The Young, the Bald, the Beautiful

February 4th, 2015 is World Cancer Day.   We remember and honor all  cancer survivors, fighters, and those brave hearts that are no longer amidst us today.

"Hair for Hope" is the signature fundraising event of the Childrens Cancer Foundation.

A young girl, Rhea , all of 12 years, two generations younger to me , and daughter of one of my young friends in Singapore, has pledged  to donate all her hair and go bald , on March 20, 2015, during the "Hair for Hope" event at her school, to raise awareness of the disease as well as encourage donations.

Do check the post here  to find out how you can help and encourage.

A congregation of slim young protein filaments, shining cascading black brilliantly agog listening to other filaments at the International Keshsaambhaar Conference. And amidst those filaments, painfully misty eyed over heat treatments, unnatural colors, assorted wild snipings, and twisting their lives into tired curls, there are some proletarian types, unfailingly divided and united in plaits, and occasionally arm twisted into buns with decorations, and some, who stand enchanted by how they photograph and look as hair blows about their face thanks to unnatural blasts of air. And then quietly strong away at another session, millions and trillions of them, held together by sheer bands of young dedication, gratefully descending onto a young shoulder, patting it, and sliding down to rest against a young back.

A mindful organic mothering with a coconut oil, proud to have been a part, these cascading ones, playing with so many combs so many brushes so many headbands so many clips and so many knots their lives straightened out, all very proud as to where they come from, and where they will be travelling soon. In tribute For those proteinous filaments who lost lives thanks to the collateral damages in the Therapy Wars, so that others may live, these twelve year young glowing shining ones, offer themselves, unreservedly on March 20 , 2015. An amazing decision, by a little girl, who must know what it is to let go off something you value and love so much, but who wants to do her own thing to support those who faced a troubled life with Big C, and never had that choice.

Mrug Katha

My friend Nandan Tavanandi, on a visit to the  Ranthambore Wild Life Sanctuary in southeastern Rajasthan,  in search of the much protected  and admired King ,  clicked this photograph, of some other citizens of the woods.

A study in dried wooden browns, his camera picked up more deer than he thought he had captured.   Four of them, out to watch those with lenses in jeeps, and a quiet one at the back left, possibly more intellectual than the others out front.

Sometimes photographs speak . Sometimes it is a thousand words.  Sometimes memories of stories heard in childhood.

And sometimes it is a commentary on our life and times. 

रानातल्या निवडणुका , उघड्या जीपांमधून बारीक डोळेकरून दुर्बिणीतून बघणारी जकिटवाली माणसं , जंगलातले हिरवे खलास करून खिशात खुळखुळत शहरात घेउन जाणारे नेते , आणि कुणा एके दिवशी अज्ञातवासातून हळूच बाहेर डोकावत आपले मृगशिंग पेलत अर्जुन्मृग आणि भीममृग खेळकर नकुल्म्रुग व सहदेव्मृगास आपल्या पाठीशी घालून सरसावून पुढे होतात . अचानक पाठीमागून झाडीतून एका निश्चल युधिष्टीरमृगाचा आवाज येतो " फार विश्वास नका ठेउ ह्या निवडणुकीतल्या जीपवाल्या माणसांवर ; ज्यांच्या राज्यात द्रौपदी सुरक्षित नाही , त्यांच्या पासून दूरच राहाय्लेला बरं … " शंभर कौरव जीपांमधून पैशाची धूळ उडवत निघून जातात , आणि पाच हि मृगं ह्या देशासाठी कृष्णाच्या शोधात पुन्हा कार्यरत होतात ….

Elections in the Wild Life Sanctuary, and hundreds of folks rushing around in jeeps watching life through binoculars and some, who destroy the green and rush back with the stuff jingling in their deep pockets. Rustling leaves to one side, and emergence of the Deer Pandavas, incognito in the woods, Arjunstag and Bhimstag raring to go, with a distracted Nakulstag and Sahadevstag beside them . And the quiet voice of an inert Yudhishthirstag somewhere behind, streams through, "Don't trust these jeepwallas too much; Our Draupadi is never safe in their lands.." The hundred Kaurav jeepwallas vamoose in a cloud of dust, as these five, incognito, continue their search for a Krishna for the Millenium....

Coming of Age in Athirapally....

There are some clicks that capture something more than images.  And some of these speak a million words.

Like this totally amazing capture, by my friend Shail Mohan,  from her trip to Athirapally, in the Thrissur district on the Southwest coast of India.

A mother, experienced in the ways of the world, advising her young daughter as she comes of age and ventures out into what she probably thinks, is a great place.

One is not privy to the content and language of this conversation,   but the faces say it all.  

And when you go out
into their world, girl,
be sure
you travel quick and fast.

Trust no homo sapien , girl,
and refuse his
offer to be friends.

They are a breed
that will disrespect you, girl,
disfigure you,
and kill you,
sometimes
even before you are born.

They always call us
junglee, girl,
without knowing
that we have laws,
and we follow them,
and we look out
for our own.

How very ironic, girl,
that this old Ma
must warn you against
those
who think they have the law,
and we have the jungle,
when in reality
it is exactly the opposite.....

Politics in the Woods

An intriguing capture , by my friend Deepak Amembal, at the Sanjay Gandhi National Park in the northern parts of Mumbai.  Posted on his Mumbai-Daily blog.

It is as if two special folks, oblivious of each other, and intent on something, have arrived  amidst a splash of color, in a sun splashed  opening of the woods.

The "intent"  intrigues.  And then you see some parallels somewhere.  High fliers, and those that change colors.....

Read on.

  

So many
camouflaged by the
Green of the public woods,
safely hidden amidst
ordinary types
getting on with their lives,
building nests,
saving for the future
quietly moving around,
sometimes,
changing the color
of their thoughts and doubts,
amidst
a few
who move away.

Some ambitious high fliers,
and some who quietly
intelligently,
slither around
changing colors
and parties on demand,
alighting every now and then
on five star flowery places.

These two
clearly,
ideally suited for
, should one say,
Politics ?

A Melbourne Mangal Event ....

Folks in Australia have a special link up with our Republic Day.   Both countries celebrate  on January 26, every year;  it is Australia Day  down under , and Republic Day in India.

And so folks like  my friend Shruti Nargundkar of Melbourne celebrated the colors of the Indian Flag and Obama's introduction to Gujarati cuisine at , by cooking up variations of Methi-Kele nu shak, or Methi Plantain( Banana ) bhaji.  

Check out her blog recipe here.

Given the strong behavioural properties of Methi Fenugreeka, and what can only be called  a presumed conservative Kela (Banana),  one expected a bit of drama in the finale.

But clearly, everything seems to have gone off fine.  In keeping with the new enlightened rules that encourage women Hindu priests  to officiate at all events, Shruti elevates things to new levels in her kitchen.....  :-)  

ह्या मेथ्यांची नवी पिढी , जरा हट्टीच …. बेसन रावांवर भाळून , वेळी अवेळी स्वतःला "हॉट" समजून तेलात झोकून देणं , उन्धीयूच्या पब मध्ये पडून रहाणं , कधी कधी भाजणीच्या आहारी जाउन थालीपीठात भाव खाणं … आणि मग एके दिवशी कुणा एका गाजर आजींच्या मध्यस्थीने एक चांगल्या घरचे केळे भाऊ भेट्ले. तिच्या सारखेच हिरवे , तिच्यासारखेच घोळक्यात लहानपण घालवलेले , पण जमिनीशी जवळचे नाते असलेल्या तिला वाटे , कि कायम वृक्षाईवर लोम्ब्काळून आयुष घालवणारा कसा असेल ? तिचा नाजूकपणा , हरहुन्नरीपणा, मधूनच कड्वट्पणे बोलायची सवय त्याला पटेल का ? आणि मग तिचे कांदेभाऊ , ओवाई , मिर्चीबेन , मोहरी जिर्याच्या कडकडाट न जुमानता धाउन आले, आणि म्हणाले , "ओय मेथ्ये , तुला माहित नसेल, पण केळेभाउ ह्या वयात सुधा शिजले कि तुझ्या सारखेच बेसन रावांबरोबर तेलात धमाल करतात , कधी कधी बटाटे रावांच्या डिक्टेटर शाहीला शह पण देतात , आणि सर्वात महत्वाच म्हण्जे, मोठेपणी खूपच गोड वागतात अशी त्यांच्या कुटुंबाची ख्याती आहे . " कुठेतरी मेथीला समजलं , असा माणूस पुन्हा भेटणे नाही , उन्धीयू वगैरे मंडळी येतात आणि जातात , पण हा माणूस खास गाजर आजींच्या ओळखीतला आणि तिची आधुनिक लाइफ स्टाईल समजणारा आहे. आणि सांगायची गोष्ट म्हणजे मेलबोर्न मंगल कार्यालयात , अधुनिक प्रथे नुसार श्रुती नरगुंदकर यांच्या पौरोहित्यात , प्रजासत्ताक दिनी हा विवाह संपन्न झाला … !

This new generation , the Fenugreeka Methees are clearly sometimes willfully stubborn. Infatuated with young Besan, spotted in 'hot' places, wildly abandoned in oil, fooling around at the Undhiyu Pub and sometimes even being smitten and lording it in Thalipithian places... And it came to pass,  that the Dowager Carotta, introduced her to young Kela scion of the Plantains. Green like her, and also boasting of a childhood spent deep amidst other young ones, she wondered how a Treemomma's Boy like him would react to her dainty demeanour, her odd habits and sometimes her bitter repartees. The Masala Union rushed in with a deputation of Onion-Ajawain-Mirchi types, who braved bursting protesting mustard and cumin seeds to say , " Yo Methi ! Kela has spirit, and when suitably cooked, he too has a thing going with the hot oils to the eternal consternation of the Potato Clan; whats more, we hear, that folks like Kela get sweeter with age ; a win win situaion na ?" The Fenugreeka Methi realized her folly, the passing nature of the fancy Undhiyu Lads, and gave thought again, to the new family tie up, set up by the sweet Dowager Carotta. To cut a long story short, Fenugreeka Methi is now Fenugreeka Methi Kela, thanks to a wedding at the Melbourne Mangal Karyalaya, on Republic day, officiated by the newly ordained, innovative, Gurubehen Anna-maa Shruti Nargundkar,

Alphabets in Shame

My friend Mukta Atrey on a recent visit to the state of Tripura in the Northeast, clicked some amazing vignettes  of the Life and Times of folks who live in this wonderful part of India.   Several amazing captures of Unakoti, Matabadi, Pilak and Debtamura regions may be viewed here. 

Sometimes it just makes one wonder about the direction in which we as a people are evolving, and whether what Einstein said is actually true , ie    “The only thing that interferes with my learning is my education.”.......

Eons ago,

A physics 

all about cosmic energy,
a chemistry
hidden in local foods,
a biology
that encouraged bovine
and simian members,
a maths that
added well wishers,
subtracted enemies,
multiplied good deeds
and divided
what they had amongst others,
the art shone through
on heartfelt worship
in stone and clay,
somewhere in the Northeast
a celebration of life
by those whom
"literacy" did not spoil.

The alphabets cringe
in shame
at what education
has done
to those
who claim to be
descendants :
a shameless calligraphy
as they mindlessly
trespass,
having nothing else to show,
the learned illiterates.

Idy and the 8 am Batata friends....

Long time ago, people quietly had their breakfast, and got on with life .  Not any more.

Today,  not only do folks have amazing breakfasts, but they post photos about it,  creating an entire population of hungry jealous friends who see it first thing in the morning. Things get worse, when there are excellent cooks, great photographers and hearty eaters , all in the same family.

My friend Deepak Amembal, posted this capture of Idyappams and Batata Song ,  a kind of fusion dish bringing together the  best and most popular items,  of South Indian and Konkan Saraswat Cuisine  , respectively. 

Something that has a message . Nothing in life is easy.  Ask the Idyappapms. It isn't fun being made to squeeze through perforations in life.

It's a lot of painstaking effort.  But having Batata friends look out for you, makes it all worth it ....... ?

:-) 

A snow white innocence,
a trusting leap
into boiling waters
and then
a misunderstanding
as someone
puts her back together
only to
pass through
pressing troubled times
all in pieces,
only to sense the wrath of steam
again in life.

Life, it seems,
has other plans,
as some
popular golden folks,
emerging experienced
from a
red hot and tangy
episode
swagger into the plate,
beckon some fingers,
and decide to
take things into their own hands,
trying to comfort her,
saying,
" Don't worry,
Times have changed;
Your life will never be the same ,
Mai Hoon na ?...."

Kachra Re, Kachra Re....

Left over veggies, never had it so good.

My friend Shruti Nargundkar of Melbourne, actually managed  to hit the winning shot
 in the Kabab Wars, hitherto being bossed over by the  carnivores, with fancy names like Galouti Kabab  and Reshmi  Kabab.

Except this was a delectable drop shot across the  culinary net,  in the form of a mixed veggie kabab, based on all the leftovers from yesterday.  

She calls it a Kachrey Ka Kabab (Trash Kabab) ,  in a backhanded whack to those who call anything veggie , as  Ghas Foos.

Perfect for a time when we look for Sustainable and Recycled Lives.

संक्रांतीच्या शुभ मुहूर्तावर जमलेली आणि दमलेली गाजरबेन, बिटाबाई , अति विशाल सिमला मिरचे , कान्देरवाञ्चा विरह न सहन झालेली टोमाटा, स्वतःला "फ्लावर" म्हणून सुधा ब्रोकोलीसार्ख्या दूरच्या भावाला आवर्जून घेउन येणारे लोण्याच्या शिडकाव्यात भिजलेले देशभक्त, आणि कुणा एका सामोसेरावाञ्च्या तडाख्यातून पळून आलेले बटाटेसिंग रताळेसिंग मटारे …. "हम बहुत, हमारा एक " ची घोषणा करत एकत्र येतात काय , कौतुकाने कोथिम्बिर-आले-लसून ह्या वयात आलेल्या मुलाना आपलेसे करतात काय अत्यंत नम्रतेने मीठ मसाल्यात एकरूप होउन "हम साथ साथ है !" म्हणत सुबक वडे रुपात पावान्ना आणि वाटलेल्या डाळ्यान्ना जवळ करून गरम तेलातले दिव्य करून हिरव्यागार चटणीला "चल ग …" म्हणत प्रजासत्ताक दिनाच्या मिरवणुकीत कबाब कवायतीत हजर होतात काय … नवाब वाजिद अली जी, आता गलोउति चे कबाब झाले गलतीचे कबाब , ते विसरून जायचे … आणि मग कधीतरी कलियुगात मांसाहारी कबाब अचमबून वर बघतात आणि "माझा हरी " कबाब ना बघून शरमेने तुकडे तुकडे होउन जातात ....

Gathering with the  Sankranti crowds, Mamzelle Carotta, Senora Beet, the Dowager Capsika, and  Tomataa pining for the Onion Union; let's not forget the stirred and fried cauliflowers, bringing along the NRI broccolis in a patriotic burst, just managing to avoid colliding with the potato, sweet one and peas, all just escaping away from a samosa-y life. And they congregate amidst slogans of "We are many, Act as one", while they mentor carefully the coriander ginger and garlic young ones messing around with the salt and spices. Taking along the teary bread and somewhat more maturely roasted gram, as they take upon themselves all the heat the oil bestows upon them as they line up holding hands with a demure green chutney to perform in the Republic Day Parade of the Kababs. "Nawab Wajjid Ali, Sir, Sorry to say, your Galouti Kababs must be a mistake and must now be called Galti Kababs.." On a cold Kalyugi Day, they look up to see the celebratory rich-in-veggies, Kachrey Ke Kababs, and ashamed of their Galti, simply dissolve  in despair, into a million pieces....

Safed Tikka...

Amazing blooms in a balcony  tended with much care , somewhere in Bandra.

My friend Deepak Amembal posted this capture today.  At first I thought this was a koranti flower, which has varieties in many colors. Then , I realized, there were no long stamens and   a sense of it being a sadafuli took over .  Maybe it is something else all together.   I am told by Deepak, that the gardener-in-chief  lady will confirm by the evening.....

And then it occurred to me that it really didn't matter. It was enough that it was a flower amidst many other flowers, all  works of art, and all unique in their own way ...

:-)

अचानक एका पहाटे बाल्कनीतील तुळस आणि जास्वंदी आपापसात कुजबुजू लागली , मधूनच कुणा एका राणी रंगाच्या कोरांटी कडे कटाक्ष टाकून काहीतरी एकामेकाला खुणावू लागली , आणि शेवटी म्हणाली, "काय ग , नेहमी एकाच सलग रंगात असतेस तू, आज हे पांढरे फलकारे कसले ?…" आणि नजर थोडीशी खाली सरकावून आपल्या मागे किती तरी हिरवाईचे पाठबळ आहे ह्या पासून दिलासा घेत ती म्हणाली, "आम्म्च्यात कि नाही, गुलाबाची दृष्ट लागू नये म्हणून ह्याला कौतुकाने सफेद टिक्का लावणे म्हणतात…. "

Hushed conversations between Tulsi and Hibisca at dawn, quick curious glances at Sadafuli just opening up to the world resplendent in Royal Rani Pink. Puzzled , yet gathering courage they ask , " Hey, whats with the white streaks in your normal spotless face ..." And she breathes in, confident in her place amidst the lovely supportive greens, and humbly explains, " Aiiyo. They call this 'the putting of a safed tikka'; you know, just in case someone like Miss Rose casts a nazar.....?"