Bozoical Olympics

Bozo, Mumbai's only dog-with-his-own-blog is thrilled to bits. These are reunion times, and Bozo is spending some much needed time with the young one who was responsible for  making him a member of the Magiceye family, many years ago.    

Both Bozo , and the young one, are no longer children, and have gone their own ways in life. But in this year of the London Olympics, Bozo appreciates his training and initiation into the sporty things in life, and at the moment isn't saying anything, as he lies near the sofa , getting his back rubbed, wearing his latest acquisition ; his own Gold medal!

The excitement is too much; he keeps shaking his head, despite Magiceye's request to be still,  and so this time, we simply get to see the new medal;  we can always picture in our minds, the expression on his face !

My life
has been like
the Olympics
soon to happen in London.

Soon after birth,
it was
an intense training
in
obstacle races,
where some obstacles
threw stones,
others growled,
and some came after you
with a vehicle.

But I was spotted,
and taken
to home and heart
by my young coach.

A great training
in daily behaviour and practice,
restrained imbibing,
and keeping
the body
and environs clean.

The young coach
has many responsibilities now
and is not always
there
or
even so young anymore.

But I continue to follow
what I have learned.

My sport has always been the hurdles.
And jumps.

So many hurdles,
handling
kids who threw stones,
keeping my temper in check,
controlling myself
from chewing footwear,
and learning to eat
without lugging
the food
all over the place;

Long jumps
across several stairs
on seeing the
young ones
return home,
and sprinting after the car
in the evening
as Deepak drove home 
from work.

High jumps
trying to
pat shoulders
of the young one,
now grown taller then me,
returning home
after many days

A lifetime of this,
and like
our Cricket greats,
I too went for a
medical check up.
To Parel ,
and not to Australia
or UK.

No surgeries,
but they've advised rest.

My lifetime coach
is back
from London
on a visit,
and this time
perhaps in honor
of the Olympics 2012,
I have been given
the greatest gift
any sportsdog
can get....

A personalized Olympic Gold medal
now hanging
proudly round my neck.

Woof !

Brave parks and Dusty minds

My blog/FB friend, MS Gopal aka Slogan Murugan,has an amazing photoblog called Mumbai Paused, dedicated to , basically, the real non airconditioned, rushing, trying-to-make-the-best-of-it , Mumbai. His latest photos in his blogpost about Shivaji Park, is about a "Defined Green Open Space" in the Western suburb of Dadar, in Mumbai. 

Shivaji Park, was decreed as an open playground , by the Municipal authorities (then British) in 1925.  As MSGopal says ,"The gardens, parks and maidans in our part of the world - Indian subcontinent and the Persian influenced world before the British took over were never like the European ones with their beautiful green temperate grass. Our parks and gardens are decorated with flowering and shade giving trees. The ground was always dusty."

Today with expensive sprinklers installed, the ground, overrun with several sports existing cheek by jowl  at the same time on the same ground, the water is simply not enough.

Like our society,  a few rich green well tended patches exist.  The middle class suburb of Mumbai, with houses , gardens, and a sensible ethos, has now accelerated into a place where houses are "redeveloped " into high rises with swimmingpools way up there, parking is a problem, the ground is ravaged by political parties digging indiscriminately to put up temporary set ups, holding public meetings to point fingers at each other and applause to themselves.    At the end of the day, misdirected priorities rule, and dreams of the ordinary folks simply go up in, what else, dust.....

(All photos by Slogan Murugan)

At the end of the day,
it's all about water,
isnt it ?

Four and Six lane
Hema-Malini-cheek-roads
for Sir and Madam
yet fanning themselves
inside an AC car,
while Gangubai trudges
across a narrow clearing
5 kms down the hill,
balancing her four pots,
her worries and her sanity.

And so
buildings reaching the sky,
with infinite pools,
on the 45th floor,
where page-3 folks
display poses and attitudes,
and a hankering for liquid,
not fit to print,
while
down below,
the dusty maidan
with running scraped knees and shouts,
remembers,
how there is no money for water,
but lots of it
to dig poles in the ground,
and erect
wordy statues to self
under shamianas
with paid applauders.

Today , we use grounds
to play games
of a different type...