The Shawshank Redemption

The Shawshank Redemption is one movie I thoroughly enjoyed the other day. Andy Dufresne, (Tim Robbins) the protagonaist, goes behind bars for a crime he hasn't committed but believes he has. A crime of not having been a good husband haunts him when he's told it was someone else who pulled the trigger.

He finds a friend and confidante in an inmate of teh prison cell called Red(Morgan Freeman) and goes on to tell him about the scam that's been created within the prison walls. His dreams and his efforts and 5 miles of unbelievable stench and shit lead him out of prison and into freedom. All that because he hoped. He hoped some day he would be a free man and live by the sea, own a hotel and a boat too. His faith in hope keeps him alive and digging. Digging a tunnel in dark nights of a darker life(20 years) behind bars, spent in fulfilling selfish motives of a prison warden who ultimately faces the world with a hole in his head, gun in his hand.

'Fear can hold you prisoner, hope can set you free', is the slogan the movie proudly displays. The movie shows it beautifully. This is true in real life too. Fear is the only factor that confines a person into doing or being what he/she is. Fear of self, fear of the society, fear of losing someone or something, fear of shame, fear of grief... and when there's hope, there's effort. There's a realisation. That's when the heart i set free - to live, to be, to exist.

This flick may not have made much money at the box office but it has certainly gone on to be much watched movie in later years. Some things take time to sink in and when they do, they are there to stay. A must watch..

Business sense

"Saab, what do u want to buy?" asked a little boy, who must have been just seven years old, as he chewed at the neem branch he held between his fingers.

"well, just hand me a small lock", replied the man, who was evidently in a hurry to catch the train. " how much?", he asked again.

"10 rupees, saab", the kid replied.

The man handed him a 100 rupee note.

"No change early in the morning saab" said the boy. "why don't you buy two more locks and i will give you back 70 rupees?"

The man refused. "Just hand me over whatever you have, I am getting late" he said agitatedly.

The kid had handed him over some change and as he walked towards the train he glanced at it. There were 90 rupees. The man turned back, a little surprised as he remembered how the boy had requested him to buy 2 more locks.

There on the shop window, sat a grinning little packet of mischief who had just begun his day with a good bargain. He had tried his hand at the business lessons he was being taught at the shop whole day. He waved at the man and all the man could do was wave back as he boarded the train..

Fat or Fit

What's with Adnan Sami? The man has lost oodles of weight and with that has gone his better half. The Adnan we saw romancing so many young models and actresses on screen is a thing of the past. He is now replaced with a slimmer man who isn't what he used to be. I don't know him personally and surely don't know what he really was, but the happiness he exuded is now missing, and hence, I rant and rave. He now looks sickly and his songs aren't half as good as they used to be. Weight loss does come with a price tag. He lost all the excess fat and in the process, became a stranger to all the people who loved him and enjoyed anything he sang. The songs bubbled with life and energy. It's gone now.


We come across fat people almost every day of our lives and after a certain age one doesn't have to travel very far to see an obese person. One can do so by looking at the mirror. Some people are meticulous enough to maintain a perfect physique, others are too lazy to spare themselves some time precious moments of excercising. I happen to be at crossroads of the weight bridge. That it would be a struggle so severe, was incomprehensible a thought for me and yet ech day I stare at the stranger who stares back at me.


I asked a friend for some tips to maintain an envious physique as hers, and the reply was "fall in love dear".. Well, now that's a pretty expensive and time taking, tedious clause. Unless it's the gym instructor you're attracted to!! Needless to say, I haven't taken this advice too seriously. I tried yoga, but the enthusiasm fizzled out as fast as it had surged. The timings were to blame. Early mornings was when the yoga classes were conducted and Sleep did not permit me to creep out of the cozy bed. The early morning newspaper reading was going to come to my rescue, and I noticed an Ad. It was of a weight reduction centre. I was up and ready to reach the centre. At the place I was made to dish out a hefty sum for a few tricks that would help me get a chiselled bod. To add to it was the sight of some faces that were aghast to see me there. It was hilarious but something from within me told me we were all sailing in the same boat. I cut short the smile that had just begun to form..


I gave up all of these eccentricities and settled for the more sober form of keeping fit. Yes, walking. Walks are convenient and I make it a point to walk in the evenings, albeit for a small stretch. A few excercises and I feel fit. I make it a point to watch all stand up comedies (the slapstick ones as well). Isn't that what i was searching for after all.. A few doses of energy mixed with fitness and a scoop of laughs with a pinch of happiness here and there - The ingredients for a perfect body and perfect mind. Being a little over weight is after all not really a big issue..

greys of all shades

When Fate came calling

I tried,
all my life and ran
to keep up pace,
with an ever changing world
of expectations.

I stopped,
tired.
broken.
charred,
with ashes
from the remains,
of wishes unfulfilled,
of dreams turned down,
of ambitions floundered..

And then,
when all doors
caved inwards,
choking life's existence,
came a knock at the door.
I opened to see,
there,
stood my destiny.

The sun shone brighter,
The day seemed right,
All's well with the world,
Fate has finally smiled..

Talk of coincidence

Mundane things in life have a course of their own. Time meanders at a leisurely pace and one gets used to everything around. I happened to be in a phase that circled around the corridors of the place I live in. Since I had too much on my mind, I decided to get some outside help to help me out in getting the daily chores done. So, a desperate search led to some people who were suitable for the job. I finally zeroed in on one lady who seemed to fit into the family stream..


The employee who had been painstakingly handpicked began wWork began and one day I thought of giving in to her daily dose of gossip. Apart from knowledge of Mrs A, Mrs S, and Mrs B I was told that she lived near Lakshmi Narayan temple. Her expressions clearly said that she liked the amused look on my face. She, like an intelligent player, took advantage of the situation and on the next day turned up at the house only at noon. It irritated me no ends to see her arriving so late. The harrowed look on her face wasn't going to save her either.

"I got late at the other house," she complained, without looking at my face.

'Where is this other house?" i roared.

"Its near Lakshmi Narayan temple," came the answer.

My patience was ebbing but I prefered to abstain from any words that would cost me the daily help. Come Sunday, and the lady landed at my doorstep clad in a starched cotton sari and kumkum spread over the margin that parted her hair neatly. Her hair was oiled and combed in tiny straight lines that wouldn't budge even if it hit a storm. Tagging behind her was a little girl.

"Who is this?" i asked her.

"My daughter," came the reply. I couldn't stop myself from pulling the little girls cheeks.

"Where do u study little one'" i asked.

"Govt school," she replied with a cute, dimpled smile.

"And where is this School" i quizzed again.

"Near Lakshmi Narayan temple," the little girl replied to my amazement.


That evening I made up my mind to dig out this temple. I walked down the road, in search of the Lakshmi Narayan temple. I had to ask the passers by about where the temple was and after a lot of twists and turns I managed to reach the dusty street where stood the temple. The temple, that was the lifeline of the lady who was becoming more of a habit was but a simple looking house kind of structure with the statue of a diety in it. Habit made me close my eyes and bow down..


Things were getting easier with each passing day and then a festival dawned. Needless to say, the maid took a day off.

"Where did you go to set the boat to sail in water", I teased her.

She gave me the biggest ever grin and sheepishly said " Lakshmi Narayan temple".

It was tough to not smile back.

Height of the matter was that she informed me that her husband's name was 'Narayan', and her name!! well! You guessed it................. :-)

shopping on a Kirket day

A visit to the market was due, and when we finally reached the shop which i visit every month, I was surprised to see an empty shop. There was no one to cater to the customers. "Where is everyone?" i asked myself with a quizzical look on my face. An old man pointed towards a group of people staring at something. I held my breath and kept my fingers crossed. "Dear God! please don't let it be an accident." I treaded ahead with hopes that there had been no accident. I tore across the crowd and plunged ahead. But, before I could reach the place where lay the centre of attraction, the crowd cheered.

I leaped to find myself facing a portable TV. Dhoni had just scored a century and the crowd was ecstatic. I looked at the countless faces flushed with a glow of victory. A certain happiness which can be felt when a person himself/herself or a close family member or close friend achieves something was writ on their faces.
"Aaj India Kirket match jeet jaaega medum," cheerfully claimed a young lad in his teens. "Dhoni bhaiya ka ban gaya century" he added. By the time I could move ahead and ask him any question he was back into the shop. I followed him into the shop only to find him straight faced and businesslike in attitude.

What is it with Cricket that captivates a whole nation. Well, maybe two nations or maybe more countries. Is it just the game that fascinates all young and old or is it the surprise element attached with it that has people attracted towards it. Is it the glamour or just the money? I have too many questions on my mind and all that coz i do not really enjoy the game. I however, never miss an India Pakistan Cricket match for obvious reasons.

The late night news said India had won the match. I could see smiles around me. Half of India would have slept peacefully too, I 'm sure..

To turn into stone

Black statues, beautifully made to match original people are an artists delight. It is equally amazing for the onlooker, to see metals or stones carved into forms of real people. Admiration for the artist is writ all over the onlookers face and the thought that the person who has faded away into eternity, will still be a part of their lives is a relief. It is a relief only till statues are few. When one comes across a replica of any person at every crossroad, what do you do? Mayawati is the person who comes to mind every time we say statue. The obsession to live on forever has taken away the sense of compassion that exists in a human being.


I for one do not want to be turned into stone, for the simple reason, that I don't want birds sitting over my head and painting my face in streaks of white!! To live on forever, is every creator's dream. One wants to live on in the minds of people and be remembered even after they are gone. But, there surely are other ways of becoming immortal. One doesn’t have to be turned into stone to live on for eternity, because for all you know, the statue might be brought down by angry crowds. Haven’t we as an international community witnessed statues of Stalin, Saddam Hussein, Hitler and a few other men/women being brought to dust!! I


My mind however, has often floated on a cloud and seen myself being turned into stone. I imagine myself as a statue and what do I find! A lonely sentinel, standing tall amongst heavy traffic with cars, trucks, two wheelers etc coughing up smoke and pollution at it’s worst best. A family of eight kids, of all ages, lying, crying, laughing and joking at my feet and the house of rags, waiting to fall apart would add to the beauty of the surroundings. If the city governing body did take note of the neglect meted out to the statue, then the family would probably be shifted to a residential area, or else I would have company, much to my disgust..


The scenes during day would change with time. Rush hour would see school and office goers rushing past. Afternoons would be quieter, but, come evening and the world would go bonkers again. Honking cars, hooting buses, chugging trains, wailing and whizzing two wheelers would all whizz past. Night would be the time of bliss, but that would be so awfully lonely that the statue would look forward for the sun to shine back. The statue would bear the scorching heat of the summer sun, and the bitter cold of winters. It would brave rough weather every time it rains, and yet would never change the near perfect smile on the face. I am me and I have no similarity with Ms Mayawati, and that’s an indication that I have no inclination towards having my statue constructed, especially when I am alive. To be placed as a statue in some park or crossroad, I’ll have to shift base to another world. But, I do not want to die yet. There are lots of things I still have to do. The statue will have to wait to be constructed, for what time?? Eternity!!

Cooking it up

When you are surrounded with people who are always hungry, there's not much you can do but 'cook'. Cooking gets even more happening when you know someone's waiting to gobble all the food up. The pleasure of frying pakodas increass when pakodas vanish from the plate as you keep frying them. Time has run past me, and the hands that stole cookies and ate are now the ones that cook.


It was just yesterday that I would spend afternoons in digging out the home made cookies that my mother hid in the last shelf of the kitchen cupboard. She was one great cook and would make it a point to have a kitchen ful of cookies and cakes and other yummy stuff. But, afternoon was her time off and she would retire to take a quick nap. That was action time for the brothers and sisters in crime. A few friends would also join in and once the mission was accomplished and the box of cookies was recovered, it would be treat time.


The box would be emptied in no time and then was kept back in the same place, like it had never been moved. The crime reporters were bullied and bribed into taking a bite of the grub so that they didn't go yapping about the afternoon exploits. The crime was discovered when guests came home. The box was brought down and opened by the home maker, and to her dismay, teh box would be empty. Bang!! Bang!! Bang!! the reaction spelled. The guests would somehow be treated to some other freshly made snacks (those were the days when atithi was still the devo!!). I remember a time when I prayed vehemently " God, please let the guests live with us here", simply because i feared the wrath that we would have to face later. But, my prayers were turned down. I, the master of sin, would have to face the gallows. The exit of the guests was sign that our time was up. We would be made to own up our faults. But, I
ensured that if I went through hell, I had my gang along with me.


These things usually happened during vacations, when we had the time of our lives. Tele Vision was still not a part of our drawing rooms! Mornings were well spent in finishing off the burdensome holiday homework, which mostly consisted of creative work. But, that wasn't our age to realise we were doing something constructive. Howebver, we somehow slogged to get things done. Evenings began early and went on till the street lights would be switched on. So, it was only the time in between that had to be utilised. So, My mother cooked and we ate. We feared her anger, but, we always missed out on the little smile she always had on her face on discovering the emptied boxes. Our emotional hiccups didn't allow us to see her joy.


I had to go through the entire process of life to discover the magical joy on the faces of people who I live with (my family members). Today, I wait for invisible hands to whisk away the goodies I make. Some do not turn up. I hide the boxes of cookies too, but when I open them up, the things are always there. The present generation is growing up way too soon and in the bid has deprived me of the little joys. In a few days, my home will be bubbling with laughter and with people who will be talking at the same time. I will listen to it all and store it in a can and place it all in a corner of my heart. The one compliment that will surely come my way would be, "Mom you are the best cooker!!". My reaction - a smile and a whistle..

Perception

I took this pic on one of my trips to interior Orissa. The Picture reminded me of the old man and the sea, just that this old man was rowing his boat in a river. Such scenes are common and yet capture our imagination. I was lucky enough to click this one..

The man and mask

The man, a mask and his crooked walk, had faded out of sight,
His lonely tooth, his toothless smile, his eyes moist and bright,
He swung on his way, singing gung-ho hey, and held on to the bottle of wine,
Alas, he was gone and not seen at all, his footprints proof; he was fine.


His mask had weathered with time, but he held it close to his heart.
It had after all been his face, when his smile grace and youth were his part,
The colours may have faded with time, but it had stood by him as a friend,
And now the man and his mask had aged but together years they would spend.


If the years to come were of grief, they would cry together for sure,
If happiness came a visiting, they would share the feelings pure,
And if came death, with arms wide open, they would both embrace
A life that had been entwined by two faces would fade away in a face.


The mask had been the man, when he searched for himself in youth,
The two together, were but one, but for a fateful day in June,
The day that seperated the man and the mask, was when he fell from a height,
He got back on his crooked feet and bent too much to his right


And then he walked to the place on the wall and took off the mask and said;
"Friend! oh friend, you are me and together we will be,
In sickness, health or better days,
You and me, you and me, you and me..

excuses

there are excuses for not doing things you don't want to. I could have written each day, but I preferred not to. At times I was busy or simply lazy, on other occasions I was sad or happy. The excuses knew no bounds and I got into the habit of denying myself that little space I had promised i would give myself, and to make matters worse, I didn't feel the urge to get back to witing. Today, yet again, I force myself to type in a few words.

A transition from good times to bad times isn't easy. When you've seen good days, you are so engrossed in yourself and the joy of the moment that any hindrance seems a burden. But, when that burden is there to stay, all you can do is try and look at the positive side of life, take in a deep breath, feel strong and get to work. Things have a way of easing themselves out and bad times don't last forever. I know all that and yet all I want to do at times is bawl like a child and howl and cry my lungs out. The tragedy is I can't. I just wait for time to fly by. But, time has to make it's pesence felt and has started moving at snail's pace.

Someone told me that there's nothing as good times and bad times. There's a part of good in the bad and vice versa. But, I DISAGREE..
Enuf for today I guess..

Jinnah in jannat - India at war

Life is at it again and the sailing isn't too smooth these days. Jinnah is the last thing on my mind, and the whole controversy surrounding Jaswant Singh's book on Jinnah is certainly not distracting me from the turmoils life has to offer. BJP may be on a soul searching spree and there may be too many sacrificial goats who will readily give up their lives for the party. One such man being Jaswant Singh. He knows he might never see the chair of power, ever again. His jaw dances every time he speaks and so, he'd rather use his brains and write a book on none other than 'Quaid e azam'- The man India would rather not talk about. How many Indians would jump at the prospect of reading a book on Jinnah?? not too many. I for one wouldn't read it even if someone gifted it to me. reason, well too many.

However what Jaswant singh has managed to do is, rake up a small spot of my brain where I had hidden the plight of muslims in India. They aren't a minority, if we go by numbers, but how many people actually make it to the most prized careers in India. Most muslims are towed away to professions like weaving, stitching, carpentry and other menial jobs. The educated ones have managed to carve a niche` in various professions. They are present in Journalism, engineering, medicine or for any other profession. The numbers are less but their presence can be felt.


Hindus and muslims have co - existed in harmony, but for the interference of some selfish, self centred people. My chidhood days were the most secular phase of my life. That was when we waited for months to eat the delicious sewai at a friends place on the occasion of Id? The whole month of Ramzan was a celebration with various iftar parties and gosht and biryani. These days were clouded by the hindu - muslim riots, which ruined not only properties but also lives of people. The incidents mostly occurred during the Ram navmi - Muharram processions. Civilian authorities dreaded the time and hoped and worked at making it a peaceful day. The temple and mosque were constructed on teh same road and the colourful prosessions leading to the temple/mosque were a show of power. Swords clanged. Tazias glittered in green. The whole place was a riot of colours. The peaceful day was about to change into a dreadful ghory tale and no one knew.

Young men, or were they boys, who played football and cricket matches together were on two other sides, when something happened. The peaceful marchers turned into a mob. Swords which had glistened in the air attacked others. The happiness and gaiety in the air had vanished. Blood thirsty younsters were at each others throat. In no time at all word spread to other parts of the city and in no time a muslim dominated area was burnt down. Muslims attacked hindus and women and children on both sides were also affected. A bus full of women and children were burnt down. Curfew was clamped in the whole city and we could hear police sirens, as they made rounds of the city. My father's friend and his three grown up daughters had taken shelter in our relatives place. Hindu mobs had followed them and they left the house only after they were convinced that the muslim family wasn't there.

The processions were banned on that road after that episode and life switched to a more peaceful pace. However, scars had been imprinted on the lives of the people who had lost their houses and loved ones. The other ocassion when hindus and muslims were at loggerheads was when there was an India Pakistan one day match. If India won, things would be fine. But, if Pakistan was victorious, we still heard crackers burst. That was enough to instigate the Hindu neighbourhood. The green flags with moon and star were dragged down and burnt. Muslims were beaten up. All this happened some 30 years back. India was all of 32 and we had Indira Gandhi ruling the country. Restlessness in society was dominant. Religion was still the basis of all social activity and tolerance was at ground zero. That was the time when a new generation was either being conceived or was in the womb.

Muslims in India have lived in fear. Each time there is a bomb blast, muslim men are targeted as an aftermath. There is an unsaid sense of dissatisfaction that exists in the silent eyes that look on, in anticipation of being a part of the countries secular fabric. The divide however, is so large that it would take many years and lots of effort to bridge the gap. That, muslims form a major part of the society is something that hindus would rather deny but the fact remains that they are an integral part of India and will always be so..

Love aaj kal

It's been a week since i saw 'Love aaj kal' and i realise that i like it even more than i did the day I saw it. How is that possible?? especially when it's a hindi movie we are talking about. Was it the Brazilian beauty and her innocence or was it Neetu Singh in the last scene or maybe the songs or the ... I guess it was all of it and the fact that this love story had a happy ending. There's always something magical about a couple in love. The glow on their faces and the dreamy look in the eyes make them look like characters of a fairy tale. When it all merges into a 'they got married and lived happily ever after' phase, there are tears of happiness all around.


Last year I met a 25 year old girl from some European country. During our conversation I came to know that she had another sister at home and two step brothers. She told me that her mom had got married thrice and that she was single now. "My mom left my dad when I was 7" she said. "Oh! I am so sorry", I blurted out. "hey, don't be sorry" she continued " My mom thought she had met her soul mate and she couldn't stay away from the man. So, she left home, dad and us and went away", she added. I looked confused. "She left him in three months because she thought he wasn't the actual soul mate", she went on. I didn't know whether to be sorry for her or for myself. I felt like laughing but preferred to tuck away my emotions. That is love - the western style.


India seems to have arrived too. Love today is more about convenience.
It's more about - I engineer + u engineer = love + marriage = no kids. When and if Cupid does strike, it is probably a wee bit late. The man/woman is already married and is surrounded with responsibilities. If one is able to heal oneself within the folds of their comfortable existence, the do so and if not, then they queue up outside the Divorce lawyers office. The queue seems to be getting longer by each passing day and the quest for true love is on. Being married for 10, 20, 30 or 40 or 50 years is not too fashionable any more.


Love aaj kal has a new face to it. The innocence is lost and there is a sense of superficial freedom that keeps the youngsters on their toes. The emotions are mere words which can be used as and when it's needed. There is a dearth of time and everything else can be dealt with. The confusion of whether Love has actually happened or not is what Saif Khan goes through in the movie. The last scene in which Deepika Padukone moves down as she wipes away her tears was an absolute treat. And, for a change I was happy she was crying..

We call him Buster

That's iittle Buster with his favourite toy - the tiger. The tiger was shredded into pieces by this little devil and had to be replaced. His new companion is a monkey..




sleeping with the enemy:

Making a stream

Somewhere by the road, people are working. They are making a stream..

Hysterical Mehbooba

Lush green fields, monsoons, wonderful weather, all this and Mehbooba. That makes for a perfect setup. It's everything one ever wanted - An ideal situation. Add a Mufti to the tale and it gets twisted. Today, an angry Mehbooba Mufti, the PDP leader, darted towards the Speaker in the J an K assembly and hurled the microphone at him. Some onlookers sneered, while others sat through the episode in sullen silence, until the lady was thrown out of the assembly quite unceremoniously.


When asked why she took the step in full public glare, she whirled a volley of words at the interviewer and said that it was because she wasn't given a fair chance during the questionaire. "The speaker used derogatory words aginst me", she claimed. Does that give a leader the right to behave like a child?? So much for Indian Democracy.


This kind of show of angst isn't uncommon to the Indian audience. We may be made to understand that there was public welfareat stake in the J an K assembly, but the better side of my brain knows better. It was a show of helplessness at the loss in the assembly elections, and the knowledge that the recent spate of events that had hit the state weren't all a matter of state disfunctionalism. Hence, the need to seek attention in a manner that is averse to anything democratic.


We have witnessed such scenes in other state assemblies earlier too and those scenes had been 'hard hitting' in all aspects of the term. The Uttar Pradesh assembly had seen chairs and mics being used as weapons of 'class destruction'. Class here is my way of addressing the symbols of democracy, who have been chosen by the people. Just last year, the Andhra Pradesh asembly witnessed a similar crisis and before that we also had the Orissa asembly frantically in search of weapons to attack the enemy within the house.



We are not alone in the world to have our leaders at each others throats. Some days back, we had scenes from the South Korean Parliament, where Parliamentarians struggled to strangle every other opponent. Women Parliamentarians ensured that they fought against their women counterparts only!! It was a sight straight out of a comic flick from Cartoon network. Needless to say, it was sheer entertainment. The feeling of sharing the same kind of hysteria can bring countries closer, after all.



As for me, I prefer to chill out with the song 'Mehbooba, mehbooba.. gulshan mein gul khilte hain.....' Mufti is set aside to rest because I know she will rise again tomorrow morning, and this time she'll be in black and white, all over the pages of newspapers across the country..

An eclipsed eclipse

"Dis is da problem ven u overwork!!! Poor Sun takes just a 6 minute break an da whole world is talking abt it!!!" - This was a tag line written by one of my friends on facebook. Isn't it right that the Sun is overworked! It's only when it's not there that we realise it's importance. On a sunny day, when the heat is unbearable, we curse the sun, on a cloudy day we curse it again! Come winters and we curse it for not shining brightly. But, one moment of rest for it, and the world stands still.


All the ga ga over the solar eclipse seems to be dying down today. It was after all supposed to be the longest eclipse of the 21st century. All the attention was expected. Did I say suppose!! The eclipse watchers will chase me till I accept the theory that it was indeed 'the longest' eclipse of the century. After all, it did last for appx 5 mins. But, I missed it. I simply overslept. The clouds had anyway taken over the skies and I was faraway from any place where the eclipse was fully visible. Above all, nature was plotting against me and ensured that i do not watch the spectacle unfold itself.


The world watched the dazzling sun being devoured by the moon and in a moment darkness had enveloped the morning, and converted it into five minutes of miraculous night. There was pitch darkness and then emerged the ring - the diamond ring, one that nature had gifted to humanity. Space tourists had created means of watching the eclipse, some travelled by planes, so as to capture the sun through their lenses. They did not want the clouds to play spoilsport and went beyond the clouds to catch the ring closely.


Clouds did cover the skies and barred millions of people from watching the eclipse at Taregna, near Patna. Varanasi, however, was the place that was blessed and the people who witnessed the eclipse will remember it forever. Fortune tellers had the time of their lives predicting future while scientists analyzed the eclipse. The astronomers sat glued to their telescopes to capture each move of the moon and the Sun. The eclipse has passed me by, and all I can do now is wait for the next eclipse. I am sure I will catch it next time. The sun is shining brightly and there's not a trace of darkness left behind. The moon is moving on it's usual route. All is as it was. There is hope..

Truth and dare

When a person is hell bent on taking revenge, all he/she has to do is speak the truth. That might sound ridiculous, but that's exactly what is happening. The new show on TV, that has people glued to it, isn't the usual 'saas bahu' rona dhona. On the contrary, it is real life unfolding itself. People agree to bare facts about their lives and if all their answers are right, they carry home a goody bag full of money. One yes or no is the answer that decides what their sub conscious mind thinks. That sub conscious mind is the part that is always awake. It's our conscience. The mind when awake, tunes itself to what is politically correct. The lie becomes the truth for the outer world. The person himself/herself starts believing it to be reality.


Truth isn't always pleasant especially the ones that have been hidden away in the deepest crevices of the mind. "Did you have sex with a prostitute"? a not so young man was asked, on TV. His life was being read out in public and he was ready to take on the challenge of truth. The camera moved towards the family members, so that it could absorb each expression they were going through. An ex wife of the participant cringed in her seat, while the daughter just covered her face. It wasn't the viciousnes of the question, but the anxiety over the answer, that was writ all over her face. "Yes", came the answer. That must have stabbed her that very moment, because her face had turned pale. The other questions were equally personal and I did not know whether to appreciate the man for his boldness or to admonish him for putting his family through an embarassing situation. I also saw a woman partcipant, who after a few simple questions, was put through the ultimate test. The answer was 'no' from her side, but the polygraphy test differed. Her husband was choked for words.


We like to sneak into others lives and see what is happening beyond our boundary wall. When we see people revealing the truths of their lives, we are hooked to it. It could be a neighbour, or relative, or a friend or a stranger on a TV channel. All this gets more chatpata if someone's personal life is being disussed. Gossip gets a boost by some people who cannot sustain their excitement and the truth of the victim becomes his/her nightmare.

Truth has the power to ruin lives, not make them. This may seem hypocritical but its a fact. The real self, real ambitions, dreams are stashed away behind the mask of the roles we don. A man may want to be a singer but he dresses up in formals and attends board meetings, till he drops dead. Another might live an unhappy life, but would never admit that he wants to spend his whole life with another woman. The truth would make too many people unhappy, so, he stops living his own life.


Women are experts at denying themselves even a moment of happiness, until it involves their families, husbands or children. They like to carry the baggage of guilt about all the things that have not been taken care of. Not once do women sit back and realise that their families exist because they do. She knows that truth would make her happy and then happiness demands more. So, before the 'dil asks for more', she shrugs off the truth and wears her baggage once again. It's heavy but lighter than truth. That's how heavy truth is.



One man's truth may be the other mans lie. That is only when you are in the company of people. When one sits all alone, in introspection, he/she knows the truth. No polygraphy test is needed. The mind gives us our answers, and we, the civilized inhabitants of a lonely planet, just have to look within us. Some people have the guts to accept truth and live life as they want to, others wane away into anonymity and are forgotten.

Kambakht hangover

Kareena is at it again. Flaunting her size '0' status with elan. Little does this self proclaimed glam doll realise that the teeny weeny bikini is not what is glamourous. Glamour is in the acting and the elegance, rather than flesh. It is all about the substance that a person is made of. Talent matters at the end of the day. I watched the Kareena - Akshay starrer 'Kambakht Ishq' and don't know how I sat through teh three hours. I want my money back!! The double meaning, so called jokes, were far from being funny and i almost thought I was visiting 'Nude zone'. It was, if i may sum it up in one word - CRAP!! A terrible headche has taken over. It has to be the hangover from that hopeless flick. The only saving grace was the Bebo song, so I guess I'll leave the movie to rest. The hangover will die down by next Friday, i'm sure.



I twitched my thumbs for a long time and later got on with the only sport I am fit to play these days. Yes! channel surfing. Zee, star, sahara, besahara all of which were airing serials that had already been aired. That was when I chanced upon the song 'aa ante amalapuram'. I don't have a clue of what that means, but it sound good. A peppy number from a Telugu movie. I was watching Gemini Tv. It was a programme on music and the next number had Venkatesh shaking his leg, hands, head, chest and well! almost every body part with some actress, whose name is not known to me. After having a dose of pure entertainment, when my mind seemed relaxed, I switched channels and lo and behold! it was MAA Tv, another Telugu channel. I stopped. Nostalgia had it's jaws tightly clenched into my existence, and all I could think of was the place I had lived before. I was having yet another hangover..



I remember having a candid conversation with an old cook, when I first set foot in Andhra. "Amma" he started at which I retaliated with a hiss. Amma! God! had I aged so much! Do I need to dye my hair. Just when I thought my woes were over, I was faced with another googly. "Amma, do papa?", he asked. I knew he had had some misunderstanding. "No, do nai, sirf ek papa" i replied. He gave me a quizzical glance and threw another question at me " Papa school gaya?". This was getting on my nerves. "Bhaiya, I almost shouted, Papa school kyon jaega, Papa office gaya". An attendant who i hadn't noticed till then, laughed his lungs out. It was he who later informed me that Papa means girl in telugu and amma was a word used for the feminine gender. Such cocktails were enough for me for the day. I had to learn teh language, I almost myself. My teachers were my maid and the lady who ironed th clothes. The maid made a sheer fool out of me and did manage to get away without doing all the work, almost every single day, because she constantly used the word 'repu' which I thought meant 'ok', It actually means tomorrow. Counting numbers in Telugu wasn't a tough preposition. Every time the lady who ironed the clothes came, we sat still and waited for her to start off - 'wokati, rendu, mulu, nalgu aaidu aaroo... 1 to 10 was easy.


It's been quite some time since I left Andhra to reside in another place but I still feel connected and every time I feel home sick, all I have to do is switch on the Tv. It was indeed home to me for a while. Nomads, after all have places to go. The only permanent things in their lives being a heart wherein they carry memories. I know I will move yet again, and then I will miss the place i live in today but that's what life is all about.



A nomadic existence leaves behind a sweet taste of the place that you leave behind. Each time a change of place hits my life and jolts it into action, I realise the essence of the place I had lived in more. Even if the stay happened to be for a small period of time, the place lives on. The people, eating habits, dresses, forests, flora, fauna etc come back to haunt. The things one ran away from seem dearer. The smells that made you puke and fume, bring a smile to the face and the things that made you angry, have you in splits. There's a feeling of warmth even in things one found irritating. It is all because we like to hold on to our yesterdays. No wonder, our school or college days seem the best. The memories of our first job brings back tears ( of joy course) no matter how stingy the boss was. It doesn't matter that school or college days were filled with days you wanted to finish it all and move on, because of the peer pressure and family pressures or simple heart aches. We still like to live in the past. It is safe to look back as it can't harm you more than it already has. On the contrary, it manages to give happiness as a present.

The future is yet to come , the present may be a present but the past is the treasure that no one can take away.

Baawara mann

Monsoons have finally set in and I am happy for the farmers. I myself am not too enthusiastic about it, but driving out in the rains with a song I like playing in the background is always welcome. I heard this song and have been humming it for the past two days.. It is addictive.. I found the video on youtube and it is from the movie 'Hazaaron khwahishein aisi'
Enjoy the drive and the song..



YouTube - Baawra Mann Dekhne Chala Ek Sapna



Ek song ke saath ek song free :-)

YouTube - Guncha koi mere naam

This beautiful song was tucked away in a movie called 'Main meri patni aor woh'. Rajpal Yadav, The gorgeous Rituparna sengupta and Kay kay menon are the actors and it is sung by Mohit Chauhan..
Enjoy

LGBT, why why??

Tell someone u are happy and gay and you will be at the receiving end of weird glances.'I am gay', is notreally an expression that can be used to convey your happiness anymore. The innocence of the word gay has been lost to sexual preferences. However, the morning papers on 3rd of July looked gay enough in both senses of the word. There were men hugging men and women hugging women - nothing unusual, just that the text that was used to explain the picture wasn't quite ordinary. The headlines read - High Court legalises Article 377.



The law for gays may or may not be legalised, but it has certainly opened the pandora's box and let out the wors 'sex' into the air. Sex is the buzz word and debates on the topic are unplugged. There are people who are uninhibited about the topic and speak endlessly. When there is a debate on gays, everyone has an opinion as most people aren't directly in the line of 'gaydom'. If a person prefers a partner of the same sex, he/she is not ready to air their preferences. So, straight people vent out their angst openly by talking about something that's next to what they aren't too comfortable talking about.


The society isn't very kind to people who stray away from the mainstrem. There is ostracisation of the person or the entire family and in such cases the person is forced to live according to others wishes. His/her life is lost. It is easy to say that gays should be accepted in the society but how many of us would actually accept a near and dear one, if we were to wake up one morning and were told that they
wanted to live with a person of the same sex! Even if we did accept them, it would be an ordeal to live through it day in and day out. The society is in for a drastic makeover, and the picture seems rather morbid. You would be inviting Mr and Mr x or ms and ms y for dinner. The straight woman would be running after her husband, just to see that he doesn't get trapped by the M X and same goes fr the man. Though I am aware of the fact that our history gives us proof of the existence of gays, I dread those times.



LGBT's have been around for a long time. Anyone who has lived in a hostel must have had a brush with it for sure. The forces, where men stay away from their families for long is a soft spot for activities that were kept under the wrap of art 377. Most of the time sex among men in these cases aren't consensual. How many men have actually complained that they were sexually harassed by another man?? none, is the answer. Men are embarassed, for a change! By repealing the act the government would be doing a great favour to the society. This, because the cases of rape of men will then be registered and action would be taken against the criminal.



To make matters worse for the straight world and their sensibilities, there were Pride marches in Delhi, chennai and bangalore. Slogans like 'Hindu muslim sikh isai, homo hetero bhai bhai', were being proudly displayed. Kisses and hugs were a common sight. These are a reminder that there is no running away fom the fact that gayism and lesbianism exist in India. LGBT are here to co-exist. Just because we do not acknowledge a certain thing, doesn't mean it doesn't exist. Bhubaneswar of all places also had it's share of gay rights activism brought to the streets. I do hope the Chief Minister was listening. Since I believe in the adage 'live and let live', I personally think it doesn't really matter what people do in their bedrooms, especially if it's consensual. To each his own.. and yet my last prayer fr the day is 'God, take care of my family and keep them safe from thoughts of the LGBT world'.

health is wealth

When appendicitis strikes, there is just one way out, and that is to go under the doctor's knife. A small, unuseful part of the body can create havoc and if it's not taken care of, can even prove fatal. When u see a family member writhe in pain, there's not much one can do but run towards the hospital. I was in a situation that demanded immediate medical attention and that kept me on my toes. There were tests to be done and a surgery to be conducted. The patient was my child.

Hospitals have always scared me. The typical smell as one enters the place hits hard as it is a typical combination of dettol, phenyl, medicines and bleaching powder etc. My trips to the hospital usually turn out to be nightmares. I walk in there, confident and oh so brave, but while on my way out I am brought out on the stretcher!! So, I don't go to these temples of health unless it's the last resort.

A life well spent is a life devoid of illness, but that rarely happens. Good food doesn't necessarily serve as a buffer for ill health. Exercise does manage to keep the body fit but how do we explain Cancer or Tuberculosis? However, a positive attitude worn with the right amount of good food, exercise, good sleep, clean water and plenty of fresh air is a guarantee to a healthy life. Heatlth is true wealth.

But for now, my mind races back to the bruised child lying in the other room. Hope all will be fine..

Dead end

The end is only when you stop moving ahead..

Michael Jackson

The legend passed away leaving a mourning world behing. Death does change things.
It was only a few years ago that MJ was being labelled with child abuse, money problems, family problems, kid problems etc. Today when he's nomore, people are yearning to see him moon walk the stage. This is the real world!!

Why do we humans like to kill a person's spirit and reduce him to a rubble, when he'd rather be a happy n famous personality? Jealousy, intolerance, cut throat competition and riches are to be blamed. Success is indeed demanding.

MJ paid the ultimate price for his popularity. He lived a vibrant life and did what he was best at - singing and entertaing. MTV has dedicated songs exclusively to the grand master and as I hear the songs, I try to decipher the lyrics. I did manage to get a few words of his song.. That would make me sound dumb, I know, but that's how it is. I was never an MJ enthusiast. Honestly, his music never sounded like music to me! much to the disappointment of my friends and siblings. In fact I was disowned by my bro for not knowing the moon walking steps. Though, there are a few exceptions, a few songs that i find worth listening. His moon walking steps and dance moves were exceptional too.

He has gone away to another world, a world where no man would haunt him. He could be up there somewhere, maybe on the moon, walking on the still sands. His footprints may not be visible, but the music he created will ring in the air for eternity..

Rath Yatra

The scorching sun had shone all day but the enthusiasm of the devotees wasn't dampened. Artificial showers had been arranged for by the authorities and was a welcome idea. The day was long and sunny but by evening rains drenched the state and washed away the dirt strewn all over. It wasn't only the streets that had been cleaned. Parched souls and tired minds sighed a relief. All this on a day when Lord Jagannath embarks on his yearly trip to Gundicha temple, the residence of his mausi.

It was the second time that I would have the chance of watching a spectacle that draws more than 5 lakh people to it each year. I have been told it went up to 8 lakhs this year. The people transcend barriers of caste, colour, state or country. The first time I went to watch the chariot roll on the 'Bada danda' (grand road) was more 17 years ago. It was a memory that had been lost somewhere in the years I toiled to make a home. I watched the ritual on TV year after year and told myself that I wasn't missing out on anything, (so I thought!!) This year, the proximity to Puri from the place where I live, had me wanting to go and witness the Rath yatra once again. It would turn out to be a battle of sorts was something I would discover later, but when I came to know I could actually go I was more than happy.

We were among the priviliged lot (ahem!!) and got a backdoor entry into the temple. It wasn't the first time that I had been to the temple and yet the excitement was writ all over my face. Lord Jagannath was to be carried to the chariots waiting for him at the temple gate and the crowds chanted his name. Cymbals, drums, conches all added to the religious fervour. I waded throught the sea of people, into the temple. Catching a glimpse of the deity was beyond imagination but I had to see it. So, I patiently sweated along with the other devotees. Men women children all stood there with folded hands. Some people were so overwhelmed that they could not stop their tears. Lord Balram and Shubhadra had been moved out and it was finally time for the Lord to be brought out. He emerged and I realised why people cried when they saw him..

He is undoubtedly the most well marketed God of the Hindu culture. Which other God could gather 8 lakh people each year!!? None.. The Pandas of Puri are the marketing managers who have very smartly created a halo around the temple. The government has tried various means to create a systematic infrastructure for the temple but all their pleas have been turned down by the ever so dominant Pandas( pandits). The temple continues to be the industry that employs people for cooking, performing religious functions, maintenance of the temple etc.. Foreigners and non hindus aren't allowed into the temple which tends to get embarassing at times, especially if it is a friend who is with you. The city of Puri can hardly be referred to as a city. It is only the road leading to the temple that has been widenend. The rest of the city can easily claim a name into the world heritage site list. The dusty lanes, the shady huts along the road, the broken bridges, and an overcrowded beach.. Any kind of development is only in the form of resorts along the beach. The ritual called 'Chera Pohra' 9cleaning the floor with a broom) is performed by the Puri Maharaja (maharaja!!) which shows how people refuse to move ahead from the past. The feaudalistic fire is fuelled in the name of tradition, something which needs to be done away with. Nandini Satpathy, ex Chief Minister had tried her best to do away with the system but the pandas revolted and the chariot wasn't made to move.

A temple that has withstood the ordeal of trying times and good and bad weathers under different regimes has very few of it's originality left. Two portions of the temple are now cemented and painted red and white. It is only the main dome that is left with the carvings. It's only a matter of time when the temple could crumble down. What then would be the plight of the residents of Puri dham. The state government needs to take a decisive and swift action and renovate the temple and systemize the entire temple activities to keep pace with the times. Religion should be a guide to living but when religion become life, life becomes tough. Those who live through it know it too well.

Better said than done! It would take a visionary leader from among the religious gurus who could work out a miacle and take the state away from the state of poverty that hovers over it. Lord Jagannath, is the only person who can do it, because he has the numbers (8 lakhs). each year, year after year, the numbers increase. He will come to the rescue, I do believe..

Flowers

I'd rather have roses on my table than diamonds on my neck.
- Emma Goldman

losers yet again - T 20 '09

Sri Lanka lost the game. Pakistan won it. India sat back in introspection - dazed and agonized. It's one thing to lose but to see your enemy win is hardly palatable. To see Pakistan win a match has never been easily accepted by me(not any Indian i'm sure!) but they did. I remember a Pakistani cricketer promising that they would take away the T 20 cup in 2009.. They kept their promise. Sri Lanka played well too but were made to bow out.

The Don of Indian cricket - our very own Sachin Tendulkar sat thru the match and seemed to enjoy it. (Isn't it an irony that the world's best cricketer has never won a World cup!!)I thought it was more of a preparation match for him. He must have started preparing himself to be able to voice what he sees on the ground, rather than break more records. He smiled and clapped at the good shots as the Indian TV channels cried fowl about BCCI and tried to explain the folly of the BCCI and skipper Dhoni.

An injured Indian team isn't acceptable by a nation that is easily forced into burning effigies of players who return as losers. We aren't a nation of easy losers when it comes to Cricket and all this because of the money and time involved in the game. It is sad to see cricketers struggling to keep pace with the number of matches being played. They have their health at stake and yet play on. The insecurity of the team selection makes them cover up their injuries.

Is the IPL really a good idea after all? I do not think so and if they must still carry on with the game then it must be done over a span of 2 years rather than making it a yearly phenomenon.

Let team football and team hockey play money matches for a change!! It isn't uncommon in parts various of the country. Kids and youngsters in eastern part of the country often spend their sunday's playing competition matches(football). It could be a matter of time and there would hopefully be a Lalit Modi for other games. Hope is something we must hang on to..

Am I kidding myself or what!!!!!!

movies are back

I am suffering from the 'No new movie syndrome' There is a sudden lull in life and nothing to look forward to. Now that the tiff between the producers and the theatre owners is off, the wait fr movies will finally end.

swine flu may be creating havoc in the minds of people. Health ministry is in a daze and clueless of what they ought to do. "We cannot have all passengers checked" said some health ministry official. Well, we are in India, Sir. 'Yahan sab adjust ho jaaenge'

We are used to other scarier health terms like Dengue, malaria, typhoid, plague, Bird flu and worst of all poverty.. the list is endless.. Swine flu is also welcome because - that disease will also pass.. It might take with it a few lives, but then it's just a few lives after all. As long as we are safe, do we really care about others?? Why am I typing away in anonymity when I should be hankering after the politicians to create a healthy country.

I am not shouting my lungs out because I presume the politicians are aware of the catastrophe these diseases could create. For the time being I will rest my mind and relax and wait for the big screen to buzz back some colours and music into the world.

Kings of good times

Life is a roller coaster ride for the human race. It may be a circus for the universe; with the stars, planets and satellites waltzing around in harmony. However, the lesser mortals who walk the streets each day and break their backs to get themselves and their king sized families a decent meal, end up with king sized families which is a result of liquor that takes over their brain after. A daily dose of the intoxication usually rids them of the brutal assaults of the daily grind. The numb senses play havoc and after a point relax their charred emotions. The outcome is a wailing bundle wrapped in tatters. More mouths to feed and a sick looking woman to tend to everyone's needs. These low-waged, tired folks are the harbingers of king sized clans that encompass relatives in hordes - sisters and brothers, uncles and aunts etc.


The people who toil hard earn the tan. The money however, flows away from them and reaches the barrels of the Kings of Good times. The eternal King of good times in India is the effervescent Vijay Mallya. The owner of Kingfisher brand of beer, Kingfisher Airlines and God know what not? His companionship with money is an envy for all. The rise of the beer baron was catapulted into limelight by the media which had got it's new head turner. Only this time it wasn't some slim bodied model walking out of a steamy scene, as seen in the glossy magazines. It was, on the contrary, a man of slight heavy built, a salt and pepper beard and most of all a Kking sized pocket that never ran dry. That he would have a bevy of ladies walking in their bare minimals and even posing for calendars and posters; if his name was attached to a project, is another story.


In my pursuit to gain more info rmation on the kings of good times; I googled to find the name of Avinash Bhosale, a Pune based builder, who is fast gaining a reputation for himself. He has a fascination for all good things in life and has a craze for cars.Another name labelled by the media is that of Sanjay Gupta, the director of Bollywood as the King of good times of Bollywood. Why he was named so isn't quite known. I would have voted for Feroze Khan to be nominated as the one who ruled good times in Bollywood. The man's flamboyant existence and bindaas attitude was a style none in the country could ape.


Media endorses certain rich and powerful people with tags that people aren't able to shrug off. These rich people who bask in the glory of their royal aura - a creation by the media aren't able to shrug their new found status. In the pursuit they run after more money. With more money comes more desires and with more desires, the want to spend it in style. Style then becomes a necessity and to maintain their entities the rich find new ways and means to earn more. It turns into an unending cycle. Do they really never cry? Don't they ever suffer? How do they always smile? are questions that are never asked. The rich live in denial of their pains and the media harps on the lines spoken by the men/women who drive the world. After all who wants to be remembered for his days of distress?

The facade becomes the identity and the smile - permanent. The other emotions roll over and bow for attitude to take over. Good times get synonymous with the names who drive the big cars, own air planes, live in palatial houses and get richer. They rule the good times and Kings they are. Time takes it's tide and kingdoms are taken over by others - others, who have the zeal to appear positive against all odds - after all that's what kings are made of.

Salma Hayek - Frida Kahlo

Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo

Paintings of Frida Kahlo

Salma Hayek in the movie 'Frida'

Salma Hayek as Frida

I happened to pick up a few DVD's and one of them happened to be a series on Salma Hayek, the mexican born Hollywood actress who has her roots somewhere in Germany. The first movie I watched was 'Breaking up' and wasn't much impressed. Her accent couldn't trap the intelligent side of my brain, nor was her luscious figure an impressing factor. The scenes meant to tittilate minds only had me irritated. The whole concept of people breaking up is so common. Yes! so people break up, so what's the big deal!! Life doesn't stop even for death.

But, four movies down and i chanced upon 'Frida', the story of the artist Frida Kahlo, and it stuck to my heart. It was like Salma Hayek was Frida herself. Such intense emotions were so beautifully portrayed that I was moved to tears. It was after a long time that I thoroughly enjoyed a movie. The love story of Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo (both artists par excellence) is moving. The sacrifices they make, the testing time and the perseverance to go on all make up for a classic movie.

A list of Salma Hayek movies:
Breaking up
Bandidas
After the sunset
Once upon a time in Mexico
Frida
Desperado

Bald - beautiful?

You run away from the past, trying to flee from the clutches of thoughts that haunt you, and then, one fine day when you are brought to face your future - you realise there was nothing to run away from. A rare photograph, some acquaintance or some witten matter can make the memories flow. We are mere puppets - dancing to the tunes of the music we do not possess the power to play.

I chanced upon a photograph of mine - cropped hair and all. Smart yes, but I do not seem happy. It doesn't seem much of an issue today if I say I had short hair, but it was a big deal way back, when I was a kid. I remember my Mom's obsession of getting my head shaved every year. For the first decade that i walked the earth, my wish was consistently and at regular occasions brought under the knife . It turned out to be the most embarassing decade of my life. By the time I could feel beautiful, I had the barber attack me with the 'ustra'(barber's knife). A swish here and a swash there and it was done. My head shone like a white egg and though my eyes would boil with rage, there wasn't any reaction from the tormentor. A decent hair chopping ceremony would have given me a lesser heart ache but then mother's are your life bearers and they like to live with the notion that they know best! They think they know all and explaining anything to them is like talking to the wall.. (read banging your head on the wall).

The intentions were purely motivated with my welfare in mind and I remember being told that I would have hair that would flow in tresses - the beauty of which would be unsurpassable. I was too much into reading fairy tales and the character of Rapunzel would come alive for me. Me with long tresses, wow! I would smile at myself and imagine what I would look like when I grew up. I had thrown a tantrum and refused to give in to my mother's pursuits when I turned ten, and that was the last of my bald days. Bald can be beautiful too.

I remember a certain Nafisa Ali, who shaved her head and looked as glamorous as she does now. Her political campaigning and age hasn't dared to age her. There were Persis Khambata (star trek)and certain other models who dared to rid their heads of the beautiful tresses. North India raves and rants about the act of bravery that a woman commits by shaving her head off. Go down south and you are in for a shocker. Visit any hindu relegious place and there are bald heads bobbing up and down. They walk around like nothing has changed - men, women, children all alike. It's done to show gratitude to the Gods after a wish is fulfilled. Little do they realise that they are contributing to an industry that wouldn't benefit them in anyway. Indians! such simpletons! Do God's make wigs?? well! My hair never grew beyond shoulder length, simply because I could never muster up the patience to watch it grow, so, swish - swash.

My Rapunzel dream hasn't been realised but who knows what the future holds? I might have long hair or better still, just vent out my impatience and go bald.

A poem by 'Rumi'

The name Mowlana Jalaluddin Rumi stands for Love and ecstatic flight into the infinite. Rumi is one of the great spiritual masters and poetical geniuses of mankind and was the founder of the Maulawi Sufi order, a leading mystical brotherhood of Islam..

Oh, if a tree could wander

and move with foot and wings!

It would not suffer the axe blows

and not the pain of saws!

For would the sun not wander

away in every night ?

How could at ev?ry morning

the world be lighted up?

And if the ocean?s water

would not rise to the sky,

How would the plants be quickened

by streams and gentle rain?

The drop that left its homeland,

the sea, and then returned ?

It found an oyster waiting

and grew into a pearl.

Did Yusaf not leave his father,

in grief and tears and despair?

Did he not, by such a journey,

gain kingdom and fortune wide?

Did not the Prophet travel

to far Medina, friend?

And there he found a new kingdom

and ruled a hundred lands.

You lack a foot to travel?

Then journey into yourself!

And like a mine of rubies

receive the sunbeams? print!

Out of yourself ? such a journey

will lead you to your self,

It leads to transformation

of dust into pure gold!

Sardar 'Oye'

Bhajji swings a doosra abuse - calls Andrew Symonds a Monkey! Symonds blamed Bhajji of racial abuse. Was i witnessing a reality joke or was it a figment of my imagination. A man who belongs to the community which is a target of racial abuses, swings the ball on to the others, was an obnoxious slur in itself. I wasn't sympathetic for Symonds. The case was heard in court and when the proceedings were churned out by the media, word by word - I, like the whole of India was in splits.

Sardars have borne the brunt of being the target of jokes for quite a long time. They now laugh at themselves, because of the realization that this is a part of their existence. But then, we Indians laugh at every other community. That's the essence of being an Indian. The image of a sardar is of a large hearted man with a turban on his head. His dedication has transformed the whole transportation industry into a mostly one community ownership and 'chicken ki tang' and the patiala peg are synonymous with the Sardar on a truck. A sardar is also a man who adapts to any state of the country without any hassles. In Orissa, they speak fluent Oriya. In Bihar- bhojpuri, In Maharashtra it has to be marathi and in Chennai it would be tamil for sure. I remember travelling in a remote town of Arunachal Pradesh and we lost our way. There were three families who were travelling together in a convoy. And, lo and behold! we spotted a sardar. smiles and cheers knew no bounds and the two punjabi families who were travelling with us jumped at the prospect of having found someone who would bail us out. We stopped. "Sardar ji", said one of our fellow travellers. The man stared back. "Ye road kithhey jaati hai dar ji", the question was repeated. "mishmi language only", the sardar smiled back. We laughed and waited for someone else to pass by.

Why talk only of India, let's see kaneda (Canada) or ingland (England). What Punjab is to Biharis, Canada to Sardars and it is a known fact. England too has been almost taken over by the 'chikan tikka'. The versatility of the Sardars and their adaptability in all circumstances make them the wonderful people they are. If you do have a sardar friend, it's almost certain that you won't be let off without eating 'desi ghee ke parathey and lassi'. The warm hug that follows is almost unescapable.

When we laugh our heads off at lil tid bits that is only akin to these folks - especially the 12:00 'o' clock jokes, little do we realise that these are te same people who have been easy targets to wars that rummaged their existence. History has proof of the atrocities that they have had to undergo. But, the true Sardar, like his name fights to the end and succeeds all odds. Call him Lovely, Happy, Bunty or Santa, he simply smiles and walks on.

If you wave out to the sardar and think your day has come to an end, you are in for a surprise. The day wouldn't end without a piece of news I have about a certain Happy singh, whom I met the other day. This Happy singh wanted to get married, so he went and proposed to a girl. She refused. "Why wouldn't u marry me?", asked the sardar sadly. "Because I am a lesbian", replied the girl. The sardar scratched his head and quizzingly asked " what is a lesbian?" , "who does it with a girl", replied the girl a little shyly. The sardar burst out in joy " Oye! no problem at all! we can still get married.. I am also a lesbian!!".
The End!!

Sunflowers

Success seemed not too far and creativity shone,
Colours spilled in regular streams and were filled into the cone.
They showered the canvas and brought it to life,
But, this happiness wasn't to last.

The bunch of Sunflowers blooming yellow bright,
Had seemed so real that starry night,
The pitcher that held them all so close,
Sat at the table as though striking a pose,
And then it was time to hang it on the wall,
The artist's heart missed a call.

A call reminding her of an evil eye,
An individual she had respected would betray her, aye,
A bagful of hurt that would leave behind a scar,
In a life that was marred with others dreams and power.


She wasn't aware of the game that was played,
A swarming of peers, a rough environment was made,
'She has to be stopped from going ahead', they said.
They tugged so hard, her enthusiasm fled
Her self respect was nailed and they tore her heart,
Flesh and blood stains - they ripped her apart.


Three years of slumber, her passion died.
Her brushes lay unattended in the corner - piled.
The colours had lost their sheen and glaze,
Only time would heal her wounds and set the heart ablaze.


Again,
the colours would flow with the strokes,
The canvas with sunflowers would sway,
black, white, red, blue, green, yellow,
The colours on the canvas - another show.

Ram ram

I just realised science has it's negative points too. Thanks to the essay I was writing for my kido, who has to give a talk on the topic 'Vigyan ke dushparinam' . While she is shouting her lungs out and mugging up the essay in the other room, I thought I would switch on the TV. There seems to be some prob with the TV and it needs to be repaired. I thank my stars the AC is working and what a relief the electricity doesn't play hide an seek with us here.

Summers is one time of the year when I enjoy being at home and channel surfing becomes a much sought after sport. There are movies to catch up and serials and music. What bliss - and all this because I dont want to melt away in the scorching sun. As I was surfing channels one day, I stopped at 'India TV'. Yes, I did. This is one channel that can have you hooked up for nothing at all. I remember how I didn't bat an eyelid, one whole night to know about a 'bhoot bangla in Surat'.. That 'bhoot bangla', I discovered, to my dismay, was an apartment where construction had abruptly stopped for unknown reasons!

A programme claimed that Lord Rama was actually called so after a King from the Mesopotamian civilization. That King was named King Rim tin and he was the son of King Tashrath. There are artefacts that also have a reference of a God with wings, akin to our very own Lord Hanuman. The logical side of my brain sprinted at a fast pace at the very idea and I tried to make meaning of it all. Could this be true? There was trade between the Mesopotamian and indus valley civilization. For all we know there could have been stories of this King, that were carried here. The writers who walked the earth in that era may have inked them into posterity.

Mythology is an integral part of our culture and there is no proof of any living God (the existence of Dwarka is still debated). We are so used to our Gods that the reason to question does not arise. We simply take it for granted that whatever has been said is right. When in trouble we call out to all the Gods, hoping our prayers would be heard. I am a religious person and pray daily and as I write about this figment of suspicion that has arisen in my mind, My dil goes 'Ram ram ram..'

'Faith can move mountains', I was taught at a very young age. It is ultimately the faith that is important. Our fear of the unknown motivates us to hold on to a power - any power. This unknown power is then used by powerful people to bind others and turn them into followers. We in India are followers of the nature. We pray to the Sun, the moon, rivers, plants, animals and human beings too. It is life we look up to. There is a supernatural power that controls everything and that has to be explained to the common man. What better way than to give it a form. The form of humans, in all it's virtues is best understood.

It is a world ruled by story writers. A person who says stories or who knows how to say stories lives on - through his works - through his characters. People who believe in these stories propogate them. The cycle goes on.

Good Friday

Good Friday has been good so far,
A new hope, a new day, a new shining star,
A baby boy has brought home a smile,
nine months of waiting - My brother's child.

The Mirror

The mirror blurred with images profound,
I couldn't see what was beyond,
A figure identical to me was all I could see,
I figured it out to be me.

The cloth in white, I picked and wiped,
The mirror - till it was clean and right,
It still looked as hazy as before,
I knew not what I could do any more.

The mirror, I decided should be sold,
It's probably worn out and too old,
If our images in it we couldn't see,
What was the use for it to be.

The day came close when the buyer came,
He smiled and saw himself and said his name,
'I like the crystal clear mirror', he said,
'The carvings on the glass makes it better instead'.

So, he paid the money and carried it along,
An antique that had lived with the family for long.
A good bargain, or so I thought,
And looked at the mirror sad and distraught.

I stopped and and took one last peek,
To remember the old times when the mirror used to speak,
A child dancing in it I had seen,
A young lady in it had danced like the queen.

Now, when I saw myself the image were clear,
I wiped my eyes and repeatedly stared,
The image shone and I could see,
A not so young image of me.

'I cannot sell this to you Mister', i spoke,
My voice sounded broken and was almost a croak,
The owner turned and told me he would sell it,
A dime more, not a penny less.

I rushed indoor, where the lockers were kept,
and with the money I ran and leapt,
The money given, the mirror was back,
In the old place, by the crack.

I stood once more and saw myself smile,
a pretty picture, for all eyes.
I Wondered how I had gone wrong.
And then I remembered I had heard the song-
The song wherein a bird had cried,
Because it's partner had prematurely died

It were my tears that had blurred the image,
The mirror was same as before,
It had stood there elegantly for 50 long years,
And, would stay there for the same years or more.

Olive Ridley Turtles

I sat alone on the beach, by the Bay of Bengal, after walking on the sand for quite some time. The sea waves danced to a soothing tune as millions of baby turtles crawled into the sea. The strangers passed by me and I stared silently in awe, and held my breath as that was all I could do. The tiny turtles followed the light of the moon that seemed their only guide at midnight. The tiny lungs gasped for breath. Their little yet strong legs moved forward consistently only to be gulped down by the waves. These were the babies of Olive Ridley Turtles, which had hatched out of their eggs some ten or fifteen minutes earlier.

The urge to pick up one of the turtles on to my palm was too strong to resist, and I picked up one. It jumped back onto the sand and walked on without stopping. The entire lot seemed mesmerised by the soft light. They followed the torchlights when the torches were switched on, and they had to be switched off, so as to not disturb them in their natural surroundings.We had to tread carefully on the sand as the turtle eggs had been laid widespread on the whole
beach. They were like land mines waiting to explode.

The banks of the river Rushikulya, in Orissa, witnesses a unique experience each year. The place where the river meets the sea is conducive for the turles to lay their eggs. The mother turtle travels across the Atlantic ocean and reach the Indian Coasts by November. The nesting of these turtles takes place in the month of February and each turtle lays nearly 120 to 150 eggs. Each mother turtle weighs around 50 to 55 kgs. The eggs are hatched after a labour of 45 days.The eggs are small and seem like golf balls. “We wait for the whole year for these turtles”, said Ramu, a villager. “But they do affect our fishing and we suffer for around five months of the year,” he added.

The thought that these little turtles will get united with their mother was enough to bring me back to reality. They would swim towards the Atlantic ocean along with their mothers who were waiting in the waters, for their young ones to arrive. These turtles would grow into adults and return to lay eggs someday. However, there are a few threats that endanger the lives of these turtles. There are ports - ships, fishermen - boats and nets, poachers, other animals in the sea etC.

The horde of people who had gathered to watch the magic unfurl had strolled back towards the parked vehicles. I realised I was all alone and I strode back towards the vehicle and drove back to civilisation. I was enriched with an experience that I would cherish all my life.

Bhitarkanika -- crocodile sanctuary

When the journey was better than the destination:

pretty woman

I watched Delhi 6, a couple of days back. It was torture and the feeling to get over with the movie and do something better made me move over to the remote kept close by. I forwarded most part of the movie. The only thing that i liked about the movie was Waheeda Rehman. The gorgeous lady has aged gracefully, and even now, looks as charming as ever. She may have played the role of a grandmother in the movie, but she reminded me of the song from the movie 'Guide' (kaanton se kheench ke ye aanchal, tod de bandhan bandhey paayal.......hoo o....) She in her blue sari, singing without any inhibitions and breaking the 'matkas' (pots) was embedded in my memory. I remember a day from my childhood. I had seen the movie 'guide'. I remember singing the same song and breaking the pot kept at home, though I had to spend one whole evening at home and wasn't allowed to go out and play. The lecture on why we shouldn't break things was a bonus. But, ah! the pleasure of experiencing the sound of a breaking earthen pot is music to the ears. I am aware of the hindu ritual of breaking an earthen pot today (it's broken by the person who lights the pyre of a dead person)

I do not belong to the generation when Guru dutt or waheeda rehman ruled the silver screen, but that didn't make me a lesser fan of the duo. I had seen Waheeda Rehman for the first time when I saw her with Guru Dutt in the movie 'Chaudahvin ka chand' and the title song still remains one of my favourite songs. I eventually became a Guru Dutt fan and went on to watch Sahib Biwi aur ghulam, pyaasa, aar paar, mr and mrs 55 and various other movies.. But his
ideal match always seemed to be Waheeda Rehman. Their onscreen chemistry had tricklded down to their personal lives too. The intense Guru Dutt and the innocent beauty of Waheeda made them a perfect couple. 39 is no age to die, but that's the life span of the legend who for me is the ultimate image of a creative person. His way of story telling was far too superior than any director we see today. He was said to have been ahead of his times and truly so. 'Pyaasa' had inspired a whole generation to become writers and the song 'ye duniya agar mil bhi jaae to kya hai..' is a masterpiece. Isn't it true after all, that a world of scheming relatives, jealous peers, false relationships and wrong timings make up the real world.

Guru Dutt lived for some part of his life with a person who truly loved him and understood him. His life was tragic but he lives on and will continue doing so. People who tell stories will scan through the reels he has left behind and try to make meaning of each word he spoke and each shot he okayed. However, there's just one person who knew him, sans the make up - waheeda rehman it is. She smiles almost benignly, her softness shimmering through the sparkling eyes. She hasn't left the stage which gave her fame. As pretty as she was in her youth.

Somebody's gonna get a hurt....

Couldn't stop laughing after watching this.... Somebody's gonna get a hurt real bad!! :-)
Russel Peters is good, but I would rather call him 'America ka Johny Lever'

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nn5jlrxcpkI

Banaras

The dark sky merged into a misty morning, as the sun yawned with a smile. The cool air added to the beauty of the morning. The banks of the river was coming alive to yet another day. Four of us walked down the stairs, towards the ghat. The boatmen rushed forward when they saw the perspective customers. We planked ourselves onto the boat and the ride was on. The various ghats in Banaras were gradually waking up. People went about their chores. There were kids doing yoga, sadhus dressed to please the numerous foreign tourists, People bathing. We were in awe of the magnificience of the huge palaces that stood on the banks of the River Ganges. Various kings from all over India had their own place in this holy land of Kashi. Most of them are not used or partially used today. However, they add to the beauty of the place and gives the banks a historical effect.

I remember my first visit to Banaras, when I was a kid. The Ganges didn't seem so pure then, and there was proof that bodies did not always turn to ash. I had seen half burnt bodies lying on the banks, with animals and wild birds trying to get a share of the remains. There were intestines floating on water and the boat ride wasn't half as pleasant as this time. Times have changed and I am glad the river is clean now. The sun crept out and the brightness was
infectious.

There is a belief that if we die and are burnt in Kashi, we will walk into heaven. The huge umbrellas on the ghats are places where people who have lost both their parents sit and pray for the souls. This is to free the souls from their life cycle, so say the priests, and our ancient texts. Hinduism has some strange ways of survival! i say strange because I do not believe in the concept of heaven and hell. I believe that heaven and hell are a part of the life we
live. Our actions or Karma are the only eternal truth. Coming back to the city I was in - We drifted past the Harishchandra ghat where a body was being burnt, and relatives stood by. I thanked my stars that I was there just as a tourist! The boat returned to the banks and we got out.

As we walked back we went into the lane that leads to the Vishwanath (lord of the universe) temple. It was a holy and peaceful feeling. We went to see the Mosque behind the temple and spent time listening to the stories of how Aurangzeb had the temple converted into a Mosque. The priest there had got new 'Bakras' and we could see it in his eyes. We were made to dish out a good amount of money because he had prayed for for our life and after life too. We had
no choice but to believe him. We were starving by then, so we drove into the first restaurant we saw - It was a Keralite restaurant and we hogged on the Idlis.

Since we were tourists, we made sure we go to all the tourist places. The first place of significance was a Sari shop, Well! Banaras is known for it's saris and I was just being a part of it's culture. I glanced at the man with the wallet, who stood beside me and I waited for his nod. One nod from him and the wallet was emptied. (I later realised that I had been duped, and I had bought fake sarees instead of Banarasi ones.. We had to put up a fight to get the
money back and we were lucky we could get it back.) It was then time for a visit to the Buddhist sites. I was comparing them with what I had seen earlier. Nothing much had changed. The Jain temple was an eye opener for my 12 year old and I preferred to ignore the grin on her face. The tour of the other temples in the city had made us weary and the halt at the temple in Banaras Hindu University was a welcome change.

By evening we were back at the ghats of the Ganges to witness the 'Arti'. We perched ourselves in front of the podiums and waited. Seven young priests in saffron dhoti and kurtas in satin, blew the conches and began the ceremony. It was beautiful and yet seemed fake. There was a touch of glamour that eluded the true essence of the evening prayer ceremony. It almost seemed like a concert, especially staged for foreign tourists who sat on the boats and gaped in
amazement. We were selling Hinduism to the outer world and I was witnessing relegious tourism at it's best. According to hindu texts, if we take a dip in the Ganges, we wash away our sins. I remembered my elders saying that, and I went and washed my feet. (Wonder how much of my sins have been washed!) We returned to plunge onto the bed and doze off.

The station is called Varanasi, which is yet another name for the city. 'Varanasi' is the sophisticated sanskritised version and 'Kashi' is long gone into the history books. Kashi reminds one of Tulsi das the great poet who had penned 'Ramcharit manas'. But, I prefer to call the place 'Banaras', as it gives the true picture of the place that is a mixture of rugged and dusty bylanes where a car walks with the people. The place where the electricity wires are entwined
with the telephone cables and yet exist in harmony. It is also a place where the dead meets eternity. It is also moving with the times and tiny shops exist alongside modern shopping complexes. The terms Banarasi 'paan', Banarasi 'thug' (cheater), Banarasi sarees, kachoris, temples, Ganges and it's ghats, widows, yoga, sadhus and crematoriums makes it a contradiction in itself. The contradictions are the essence of the place which i like to call - Banaras.