Karmic Fish

My FB friend, and photographer  Sanjeev Hirudayaraj from the UK,  posted , what I call, a picture with great pathos  showing a bunch of fish in a frozen bin, after being caught somewhere.

This photo almost begged for a comment.  From a vegetarian. Such was the expression in the eyes of the stoic , but dead fish.

It means different things to different folks. To an absolute vegetarian, it is disturbing to see them lying like this, helpless, with their eyes open. Waiting, even after death, for some further mutilation, while some folks  rub their hands in glee at the prospect of a great meal.

I wonder what the theory of Karma says.
 
(photo bt Sanjeev Hirudayaraj)

A lifetime
gambolling
with
quick turns and dives,
in underwater parks,
sometimes  alone,
sometimes with friends,
and sometimes,
trailing the big chaps,
chasing after
real and fake
attractions
in water....

That wilful streak in me
made me bite the bait;
I ascended,
not to heaven,
but to a dingy boat,
where I was summarily flung
into a bin
where I froze
into oblivion;
stupid me,
I walked into a trap with my eyes open.

They say it's my past Karma.

But we fish
dont get over at Death.

Without fail,
all our past Karmas are so bad,
that even after Death,
they cut us up,
singe us,
burn us,
slather us with stuff
and fry us.

Some folks
get memorials and plaques
dedicated to them
in a great hurry;
Alas,
we folks
get someone slurping,
wiping the plate with a Pao,
and saying,
"What a great fish curry !" .

Nature, Nurture, and Ladyfingers

There is a wonderful FB Community called Assamese Cuisine and Recipes, where someone posted a photo of pink Ladyfingers or Okra as it is called outside India. My blogger friend Sangeeta Khanna  who is a botanist gardener commented on it along with her friend Nirupama , and I learned a lot about this variety.

Got me thinking about Nature and Nurture. We so called cerebral-cortex enabled folks keep inserting an OR between them. When actually we should be inserting an AND.

And learning from Nature.....

(photo by Marlee Basumatary)

Little broadbeans,
growing amidst
and learning
to find their way
to a sliver of sunlight
amidst
tall sugarcanes,
pick up a bit of sweetness
and even
a purplish blush.

Ladyfingers Okra,
cheeks all pinkish red
in the high altitudes
nippy air
of Assam,,
having possibly
grown up
amidst the beets
under the tutelage of
the dowager pumpkins.
and they revert
to their old color
in warmer climes....

Some roses too,
amidst
colorful colleagues,
picking up
a fine tinge of each,
avoiding extra thorns, 
but keeping
their own scent intact...

Unlike us,
smart bipeds,
they,
the cerebral-cortexless ones,
know
intrinsically,
how
to pick up the good,
and avoid
the doubtful and bad.

Something
for us to learn,
as we  constantly
seek distinctions between
bloods,
without realizing
that for
young ones to soak up
the good,
they must see
some good,
in the easy big bad
world around them.


And
We argue and discuss
so much
about Nature and Nurture,
without undertsanding
that
they are never separate,
and that
Nature always Nurtures


If we only looked.
And learned.

Banyan Aji

This photo of a Banyan tree, aged at the neck, so to speak, was posted by my blogger friend Magiceye, as part of his Mumbai Daily : Monochrome Mania series.

Nature has an unusual way of sometimes replicating outlines of human face-shapes. And sometimes it brings to mind the aging neck of a long-gone grandmother in her 80's.....

 (photo by Deepak Amembal Magiceye)

Once
a versatile young woman
extending her mind
to many sides,
and reaching
far and wide
in native medicinal matters,
amidst
great attention to her
offsprings
and green connections,
she now stands
entrenched
in place,
in her golden age,
still majorly green,
but
unable to battle
the wrinkles
at her neck.....

Ready to eat ?

My blogger friend from Kerala, Shail Mohan, first posted a wonderful closeup of Avial, the famous Kerala vegetable preparation, and then she followed it up with this wonderful capture of a plantain leaf, just right for picking. These were posted as part of the 365Project.org series , where she is participating.

Plantain leaves are  used for serving traditional meals on special occasions, and grown in gardens , since so many parts of the tree, like the fruits, the leaves, the flowers,  and even the stems  have great culinary value and utility.  Plantain trees kind of grow in groups , and you often see many new younger trees  around the older fruit laden mature ones.

Kind of gave me an  idea......

 (photo by Shail Mohan)

So many
crowded into a grove
in the garden.

Some mature ones with
a gaggle of kids hanging on.

Some younger
shorter ones,
growing alongside,
learning from the wet soil,
looking up
trying to emulate the elder sisters.

And some,
freshly unfurled
into adulthood,
bathed in an incessant rain,
shrugging off the drops,
faces scrubbed clean
and shining,
looking up to the Sun,
hoping
that the warmth
and the Gold
will attract
someone
who will come
and take her home
for a lovely meal of Avial and payasam.....

Vote For ......!

It is one of the fun parts of being a blogger, that you make many friends; you never meet these folks , but everyone acts as if they know each other very well, and remember each other .  It is actually true....because, your words are mostly you.

Sangeeta Khanna, my blogger friend from Delhi, is a trained scientist/botanist with amazingly green fingers, who is also a nutritiionist, admirer of traditional cooking and ayurveda, photographer , and dietician; that is when she is not participating in Himalayan cycle rallies with other daring women.

Dhiren Shah, known alternately as Hitchy in the blogworld, is another friend, who besides being an experimental cook, crazy cricket person, and poet (mainly when upset), lives in Bharuch, Gujarat, and is an avid follower of Sangeeta's food advice; that is, when he is not dishing out expert financial advice to unsuspecting folks, or participating in Himalayan rallies of another type...

Sangeeta recently posted an amazing set of photos of her garden resplendent with greens of all kinds, the types of which you never see in the market, as far as freshness and quality is concerned.  Somewhere between drooling at her garden, and possibly agonizing about the recent cricket happenings in Australia, Dhiren  remembered me, and my tendency to make poems on photographs that move me.

There was a Facebook nudge, and the following happened . While you ponder over 3 folks having nothing else to do on a Friday evening than drool over spinach, have a look at the slideshow, highlighting the subjects of the poem...

(Please ignore my name on the slide show. The photos are clicked by Sangeeta.  Picasa added my name on its own :-).....)

The Green Election Commission
appointed
the wiry grasshopper
to check
if election code rules
were being bent
by the plants.

And so he watched
from behind a tree trunk,
as the
Bok Choys
threw their weight around,
glaring at the
baby spinach;

The posh Zuchchinis
looked around
in a Page 3 manner
at the climbing Peas,
as if to
join in despair
at the lowly junta spinach
but
got roundly snubbed.

The crowded spinach and
the coriander greens
in their element,
at the Sangeeta Leela grounds
in new Delhi,
urging the
Tulsi's firangi cousin Basil,
and
Dills of Dilli
to join,
along with the
slightly quiet Celeries.

No dearth
of housing,
lots of water,
and good nutritious
unadulterated organic food,
and a
mother-like leader
who let them play
in the garden....

The grasshopper
went back to the
Green Election Commission
threw a Dill
on their able,
and said,
"I resign,
and I am joining them.
Roti, Kapda,
and a Cool Makan,
with an honest,
knowledgeable leader
who enjoys
playing music with the soil
and creates wonderful green songs !

I will vote for her "

And the Desi Gulab,
opens up a wee bit more,
smiles at the cherry tomatoes,
nods
and says ,
"Didnt I say she would win ?"......

Kralanic thoughts ....

Nisha Jha, my blogger friend,  who loves to take off and travel SOLO to different countries, and then  sits soaking in the memories amidst her wonderful clicks, is currently in Cambodia doing volunteer work,  meeting folks, eating, and writing about what she likes. 

Like Kralan.  A kind of cousin of Puttoo, a similar Kerala traditional dish.  She writes about it  on her blog  and you can enjoy some photos of her sojourn in Cambodia  on her FB page here  and  here. 

The world over , wherever Bamboo is grown, or grows, it has myriads of uses,  some of them in cooking as an implement.  It is amazing to see the similarities in what is stuffed inside the hollow of a bamboo and cooked, say in Kerala and Cambodia.

My Malyali friends tell me that the bamboo piece is reused again later. In Cambodia, it looks, like  it is peeled open to access the delicious stuff inside, and is not usable again.  Maybe its different varieties of Bamboo, or possibly the benefits of plenty.

Different geography, different history, different people , and  different methods.  But what is inside is so similar.

Makes you think.  

(I just found out that another blogger friend, who has wheels and wings instead of feet, is also in Cambodia and she and Nisha have just met.  Possibly over a Kralan lunch ?  :-).....Who knows !)   


(Photos by Nisha Jha)
Growing long,
looking tough,
hollow inside ,
but
with an amazing ability
to bend
when under demand,
whether to hurt
or
to blindly praise someone.
Say hello to Mr Politician.


Some grow
old and tough,
and on harvest,
change their minds.

Life isnt all
about power
and tall status,
and
but about giving of yourself,
bits and pieces at a time,
holding yourself wrapped,
again and again,
around
some like minded friends
like rice and coconut,
all together,
simmering deliciously
on a bed of Coals,
to emerge
from the hot tunnel
into the real world
ready to repeat this
all over again.
Say hello to the Social Worker.

But for some,
its their entire life.

Life is then
about
carefully holding together
and guiding
differently gifted folks
like rice, coconut,
beans,
all awash
in the milk of human kindness,
boxed in from all sides
but
cooking in empathy
on the Bed of Life,
only to
sacrifice oneself
and sometimes fall apart,
just so
the world enjoys
the delicious, nutritious
and beneficial fruits of labor.
Say hello to a Mother.

The Incredible lightness of being a Cake.....

A blogger friend, at one time an IT expert, but in addition, now  by choice, a photographer, chronicler of the life-and-times-of-her-greatest-creation (not shown here),  a versatile cookery expert, voracious reader, traveler,  car-rally person, and very lately, someone who has ventured into  her own bakery start-up, Monica Manchanda  recently started her very own bakery classes  by popular demand. 

Those of us staying thousands of miles away, had to make do with delicious photos on Facebook.  Some were inspired to write poems.

It just occurred to me that cakes ,like humans, have life stages like childhood, Grihasthashram (householder stage), Vanaprastshashram (old age detachment etc). They just don't have the "Sanyas" stage.  Instead they get wonderful Icing . 

(All photos appearing below  were  clicked by one of the the participants, and my name erroneously appears because I tried to do a slide show.  (next best to being there )....






A childhood,
Bachpan,
with fun and games,
eggs
in a bowl,
playing catch-me
with the mixer blades,
as the sugar and butter rush in ,
like a smooth balm for the hurts....

Then flirting with walnuts, raisins
dabbing a bit of vanilla perfume,
a bit more attentionto the
Dark and  Handsome Chocolate.

Grihastashram,
as the
flour
suddenly rushes in,
reminding them all
of their
rising duties;

They mix
hesitantly at first,
like a new bride in a new home;
then with gusto,
as she realizes
she likes it all ....

New pan houses,
new heating
and they mature
to a busy brown,
like grandparents,
nice and soft inside....

Vanaprasthashram
on a lovely cakeholder,
with so many
sweet cherry and sugar
creamy
grandkids
falling all over them,
as the visiting ladies applaud.

And the lady who defined the
Life of a cake,
stands back
indulgently watching it all:
A sweet life,
full of energy,
friendship
and fragrant warmth.......

The Secret of the Owls.....

My blogger and FB  friend, Lakshmi Sharath, a travel writer, columnist , photographer, birder, editor, posted a wonderful set of photographs of owls (possibly baby owls) which she encountered on her daily walks in Bengaluru .

She has been on a whirlwind of travel trips in the  recent past, and is soon to take off on a new assignment.

Actually, there is more to the owls than meets the eye.  I just found out .

(photograph by Lakshmi Sharath)

We,
quiet exalted types,
not given to
wild chirps,
excited flutters
and exhibition colors and dives,
often
simply worry
and seethe within
at what we
see but
do not comprehend....

We came from Chennai
as part of her trousseau
ahead
of all the kanjeevarams
and temple sarees and jewels.

"Keep an eye on our jewel"
her folks said,
"and we have been doing just that...."

But she doesn't listen,
as she moves around
with wheels,
nay,
should I say,
wings,
as she travels ceaselessly,
clicks and writes,
without rest.

Wild weather changes,
food
and the body rebels,
enforcing a rest
in Bengaluru.

She doesn't know this,
but
while she thinks
we are being playful
on her walks,
we are actually keeping a beady eye on her ....
:-)

Self confidence....

There is so much that nature teaches us.Blogger friend Magiceye posted this picture of an Indian Reef  Heron,  contemplating itself in a pool of water at the Sewri Mud flats, on Mumbai's eastern seaboard, as part of his Camera Critter Series .  A proponent of multitasking, it probably keeps one beady eye also on some wriggling stuff in the water, which may be a good meal, side by side. 

There are Indian Reef Herons  in a wide color spectrum between dark grey and greyish white to white. Sometimes it looks like Mumbai's urban sensibilities and modern ads , have affected these  nice birds.  Sometimes, it depends on the company they keep. 

And sometimes, it is left to the older generation to explain .......

(photo by Deepak Amembal Magiceye)

Times have certainly changed.

From
when we were a
united group,
flying together
and sharing
all the good and bad,
whether at
Sewri,
Pulicat,
or elsewhere...

Maybe it is because
they hang around
with the
fancy
pink and white
flamingoes,
but
this young generation,
is obsessed by
about being
considered
Fair and Lovely.

If they
only
observed themselves
in the sandy pools
at Sewri.

It's not important
what others think of you.

What matters
is what looks back at you,
when you look
into that pool of water,
and
whether it smiles back !

Auspicious Evenings......

Blogger and FB friend, dentist, photographer, and travel raconteur, Dr Kavita Saharia, often posts photographs of things native to the state of Assam, in NorthEast india, where she lives. She recently posted this wonderful photograph of a flower, that is called "Godhuli Gopal" in Assam.

While the flower looked familiar, the naming of this flower in Assamese was a delight. "Godhuli" refers to the evenings when the cattle return home kicking up the dust ("dhuli"), or as they say , "when the cows come home". This flower, it turns out,  blooms in the late afternoons ....:-))

It is interesting to know that this flower is widely grown across India,China, Peru,and Mexico, and is called Mirabilis jalapa (The four o'clock flower or marvel of Peru)!

A curious aspect of this plant is that flowers of different colors can be found simultaneously on the same plant. Another interesting point is a color-changing phenomenon. For example, in the yellow variety, as the plant matures, it can display flowers that gradually change to a dark pink color. Similarly white flowers can change to light violet.

We call this plant Gulbaxi in my language, Marathi, and I have childhood memories, of plucking these, in several colors,  and twisting them into wreathes to decorate the hair, something all little girls did in my " simple, non-e childhood"....:-))

(photo by Kavita Saharia)

Tired
and pale,
but with a tinge of pink,
she's been at it
since the morning,
sweat shining
on her brows.

Green experienced mamis
crowding around,
encouraging
and helping her along,
themselves refreshed
with
a cool sprinkle.

The Sun
prepares to depart,
wistful
at having missed the event,
when
amidst a rustle of the green
there emerges,
a young one,
pale and pink
and eyes tightly shut.

She breathes easy now,
the glow returns.
And she waits,
agog,
with the  accompanying greens,
to see,
what color
the new arrival's eyes
are to be.....