Thoughts and Reflections

These days…

2009-03-27T00:07:00.000-07:00

The hardest thing to learn in life is which bridge to cross and which to burn…

If Only

2009-03-13T23:35:00.000-07:00

The air is heavy with the scent of smoke-marred perfume, left behind by his kisses. She runs her hands through her body, as he would have. A mixed set of feelings trouble her – hurt, longing, pain and anger. She hadn’t expected herself to miss him!

Cursing under her breath she thinks, “It’s so easy for men; they do it and forget it and women, get hooked on emotionally.” If only they had still been acquaintances as they were a few years ago, she wouldn’t have to go through this hell!

Place

2009-02-20T03:03:00.000-08:00

Place becomes an extension of the self, and literature, says Chandrahas. Here are a few quotes, by William Zinsser, talking about the role place in fiction.

“Every human event happens somewhere, and the reader wants to know what that somewhere was like.”

“In a few cases you’ll need only a paragraph or two to sketch the setting of an event. But more often you’ll need to evoke the mood of a whole neighborhood or town to give texture to the story you’re telling.”

“How can you. . . write well about a place? My advice can be reduced to two principles—one of style, the other of substance. First, choose your words with unusual care. If a phrase comes to you easily, look at it with deep suspicion;. . . As for substance, be intensely selective. If you are describing a beach, don’t write that ‘the shore was scattered with rocks’ or that ‘occasionally a seagull flew over.’ Shores have a tendency to be scattered with rocks and to be flown over by seagulls. Eliminate every such fact that is a known attribute: don’t tell us that the sea had waves and the sand was white. Find details that are significant. They may be important to your narrative; they may be unusual, or colorful, or comic, or entertaining. But make sure they do useful work.”

“Your main task. . . is to find the central idea of the place you’re dealing with. . . . to catch the essence.”

“Whether the locale you write about is urban or rural, east or west, every place has a look, a population and a set of cultural assumptions unlike any other place. Find those distinctive traits.”
“Whatever place you write about. . . isolate the qualities that make it distinctive. Usually this will be some combination of the place and the people who inhabit it.”

“What brings a place alive is human activity: people doing the things that give a local its character.”

In the men’s compartment

2009-02-17T04:31:00.000-08:00

I see an acne-scarred man, wiping his face every now and then. The wet film left behind on his face catches my eye. A closer look reveals him, smearing juice from a piece of lemon.

And I had thought, only, the ladies compartment was a place for such doings!

Cheating

2009-02-15T23:58:00.000-08:00

She comes home, hugs him tight, caresses his face, and locks her lips onto his. This is so unlike her usual self! She wonders if this is how a spouse behaves on cheating the other- as redemption of their downfall.

The other day, he too had come home, chirpy as never before and swept her off her feet. Then, does it mean, he too?

Holding Hands

2009-02-10T10:59:00.000-08:00

‘Can I hold your hand?’ he said.
She knew only lovers do that!

She remembers a time -
When a friend, in school, had held her hand;
And the murmurs did their rounds.

Intoxicated Talk

2008-12-26T01:39:00.000-08:00

Between ‘breezer’ sips and hookah puffs,
Old times intoxicate us, we talk of –
The chicken rawls (rolls), the tiggi-rides,
The movie shows and the like.

Like teen girls we giggle over –
The silly link-ups we had with boys,
A few crushes here and there, and
Falling for the same guy.

Ah! The college days were nothing
But a big-time nautanki!

P.S.: Deepa and Savvy, we missed you immensely!

Haji Ali Calling

2008-06-14T03:36:00.000-07:00

One fine May-day, out of nowhere, I had this realization that I must visit Haji Ali.

Never had I been there before except to the legendary Haji Ali Juice Centre (where I had tasted the yummiest of strawberry and cream, the taste of which is still fresh in mind).

The Haji Ali-thought had me possessed for the next few days. I found myself humming the ‘Piya Haji Ali’ song day and night. It would bring tears to my eyes (don’t know why?). So I finally decided that I have to visit the dargah!
Though there was a huge crowd, the feeling of just being there was wonderful! I did not wish for anything particular, maybe next time I will.

P.S. : Also during my next visit, I would love sea-water lashing the causeway to the dargah.

Life goes on ...

2008-04-17T22:59:00.000-07:00

In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life. It goes on.

~ Robert Frost

I, too, am learning the same!

Bicycle-Memories and Confessions

2008-04-04T02:57:00.000-07:00

Rented and old
Atlas’ n’ Bsa Slrs,
One could get from
The local cycle shop,
For rupees five an hour.

With these cycles in tow
Peers did antics- galore,
While I only fret in awe,
The fear in me I could never mow.

When the wheels of life
Turned ten plus three, then
I learned to ride a cycle- carefree!
But to this day, I cannot say,
If I can ride a bicycle, really.

* Inspired by - This post of Priyank's

Attitude is everything...

2008-04-02T23:47:00.000-07:00

Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass...

It's about learning to dance in the rain.

All this fine talk about having the right attitude is - wonderful! But has anyone ever heard of - 'learning to dance in a storm?'

Summer Fun

2008-04-02T04:19:00.000-07:00

Summer’s around the corner and vacation fervour is catching-on with the children. But for adults like me, its time again to revisit those memories that had been on a vacation for a while, a long while…summer memories from childhood.

Living in Hyderabad suburbs was like a call of the wild. Playing in Nature’s abundance and exploring the raw environs of a suburb was one of the major pastimes, of summer vacations, apart from the usual ‘bhatukli’ (game of house-keeping),’ lukka-chuppi’ (hide n’seek) and ‘pakda-pakdi’ (a kind of running game) games.

In the scorching noon-stillness, the feral side in us would unleash itself. We would - swing down trees; trek to the bottom of gigantic and parched unlined wells that seemed like craters on the face of the land; go fishing in murky and marshy paddy fields to catch tiny fish with hands and tea-strainers and bring them home alive.

The sadists amongst us would derive pleasure in threading the tails of chameleons and walking them as pets. It seemed that then we had an anti-water-conservation crusade going – exploiting the hand-pumps in our colony. We would tightly shut the mouth of the hand-pump outlet and watch in delight water spurt from its sides. This water-wastage would continue till we exhausted our energies.

Many pigs with piglets roamed about in our colony basking themselves in open-drains. Once in a while, skilled pig-catchers would come along to trap these pigs. We found a game for ourselves from this activity- ‘Pig-Hunting.’ Yes! My brother and I would go pig-hunting when our outdoor activities would be banned. Arming ourselves with toy-guns, bow and arrows, skipping ropes we would hunt for unseen pigs indoors and shoot them down. It’s embarrassingly hilarious to think about it now!

We had so much fun then. Wonder what kids these days do?

Love and Melancholy (continuing with the Triolet)

2008-02-18T22:19:00.000-08:00

Love - 'Under the Sky'

As a star falls under the sky – Prussian blue,
I make a wish for us two,
That we stick for all life – like glue,
As a star falls under the sky – Prussian blue;
A song in distant, comes from a heart so true,
Singing of a love, he never could woo,
As a star falls under the sky – Prussian blue,
I make a wish for us two.

Melancholy - 'Not in mood so bright'

Elegy I want to write,
For am not in mood so bright,
Give me words all trite,
Elegy I want to write.
No! Triolet I cannot write,
For it needs humour, light
Elegy I want to write,
For am not in mood so bright.

Since I read about the Triolet…

2008-02-18T03:59:00.000-08:00

Ammani comes up with these little contests now and then and the fun of it is, trying out new things and forms in writing.
Since I read about the Triolet, I had a trying time, with the rhyming lines.

I keep running to the loo,
Since I read the magazine in the noon,
For am guzzling water like a fool,
Since I read the magazine in the noon.
The room’s a chilling igloo,
But to keep my skin glowing like the moon,
I keep running to the loo,
Since I read the magazine in the noon.

Post-Cards from The KGAF

2008-02-14T03:28:00.001-08:00

Imprints from Random Wanderings at the KGAF

2008-02-11T02:58:00.000-08:00

On a sun-kissed winter afternoon, walking through the almost-empty-Sunday-streets of Fort, the exuberant hustle-bustle at the Kala Ghoda was welcoming. The 10th KGAF being my first, I set about randomly exploring the fest.

Kids scurried around holding balloons and other playful-paraphernalia, attending workshops, sing-song contests, performing plays, learning pottery. Stalls lined-up the rampart row selling artifacts and crafts. Stilt-walkers passed by extending hand-shakes. Crowds jostled food-stalls, delectably taking mouthful digs at their plates. NGOs’ volunteers educating causes to those who had time to stand and stare as well care. The adventure-kinds with an artistic side get their bodies’ tattoed with intricate designs. Packed amphitheatre had audience tapping feet and swinging to the tunes of the dance and music performers. Innovative lanterns hung as a part of ‘lantern-making' competition. Media captured the excitement of the festivities and a few celebrities strayed here and there. The pavements of Kala Ghoda had art on display by its resident artists, as well those participating in the festival. Paintings, sketches, caricatures, sculptures, graffiti, art-installations in galore were enough to satiate an art connoisseur. The ones that I took a fancy to (along with visual arts) are – poster-art with a satirical take on George Bush and paintings done on tickets.

There was a huge message board for King Khan called ‘Smoking Khan’ wherein anti-smoking messages were left by his fans. 'Flashy Revas' adorning the parking lot showcased motor-art.

In the midst of this entire jamboree, the visual arts on display were striking, sublime and indelible. Some had a thought running through them, some illustrating the life and spirit of Mumbai, some sending a message to the society at large and some beyond the comprehensible realms of a common-viewer.

The first to catch one’s eye, as you enter the precincts of the fest, is the ‘Black Horse Mural’ (by Sunil Padwal) – done on Kybher Restaurant, represents the Kala Ghoda through the artists’ brush.

‘Leheri Mochi’ (by Clay Chakra) – a gigantic-‘humble shoe’ of clay, studded with copious amounts of petite ceramic boots; symbolizing the coming together of people from all walks of life, an object of daily use that speaks volumes about us.

‘Taxi – The Honey Bee’ (by Hina Khan) similar to Mumbai’s taxis, had electrical appliances representing eyes, antennae, sting and wings.

‘Mosquito’ (by Jayaram Tanaji Gopale) the artist calls it ‘metamorphosis’; as urbanization takes off, it thrives on exploited blood. And I heard a man (standing right in front of the ‘about-installation’ placard) telling his son that it is Pinocchio, the man with a long nose. Ha!

‘A musical prayer for the city of dreams’ (by Pankaj Gharde) - Dabbas (of the famed Dabbawallahs of Mumbai) painted in radiant colours and intense drawings, hung like the buddhist prayer wheels, calling one and all to say a prayer for this ever vibrating city and appreciate all that it has given to us. I specially liked this particular dabba saying, “What are you running for?” juxtaposed brilliantly with the Mumbai mass.

‘Vertical Mumbai’ (by Priti & Kruti) a conical metallic structure with lights inside. This was peculiar and difficult to figure out.

'Wear your Art’ (by Priyasri Art Gallery) in style; painted canvas pieces stitched across the face of jute bags.

‘Special Train Bogey’ (by Sanjeev Bagwe) illustrates the 'space conflict' and travel travails of normal and handicapped people in local trains. And the compartment for handicapped is only a small picture of this conflict…

‘The Newspaper Wala’ (by artExperiments.com) a representation of newspaper vendor, who collects newspapers daily from the press and leaves it on the dining table, connecting one with the entire world.

'Palm-Mistry’ (by Neha Majithia) mainly focuses on the belief of ancient sciences like palmistry, astrology, tarot, etc.

‘Altered Wanderings / Fewer Records’ (by Kanchi Mehta) emotions woven into each piece of fabric, asking people to pick one of their choice – take home or scrap it. I took home with me a ‘potli’ containing a cotton ball…

click to enlarge image

'Graffiti’ (by Chirodeep Chaudhuri) these photographs illustrate the graffiti scrawled in local trains portraying the non-verbal and non-physical assault on women. The artist questions whether you were disturbed when you saw them on the walls of the train? Yes, they did. But now it amuses me and has me marveling the artists’ work. The artist’s eye and camera have given life, literally, to a few graffiti. By literally, I mean the artist has not only captured the words but also has caught people in spur-of-the-moment to the essence of the words. Sample this below –

(Graffiti saying ‘A Love Day’ has a lovelorn-looking man in the picture.)

(And this is hilarious, looks like the man is actually calling ‘for sexy Rupa’.)

‘City of lights’ (by Krsna Mehta & Students of Rachana Sansad) where Mumbai skyline is depicted by play of light.

‘Park ‘08’ (Kirann Telkar) images in fibre glass of cool-drink bottles, merry-go-round and flowers; symbolize globalization, consumerism and cultural and technological changes.

‘Polar Bear’ (by Hetal Shukla) is a Reva dressed in fur and talks of a phenomemon called animalization.

‘Mumbai Ghoda’ (by Varsha Pandit & Jamnabai Narsee School Kids) sums up the galloping spirit of Mumbai, for which the symbolic use of horse is the best suitable.

‘Interactive Installation’ (by Dilshad Farrod, Dominic Anthony & VSS Iyer) is made of recycled material.

‘Mumbai Masti’ (by Krsna Mehta, Laxmi Narwekar & Prashant Keluskar) a giant-wheel made of cycles with dangling tiffin-boxes, celebrating the routine day’s-cycle of the Mumbai junta.

‘De-Addiction’ (by Art Quest) calling people to renounce addictions of various kinds.

(Addicted to Smoking)

(Addicted to Alcohol)

(Addicted to Drugs)

(Addicted to Technology)

(Addicted to Televison)

(Addicted to Shopping)

So long, KGAF until the next year rings in…

Their story!

2008-02-07T02:16:00.000-08:00

After long years they meet.

“I had a crush on you,” says she.
“But you never mentioned it,” says he.

She weighs his words.
“Then, could they have made a story together?” she wonders.
“Their story!”

Déjà vu

2008-01-24T04:38:00.000-08:00

“I am coming to Bombay tomorrow. Are you working tomorrow?...”

Read the text on her mobile phone. She continued to stare the name signed at the end of the message, until the words sunk in.

They had met, a year and half ago, on one of the online networking sites. She was incredulous of meeting strangers over the virtual world. But with him it turned out to be different. Unlike her nature, she opened out to him and he made a way to her heart.

Every message they exchanged gave her the feeling of having had known him somewhere, sometime in the past. She had been reading too much of literature on Past Life Regression, then. He sent his pictures one day and the unrest in her was laid to rest. She was convinced he was someone, from her past but from where she could not know. “But it’s only a déjà vu,” he had said. She tried hard recalling every inconsequential event of this life to find a cue. If only she could meet him once, maybe be she would find an answer.

Her mobile rings, they fix an appointment for the next day. She’s excited, her wait is finally over.

*Sketch Courtesy - Jigar

Manorath

2008-01-24T01:19:00.000-08:00

Manorath. She had an instant fondness for his name when she first met him. It was atypical for those typical maharashtrian names of Swapnil, Sachin, Sameer and the likes.

He, like a wild forest-fire, was unruly. A mischievous elf, meance to every all and sundry. Yet she was fond of him, the way she was of his name.

She sees him, after all these years, in a corner of the room, standing calm and quiet. Responding with a cherubic smile, to whoever that bothered to talk to him.

They say- quieteness has struck him since his father’s death.

Aamchi Mumbai

2008-01-13T03:22:00.000-08:00

“Kalnirnay aahe ka?” (Do you have Kalnirnay?)
I ask the newspaper-stand wallah kaka*, at Irla in Vile Parle.

He replies saying, “Aahe, pan marathi madhe.” (Yes, I have it but in marathi)

This little dialogue, especially his cynicism and disappointment marred reply – ‘Aahe, pan marathi madhe’, has me weighing the Shiv-sena propaganda of the Marathi Manoos** and their dwindling numbers in aamchi Mumbai.

Not that I believe in any of the Shiv-Sena ideologies or propaganda. Infact I don’t even bother to consider them. But this episode does echo the Shiv-sena concern in a certain way. It simply showed he had no customers for the marathi almanac, and that too in aamchi Mumbai!

Now this leaves me concerned, too. I believe that no city should become so cosmopolitan that it begins losing its inherent indigenous distinctiveness. Moreover, it’s the local populace which lends a character to a city. Needless to say, the ratio of locals to outsiders has to be a healthy one. So, that the ‘aamchi’ in Mumbai does not cease to exist.

Nonetheless I tell the kaka, “Mala marathi madhech haway” (I want the marathi one only) and leave his stand with the almanac.

kaka* - Uncle
Marathi Manoos** - Marathi people

Blunder-Wunder

2007-12-30T23:47:00.000-08:00

Pastels and Oils

2007-12-08T03:12:00.000-08:00

Pastels and oils I have brought,
in colours many.

To teach myself to fill the canvas
in shades vary.

With a splash here, and
a spraying there,
With a dab here, and
a scraping there,

I am goin’ to try all the techniques.

Ricky still drives me wacky

2007-12-08T02:58:00.000-08:00

I feel a high-volt tantalizing current pass through me, at this very moment.

This seems to be an older Ricky, but oh! boy, he looks all the more sexy.

To have my youth back…

2007-11-26T03:00:00.000-08:00

Would I a penny give?

For the days of youth I lived,
A fortune I am ready to give.

For the creases on my youth,
A penny I wouldn’t give.

* Picture Courtesy - AT Raghu Nandan

Yoo-hoo! I am gonna die...

2007-11-23T03:04:00.000-08:00

… asleep on a Ferris Wheel. That’s what the ‘How Will You Die?’ test that I took up on Facebook says.

* Picture Courtesy - Ravi Chandra Varma

She and He

2007-11-21T02:07:00.000-08:00

Lost in thoughts,
With a pen between lips,
She searches for words,
Ruffling the journal leaves.

She says –
“Never you make poetry for me,
Never you remark the poems I weave,
Never you show your feelings for me.”

He, then says –
“Not sure if you are a soul silent but spirit restless,
Not sure if you admire poetry or create it,
Not sure if you are pensive or pondering,
Your poems just make me smile.”

* 'He' Words Courtesy - Cheenu Ray

So much so

2007-10-29T02:29:00.000-07:00

“So much in our lives, we take so much so for granted.”

Probably the only words, I can muster courage to blurt out, on having finished with Mitch Albom’s ‘For One More Day’. Forget about listing, ‘what would I do if I had one more day with someone I had lost?’ I am weak at knees, already.

'Tis time, 'tis time

2007-10-27T02:34:00.000-07:00

The Jabse Tere Naina teaser from ‘Saawariya’ premièred last night on ‘Jhalak Dhikla Jaa 2’. Ranbir, clad in a white towel and dancing to the tunes of the song, was sensuous and mesmerizing.

Much to my enticement, he sports a Michelangelo-sculpted body and not a gym-built one. The aesthetics of light and camera play around his body, neatly defining the chiselled muscular lines of this male beauty. I can’t wait to watch the whole song. Such treat for eyes and fantasy!

Well, I have a prophecy to make, a la Macbethian witches style –

Double, double toil and trouble;

Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.

'Tis time, 'tis time
Salman, to move your muscle-rubble,
Here comes the charming Ranbir,
To add to all your troubles.

Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.

The Versifier and The Commoner

2007-10-25T04:29:00.000-07:00

She plays with words, and
He struggles with them.

She is a versifier, and
He a commoner.

Yet, his love is poesy
And her’s prosaic.

As I grow a year older

2007-10-20T04:05:00.000-07:00

As I grow a year older,
I will be a little wiser.

As I grow a year older,
I will make mistakes all the more.

As I grow a year older,
I want to be wiser, to,

Not to make the mistakes as earlier.

Cough Syrup for ‘The 24 hour challenge’

2007-10-11T03:02:00.000-07:00

I am not much of a cough syrup fan when it comes to cure cough. Rather trust more on the age-old concoctions of ‘kadhas’ and types. Except for this one particular brand called ‘Nivaran'90’.

This particular syrup comes in sachets and neither tastes nor smells chemical. The syrup being a blend of herbal ingredients has a very interesting flavour and odour.

And ‘The 24 hour challenge’, theme of today, gives me just the right opportunity to show my love for the cough syrup. Here’s my post for the challenge.

* Picture Courtesy - AT Raghu Nandan

October Drizzle

2007-10-02T03:30:00.000-07:00

It’s drizzling!

The smell of the earth, takes me away from work.
I sit back and watch, fine drops pour heavy.
The foliage of trees and plants become fresh green,
a pleasant and happy green.

…be by my side, to share this lovely scene.

* Picture Courtesy - AT Raghu Nandan

Days of yore

2007-09-29T00:43:00.001-07:00

Gushing through the gorges of time,
Lores from the days of yore,
Sing melodies sweet and old.

*Picture Courtesy - Harsha

In love with Dhoni

2007-09-24T23:49:00.000-07:00

Yes! India won the first ICC World Twenty20 Trophy and there’s madness all around. Cricket has found a new fan in me. The Twenty20 format makes it action-filled and fast-paced, sending thrills and chills each time.

I want to act like a frenzy-fanatic adolescent and yell out, “Anhoni ho gayi honi, I am in love with Dhoni.” Watching Dhoni, all through the tournament, as a captain and as a person, makes me drool over him and wanting me to splash his images all over the blog.

Just wishing that he doesn’t let this euphoria die-out in the times to come.

* Picture Courtesy - Cricinfo.com

Or-cut / Or-kut

2007-09-05T02:54:00.000-07:00

“Or-cut.” That’s how I pronounce it!
I had always fumed and fussed whenever people around me said, “Or-kut.”

But today it seems that Google too, has added fire to my fury, by running a home page with ‘Or-kut’ written in various Indian languages and glaring out in bold (which simply says its “Or-kut” and not “Or-cut.”.)

Nevertheless, proper nouns/names can be pronounced in anyway and I still prefer calling it “Or-cut.”

Electronic Meters and Handsets

2007-09-01T22:59:00.000-07:00

“Uthalsar?” I say.

He looks up from the white sheet of paper that he is reading. After a momentary pause, he signals with a nod to get in. Climbing the auto-rickshaw, I begin to wonder what words from the white paper had him pondering that he had to give a pause before answering. “It must be a letter from some relative,” I say to myself.

I begin to busy myself in de-entangling the hands free cord of my mobile phone to put on the radio. He, as if having read my mind, says, “Now you customers will profit from us.”
Confused, I ask him, “How?” He says, “Now electronic meters will take place of these present meters, that’s what this paper says.” I promptly quip in saying, “So that means now you rickshaw-wallahs will not be able to tamper the electronic meters and dupe us.” A sheepish grin reveals his tobacco-tarnished teeth.

A long silence prevails between us, and then I ask him, “From when are the new meters being installed?” He says, “Don’t know madam. I haven’t understood this entirely, handing me the white sheet of paper.” Unfolding the sheet I discover it to be a notice, from the Auto-Rickshaw Union of Thane, calling for a protest to be made by all auto-rickshaw drivers against the installation of electronic meters. The opportune reasons mentioned therein were –

1. The electronic meters, being Japanese- manufactured, will cost approximately Rs. 5,000 to Rs. 6,000, which is expensive for a rickshaw driver;
2. The thermal paper-roll on which the fare will be printed is also an expensive one;
3. The electronic meters call for proper measures to be taken to protect them from rain-water, thus increasing the costs.
4. The break-down of electronic meters will require repair only from specified service centres, which is not feasible; and
5. Incase of theft, the loss will be unbearable.

I tell him, “This is in your favour. Feel happy. I don’t think the installation would take place soon. You rickshaw drivers are going on a strike to protest the installation.” Satisfied, he smiles.

Traffic signal turns green, vehicle takes speed and silence honks in the midst of traffic din.

He then asks, “Madam, which mobile brand would you recommend buying?” Though not being a Nokia-admirer in the low-cost range, I tell him, “Nokia!” “No madam, he says, I have already used that.” I begin searching for brand names that I think a ‘rickshaw-driver’ might have heard and can afford. To my surprise, he smartly says, “How about Sony Ericsson, the one with the camera and which costs around 7,000 to 8,000 Rs.?”
Dropping my jaw and tightening my grip on my mobile (which being the same piece he’s just mentioned), I say “Yes that’s a nice one!”

Now he excitedly says, “Electronic gadgets generally have assumed names apart from their generic names.” As I begin to wonder what he means, he says, “Take for example mobile. It is also known as Hand-set. I like it being called Hand-set. It’s the best name that could have been given.”

Continuing his talk on mobiles, he says, “Madam, until now I have found three mobiles in my rickshaw, left behind by customers. But I returned them.” “That’s a commendable gesture, I say, it’s good to be honest.” “I also find many umbrellas and I try to return those too.”

The conversation is broken as my destination arrives. Paying the fare, I begin to ask him, “So, have you tampered your meter too?”

A sheepish grin reveals his tobacco-tarnished teeth.

Latur Express

2007-09-01T20:14:00.000-07:00

She sees the Latur Express,
Standing yonder the Chief Yard Master’s Office.
A dim glow lights up her face,
That someone will alight from it.

She buys her a one-way ticket,
With rupees two-eight-nine.
And boards the Latur Express,
To travel back in time.

He had promised to meet her,
When to Latur he comes.
Twice had he come,
But never to meet her.

Still! She sees the Latur Express,
Standing yonder the Chief Yard Master’s Office.
A dim glow lights up her face,
That someone will alight from it.

*Picture Courtesy - AT Raghu Nandan

Formal Language, A Farewell to thee!

2007-08-30T00:42:00.000-07:00

I ‘oopscidentally’ came across this ‘Open Dictionary’ on Merriam Webster; where one can craft and contribute words of their own to enrich the English lexicon. The list of such word-entries is ‘gihugic’.

The first five pages of recent-entries drove me ‘suprazy’, making me want to ‘screll’ my guts out. No! I don’t intend to involve myself in this game of ‘Systematic Language Assassination by Younger Generation’ (SLANG). Such sacrilege, in the name of creativity!

* Link Courtesy - Muthu Sundararajan

Celebrating Beauty

2007-08-08T03:35:00.000-07:00

The commercials - 'Surat bhi hai, Khoobsurat bhi hai' (Lux Beauty Soap) and 'Gorgeous Hamesha' (Parachute Hair Oil) are few of the finest lyrical compositions celebrating commonplace beauty. Making no beauty-enhancing claims, they signify that 'beauty is only skin deep'.

And we have the charming Mohit Chauhan, lending his voice to ‘Gorgeous Hamesha’. Gorgeous!

Coffee Time Blues

2007-08-08T02:36:00.000-07:00

Tick, tock, tick,
It’s four o’ clock,
You place a coffee-cup,
On my table-top.

Creamy and frothy,
I want to gulp it down,
Steamy and hot,
I have to hold on.

Raising the cup,
I bring it to my lips,
Inhaling the vapours,
I take a sip.

The saccharine overdose,
Puckers my brow,
Only a proper caffeine dose,
Will make me glow.

You tell me – It’s Tuesday!

2007-08-07T05:47:00.000-07:00

You tell me – It’s Tuesday!
And shove into my face,
A Ganesha-idol bearing thali.

I shoo you away.

You tell me – It’s Tuesday!
And come pestering behind me,
Saying it’s Lord Ganesha’s day.

I shoo you away.

You tell me – It’s Tuesday!
And beg me to offer alms,
For Lord Ganesha’s sake.

I shoo you away.

No! I don’t wish to offer alms,
For anybody’s sake,

Be it Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday!

* Picture Courtesy - AT Raghu Nandan

Monsoon Lament

2007-07-28T03:30:00.000-07:00

You walk in bliss,
With your pair of shoes,
Full of wet earth.
Bringing home the lingering
fragrance of petrichor.

The tiled-surface of my floor,
Now awashed with muck,
cringes in fear.
For how nauseating is the smell
of dirt that it breathes!

Wailing out the lament of its heart,
It says to me, “Drown me in your drops
of sweat and help me breathe!”

*Picture Courtesy - AT Raghu Nandan

Largely a Futile Activity

2007-07-25T00:58:00.000-07:00

As Adrian Savage puts it,"Trying to please other people is largely a futile activity."Lately I have indulged myself enormously in this very wasted activity. It’s time to break free!

* Link Courtesy - India Uncut

Love Story

2007-07-21T04:07:00.000-07:00

The usual boy meets girl love story (on SAB Tv), spiced up with bad blood, is churning out some enjoyable songs like ‘Meri Har Chahat Hai Tu', 'Teri Yaadein (versions male, female),’ ‘Yun Chal Pade Rahi Safar,’ ‘Deewana’.

* Picture Courtesy - SAB Tv

In Print

2007-07-20T02:56:00.000-07:00

From the series of posts (1, 2) on the beggars at ‘Teen Haath Naka’ signal (Thane), one of them makes it’s way to print in today’s My HT – Mumbai edition of Hindustan Times.

Strange!

2007-07-19T04:47:00.002-07:00

Of late, from nowhere, I am suffering with a chronic addiction to this quite an old Marc Anthony song - 'You sang to me.' I had loved it then but now, not a day passes without listening to it. Strange!

Songs of Monsoon

2007-07-08T00:21:00.000-07:00

On monsoon weekends, with a torrential downpour in a city like Mumbai; there’s nothing much one can do to idle away the hours, except maybe – read a book or sip steaming coffee and munch on hot batata vadas, samosas, pakoras and the like or laze around in the shadows of melancholy, hearing rain batter the window panes or sit in the balcony pensive-stricken, reminiscing and watching, memories and rain pour concurrently.

Being one such days today, sitting within the confines of balcony, I find myself singing this childhood song –

Sailing, sailing, I want to go,
Lost in my sea-faring thoughts,
Of finding a No-No land,
In some distant wonderland.

Sailing, sailing, I want to go,
In my own paper-boat!

Ha! Such pleasures I had for childhood!

But Alas! So much I had tried to learn,
To make a boat out of paper.
One, of the classic type and,
one with a mast.
And it is still that I cannot make,
A boat out of paper.

* Picture Courtesy - AT Raghu Nandan

**Also appears in the column, My HT- Mumbai edition of Hindustan Times (dtd.16, Jul '07)

The Cold Rain

2007-07-03T03:35:00.000-07:00

The rain is incessant for days now.
A lone figure in the coldness of
Her room, hears to the –
Gay croaking of the frogs,
The humming of the night-insects, and
The swishing of the mango and coconut trees.

The chill in the air, cuts through
the croaking, humming and swishing –
curling her up.

She wraps her arms around her body and
longs for the warmth of her beloved....

With Love, From Aaji

2007-07-01T05:49:00.000-07:00

Tucked under a pile of old-forgotten-books, I discovered one of my earlier commonplace note-books. Slid somewhere within it’s pages was my Aaji's (1) Letter. The only letter she had ever written to me (when for the first time, I had to stay away from home, in a hostel, in Nashik.)

(1) Aaji - Grandmother in Marathi.

Be my Friend!

2007-06-26T04:36:00.000-07:00

"Hi ! well what to say simply i can say is " impressed " with your beautiful humour , smile and fun loving nature as i am also having the same fever of fun as you do but in surat i am not getting a good group with which i can have fun and enjoyment coz i dont have such group and i am inot search of it but after i saw your profile i wish, as well as i hope may be, if i could get entry in your group then i can and i will enjoy my life but only if you give me chance for some conversations so that you can know me and i could get chance to become your future friend as i am a stranger not much then that but everyone is as stranger before meeting and turning into friend so i am also asking this wish from you so please dont get me out from this , bye take care and may god keeps you smiling for whole upcoming life ." Tanveer.

If only I had received this 'let's be friends' scrap on Orkut a few days early, I could have sent it as an entry to this contest. Though not effective, it truly is side-splitting! Such passage-writing skills people have!

We don't need no Education...

2007-06-26T00:36:00.000-07:00

Yes! The very ‘Rebel Chant’ immortalized by Pink Floyd (during the early 80’s.)

Look! What a sea of change the ‘Rebel Chant’ (of Eric Prydz vs. Pink Floyd) brings this time.

Well, no! I don’t need no education. Do you?

GlobalCool

* Logo Courtesy - Global-Cool

No More Will I Write

2007-06-03T22:46:00.000-07:00

No more will I write
Until the colours on canvas
run dry,
Until the strokes of brush
paint images dull and bright,
No more will I write.

*Picture Courtesy - Ravi Chandra Varma

Fun With Words

2007-05-29T01:37:00.000-07:00

The following word amuses me a lot -

'Honorificabilitudinitatibus', longest word used by Shakespeare in Love's Labour's Lost, 1594.

For more fun(with words), here we go!

Unsaid and Unspoken...

2007-05-25T03:36:00.000-07:00

My brimming heart overflows,
Love and passion, run down the pen,
To take the form of words.

My slender pen holds back!
Let this time, love and passion
Be felt – unsaid and unspoken…

Thoughts of You...

2007-05-23T03:32:00.000-07:00

In the everyday clutter of –
Accounts files and figures, and
The constant humming of loom machines,
Thoughts of you keep coming…

Silent Conversations

2007-05-18T02:58:00.000-07:00

* Picture Courtesy - Ravi Chandra Varma

The 'Doordarshan' Epoch

2007-04-28T03:37:00.000-07:00

Watching the 'idiot-box' in today's times makes you feel really an idiot! The multitude of channels seem to have nothing interesting to broadcast, making your search for entertainment elusive and leaving you to perform the perfunctory and greulling activity of surfing channels.

Daily soaps with no chiselled storyline run for an eternity, the so called 'reality shows' are nothing but a farce, the horror shows are horrifyingly comical, thrillers have the usual expected plots, the actors in mythological serials fail to arouse interest in the contemporary audience and the list can go on endlessly.

The time when ‘Doordarshan’ ruled the roost on the Indian television scene, the quality of entertainment the ‘idiot-box’ brought was remarkable.

‘Thirteen-episode’ serials and limited-episode serials ('Kashish', 'Katha-Sagar', 'Kab Tak Pukarun', 'Pachpan Khambe Lal Dewarein', 'Oshin', 'Stone Boy', etc.) have left a mark for eternity.

Horror shows ('Honee-Anhonee') still send shivers down the spine. Thrillers ('Kile Ka Rahasya') were terrifyingly thrilling till the end.

Historical ('Bharat Ek Khoj' , 'Chanakya') and mythological ('Ramayana' and 'Mahabharata') serials had a contemporary flavour.

Also the ads issued in the interest of public service, during those days, were one of its kinds. 'Ek anek', ‘Padhna Likhna Seekho’ (in view of Saksharta Mission), 'Mile Sur Mera Tumhara' being a few among them.

The good-old ‘Doordarshan’ today is old but trying being one like the other channels makes it no more good!

Human Equality

2007-04-14T02:53:00.000-07:00

This post on India Uncut enlists an exemplary story by Kurt Vonnegut – “Harrison Bergeron.”

Indeed! Thought-provoking!

How Long?

2007-04-14T01:11:00.000-07:00

For how long?

Should I snuggle into slumber,

Longing for your warm body.

Why don't you come and light up the night,

With the fire of your body.

* Picture Courtesy - AT Raghu Nandan

Since You Left

2007-04-10T03:56:00.000-07:00

Yesterday since you left,
The day passed listless.
Night came in to cool the summer heat,
And soothe the aching body to sleep.

Silently, your thoughts roll down the memory…

‘Your demand for a tight embrace;
mumbling of me not sticking close,all night, in sleep…’

Evading the thoughts, I close my eyes,
To feel the tears roll down my cheeks.

…Yesterday since you left.

*Picture Courtesy - AT Raghu Nandan

Autumn Moon

2007-04-09T01:12:00.000-07:00

“Come! make me a companion in your loneliness and I will rekindle the poet within…”

This is what Gulzar’s ‘Autumn Moon’ (an anthology of some of his Urdu poetry, translated into English by J.P. Das) does to me, each time I pick it up from the book-shelf.

Prosaic feelings and moments of life often brushed aside as inconsequential, are woven into a lyrical thread in many a poems like – In the street, Rain, Friend, Choices, Another Day, ...Let it be so, Companion, Night, Images, My Shadow and I, Morning, Splinter, Stuck and Autumn Moon.

It is the simplicity of thoughts and words in Gulzar’s poetry that’s always inspiring.

The House on the Hill

2007-04-06T01:42:00.000-07:00

Ever since I first heard this poem, I have been trying to create a simulacrum on my mindscape to the words of this verse.

Finally the picture-perfect moment has arrived…

*Picture Courtesy - Ravi Chandra Varma

Evening Snacks!

2007-04-04T05:28:00.000-07:00

Some scrumptious SSPS memories have left a lingering flavour on my taste-buds…

In Yamjal branch, there was this tradition of distributing evening snacks to children which was later discontinued (maybe, when the no-lunch-box system commenced). The snacks were mostly baked in the bakery adjacent to the old dining hall. Some were of the usual kind - cream-rolls, cakes, pastries. Some were those that I had nowhere outside of SSPS - crescent-shaped nankhatais, oval-shaped croissants topped with a smidgen of sugar, round salted biscuits. And there was this, that wasn’t baked in the school bakery, and was one of my favourites - a little pack of four glucose biscuits (not of the famed Parle-G but of some brand called Ampro).

Though the evening snacks were rationed, it sometimes left us savouring for more…

Of Papad and Masala Times

2007-04-03T23:52:00.000-07:00

Indian summers bring an onset of – rising mercury, prickly heat, blowing Loo, parched land, water crisis, power shutdown, cooing Koel, fruiting mango, vacation fun and a time of papad and masala making.

Recalling childhood summers, the womenfolk in our neighbourhood would gather to roll-out papads and pound masalas for every household to last until next summer. Kilos of flours of various varieties (like urad, nagli, rice, sago, etc.) were kneaded into papad- doughs; consuming ounces of energy to soften the dough and roll it out into paper-thin circles. Huge quantities of potatoes were sliced into thin wafers and dry red chillies and tumeric were ground into fine powders.

The ‘urad-papad’ dough spiced with a dash of coarsely ground black pepper was a favourite among kids for its tangy taste. We kids would scurry around the women, impeding their work, for the ‘urad-papad’ dough balls. But the dough balls were doled out to us only as a prize for helping the womenfolk with their papad-making, lest we would upset our tummies.

Sneaking onto terraces, during these times, to disarray the neatly laid-out papads and wafers for sun-drying, was a preferential vacation pastime. A stealthy grab of a handful of partly dried wafers or papads, served us kids a sumptuous playtime snack.

With fleeting summers and altering times, the urban homes saw a shift in their living patterns. Today, the hoary activity of papad and masala making has given way to readymade papads and masalas. The much-liked ‘urad-papad’ dough balls are now sold in shops off the rack, meant specially for munching and not for papad-making.

Sigh! How sempiternal is the taste and pleasure of the ‘prize’-d ‘urad-papad’ dough balls as compared to the priced ‘urad-papad’ dough balls!

Saint and Sinner

2007-04-02T21:53:00.000-07:00

Every Saint has a Past...

...and every Sinner has a Future.

-Written on the prison walls of Nashik Central Jail.

*Picture Courtesy - AT Raghu Nandan

The Dance

2007-03-25T22:16:00.000-07:00

Lying on the sofa, She stares blankly at the walls. Finding no thoughts to muse on, She picks up the television remote and switches on MTv.

Her body sways to the music. She dances, transcending to dreamscapes. The subfusc walls bathe in the effulgence of images from Her dreamscapes. Puerile-like happiness glows on Her face. The rhythm fastens, Her dance wild now. Then lo! The ankle sprains. Still She continues.

Days later, the sprain aggravates. She visits the physiotherapist. While the ankle is being treated, Her eyes rove around the clinic. There are various physiotherapy paraphernalia, some patient is put on traction, and the loft is lined with books on medicine. She tries to read the names – Biochemistry, Pharmacology, Essentials of Tuberculosis in Children. The lady doc intrudes Her clinic-watching saying, “Your face seems familiar.” She says, “Yes, maybe because I pass by your clinic everyday. I stay in the apartment beside your clinic.” The lady doc turns to attend the other patient. She says to herself, “ Oh! The lady doc is pretty and young. I had pictured the doc pair to be oldies.” As She wonders where the husband Doc is? She hears the lady doc say to the other patient, “He doesn’t come here often, he has other hospitals to visit.”

The next day, as She is about to leave the clinic, She sees a man talking on his mobile, outside the clinic. They both glance at each other. Catching his words, she concludes- this must be the Doc. She says to herself, “They make a nice couple.”

A day later, entering the clinic she finds the Doc seated at the reception desk. The Doc’s brown eyes look at her and he smiles. She too smiles at him in return.

The lady doc, while treating says, “You have a nice smiling face. Otherwise he rarely smiles.” She wonders who? “But he has smiled today.” Oh! She realizes it’s the Doc the lady is talking about.

She doesn’t really understand whether to consider this as a compliment. She says to herself, “But my face beamed no smile when I had entered the clinic.”

Apprehensive Thoughts

2007-03-24T02:35:00.000-07:00

What if someday I cease writing?
What if someday words leave my side?

*Picture Courtesy - AT Raghu Nandan

A Winter Night

2007-03-18T02:47:00.000-07:00

A winter night ere full moon,

Basking in silver light

The barren land behind my room.

Wish we could walk this land

Hand in hand under the moon.

*Picture Courtesy - Ravi Chandra Varma

Circle of Friends

2007-03-18T02:31:00.000-07:00

This circle of ours encompasses so much within –
The vibrant hues of friendship,
The joys of togetherness,
Those innocent dreams, and
all the caring, sharing and laughter.

The moments we lived together were
the tender and warm days of spring,
Now that autumn’s come, these moments
fall as leaves.

When in solitude I shall tread on these leaves,
Memories shall come crackling to me,
Enlivening the moments we lived.

*Picture Courtesy - Ravi Chandra Varma

Ides Of March

2007-03-15T03:04:00.000-07:00

"Beware the Ides of March"

*Picture - Vincenzo Camuccini's Mort de Cesar, 1798

Early to bed and early to rise…

2007-03-09T22:40:00.000-08:00

…makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise. I followed this adage religiously during childhood years. But as years added to age, saw more of setting stars and moons and lesser of rising suns; and now am transformed into a creature of night.

The quintessence and virtues of this adage is undoubtedly unquestionable. But what of its relevance in these present times, with erratic and extended working hours?

*Picture Courtesy - Ravi Chandra Varma

Ever in View – Anecdote

2007-03-08T01:54:00.000-08:00

It is said an eastern monarch once charged his wise men to invent a sentence, to be ever in view, and which should be true and appropriate in all times and situations. They presented him with the words, ‘And this, too, shall pass away.’ How much it expresses! How chastening in the hour of pride! How consoling in the depths of affliction!

-Abraham Lincoln

*Picture Courtesy - AT Raghu Nandan

A Different Stroke!

2007-03-07T02:14:00.000-08:00

The streets once again will dorn the garb of desert ness, resonate with the playful shrieks of the ‘galli-cricketers’, and in turn will let out its unwieldy cries of ‘Come Play’! But there would come none. Its time again, for the ICC Cricket World Cup.

Barring all age, gender, caste and creed; the junta back home will drown itself in the match-viewing bonanza via satellite. Some from the comforts of their home, some in multiplexes, some in pubs, some pitching themselves outside electronic-goods-selling- shops and some on ‘sarvajanik’ televisions (public televisions mounted in streets).

As always, power will wreak havoc at crucial moments of the match, crackers will crackle on every win and there will be some amusing display of ‘fan-antics’. The ‘blue billion’ is all geared-up to cheer its ‘men in blue’.

But I for one want to get a little felonious here. Marred with the cynicism of perpetuity, the one question that haunts me is – “Why at all, people waste their time watching cricket?” Imagine! A day- during ODIs and sometimes few days- during Tests. This bowls me over! Yet cricket-watching is a religion out here.

Never mind if I have hit a stroke to the ‘silly point’, the game doesn’t prohibit one!

P.S.: I may have unfurled the pirate’s flag, yet would back India to bring home the Cup. May we win!

An eye for an eye…

2007-03-06T01:39:00.000-08:00

Ours is a generation that does not much venerate the view, ideals, principles and teachings of Gandhi. His quotes are a subject of constant ridicule (with ‘if anyone slaps your left cheek, turn your right cheek too,’ topping the list.) His principles seem to find no relevance in present times. All in all, his is a persona debated to and at great lengths.

Amidst all this, comes along a ‘Munnabhai’, with his ‘Circuit-y’ side-kick, to revoke ‘Gandhigiri’, la ‘bhaigiri isshtyle’, and actually taking it to new heights. All’s well! But it sure must be a quirk of fate that the real Hero today needs an unreal hero as ‘Munnabhai’, to rescue him from the dungeons of oblivion and show him the light of the day. Nevertheless, the new-found ‘Gandhigiri’ takes a toll on me and I too find myself wanting to indulge in it.

Flipping the pages of history, Gandhi comes across as the only leader in Indian or World history, for that matter, to have believed, practised and preached a cause like – ‘Ahimsa’ or ‘Non-violence.’

Provoking people to seek vengeance and go at war with each other is easy but drawing huge masses to tread the path of non-violence, is truly a feat, which only the Mahatama could achieve.

When recently I came across these words of the Mahatma –

“AN EYE FOR AN EYE MAKES THE WHOLE WORLD BLIND,”

the magnanimity of it struck me like a bolt from the blue!

The awe it exudes is simply gripping and the enormity of it unfathomable!

This only being one of ‘my experiments with the Mahatma and his truths,’ the ‘Gandhivadi’ brigade still seems at a distant call.

“SAVE THE EARTH…” die today…

2007-03-06T01:19:00.000-08:00

These letters printed in white on a black tee shirt, befuddled me! The man wearing this tee, was he trying to declare-?

Save the earth, today, or you will die!
OR
To save the earth, you must die, today!

Mulling over this thought, as I went a furlong, I saw a tree being torn down.

Ashoka, Harsha, Shivaji, Siddhartha

2007-03-06T01:12:00.000-08:00

Taking a jog down the memory lane, my pace alleviates at this misty patch. Some pictures lucid, some muddled flash before my eyes.

Away from the main school building and office, across the mud-road, near the principal’s house – is a little concrete shed; where some announcement is being made in class I-A. There! There I see D’ Mello madam, and Narsinh sir. She in her stern baritone is saying that some random selection procedure has classified us into the four representative Houses of the school. The little, innocent faces brighten up- the grey, flapless uniforms will now be adorned with one of the hues of the rainbow – Harsha (Yellow), Ashoka (Green), Shivaji (Red), Siddharta (Blue).

My name is called out and I am to represent Siddharta. My bench-mate – Kavitha and Tirumal, her cousin, too are put in the same House. We are asked to gather in the playground across the mud-road, the next day, according to our Houses, were the colour-bearing flaps will be given to us.

Siddharta! Disappointment reflects on my, Kavitha and Tirumal’s faces. They say, “But Harsha is the best, leading its way in all activities of the school.” Now I see, the little three-some hold a conversation in hushed tones. I strain my ears to catch a word or two. Alas! Only their faces say that some plan has been conjured.

On the playground, the next day, all the class I children are gathered. Narsinh sir is present along with the House captains and prefects to give away the flaps. It’s my turn and I go forward to collect my flaps. There in my little hands, lie the dark blue flaps with a strip of yellow on it. Kavitha and Tirumal too get the same flaps. Now we officially, represent the ‘Harsha House.’

With a smile on my face, I find myself walking back to the future. Wishing the hushed conversation was audible; reflecting how these Houses added an element of identity to our individual selves. But nonetheless, feeling happy and proud that I belonged to Harsha House. Harsha – The Great!

The One-Arm Man

2007-03-05T23:20:00.000-08:00

With many roads diverging at the ‘Teen-Haath Naka’, the wait for the traffic signal to go green is a long one. During this wait, one can see the stark difference in the choice of living of the people from the lower strata of the society. Some earn, while some beg.

I had a special admiration for this one-arm man, who earned his living selling cotton-mops. Defying his physical disability, not being bogged down by the adversities, he chose not to beg. Whereas his much-able peers did. I admired his conscience, his self-respect, and his courage.

Now I am stupefied to find the same ‘one-arm man’, resorted to begging.

I wonder- whether his conscience was weak or was he bereaved of his self-respect or he gave-up the courage in him?

But then I had read somewhere – “It takes courage to lead a life. Any life!”

At the ‘Teen-Haath Naka’ Signal

2007-03-05T21:29:00.000-08:00

Everyday on my way to work, my auto rickshaw halts at the traffic signal on the crossroads at ‘Teen-Haath Naka’.

Until the signal goes green – a eunuch goes about clapping hands, showering some absurd blessings and demanding money. A woman goes around selling Gerbera in vivid colours. While another woman, with baby in her arms, wearing the most ‘pity-arousing’ expression on her visage, begs for her living. A little lad goes around selling flowers woven in thread. While another urchin, runs around begging in merry. A one-arm man goes around selling cotton mops. While a one-legged man, on his crutches, goes the begging way.

There is a Japanese proverb – “It is a beggar’s pride that he is not a thief.”

It makes me want to smirk at its pettiness and say – “It is an individual’s pride that he ekes out his living, and is not a beggar.”

*Also appears in the column, My HT - Mumbai edition of Hindustan Times (dtd. 20, Jul'07)

On the Steps of Big Bazaar, Nashik

2007-03-05T20:30:00.000-08:00

Having done with our monthly ritual of buying groceries at Big Bazaar, Nilesh and me rush to gorge ice cream.

Relishing the ice cream, I discover a man standing at the foot of the steps leading to Big Bazaar. Oblivious to the hurly-burly around, he is watching us. A medium-stature man, with a protruding belly, dressed in clothes smeared with dirt. Hair disheveled. Sporting light stubble with silver hair gleaming amidst black. An empty large, cloth bag flung over the right shoulder, is watching us.

Our eyes meet and he smiles. I say to myself, “Oh! He is just another beggar who in a moment would surge forward and spread out his arms for alms.” But rooted to his position, he continues to smile at me.

Now I think, maybe he wants us to go extravagant with charity and offer him an ice cream. But no! He still stands there smiling and now gesturing a nod.

The smile and the nod speak something. Is it – pleasure, pleasure of watching us relish our ice cream or is it contentment speaking out loud?

With hesitation bubbling within, I think of buying him an ice cream. But before I could settle with the thought, I find him going his way.

I give up and continue with the cone in my hand. Something in me, wants to see him again. I look around, trying to find him in the crowd. He is not seen. Eyes still searching, over there! I find him walking down the aisle leading to the ticket-counter of the cinema hall. For a moment, he looks back. Our eyes meet. I smile and wave my hand. He too smiles, the same ‘contended smile’, and waves back at me and moves on.

This was over a year ago. The face of the ‘man with a contended smile,’ still clear in my memory, leaves me now restless. Telling me, that it was some sign that I haven’t yet recognized.

Tribute to 'London Bridge’

2007-03-02T22:24:00.000-08:00

Heard, that the hostel building and the London Bridge have been demolished. My heart is pained to know that the London Bridge is no more! Have grown-up playing on the London Bridge…..so here’s a little tribute to it.

There was once a ‘London Bridge’
Standing at the far-end of the ground,
Under the shade of hostel building.

There was once a ‘London Bridge’
Silently witnessing year after year,
Hordes of children come and go –
Some spryly running around it,
Some briskly climbing it,
Some gaily jumping from it.

There was once a ‘London Bridge’
Sometimes skinning knees,
Sometimes breaking bones.
Making a way in all hearts.

There was once a ‘London Bridge.’

*Picture Courtesy - AT Raghu Nandan

My School Days – 1983 TO 1995

2007-03-02T21:54:00.000-08:00

Twelve years – nurturing values and knowledge,
Ten years later, reaping its fruits.

Twelve years – in the caring and protective arms of teachers,
Ten years later, living as an orphan.

Twelve years – building a chain of relations,
Ten years later, searching broken links.

Twelve years – under the Gulmohar shades,
Ten years later, scorching without them.

Twelve years – running and playing on the vast expanses of grounds,
Ten years later, walking sepulchral paths.

A decade passed by in picking the strewn pieces
of a fallen fortress – My School Days.

Blogging Inspiration

2007-03-02T06:33:00.000-08:00

That is Sundeep! Turning a blog-reader to a blogger. Having known him since our early school days, he has always been the best. 'Clever Guy' indeed!

An Interview with God

2007-03-02T05:44:00.000-08:00

“ Come in,” God said to me, “ So, you would like to interview Me?”
“If you have the time,” I said.
He smiled and said – “My time is called eternity and is enough to do everything. What questions do you have in mind to ask me?” “None that are new to you. What is the one thing that surprises you most about mankind?”
He answered:
“That they get bored of being children, are in a rush to grow up, and then long to be children again.
That they lose their health to make money and then lose their money to restore their health.
That by thinking anxiously about the future they forget the present, such that they live neither for the present nor the future.
That they live as if they will never die, and they die as if they had never lived.”
God’s hand took mine and we were silent.
After a long period, I said, “May I ask you another question?
As a Father, what would you ask your children to do for the new millennium?”
God replied with a smile.
“To learn that they cannot make anyone love them. What they can do is to let themselves be loved.
To learn that it takes years to build trust, and a few seconds to destroy it.
To learn that what is most valuable is not what they have in their lives, but who they have in their lives.
To learn that it is not good to compare themselves to others. There will be others better or worse than they are.
To learn that a rich person is not one who has the most, but who needs the least.
To learn that they should control their attitudes, otherwise their attitudes will control them.
To learn that it takes only a few seconds to open profound wounds in persons we love, and that it takes many years to heal them.
To learn to forgive by practising forgiveness.
To learn that there are persons who love them dearly, but simply do not know how to show their feelings.
To learn that money can buy everything but happiness.
To learn that while at times they may be entitled to be upset that does not give them the right to upset those around them.
To learn that great dreams do not require great wings, but a landing gear to achieve.
To learn that true friends are scarce, he or she who has found one has found a true treasure.
To learn that it is not always enough that they be forgiven by others, but that they forgive themselves.
To learn that they are masters of what they keep to themselves and slaves of what they say.
To learn that they shall reap what they plant, if they plant gossip, they shall harvest intrigues, if they plant love they will harvest happiness.
To learn that happiness is a decision. They decide to be happy with what they are and have, or die from envy and jealousy of what they lack.
To learn that two people can look at the same thing and see something totally different.
To learn that those who are honest with themselves without considering the consequences go far in life.
To learn that even though they may think they have nothing to give, but when a friend cries they find strength to appease the pain.
To learn that by trying to hold on to the loved ones, they very quickly push them away, and by letting go of those they love, they will be side by side forever.
To learn that even though the word “love” has many different meanings, it loses value when it is overstated.
To learn that they can never do something extraordinary for Me to love them; I simply do.
To learn that the shortest distance they could be from Me is the distance of a prayer.”

*Original Source - Unknown; (picked from Management Experiments & Experiences-SCMHRD)

*Picture Courtesy - Ravi Chandra Varma