Wordy as we like it

electric
angelic
random
like the shooting star
elusive
illuminating
shy
like the rainbow
wise
old
free
like an owl
pink
as cherry blossom
fleshy cooked peppers
tender like plum tomatoes
with a dash of basil
rich
with a spoonful of olive oil

In sync again!

are you in sync?
when you are in sync
you both look to the left together
or to the right

when you are in sync
there is a rhythmn there is rhyme

when you are in sync
you are singular and plural

when you are in sync
you are neither this nor that

Infrasonic

Deep, deep, deep down
ah.. senti...
there comes a soft murmur
from deep within
filling the chasms
uplifting...
deafening the noises above
the voice of a strange sound frequency

Me n the youniverse!

i am as old as the beginning
with no end
always present
in the youniverse
juggling and balancing
like the foolish clown
my part is like the door hinges;
holding the heavy wooden door
lest it fall
in the vast black hole

A friend across the skies!

the full moon casts a halo around itself..
smiling to the Earth he says, " look at me! i shine for you!"
While she turns to gaze at him,
he dances in the clouds and he blows them away like soapy bubbles ,
regaining his position , he sends away the borrowed ray of light ,
leaving himself in the shadows

The wild flowers of Kaas Patar

the past few stories have been godly
but here's something truly divine
for nature is the master-stroke of creation
yes we too are nature, even though seemingly distant
we endeavour to reach the source both in body and spirit
building spacecrafts and airplanes touching galaxies and skies
playing demi- gods

it was in January 2010 on my to Sunderbans- the world's largest delta
a place of sublime beauty and simplicity
when i was told about another destination beckoning to be explored
the Kaas Patar- a laterite plateau which is a temporary abode to some stunning varieties of wild flowers
the flowers form carpets of pink, violet, white and yellow
(resembling the moors of Europe though reflecting many myraid colors)
only shortly after the rains for a couple or weeks or months at the maximum

the quaint Kaas Lake on the plateau is a delight
with a plethora of endangered and rare flowers
surrounded by floral carpets of purple and white

what makes Kaas an even more enchanting place to visit
is that the plateau is nestled among the Sahyadri Ghaats, meandering rivers below,
and the monsoon skies spraying some mystical hues
the folds of the mountains revealing the craft of the Master Potter
moulding the earth and splashing colors, whimsically

well, if you come to Kaas Patar,
you are bewildered by nature's imagination
and aesthetic sense
vast, vibrant and free

Sweet September

The last time I wrote on this blog was on Krishna's birthday
i have been disconnected because of internet cuts, laptop breakdowns
being away on a wanderlust or simply because of my indolence
but here i am writing again to share my beautiful experiences last month

the elephant god is the raja of every nook of the city of Mumbai
the much revered elephantine idol at Lalbaug is but symbolic
the deafening sounds of the drums could take you into a trance
the God of wisdom does like to have a ball too

Lord Ganesha comes to the city for ten days
an energy bright as light and love
blinding the devotee. His love transcends caste, religion, status
the lord comes every year to remind us of this love

well the reason I'm penning this as an impressionable experience
as it was the first time in 27 years that Lord Ganesha came to my place
two days in September; those 2 days changed the meaning of Ganesh festival

those were two days of vibrating energy
as i sat in meditation in the morning before the guests would come visiting
i revebrated like an atom, dancing in the nucleus of divine energy!
i felt his unmistakable presence

the days were busy, guests poured in to visit
there were lots of sweets made at home
Ganesha's favourite modaks and ladoos
the fragrance of orchids and marigold lingered
the scent of incense rose in the air
we played the enchanting aarti every evening

alas, came the moment to say good bye
we drove towards the sea to immerse the idol
all along the way people were carrying Ganesha
in a car, truck or rickshaw ,screaming 'Ganpati Bappa Morya'
each with energy and sincere devotion
giving him an invitation, saying see you next year

as we reached the Juhu Beach, bustling with people
chanting, burning incense, praying to the lord
talking to him one last time before letting him go
the air was ethereal

enriched by his presence and also fearing to lose him
we saw him go in the muddy waters,
our throats felt dry, the wise teasing eyes of our friend
seemed to say 'its never for only one and a half days'!

As It IS

When we see all it is as it is
The willow is green
The flower is red
The sun is bright
The moon is silent

When we see all it is as it is
Breath is life
Life is living
Death is dying
Both are the same

When we see all it is as it is
A world of browns, darks or whites
They are but naked, colourless souls
Travellers of life-times
Embodiment of Truth

When we see all it is as it is
The Inner world is a mystery
The outer world oblivious
The inner world is the truth
The outer world is civilized

When we see all it is as it is
The oak is beautiful and so is the bamboo
Seeing existence as it is
Appreciating what ‘is’
The world reflects what we are and that is what it is

Contributed by Dhruti Shah

The naughty Makhanchor!

this day brings back many memories ,
how i dressed as krishna and my sister as radha as kids.
how i ate curd like The makhan chor..
how mom n baa told us umpteenth number of krishna stories ..
how i danced the popatyoo (a rasgarba step),
how my fifth grade friend sang 'lala ne makhan bhave re' (Baby Krishna loves butter)
and how mesmerized I was when my cousin performed the Bharat natyam Abhinaya on 'Krishna ni begane baro'..

i have always felt part of krishna.. merging with him.. there was no abyss between me and him.. he was attainable, ever-present and responsive.. emitting his energy and left me when i stopped recognizing him, connecting with him.. as my mind took over.. it was only recently he came back to me.. handing a Bhagvad geeta in my hand.. n i felt the immediate familiarity and rendezvous with the divine Lord Sri Krishna- a God of immense love, emotional release bringing tears to the eyes and smile to the face.. the friend , guide , philosopher residing in us , an overwhelming force, the fighting spirit to preserve n outlive, the very game of chess, manipulating the universe, the Santa and the genie saying your 'wish is my command' n conspiring to bring it to us..

..As though to breathe were life?

its a beautiful night
the world sleeps
and travels in a dream!
the nocturnal slumber opens up a new world
of myraid colours, exhilarated feelings ,
a journey like none other,
a world alive until the next small jerk
and the eyes open to the dark hours
only to find another world
just as real, chaotic or sultry
unconscious of the surrounding silence
a soft breath makes all the difference
and gives light to existence!

An Ode to the Bombay Cabbie- contributed by Ryan Gazder

Exactly a week ago, I was headed back to Bandra from Cotton Green.
I was slowly ambling down the lane after leaving Wadia Baug,
an old Parsi neighborhood nestled amidst pristine greenery that breathes life
into the suffocating industrial boroughs of central Bombay.
Inclement skies above me enshrouded the evening sun with darker shades of
evergreying cloud, and soon the wispy rays of sunlight surrendered to
a torrent of sudden tropical rain. This was when I decided it would be
wiser to hail a passing cab rather than brave the onslaught alone.

Being where I was, I simply took it for granted that the makeshift
taxi-stand outside the colony would send forth yet another symbol of
all that is everlasting and symbolic of my city; the forever
black-and-yellow Fiat, complete with white-clad driver, elbow sticking
out and a beedi between his fingers. And so the sound of an engine
down the road signaled that my universal cab-hailing gesture (in the
monsoons this is usually akin to a frantic hand wildly gesticulating
from beneath an umbrella) had been acknowledged, and I'd soon be
rescued from the rain. Along came the taxi and for the very first time
in my tryst with the city, I hopped into a cab that wasn't a Fiat. As
I unwound from a relaxed afternoon lunch at my aunt's place, and eased
my bag into the Santro, as potholes and puddles & passersby passed us
by, an inevitable realization dawned and a conversation ensued.

The driver was from a remote village in the North, his
great-grandfather had come here at the turn of the century to work in
a mill. He was followed by his grandfather and his father, and then
finally the prodigal son, whose fortunes died a few decades ago when
mills started their decline. Today, ghosts of this once-upon-a-past
dot the central boroughs of Bombay like foggy whispers of a time that
was yet silently haunt a place long forgotten; amidst ruins that echo
the toil and industry of nameless faces who share a closer, more
intimate relationship than you and I in an anonymous city that forever
screams for release from the memories of its burden. A Santro, is
something I kept remarking to myself. And to think that yet another
evergreen symbol of one of Earth's greatest cities is now under the
hammer of time, soon to be replaced by the next generation of cleaner,
greener, more efficient cars. Going, going, almost gone but not quite
yet, the Premier Padmini still lives and is the heartbeat of the city.
Let's shift perspective a little. Think of a starship visiting Earth's
largest and busiest cities. Any intelligent alien civilization dawning
upon cities like Bombay, London & New York wouldn't be wrong to
observe the surface of these cities and assume that the dominant
life-forms in these cities are respectively made of metal,
black-and-yellow, black and yellow... that they swallow whole
two-legged bipeds, move around a bit, and spit them out again! How
ironic that we humans, master-marauders and plunderers of the planet;
the most dangerous species to walk this solar system in sheer
destructive capability alone, are relegated to mere cab-food as
observed by our celestial neighbors!

Back to terrestrial reality, a very uplifting conversation ensued
between the cabbie and me, talking about his aspirations for his
family. He was the first one in generations to actually bring his
family to live with him in Bombay, rather than visit once a year.
Starting life as a cab-driver who paid daily rent to a cab-owner,
he toiled and saved for a better day, till he bought his first cab and
found freedom. That freedom from the cab owner was just another mask,
for his fate was now sealed to an even larger, more ruthless,
faceless, tryant; the co-op bank. But of course, as all good stories
have it, his happy ending was that he now owns four cabs (driven by
his blood-brother and 2 cousins), is educating both his children in an
English medium school, has taken out LIC and Mediclaim policies
covering himself, his brother and both cousins in case of calamity or
misfortune so their respective families are protected from loss of
income... and the list goes on. I observed with a smile as he reached
across to the passenger side, and how the fancy digital meter had to
be cranked clockwise to reset the fare, a modern twist reminiscent of
not-quite-invisible rituals that are ensconced in our collective human
consciousness and that of this city. Here was someone who had every
right to live in and struggle and earn his daily bread as you or I.
And he toiled his daily routine with a conviction of reality laced
with fortitude and compassion for those around him. He was beaming,
and he had a smile, and achieved so much, yet knew his journey had
only begun... and as the rain pelted the windshield, my journey had
come to an end.

Yes, I've lived in and have been visiting Bombay ever since I was
born, and grew up, moved away, and kept coming back. The city has its
own magnetic allure and in one aggressive canvas paints a dance that
amalgamates the essence of India and all we have to offer. So this is
where I was, in a new icon of an old and ever-changing city what
testifies defiance to the platitude, "the more things change, the more
they remain the same."

Street Smart!

During the zillion cab rides around Mumbai, I have closely observed many cabs and cabwalas alike. I always found it strange when my father made petty conversations with cab drivers when I was a child, inquiring about where they were coming from , which part of Uttar Pradesh or Bihar. As he would say he was from village X he would immediately remark that others coming from village Y were all ‘tadipar’ or escaped convicts.

It was only after a few more years that I discovered a similar tendency, to make little conversations with cab drivers, these mostly took place during my journeys from home to my Italian classes at Worli, n then from Worli to VT to Times of India building where I worked in the international sales team.

This was at a time when the cabbie scene was changing drastically in Mumbai. There were some comfy air- conditioned, phone a cab services opened up , moreover , the old defunct fiats were now being replaced by newer cars in the market such as Maruti Suzuki models like Van, Alto, Zen, 800, Wagon R etc. This change was gladly welcomed by passengers and drivers alike. Though the drivers had to take car loans and work harder to repay the loans and maintain these cars, they did admit that they could now drive tirelessly for more hours, as they no longer had to use the painstaking hand gear. The passengers were also thrilled to use the newer cabs and I was no exception.

One of my first rides I recall was on one rainy morning at 7:30 am from SV Road Khar, I spotted a Fiat Siena cab from a distance and a confident looking man with a reddish brown beard. I knew that instant I had to take it. I felt privileged to sit in this rare cab just as the driver was proud to own it. After finishing an Italian grammar exercise quickly, and clearing my throat to satiate my curiosity I started bouncing my set of questions at the cabwala. I found out his name was ‘Patel’. I called him Patel Chahcha out of respect for an older person.

Aap ne ye kabhi li? When did u buy this car? Enthused he relied, “I was one of the first to buy the car after receiving the letter from the Mumbai police although I had more time in hand. I jumped at the opportunity and bought the Fiat Siena at Rs. 6 lakhs down payment.” I was amazed! I could not resist asking more questions. It’s a wonderful car I remarked! “Yes it is. I bought this car and I got another letter from the traffic police saying that this car cannot be permitted to be used as regular cab as this is a luxury car”. Patel Chacha pointed out to the traffic Police that the notice did not state which models were not permitted, it only stated that the cabs that have been used for more than 26 years had to be replaced within a given time and hence he had sold his old Fiat Premier to buy a Fiat Siena. The police demanded a handsome fine before they could allow the cab to run on the roads. He paid the suggested amount to free himself from more hassles. The traffic police then made a correction and issued a new notice to cabwalas, stating the car- makes that were allowed to replace the defunct old Fiat Premiers. I was spellbound by his story but he had more to share. Patel Chacha went on to say that he had select customers every day. He only drove those who called him. He finished his duty by 5 in the evening. He also gave me his mobile number, if I had any emergency or needed his services, he would be happy to ply if he was available. I saved the number on my mobile phone and thanked him.

The next few days I was on a roll to use more new cabs and continue small talking with cab drivers. I sat in a Maruti Alto a few days later from Worli to my VT office. When the cab driver started a rather amusing conversation with me. We were passing a crowded busy area called Kalbadevi when the cab driver pointed out a spot and said, “ I picked up a young boy about your age from here this morning. He worked with ICICI Bank had a wheatish complexion. His mother was educated and a retired IAS office. The boy did stop for a smoke though. I dropped him till Andheri”. I said to myself, “Fantastic the cabwala turns cupid”!
It was only some days later I took a Maruti Wagon R. the cabwala drove quiet fast as it was 11 in the night and the streets were empty. At Peddar road he asked me “madam I hope im not driving too fast?” I replied, “Fast is fine but please drive safe!” He replied , “Madam I have to drive safe, I’m more worried about my car I still have to pay Rs. 1.5 lacs of car loan!

These were some of the most striking of the many endless conversations I had with cabwalas in Mumbai in the year 2009. I was amazed at the wisdom among these men who had come all the way from North and Central India to make a living. Who drive day and night to support their family. They are happy to drive in a New India with free roads and new cars but only wished for more tolerant political leaders in this city.

A cosmic dance

it was rather ironic that i had to travel a few hundred miles
cross the shores of my country, in order to discover my own eternal friend, my breath
the roots of this journey had been laid at home
but i had to make this journey in order to seek my guru, my breath
the voiced that echoed this eternal truth was also from my homeland
we co-incided in the arabian land on a purposeful day
and discovered that we had met before
the voice speaking the divine reality was my father of a previous life
who took me through many cosmic journeys within this journey abroad
to understand my divinity , to reflect my self, unravelling the secrets of the universe
the secret was nothing, but the present moment, the here and now
and you are no one but a God , who has travelled through many lifetimes to master physical reality
thus forgetting yourself, creating a physical god who is in reality a powerhouse of energy
a powerhouse waiting to give its infinite energy to the billion magnets below
the magnets only had to align themselves close to iron bar
the billion magnets are us, the path is being with your natural friend- your breath
and fly with it, it will give you wings to fly, your soul will fly in this sky
to experience oneness with the self and the universe

Imaarat

in high mid summer
of a sweltering desert,
high rises tower along the port
the date palms lace the streets
a lone yatch resembling a boy's fancy
stands tall, i am eager to see the view
from my toy plane which is,
yet another man's dream come true!

Monsoon blush

1.
the sweet lemony scent of
lush green grass
blends in a hot pot of boiling reddish brown water
the scent spreads,
as the torrid earth bleeds,
quenched by the first rain drops,
turning green in jubilation
so does the lush green lemony blades of grass
blend into the hot brown water
stirring up a lovely cup of tea!

2.
the rain pours down
disturbing the creatures of the skies
they flap their wings,
to gain balance in the heavy waters,
jet set to make a descend
sometimes on my little window

Pink Flamingo

with gigantic wings
the colour of lotus petals
they glide over large mountains and lakes,
free and beyond boundaries
flying across many lands
focused to reach their destination
united in spirit, they flock to the marshes
of the tropics; now their second home

Little Recollections

1.
i remember as a child
spending most of Sundays with my family
papa would take us to Juhu beach
where i would then take a camel or a horse ride
or we would eat out at night followed by paan
and a tangy masala soda called rimzim
the paan-wala was renowned in our part of the city
there would be a long queue of bachelors, or
middle aged men posing to be young at heart
my papa would order our 'mitha'
and wait patiently with his hands on the hips
the paan wala would make every paan with elan
and chat with some of his old customers
my papa was one of them
he would look around the lil shop
the paan wala had also displayed some perfumes
and my papa a lover of fragrances
would pick up 'Bruts' and 'Charlies'

Prayful notes

on a familiar evening
in a spacious hall
resonating with hymns and devotional songs
voices austere and souls calm
the square hall reverberates with energy
old wisdom, knowledge casts its presence
the soul dances to the tunes of the swamiji
the head bows before the deity
palms folded to receive the sweet prasadam

Wings of magic

Everytime I'm feeling down
I can feel an angel by my side
it comes and whispers in my ears
o cheer up.. there's no need to fear
every time I'm feeling low
I can see an angel with a bright halo
it flitters its wings and flies
brushing my arms saying there's no need to cry
an angel with a warm heart of gold
lending its strength to me when I'm low
I know my angel is always around me
more than any earthly 24X7 service,
nor does it twitter no have have a face
We gotto live it up, don't worry,
We all have an angel by our side.

Many shades of a word

may be....
in may
i may
fill this page
or i may not
as my mind is astray
but i will as mind says 'you may'
in may.....

la di da of life

papaadeedada...la di da...
the music of life
would you look at me twice
nay, don't you look behind
i'm right in front of you!
don't you crane your neck
i'm right in front of you
even if you turn left or right
i'm in front of youuuuuu...

Aching espirit

most of us know what homesickness is
we have a word for it in English
but do we have a word for that feeling....
the feeling where the spirit craves to explore the unknown
to set off on a journey, meet new folks, hear another tongue
the feeling of disorientation, when you return from a long journey,
the unsatiated spirit yearns for more.....
whats that word?? the closest dictionary word is 'wanderlust'..
the word derived from the Anglo- Saxon roots
but the word they did'nt borrow from the Germans
the word that carries the true essence of the feeling,
an aching espirit and itching feet... is 'fernweh'

The Bombay Comedy

As I cross the length and breadth of the city of Mumbai,
I am starkly reminded of Dante's Divine Comedy
I feel at once in hell, purgatory and heaven
hell seems to have broken loose as I see
mangroves laced with polythenes, standing amidst the toxic waters of murdered rivers
the stench of urinated n paan stained walls
the slimy mucous drops on railway platforms
gives the feeling ur not living in a city but a mucous membrane
we have seemed to have entered purgatory - the road between heaven and hell-
with the local municipal corp taking many corrective steps
encouraging arty youngsters to come out with paint brushes to paint the city walls
projects such as the metro , the cleaning of the Mithi river
clearing the railway quarters for more fruitful development
the sea link project on in top gear
the flamingoes still flock the Sewri wetlands
the leopards still trapse the encroached natural park
the skeletal Bombay mills still stand tall,
craving for attention
the lost caves of Kanheri and Mahakali battling for survival
im not sure if 'Mumbai''s destiny is to be another shanghai
but with the culture and flora and fauna much more diverse
we deserve nothing less than 'Paradise'

Divine Submission

Over the years I had seen my 'nani' diminishing in size
she had truly become nani (puny in Gujarati)
while she took her last few breaths
my mother and i placed our hands in hers
I felt the texture of the rough lifelines etched onto the old palms
the only visible line (as per palmistry) stood for a strong independant character
I looked at the vanishing line once again and
realised that this pulsating line would live through my mother and further down through me
I looked at nani in admiration and I was thankful to God for having united us
and we knew we would keep her spirit alive
the pyramid of three hands to me,
represented three generations of gritty women- and many more to come....

Butterfly Kiss

With fuscia pink and bright orange hues
she flutters around, spreading her wings
lands on my cheek, bats her eyelashes
and gives me a butterfly kiss

The Body Work-Shop

They say to reconnect with your soul you need to feel hollow and empty
you gain this level of consciousness through meditation, rigourous yoga
however there is another form of consciousness that you reach
when you have to reconnect with your body-
and all the tissues and cells of your body-
when your body craves for attention, the mind and the soul have to comply and make the sacrifice.
the blood in your veins rush in hysteria to be bonded with those you love
at this moment you are encompassed by your closest inner circle
you are almost knitted into a tiny clutch bag
weft and woven perfectly until you're ready once again to be shown off to the world outside.

Batman begins

In the dark hours of the night
when u try to take a wink or a shut eye
the mind plays the nocturnal bird
it looks for a prey
and sings aloud
it flies across from one branch to another
then after circling in the sky
snoozes like an owl when the morning alarm rings

end of good 'Times'

Good times are empowering
good times teach you to be humble
good times lift u up n set u free
good times arrive when u have been thru the worst
they come as a reminder, as a ray of hope
to bring in the best, all thats vibrant n radiant with joy
ure back in the game the same old fool,
to rejoice n bask in the days of glory
even though they might be numbered
to make the most of the bundle of moments, called life..

-Dilemma-

u look to the left and to the right
weighing options, pro n contra
u stuck between the devil n the deep blue sea
what would you choose?

thoughts race in ur head
the pulse runs faster
u must take a deep breath
eyes closed ..wait for the surreal moment
n just let it be...

when the moment is right
time for fight or flight
just do it!!!
and do not look back
let the strength come from within..

Sister Act

What do you know about sisters?
Sisters fight ,sisters go green with envy
they cannot bear each other's mirror image
nor accept the other's striking contrasts.
sisters care n sisters share
they protect and defend each other's interests
yet if threatened they snarl n lash back
but when left alone together they can really rock!
a single holiday brings them to unite
forgetting age old respites in a jiffy!

--------

in early Spring i flew over the Trans-Alantic sky from Germany
to the Big Apple, where my sister worked
the first night we tripped on the Colombian drink Aquardiente
we laughed our heads out while we learnt to move our hips to Spanish music
we would take the B52 to the Down Under Manhattan Bridge Overpass (DUMBO)
n gorge on a Grimaldi pizza or the Hot Chocolate at Jacques Torres
we would sit up in the night watching movies from Netflix,
she would snooze amidst the film,tired from work
she would leave a 10 dollar bill every morning while i'd be asleep
I would set out to walk in the city, read books in parks
or catch a film festival, or buy groceries.
at evening we would meet at 27th Street
and head to The Village to a German or a Sake Bar
or indulge in Korean cuisine at Seoul Garden-
which resembled a Chinese communist canteen-
sometimes we would sit up at Union Square park
n sip on the Apple Cider from the Farmer's Market
or window shop at the gorgeous Chelsea Market,
we would try out Ethiopian and Venezuelan food


or just settle down for our own Indian Kati rolls,
one night we had an Indian dawat for our colombian friends
with Shahi Biryani over a screening of Seventh Seal.
one time we reminisced the classical Hindustani song
we made some spicy masala tea and
listened to 'Madhuban mein Radhika naach re'
and i gave her the traditional hair champi and
Carlos had walked in and said 'I can smell herbs.'
one weekend we went to a museum called Dia Beacon,
the train traversed little fishing villages along the mighty Hudson River
tempted to have fish fingers, we returned to NY and cooked onion n aloo pakoras
n sipped Rooafsa
we also made short trips to Boston and Philly.
On our last weekend we went to Paul's place at Hoboken
and cooked lobster with cilantro rice

i left NY on her birthday, I picked up her favourite umbrella from MOMA
and while she loved my gift she snapped 'did you have to go today you nut'
tears rolled down her eyes , I gave her a big, little sister hug, and said I will see you soon...

Breathing roots

as we travelled further into the heart of Bengal
towards the legendary forests of Sunderbans, home to the Bengal tiger
many unique species of Mangroves, and the mouth of Great Indian rivers
the journey was truly magnificent, characterised by back waters and expanses of prawn farming
i enjoyed the entire majestic drive through my Canon Powershot lens
fields of prawns stretched to the horizon dotted by stunted trees and tiny huts
my mouth salivated for the culinary experience that lay ahead

after about 4 hours we reached an island from where began our ride
in a launch boat towards Bali island No. 9
greeted at the resort with an elaborate meal, which included dal rice, bengali pickle and vegetables
we set out in the forests again, we saw many rare birds
such as the Bronze Drongo, Black Capped and Collared Kingfishers,
we also saw the vibrant Minivet, Iora and bee-eaters,
we headed back to island at the time of dusk
the sun sunk slowly into the marshes,
we left behind us the myraid wildlife with the hope to see them tomorrow


we hit the boat early dawn ,we sang the national anthem in pride
the misty Sunderbans seemed to let out a yawn
the waters allowed us in lazily, we voyaged along,
interrupted by the Chinese sparrow Hawk
the crocodile, the wild boar, Chitals, the jungle cat,
we returned to the camp partially satisfied
the evening snacks comprised of the bengali samosas dipped in chilli and mustard sauce
dinner comprised of delectable kheer and finally the tiger prawn curry

the next day was busy and long as we were to explore the core forest
the journey was scenic; the rivers meandered to reveal many surprises
the air got chillier, the waters merged into wider expanses
one river flowed into another, tiny rivulets etched into the marshy lands
we wondered where was the regal heir?
we saw his pug marks but seemed to have missed our rendezvous
the forest still offered other pleasant distractions
like the pied kingfisher, curloo, the mud skipper, the lesser adjutant stork
the beautiful jelly fish sometimes surfaced on the waters
we also spotted the beautiful raptors like the Shikras, the falcon, eagles
the fishing owl napped on a branch along the river
our excursion ended again at sundown
back to our camp we ate the tasty baigan bhajiyas
we were also introduced to Bonobibi the Goddess of Sunderbans and the tiger gods
through a musical play performed by the village theatre company
the next culinary delight was the Shukto, fish cooked in mustard sauce and potatoes with poppy seeds
at midday we left the majestic Sunderbans, but the forest echoed you can go but you cannot leave me..

Oh Calcutta...Aami Khabo!

i recently travelled to the gourmet paradise
we first rushed to a shop called mithai
we looted the sweet , delicious rosogollas
as the shopkeeper stared in disbelief at us strangers
we quenched our thirst, n headed for another catch
to Flury for some baba n plum cakes
n stopped at the streets for some kulhad chais
after riding on the old victorian buggies
and shooting coloured balloons
we devoured the tangy putchkas n tasty churmurs
next on our list was the metro and
the ride on the cycle richshaw
we snacked on the bengali chakna
and after a long drive in the yellow bulldozer
munched on the savoury egg roll
the calcutta paan called it a day
we all agreed we were serial eaters on the loose

Domenica

on an early sunday morning
the sun, sea and sand perform their wizardry,
the soft sand obeys the blue sea,
the sun commanding the show
does a shimmering dance on the waters,
the sea swells in happiness n rushes to meet the shores,
the waves' lather cleanses the earth,
the palms sway in acknowledgement ,
the bewildered eye captures nature's hocus pocus
calming the crazy urban mind.

Baa's Black Sheep

Every night after the sun went down
n we had had our early supper
we would cuddle up around our 'baa'
to get our dose of bed-time stories
'Baa' would tell us stories of all kinds
animal fables, folk tales and
fairy tales with perfect endings
she read these from a weekly column
in a local gujju newspaper
and recount them effortlessly
with varying expressions
her voice would carry every nuance of the tale
we all would listen to them with rapt attention
away we would be on a picturesque journey
until 'baa' sang ...kind of 'like the end of the rin tin tin'
and we sailed away into deep sleep

in a few years i had heard many
some i forgot , some were legendary
but i do remember when 'baa'
narrated yet another beautiful story
as she prompted the end of the fable
she melted away into the sky
my eyes opened moist from deep sleep
and realised this one would be my last!

Say Cheers!

a 30 ml surprise

a black label

a Double malt

his name is ‘Scotch’, obviously!

Berry Blast!

a sinful bite, a heavenly delight

it bursts in your mouth, spilling its juicy nectar

its soft red flesh dissolves, u want an encore!

u can't but indulge in this fruit, tossed in fluffy fresh cream

or dipped in a chocolate fondue...

winter casts a new spell

ends the long wait

the devil wears his green cap

‘n brings in the Minister of Sweet Temptation

Fly like an eagle..

floating in mid air; the cold wind brushing against my face

feeling the rush of flying high above, overlooking the snow capped mountains,

the curvy roads with occasional mountain springs flowing thru them

a moment of bliss and silence as I was gliding in the Himalayan sky

the pilot steering the parachute asked me if I was enjoying the flight…

‘yes u bet I did’ I sighed, as I placed my feet firmly back to the ground

__Crossing the Line___

Like every average student I cud confidently say

MATHS stood for Mentally Affected Teachers Harrasing Students

The subject was all about the crossing the line – the line between Pass and Fail!

The subject was a natural bore or the teachers made it so

The befitting maloo geniuses always ruled the crucial physics n math classes

While the students rocked their chairs and composed everlasting jokes,

Husband: Ayyo Mary which colour sari ure wearing?

Mary: Ello ..

Husband: ello ello…(disconnects the phone)

Mary to a tall girl in class: U need to imbrove your attitude…

another girl: mam she only improves by altitude

In Geometry I struggled with the ruler n compass

It encompassed my natural fear for the subject

And I welcomed some furious comments by loony teachers like

‘Even a blind person will tell u this is not a quadrilateral…’

Yes it was not quadrilateral it was a triangle.. but I had tried!

Another time..This is not an arc, u fibber! And she scribbled a remark in my notebook

No one before had knighted me as a ‘bluffmaster’..

At home my folks raised their eyebrows in doubt

In the end I did cross the line, With a flying seventy-two,

thanks to a certain looney teacher, who thought I was a fool but not a dumb ass

I said thank you for the consolation and passed!