Bozoical Flights......

Bozo  ,  Mumbai's only-dog-with-his-own-blog  really gets around....  Not only did he recently take off on a flying quick vacation with his family to Lonavla in the Sahyadri mountains, but he also manged to come back, and blog about it in the blog maintained by his friend Pablo of Bandra . Pablo, of course  has an awesome blog of his own at Pablo's (P)awesome Wisdom  .

Magiceye captured an excited Bozo, out on his first long distance trip by road......thinking about folks who keep flying in and out of his life.....

I've often watched
butterflies
and birds
and wondered
what flying was all about !

And then I learned
that
flying wasn't all about
moving wings
alighting on trees,
zipping around
with eats in your beaks
and flitting around....

It was all about
sitting next
to your childhood friend,
in a car,
zipping by,
seeing
buses,
buildings,
trees,
cars,
flying past,
and then
flying into the clouds
through tunnels
past valleys,
to land
so smoothly,
in a wonderful green place
up in the mountains.

Slow taxiing
through gardens and woods,
with my friend,
occasional take offs
on sighting
thoughtless rabbits
and butterflies
ad then great
delicious fun meals
with the family.
lolling around in the grass.

I dont have wings
that I need to use,
but at my age
I get tired soon.

And while,
am back at home,
taking
a long happy nap,
I let my mind
fly
free and far,
thinking about the time
she will be back again
and we will go again into the hills,
and maybe see
those other
noisy things that fly,
with so many people
but don't have as much fun
as I do.....

Onion Man

“You're so wrapped up in layers, onion boy, you're afraid of your own feelings!”

                                                                                                - Shrek
 
Not so , our man , Sakharam.....

 For everyone  who captures  nature, ethereal creations in life, and the magic of the Sun and Moon,  there is my blogfriend Slogan Murugan, aka M S. Gopal, who loves to capture the nitty gritty of a Mumbai Life, and vignettes of people who make the city run. One such , is the  Kanda-Batatawalla , who looks like a wholeseller, and has temporarily downed shutters on a hot afternoon, to rest amidst the onionical coolness. 

Most such, today are a story of fields sold off, family left behind, and a troubled stoic immigration into an unforgiving  city.

Amidst it all, he dreams.

Lives,
stirred in uncertainity
fried in the
suffocating heat,
recalling
fields,
once green,
with her coming by
with bhakri and chatni
for his lunch,
as he washed his hands
at the hand pump.

Fate today,
has washed its hands off,
he slogs far away
in a town,
in a dingy room,
powerless,
but
with a huge supply of
potential tears,
a great medium
for Stir-fries....

He catches a
shuteye,
crowded in mind,
his bandi
turned up over his nose,
some think,
to keep the
onion smell away,
but its actually
so he can dream,
of the bhakri and the chillies
and the tinkle
of her green bangles,
by the side
of a field,
that was,
but no longer,
is.