine amidst strawberry fields in Panchgani.  Well, Bozo understands. Some folks must stay in Bandra, and learn to shoo the birds in the balcony.)

Not for him, the dhishoom dhishoom action and baring of teeth amidst abuses. Not for him, the soulful singing in balconies, looking at half full tumblers.

But he aims to emulate the best.   So he is growing a beard.   It's just that unlike the original Big B (of Juhu),  Bozo's hair and beard  display the same color...

The same
brooding eyes,
the same
baritone bark,
rugged lined face
hiding a soft heart,
respectful escorting of
family elders
amidst pining for those far away.

The only thing missing
was the french beard
and he is slowly
getting there....

Bozo.
The Big B of Bandra !

Cornering Thoughts......

Mumbai' blogger Dog Bozo, now back after a short hiatus. The city weather now is a great combination of cool mornings and hot days, and he makes the most of it.

For a while , he worried because a certain wild two wheeler seemed to be monopolizing Magiceye, traipsing all over the peninsula with him.  But the time was well spent by him, ruminating on life, and this is what settles it all .....

It must be
such a boring life
to sit endlessly
amidst diesel fragrances
and hefty four wheelers,
and then
act all thrilled
because someone
spent so many days
travelling south
exclusively with you.


Me ?
I am more balanced .

It is all about
going for leisurely walks
with different folks,
coming back
to fragrances
from a kitchen,
licking up happiness,
listening to music
and then
settling down
to a dream nap
in different places,
where I am amongst
family and friends.

Now that summer beckons,
Cool na ?

I hope the Desert Storme
is listening.

A Payasamic Salute

Sometimes, Payasam is lucky for you .

The Courtyard by Marriot Mumbai Airport, announced a short contest, asking "If Republic Day was a dish, what would it be and why" and asked folks to write in.

I wrote in my entry, in the form of a poem, reproduced below.

The result was heart warming, to say the least. Gut-warming to say the most.

The Marriot folks thought i deserved to win, and awarded a voucher for a Republic Day brunch for two, which was duly enjoyed by yours truly , with the daughter, who also took photographs.

To see all the details, check out " A Different Parade"

A Payasamic Constitution,
An all encompassing richness
Of a creamy white mind,
Adorned by strands of saffron,
So fragrantly special;
Waving to the delicious green
Fields of pistachios strewn around;
And they nudge each other,
as they sight the bowl,
And pour their hearts into it,
Celebrating with a
"Jai Ho ! Bharatmata ki jai ho ! ".....

My Land, My Tree

My friend Bhavesh Chhatbar posted this very evocative visual of a proud dry tree standing bravely , all alone, in the midst of the fields.

I saw a face of a farmer in the tree.  (See the visual on the right below).

And then an avalanche of thoughts about GM seeds , farming, the trauma of the farmers, and the thought of a farmer , defiant in the face of all this.

Somehow, a poem happened.

A lifetime of
dealing with an Earth,
slowly withering
under genetic interference.

No greens
for the nesting birds
No greens for
some resting ones,
as he wonders
how this came to pass.

The Raab
done on the fields
after the harvest
inexplicably,
irrevocably burned
and killed all his hopes.

Except
a path,
always unexplainably green
for those
walking in
with compensation
for the land.

And still he stands,
bare,
wrinkled,
slightly bent
but unbowed,
saluting
what was once his Earth.

Election Year Tilgul....

Trust my friend Shruti Nargundkar of Melbourne to come up with an innovative tilgul, for Sankranti. Or what is our winter harvest festival, celebrated across the length and breadth of India, by different regions, in different ways.

Some thanking of the Almighty, some awareness of the best seasonal foods one could imbibe,some  following of age old weather determination methods,  promoted as fun kite flying for kids, and a general celebration of the rich bountiful Earth.

Shruti has created a Tilgul recipe that includes the cousins Quinoa and Amaranth, as well as  the flax and poppy seeds . In addition to the usual Til or Sesame seeds.  Jaggery gracefully gives way to Coconut sugar, which she gets in Melbourne.

Read all about her recipe here .   Which brings to mind some coalitions now happening in an election year in India, and what our esteemed candidates can learn from the Tilgul members.......

Some election first timers
popping in excitement,
some sesame veterans
crackling commands
amidst the heated conversation
with Flaxnathji,
much about
the revolt by the poppies
and their eventual return
to the kadhai fold.

Dada peanut and gram types
walking the talk as they
go hotly dark,
and crack up
talking about earlier campaigns.

This time
the Aam Quinoa types,
their misleading flaky demeanour
hiding some
strong peptide minds,
join in,
as first timers
learning the ropes.

It really is all about
everyone doing their bit
and giving pieces of themselves
as they come together
for the harvest parliament.

So many sweetened deals
from the
coconut and jaggery types,
sealed with
cardamom and nutmeg signatures.

When will our elected types learn
that their success
depends on how well
they mix
and complement each other,
and not
how well they
pull each other down
and crumble.

Very clearly,
some lessons
for our leaders
to learn from the Tilgul.

In praise of the Aam Sabji Bhaji

My friend Shruti Nargundkar of Melbourne is not only an innovative and excellent cook,, but she writes brilliantly about memories associated with that food, on her blog   You might want to have a look,  here.

It isn't always about festival food. In keeping with what is happening in our country, Shruti also recognizes an Aam Aadmi food when she thinks up one.

Like this amazing sabji  of carrots and fenugreek leaves, locally described as gajar methi .  It's winter time, and I can see the establishment  gajar halwa ladies going "Hmmmpf!..".

But what to do .  Its time to celebrate the emergence of the Aam Aadmi Party. And this gajar methi sabji plays its part .....

A subterranean orangy warmth,
cosseted by
the cool soil mothers,
he peered
slowly outside,
green limbs
exploring the blue.

Coming of age,
and venturing out
in groups
sometimes
in baskets,
sometimes in trucks,
and sometimes
in some one's indulgent hands,
he would notice
others around him.

And then ,
amidst all the
rounded, polished,
shining
fake blushing folks,
he noticed her,
confidently green,
with her bunch of friends,
sitting en masse,
yet curiously bending here and there
observing stuff next to her.

A no nonsense hardy childhood
spent along the Mumbai railway lines,
small gardens,
and rural patches,
nodding in the wind
as a train whooshed by,
glaring at little boys
with kites
who rushed close to her
mothers chasing behind.

A match made in heaven
as the orange collar chap
looked on
in admiration
at the bindass
confident green,
and she had no complexes
about
where she came from
and where she was going.

A meeting of opposites,
presided over
by the picky
Oil grandmas,
and
in law mustards, cumins,
with an approving final
asoefitaedic opinion
ratified by a blessing
from Pa Lemon.

Don't know
if it made Page 3,
it certainly made Page 1.

Brains and Bird Brains

My young friend Akshay Dandekar clicked this in the greens at Badlapur, on the outskirts of Mumbai, closer to the mountains.

Never has the difference between the generations been so clear.  And so emulated by the birds.....  

:-)

She sits
to one side,
harried and dishevelled,
drying the perspiration,
taking a breather
from all that
flying around,
checking the neighborhood,
planning the day,
figuring out the meals,
and
worrying about the kids.

When will they learn
that
life isn't just about
the feathers remaining just so,
the red neck ring
shining bright,
and posing
on the wires
discussing the latest styles,
watching
the birds go by ?

Tea for two....

My blogger friend Sangeeta Khanna has green fingers combined with an encyclopedic knowledge of  foods,  food traditions, food science, and  food values . She is also a talented food photographer, whose photos inspire words.

Like sometimes, tea is a concoction boiling with endorphinic elaichi and ginger; sometimes it is a languorous seeping of a crushed lemongrass leaf along with some others in a quiet pot.

And sometimes, it is just a quiet grandma teapot, sitting on a roughhewn wooden table in the shade of some big trees , absorbing in,  all the flavours of the leaves, and then , on seeing some folks, rushing in to pour its heart out into the cuppas, watched by a midmorning sun.

  

It isnt
about shining
in a chak chak world.

But about
quietly sitting
in the shadows,
and ruminating
on the greens and leaves
within and without
that so generously
give of
their own treasures
and flavors,
and then
learning to give
on your own steam,
so that
for two simple
hard working souls
it becomes
a golden Sunday morning
adorned by the Sun.

Pink and Perfect

My friend Bhagyashree Moghe of Pune has green fingers, and lives surrounded by amazing blossoms. She recently posted this photo on FB, and very clearly, there was a message in the visual.

A message about how each one has their own day in the sun.   And how no one is worried about tanning and turning dark.  In fact you get lighter in the sun.  And how the younger darker sibling remains sensibly enveloped in the caring family greens, growing up, awaiting its own day in the Sun.

No nonsense of fair, dark. No complexes.  Just all beautiful , wherever they are.

(photo by Bhagyashree Moghe)

A protected bringing up
amidst expansive green concerns
redolent with
cool waters,
good nutritious food,
and great supporting
and straight folks
helping you face
daily grind.

And to each one
a day in the Sun.

Unlike us,
those in the Sun
get lighter,
while the darker one
sits enveloped safely
amidst the trusted greens
in the shade
confident in its own skin,
mobilizing to face life.

We of the Fair and Lovely hangup,
are simply blind.

Chivda Kejriwal

It is clearly not a coincidence, that my blogfriend Shruti Nargundkar of Melbourne, posts a recipe and a biographical post  on her blog, on the proletarian Chivda, made during Divali, which stays on, loyally, to cater to nibbling pangs, sometimes in association with even onions and tomatoes, long after the Divali excesses are over and done with.

And what a fitting post at a time, when the Aam Aadmi Party (~Ordinary peoples' party)  has valiantly fought the Delhi elections,  and has performed well enough to trouble the  folks at India's two biggest parties , drunk on their own might.

They sit,
cheek by jowl,
some in tatters,
some quietly listening
Watching it all
unfolding on the stage

Some Peanut Bhaus,
desperate to fall
hot into the fray,
when they see
some green Mirchiakkas
flirting with some
stiff Kadhipatta types.

And then
some spoilsport Red Chilly netas,
feeling all ignored,
thoughtlessly joining the fray
causing some jealous fumes.

The opportunistic
Cashew and Chana offspring,
falling in
to acquire
their share of a golden future,
and all the while,
the volunteering Mustards,
Sesames, Khuskhuses
keep crackling and nudging
complaining to
the Coconut slices,
getting angry,
egged on by the
waiting Turmeric
and short tempered Hing.

The Pohas
cannot sit by.
For sixty years,
they have been thrown
into the hot inflated oils,
and emerged,
burnt, scathed,
but unbowed,
and they have learned.

The time has come to take the plunge.

The Aam Pohas
rise as one,
wait for things to cool,
and before you can say C_H_I_V_D_A
they have thrown themselves,
heart and soul
into the fray,
actively mixing around ,
observing folks,
communicating intelligently,
well aided by
salt and sugar advice
and support from
local Corianders and Cumins
all given with
such stirring eloquence.

For the ordinary
normally ignored Aam Pohas,
a great united debut
into a public Chivda life.

Way up on the shelves,
the Motichoor Laddoo High Command,
and Chakli General Secretaries,
with the tearful Karanjees,
and desperate Anarsaas
can only watch
the successful debut
of the
Aam Poha Chivda Party.