Keelback Lessons.....

For a minute I thought this was an unusual snake, with the face of a frog and the rest like a snake. Turns out , that my new FB friend Nivs Khemka Photography  clicked what is called a Striped Keelback Snake , in Nasik recently, possibly  in the act of devouring a frog. 

See some of the her amazing photographs here...

Reminds me of a Marathi saying " लहान तोंडी मोठा घास ...."  or (Big Bite for a small mouth...)


A relatively smaller snake, with a tail portion that is almost a quarter of its whole length, it has these distinctive stripes, and  it is normally gray or olive green in color, enabling excellent camouflage around unsuspecting victims. It has yellowish spots on the sides of the face, which tapers down to a slender neck. It has black crossbars all across its body, and they are more distinctive in the head area. This one is usually found on banks of water bodies, and sometimes even a few feet under the ground, when it decides to hibernate.  This snake specialises in eating smaller creatures like frogs and toads in a very mercenary way as is evident in this click.

 Why does all this ring a bell ?  Read on ....

 (Photo by Nivs Khemka Photography)

Power Stripes
fudging an actual color,
across the body,
a vivid color at the head,
and
the face sides
adorned
with a Gold yellow tinge,
this one slithers around,
near waters and banks,
sometimes even
going underground.

Declaring itself nonvenomous,
it moves around with a
long tail,
hunting
for ordinary frogs and toads,
croaking with happiness
at the first rains.

Big mouth
in an unbelievably small body,
it pounces
on the unsuspecting
frogs,
from behind,
devious, cruel,
allowing the frog
to sense a slow death
as it holds out its hands
in desperation,
warning
the other toads
to spread
the news.

Why does the slime,
the slithering,
the gold tinge on the face,
the deviousness in acquisition,
the demo of a greedy devouring
and the
occasional going underground,
make me feel,
that the Keelback
would make an excellent politician ?

The Ballad of Doodhwati

Rainy , dull monsoon days in Mumbai , with Wimbledon happening, and all that excitement gets you hungry enough to pine for a hot paneer bhurji with a toast or paratha. 

My friend Magiceye, actually gets to eat  all this , which of course, he photographs and posts here .

A living example, of how wonderful things can happen to very ordinary types like Milk (Doodhwati), and that one must never give up trying and looking ahead in life.

The curdled milk would "whole"heartedly agree. (Note : "Whole" milk makes better Paneer)

A Distressed Doodhwati,
restlessly boiling,
all her enthusiasm
simply soured
by the lemony antics,
and utter chaos reigns,
as her bosom friend,
Whey Kumar,
decides to separate
leaving her totally
curdled and coagulated in misery.

But most things happen for the good.

And so she
is delicately wrapped
in a fresh white muslin cloth,
gathered together and comforted,
till the tears stop
and
she feels strong and solid again .

A strong and cheerful girl,
Doodhwati is ready to enjoy life again.

Hot griddles with oil,
calling out to
the item number onions,
and tomatoes,
doing their stuff
as the chillies and bay leaves
sizzle in support.
"me, too, me too "
says the ginger and the garlic,
avidly joining in
the dance,
with the  Turmeric Man,
and the Coriander Greens
and Doodhwati,
all
throwing in their lot
in the celebrations,
with the elderly Salt , Pepper
and Masala types
as they stir themselves
in a wild disco
on the high heat.

A little bit of catching the breath
on a low flame,
covered by conservative worried
grandlids,
and she finally emerges,
adorned,
spiced,
shining
and lipsmackingly beautiful.

She arrives,
to meet a waiting paratha
watched by the Whey Kumar ,
now sitting in a boring Jar.

"You were never like this earlier"
says the possessive Whey Kumar,
"What changed ?"
and she smiled
as she got caught by the Parathaa,
and said,
"No one's really born beautiful,

but scrambling freely with one's friends

makes one so ...." 

:-))

 

Signature Spider , Ph. D (Tricks)

My FB friend , Nandan Tavanandi, posted this wonderful click of a Signature Spider up to all kinds of tricks in the web. 

These Spiders, weave webs, not only with silk, but also with smart thinking.  X pattern white  zigzag weaves to highlight their residences to keep folks alerted.  Then a cunning consolidation of the many legs into four, to align with the X, the intertwined leg hairs, glinting in the sun, making the spiders appear like a flower in the centre of an almost invisible silk web.   The smartness doesn't end there.

Read on.  And stop wondering where , we , as evolved bipeds, got all our mean ideas from.   



 (photograph by Nandan Tavanandi)

Smartness in relative.

Some,
painstakingly weaving
a gossamer delicate home,
make it more secure
by knitting in zig zag strips,
in an X-pattern.
a fake No Entry sign.

As if
having a cerebral cortex
in every limb,
many legs
pretending to be four,
thoughtfully aligned
with the zigzag,
and
she sits
at the centre of it all,
reflecting the sunlight,
to appear as a flower,
fooling
the lumbering bees and wasps
that rush to visit.

Empowered,
she watches the male
weave his smaller web alongside,
and offer it to her
to wrap the eggs.
Thank you, monsieur,
his utility over,
and she proceeds
to eat him up.

The spider eggs
with an undeniable
mercenary DNA,
hatch,
and the little ones
simply eat each other,
till they energize
to break out of the wrap.

Does it surprise you
at all
that we
the smart bipeds,
have evolved
into a
cunning,
revengeful,
violent
merciless
and sometimes,
mentally 
blind, deaf, and dumb  people? 

Bungee Jumping For Dummies

My FB friend and blogger Sangeeta Khanna,of Delhi,  is a botanist, antioxidant researcher, nutritionist, someone who studies and practices traditional indian medicine and cooking, trekker, birder, and photographer.  She is blessed with a green thumb and a garden, something most of us city dwellers cannot enjoy.

Despite her numerous and wide interests, she still gets enticed with little things happening in nature, and photographs them for us to enjoy. 

Like here below......

(photograph by Sangeeta Khanna)

Sometimes,
sheltered by
the long arm of the leaf,
sometimes
nibbling on the surface
he would often
venture out
on the green bridge
and make his way across
laboriously dragging
applauded by
the various
dicotyledonous ladies
and some even lobular
and in whorls.

One day,
he felt
a bit different,
but still wanted to cross,
till he spied the
contorted rope
and decided
to bungy jump.

He swung
on the rope,
and lost it,
till he realised he was flying.

The rope had sprung back,
amazed,
because he had
now become a butterfly !

:-)

Bozoical meditations....

Bozo, Mumbai's only dog-with-his-own-blog  has his own  sensible way of handling nonstop heavy monsoon downpours in Mumbai, and as he sees folks on TV talking about it "raining cats and dogs", he almost feels like suing them for defamation.

Bozo , is a very well informed person,  and has become wise in his old age.

He spends a lot of time, meditating about things on the cool floor, and his mentor and life-chronicler Magiceye, captured him during one such session .

Wild tornadoes,
spiralling winds,
lifting and carrying off
creatures of the land and water;
then depositing
over a city
along with a torrential rain.

Frogs, birds, Fish,
spiders and bats
too,
centrifuged and flung down
and
word-corrupting bipeds
convert Greek
"Katadoupoi"(waterfall)
into "cats and dogs".....

Never mind.

In Mumbai,
I just stay in
on heavy
non stop pouring
windy monsoon days.

You never know
what the winds carry
here
in their tornado  pockets...
and who wants
to be showered
plastic,trash, dirt and junk,
not to mention
empty promises
and lies ?

Not all my friends are so lucky.

And so,
as my thoughts gather
and spiral up
with great speed,
I shut my eyes,
lie down on a cool floor,
and say a thank you
to Him who made me,
and gave me a wonderful family. 


(Just in case you see my
ears perking up,
its all those thoughts
flowing out
in ordered file. ...
we never rain things on people.....)

Sigh. Will these bipeds never learn ?

Melting Studs

My blogger and FB friend Shail Mohan, besides blogging on her dog Luci, is also a published poet and a sensitive photographer with a very perceptive eye.

 She lives in the southernmost state of Kerala, where many houses still utilise local artists in their homebuilding, and you find amazing styles and lush greenery. Shail has an ocean of everything to click, and she almost catches every fish. Or should I say, every stud in the elephant's nose....  err, trunk ?

Monsoon raindrops are her  speciality and you can see them here. 

Her latest posting about nose studs....   something done today as a fetish, or a blindly followed requirement. It was actually done in the old days ,scientifically to activate a nerve in a nostril, that lessened the pain for women, in their days dedicated to being future mothers....

Ancient noses
attended
by Vaidya Sushrut,
and a fine piercing
at a nostril node
to lessen the pain
for those female bipeds
mobilizing in life
to perpetuate generations.

A nose in
metal and stone,
pierced and studded
in support,
of the myriads of
elephants,
tigers,
deer,
and horses,
unable to breed new generations,
sacrificed at the altar
of a human greed
so terrible,
that
the stud sheds itself
in tears……

High on a Swing.....

My FB friend, and photography enthusiast , Prasad Paranjape, posted this capture of a glass of rum, describing it simply as MCDOWELL RED RUM ALWAYS ON THE ROCKS.

Many a life and a house has been affected by overenthusiastic senseless imbibing of what looks amazing here,  and those who have quit, know the difference.

I have neither imbibed nor quit.  But can imagine the blatant mindset of the golden liquid.  Which inspired this poem. 

And only those who watch the latest wonderful Marathi Serial "Unch Majha Zokaa"  will understand the reference to "rummi" at the end.

Originally written in Marathi. A possible translation follows...

स्वतःचीच झिंग,
खोटा सोनेरी भाव ,
स्वारोव्स्की परवडत नाही
म्हणून बर्फाशी लाडी गोडी..
किती लोकाना फसवले,
किती लोकांना बदलले ,
किंतीन्च्या घरून वदवले ,
पण ही बया आपल्याच धुंदीत ,
आपल्याच स्वप्नात
काचेच्या आतून आंधळी ...
ह्या रमिला कधी कळणार,
कि तिचा झोका कधीच उंच जाणार नाही ?

A swinging life,
Drunk on her
own importance,
a false attitude
of being giltedged and golden,
messing around
and snuggling up
to the ice cubes
pretending
they are Swarovski
on the rocks.....

Countless people misled,
fooled,
countless lives changed
for the worse,
countless families
worriedly pleading,
but she remains,
uncaring, self centred,
blind to the outside ,
as she pretends
to see through the glass.

Will this Rum-i
ever realize,
that despite her
swinging life pretensions,
her swing will
never fly high ?

The Bitter Truth....

Karela or Bitter Gourd is not anywhere close to being a favourite food of mine. But sometimes , you get curious after seeing the same unwanted vegetable presented in a different avatar. Like in a stuffed fried one.....

My blogger friend Magiceye, clicked and posted this as part of the 365project.org project.

The karela/bitter gourd, at first sight, does not have much going for it. Its appearance, rough jagged exterior, its taste,  its bitterness,  go against it.

But cooking it differently sometimes makes you look again. 

And learn. That the vegetable , is a chock-a-block with medicinal benefits......


Is there a pattern ? .....

 

Was it a corrupt politician
or thief
in a previous birth,
that it is cursed
now in this life,
with a poky warty skin,
and limply
bitterly,
hangs on a vine,
amidst
amazing lobular leaves
and yellow flowers...?

And does it undergo
the Rites of Redemption
in this birth ?

A clean wash,
and then a gentle scraping
of all that is wrong.

A redemption cut
along the length,
and a purifying immersion
in
salt and turmeric water
till the sins flow.

The cut hurts,
as they are patted dry
and the seeds
of evil,
removed from the innards,
soon to be replaced
by new life stuffings
of cleansing spices,
comfort potatoes,
with a dash of
onions, chilies ,
garlic and ginger,
minor reminiscing
over a
previous tamasi life.

Sometimes,
some willful ones
are then tied up,
and
the entire lot
purified in steam,
till they give in.


A final cooling off,
a trial
through hot oil,
and an offering
to all,
as  the old life goes into pieces,
singed and browned
in apology
on a plate.

Karelas,
the bitter gourds of life,
now
with great medicinal value,
God's way
of teaching someone
to atone for old sins
and
turn over a new leaf
in a new life.......

In praise of Amti Bhat .....

My blogger friend Harekrishnaji aka Priyadarshan Kale, goes exploring in the hinterlands of Maharashtra amd more so when the monsoon starts.

An expert on traditional food items and where you get the best of the lot,  in places way out in the countryside, he with his faithful Zen, often traverse Sahyadri peaks,valleys, unknown jungles, and rivers, to occasionally arrive at a home, where, fresh from howling winds, unrelenting rain, wandering clouds and a cold nose, they are transported to heaven at the sight of steaming hot rice served with a spiced hot dal, called "amti" in Maharashtra.

In his own words : "बरोबर दिशा धरुन चालत, डोंगरदऱ्या पार करत अंधाऱ्या रात्री मुक्कामी पोचल्यावर चुलीवर शिजलेल्या गरम भाताचा तो भलामोठाला डोंगर, त्यावरची ती वाफाळलेली आमटी. विसरणे नाही. अंतिम सत्य एकच. आमटीभात. गरमागरम आमटीभात." 

 These poems in Marathi (original) and and effort in English dedicated to Amti-bhat....

 (photos courtesy Google)

काही अक्खे , काही कण्या,
एकत्र रोळीमध्ये,
पाण्याच्या मोठ्या सरीतून निभावून
दोन मिनिटे स्वस्थ पडलेले .
मग धो धो पाणी ,
चटका लाउन जाणारे पातेले ,
आणि उचंबळणार्या विचारांना
ढवळून काढणारा डाव ,
बेभान पाण्यात फुलून उठणारा भात ,
आणि
सगळी एकामेकाला चिकटून बसलेली,
आपल्या भावी आयुष्याची काळजी
करणारी शित....

एका राजाभौंचे आगमन ,
बाहेर वार्याची धमाल,
हात पाय धुउन ,
मनातली भूक ओठावर ,
आणि एका सुगरण काकू ने
वाढलेली गरम गरम आमटी.

भुरका मारून तृप्त होउन
ते वदले,
"हेच ते, हेच, अंतिम सत्य ,
गरम आराम आमटी भात ....",
आणि त्या सर्व कण्या
"इश्य , काय हे !" असा मुरका मारून
आमटीत बुडून गेल्या .....

Some full grains,
some broken in
dehusking times,
resting together in a colander
after a torrential wash.

Then a tumultous dip
in a vessel
full of water,
but searing in its heat,
and their thoughts
bubble forth,
as the spatula
ensures a massive upheaval
amidst the
now empowered grains...

They sit,
stuck to each other,
secure in their numbers
wondering what lies ahead.

Enter Rajabhau,
he of the monsoon drives,
whistling winds, waterfalls,
and lost roads
in deep jungles.

The wind bangs the door shut,
as he dries up,
and sits down
enraptured by
a mountain of steaming
apprehensive rice.

A pot of dal,
just subsiding
after a massive
boil of emotion,
amidst mustards seeds,
hing,
coriander leaves toran,
spiced , tamarined,
and turmeric on the face,
finally meets
the rice.

He mixes it all up,
and slurps,
the warmth shining in the eyes.
"This is,
truly, the one and only truth;
Exquisite Amti-bhat,
on a wind swept monsoon day,
amidst the rural green,
straight from the stove..."

And the rice grains,
watch each other,
blush,
throw themselves in the Amti,
and say
"Aiyyo ! What a life !
What a life !".......

Bozoical EKS.....

One more poetic chapter in the Life and Times of Bozo, Mumbai's only dog-with-his-own-blog. 

Life in a Metro teaches you to be philosophical. At least that's what Bozo thinks.  You have to accept what happens. 

But even then, sometimes it shows on your face. And what is worse, folks like Magiceye, photograph it, despite being the cause of it all.

But we fellows don't hide our feelings. After all, we are only human .....

We fellows
are stoic chaps,
and whatever it is
we take it in our stride .

Yes,
it is happening
all over again.

A time when
I couldn't
turn a room corner
without colliding with
the young chap
in a hurry,
and a time when
a peek into the young lady's room
saw her getting ready
for exciting times.

There was a brief
summer of joy
when I realized that
Deepak would now be home
much more.

But no.
It is not to be
and I am upset,
yet philosophical....

I am back
to gazing from the balcony,
paws up on the railing,
a silent wail here,
a brave snort there....

What to do ?

We fellows must endure
the Empty Kennel Syndrome
in our old age.........