Grey hairs and wrinkles? Get the hair colour and creams!

I was just going through the previous entry and - MAN AM I SAD!
I mean, I'm just 19! what's the big deal anyway if the poor kid is writing a sad,mind bogglingly crazy and meaningless exam. If I'm feeling down, imagine how my mum must be feeling? This is the second kid she's sending off to walk the board. And sure the guy's gotta grow up, I mean imagine if stayed like some Peter Pan character- there'd be so much we'd have missed out. And Really- there is so much in this beautiful BEAUTIFUL world just WAITING to be done. I have to go rock climbing on the rainbow rocks of the Giant Canyon, hiking in the Himalayas,paragliding in Colarado, bungee jumping in Columbia,get laid up with Jaundice at least once, drink wine, smoke pot....- I don't have the time to mourn about the days gone by.
And the bottom line is- As long as you can look up into the sky and see how green the leaves look etched against the deep blue sky... life isn't that bad.

Wrinkles and grey hair...

My mother always told me-It is not you who grows older, it is the others who do.

The fact struck me like lightning this morning as I wished my kid brother luck for his first board exam. And it seems just yesterday I was teaching him two plus two! It's sad how things change. Sure it's inevitable and all.. but...You know now he's not going to wriggle around giggling when you tickle him. Instead he'll scowl and hiss "Chechi behave yourself! Stop irritating me." You know all those silly games you played and the ridiculous jokes you used to cackle to will now have turned truly redundant... All of a sudden you have to stand on your toes to knock him on the head, when earlier he used to look up at you...

It's true. We don't grow older.. it's those around us who do. And though I'm so incredibly proud of the young guy who stands a head above me, I'll still miss that little kid...

Photophobia

When
Are we going to
see?

                                   

                                        Not just look
                                        But
                                                                       SEE.
See how,
When the social workers
                                                 Run
                                                  To help victims in
                                                  far away lands,  
                                          The Victims in our own houses
                                     Cry mute tears and stuff gags into their spirit.
See how,
when the champion waves laurels
in the flourescent tubes
                                                               In the shadows stand,
                                          those beautful candles that burn unknown.
                                                         Carefully blank faces like
                                                                  stain glass windows

           But When will we 

           See?

When will they see
from behind the cool shades
That guard our eyes from seeing?

Sun Set Boulevard

My photography. What do you think?

Finis

Leaves are blowing.
Tinged with red
-sap or blood?-
Smelling of ash,
Incense and grief...

The Dark hole gapes-
The Black Hole:
Sucking into it's
Depths,
Closing the lid.

It is Done.

...From ashes to ashes
from dust to dust....

Sari Sorrows

The Sari clad woman is the epitome of feminine grace and beauty. Poets over the ages have waxed eloquent about the absolute loveliness of a lass in a sari. Little do those fanciful fellows know….Behind the velvet softness of the sari-ed woman there lies an iron endurance and incredible skill.

Actually I can’t blame them. At one point I was actually one of their idealistic league. (Judge me not, ye harsh ones!) My folly was nurtured by my own mother- who could transform a pile of cloth into a perfectly draped sari within minutes. Could I be blamed for supposing this common place?

Well… the illusion was shattered soon enough.

Stranded without Amma the Sari Super- woman, I was faced with the task of tying a sari for a function by myself. Piece of cake? Think again.

Before leaving home, I had done the smartest thing and asked Mother dearest for a total instruction manual of sari-wearing. But no one warned me about the practical difficulties!! The sari-which looked harmless enough when folded neatly – turned out to be a cloth Charybdis! Unfurled to its unending length, it gave me images of Draupadi and the sea of cloth! “Well,” I thought “let’s face this like a man…er… woman.”

And thus began a battle of lengthy proportions (literally). The funny thing about the sari is that when one thing is finally settled the other thing-that was previously ok-decides to become undone. The greatest killer though, is the pleats! When done with expertise, the pallu (that’s the part that I prefer to call the tail of the sari) hangs in a graceful, straight, silken cascade. When I was finished with it…well the nicest way to put it was that, it definitely did hang…only like squashed handkerchief. And then of course there are the front pleats. It’s supposed to fall in a nice straight fan that flatters the figure (or at least gives one the semblance of owning a figure). The nicest thing to be said of mine was that it did not fall…off.

But all said and done, my sari did have one outstanding feature. I had created a scientific miracle- A gravity defying Sari!!!(Thank you! Thank you! I’d like to dedicate this honor to the several hundreds of safety pins that helped me in my endeavor). Sure, it appeared to be a little…er… lumpy, and a little…er… elevated… But hey! The effort mattered!

At least that’s what I thought.

“Hey boss…I think you’ve tied your sari wrong side out...”

AAAAAAARRRGH!!!!!!!

The next time you see a woman wearing a perfect sari, recognize it for what it is- a badge of endurance, patience, skill and unbelievable dexterity.

‘Frailty thy name is woman’?

Hah!

Tears of a Tree

 Hear me-I'm the Tree!

And I sing of Nature & Irony.

I sing of tenderness

In the bark of a Tree

Of Cruel Fates and Reality.

Look at me!

Observe my stance.

My arms wide open,

I hide Nothing.

Yet you ignore the tears in my Bark.

You are blind to the Truth you see.

I have in my core

A twin Torment

That circles around itself.

Ireconcilable,

Unable to rest,

Within this tortured Tree.

See here- my roots

That kiss the Earth.

Drinking Her tears when She cries.

See here- our bond

Like the umbilical cord,

Without Her there is no Tree.

But see also- my brown arms

That stretch towards the Sky.

Straining against my solid trunk

To sip the Sun's golden wine-

The life blood of the Tree.

The Earth pulls me down.

The Sun pulls me up.

I'm caught in this Tug of War.

And Nature laughs

In full-throated glee

At the plight of a torn Tree.

Oh soil! Oh Sun!

Two halves of my troubled heart-

Can't you see?!

If you tear at each other

You tear apart this Tree!

You are different-I know.

I KNOW.

That is an undeniable truth...

But I know this too

That no matter how different,

Neither can I let go.

The Invisible Man

When God wants to punish you, He answers your prayers.

The wailing of the ambulance could not shut out the screaming of his heart. All around him people buzzed in activity. But he saw only her. Just her.

He remembered the first time he'd seen her. It was at curb.In that orange salwar, her hair standing out in cloudy uncontrollable wisps around her face. She'd kept unconsciously pushing it off her cheek. He'd thought she was pretty. That's all. Just pretty. But then, she'd smiled. It was like some sort of Super nova blasting in his eyes. It wasn't merely the beauty of it, it was the life in it. Like the delicate, dramatic beauty of a blooming flower.
And then, she left.

He forgot her. Didn't think of her. Until a month later, he saw her again. Somewhere.He couldn't remember. Still the same-A small thing, a figure far from perfect, with a smile that spoke the language of humanity. He'd seen her talking to someone. She spoke as much with her face and hands as with her lips. She had fire and grace.Like a dancing flame. Something, unexplainable.
And then, she left.

He couldn't forget her.But he couldn't do anything about it.He didn't know anything about her. And she didn't know he existed. But perhaps, serendipity is reality. He saw her again. This time, he actually saw her face. She'd turned to someone in his direction. He'd thought there could be nothing more beautiful than her smile, until he saw her eyes.
And then, she left.

He couldn't get her out of his mind. Everything reminded him of her. The sunshine was her smile. The nights were her eyes.He yearned to see her again, touch her, talk to her-Just once.Prayed for it.

And it happened.

It was late evening. The auto she was traveling by had stopped at the curb. The same curb. The driver had stepped out for change when the truck skidded and rammed into the vehicle.

He had run to her. He had managed to pull her out of the auto. Somebody near him was calling the emergency number. The white of her dress was stained red with her blood. Her brilliant eyes were shut in pain. He could see now that her hair was actually a dark brown. And her skin was not really perfect. But she was with him. He held her closer for a moment, jerking a cry of pain from her.
"Don't worry help is on the way" he said. For a moment he worried whether she knew English.
"Thank you." he heard the faint reply. Her voice was young and fresh like the life that was flowing out of her. "Someone should inform my parents . My phone is in my bag." She was growing paler.
"Where is that ambulance!" his panic seeped into his voice.He felt a soft touch on his arm.
"Don't worry." she said " I'll be fine." And she smiled that heart breaking smile. "Don't cry."
She smiled.

And then, she left.

Turkey Travails

Every Christmas, my mother is faced with a huge problem. Literally and figuratively. My father's effervenscent gourmet friends lovingly and regularly present us with a large turkey the size of Australia. This wouldn't really be a problem if my mother knew what to do with it. As wide as my mother's culinary expertise is, the turkey is beyond her. Whether she curries it or fries it or even puts it in biryani, the result still falls short of that Elysium of "yummy".
Well, this time she was ready for the battle.
As always the turkey made it's solid presence felt in the freezer by the 23rd and amma had recruited excellent reinforcements. Jalaja Aunty. Second in command to Amma, she was the one who executed. Where Amma was the Crusoe, Jalaja was the Friday. The battle was set- the women vs the turkey.The dynamic duo confered.
BANG BANG BANG!!!!
This brought the family into the kitchen-to find Jalaja aunty fearlessly battering the monstrous unyielding turkey into pieces. Chunks. Parts?
The result of the bloody tug of war between tendons and tenacity, was a triumph of human spirit. The turkey was chopped up!
But what to do with it?
Another heated discussion.The decision was to boil some of the pieces, then shred the meat and add it to either soup, rice or make sandwich filling out of it. The very fact that my mother was going to such complicated ends to get rid of the thing reflected her desperation.
They boiled it and they shredded it.At this crucial juncture, Amma lost her trusted ally to the forces of getting-back-home. Now it was just her and the turkey.
She put all her skills to it. She painstakingly cooked the meat with varied spices, added lemon and pepper and God knows what to it. She'd have done Sanjeev Kapoor proud.
Finally the end result arrived at the table. She waited with bated breath for the consensus.

"Amma...why is it slightly sweet?"

The treacherous turkey had done it again. Maybe it was the taste. Maybe it was the sheer quantity.But the turkey became leftovers.And Amma beat her breast in frustration. But the gleam of stubborn determination shines in her eyes. She WILL rid her kitchen of the foul fowl! The question is how?.....I guess it's bird watching time at the table.

Playground Politics-A slide show

You know it's true what they say- The youth are the polticians of the future.

It is evident when a person steps into the teeming mix of primary school kids. When they are through bawling their heads off and pulling braids, their acumen for politics is astounding!The social hierarchy and intricate webs constructed by these young minds would put our "established" biggies to shame.

Observe, a general conversation between two kids.
"Sandra,you're a bad girl."
(social ostrasisation)
"No No!"
"Yes, you are a bad girl!"
"But why am I a bad girl?"
"Because you are Ammu's friend!"
( groupism and strained allegiances)
"But you are also Ammu's friend."
"I'm friends with her only when she is here."
(Backstabbing- traits of a great politician)
"If you want to be my friend you shouldn't be her friend."
(Sandra considers.Two can play at back stabbing)
"Ok, I'll be your friend."
"So you'll be katti with Ammu?"
"Yes."
"Say it to Kezzie also."
(In the kiddie circles, reconfirmation to a close compatriot is equivalent to evidence in print. Of course the close compatriot can change sides.But that is not important.)

"Kezzie, I'm not friends with Ammu."

"Ok."

"Come on lets play house."

Such promising political skills in ones so young,should allay all doubts as to where the nation is heading. It all gets spoiled when we the elders start bringing in stupid notions of loyalty, integrity and all that hogwash. But I guess we right the wrongs when we expose these "filtered" children to our hypocrisy and The World News.

A Generation Awakens.

my Animal( grrrowl)

You're a Dragon!

Noble, regal, and highly misunderstood, you're a bit of a loner at
heart. You like caves, the sky, and other vast expanses of air where you can blow
off steam. You and people like you got a lot more respect in the old days, but now
your type only shows up in songs about young children. They're the only people who
really believe in your potential. As long as you believe in yourself, and don't
breathe directly at anyone, you'll be okay. You have a strange liking for string and
sealing-wax.


Take the Animal Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

Hope

Hope

The silken string

Which holds together

The beads ofAspirations,

Dreams,

Desires..

The single thread of that hapless Arachnid,

Swaying in the cruel breeze of reality.

That one four letter word

Which still lifts its head

Under the burning torrent of four letter words.

The blind eye that struggles to see the half full glass.
A totally contradictory entity-

this thing called hope.

A lease to life,

A reason to kill.

The Ceremony

She ran as fast as her pudgy legs would carry her, glancing back just once to look at the man she left at the altar.

But not fast enough.

"Kiki no! No! Come back here!"That was mummy.
Strong hands caught her chubby little arms, picking her up like a flailing sack of potatoes.That was Daddy.

"NO!NO!NO!NO!NO!NO!NO!NO!NO!NO!NO!" She screamed.

"Kiki, the Reverend is just going to pour some wa-"

"NO!NO!NO!NO!NO!NO!NOOOO!NOOO!NO!NO!NO!NO!NO!"

"Oh Goddamn it!"
"Roger! We're in a Church!"
"I don't care-!"
"Ahem."That was the Reverend.

Somehow whenever the Reverend spoke, everyone else seemed to shut up-or, as in Kiki's case, atleast lower the decibel level.

"Ahem." said the Reverend "Perhaps I could be of assistance. I'll talk to her." He put out a cold grey hand to Kiki.

Kiki's eyes shot to the door. Her fathers tightening hand on her collar said 'Don't even think about it' more elquently than a thousand line epic. Mummy shot her a glance which promised a sore bottom for a week. Well, she was pretty much dead already. So, there didn't seem much harm in talking to the old scarecrow.

Kiki- no no no- Katherine Elizabeth Mackenzie- lifted her chin and took the hand. She walked straight and proud, her shoulders squared. She bet Joan of Arc probably looked like this when she went to the stake.

The Reverend took Kiki to the little garden at the back.

"So Kiki, don't you want to be baptized?"

"Nont!"

The reader may go off on a tangent and imagine Kiki to be some Damian like devil-kid prototype. But the truth is that, in all her 5 long years of existence on the 1770s American Frontier, Kiki Mackenzie had never seen a church before. And this new Bostonian Church, with its sharp spires and pointed building, looked like something out of Uncle George's Dracula books.

"Nont! " she declared more forcefully " I know ye, ye old gargoyle! When i close my eyes yer gonner swoop down and sink yer fangs into me and turn me into them vampeer things!"

"What?!" The Reverend looked remarkably like a gold fish just then.

"An' if ye think I'm gonner letcha do that ye've got another thik comin' so there!"

The Reverend blinked a few times and then seemed to remember that he wasn't an owl.

"Er...Kiki dear, this is a Church-"
" No 'snot! Church is the house of God."
" Yes. It is th-"
" This shore don't look like any house i've seen."

The Reverend deliberately did not tear his hair.

"That's because God's house has to be special. He-"
"Oh yeah, if this is His house, how come all his pictures show him crying an' sad an' all huh? If this is His house, He shore don' like it."

Come to think of it she had a point, all the pictures did- But that's irrelevant!- The Reverend had to get this done.

"Listen Kiki, all I'm going to do is pour some water on your head and say some Latin verses and you're baptized!"

"An' how do I know yer not gonner put some hocus pocus on me huh? Huh? Huh?"

"You should trust-"
"SNORT!"
Logic was not working here. Though the Reverend - like Kiki aptly put it- did look like a gargolyle hewn from rock, his stony visage housed some incredibly creative faculties. He let out a huge, dramatic sigh.

" Alright Kiki.I have no choice. I have to tell you that great secret."

Kiki's eyes took on saucer like dimensions.

"I used to be one of God's angels."
"Oooh..."
Good it's working.
" Yes.. I refused to be baptized and so I have been punished to spend an eternity on Earth. And I have to eat oat cake and porridge every day- without honey!"

Kiki- tantrumic, and at most times the devils answer to the Child of God- possessed a very sympathetic heart and a disposition for heroics and general saving-the-helpless. The porridge without honey seemed the sharpest barb in the crown of thorns she pictured the Reverend in.

"There is only one way to save me, and only you can do it Kiki."
"What is it ?" Kiki glowed with the determination to save the hapless Reverend.

"For every child I baptized, 100 years were removed from my punishment.Now there are only 100 years left. If you refuse...then I will never be able to go to heaven. Please, you must help me."

A grown up was asking her for help!!

"Le's go Reverend. We have a baptism to finish."

The Reverend let out a sigh of relief and promised himself a few Hail Marys as penance. They went into the Church. Kiki's knees knocked in fear. But she steeled herself with the sad image of the Reverend's gargoyle face crumpled in pain.

They reached the altar.

The Reverend's lips moved in the prayer.

Steady Kiki.

He dipped his hand in the basin.

Hold on there sport.

The hand came out again.

Be strong Kiki.

The hand came down towards her.

Steady Ki-

" NO!NO!NO!NO!NO!NO!NO!NO!NO!NO!NO!NO!NO!NO!NO!NO!"

Mary had a little Pig-A sensible nonsense poem

Mary had a little Pig
It's steaks were white as snow.
And they were so juicy and big
She liked to eat them so.

But this statement has logical fallacies,
And goes against Peta policies.
Consider if you will-

'You can't have your cake and eat it'
Then how can you with a pig?
And besides, if thePig was little,
How can it be juicy and big?

Thus I ponder this cosmic riddle,
With sweaty brow and thumbs a-twiddle.
Walked in circles and triangles.
Parallelograms and quadrangles-
UNTIL!
I came to a conclusion-
The perfect solution-
If you can't beat 'em,
Join 'em.

Now I'm off to Mary's to dig
Into some Pig.

Moveover Switzerland India is here!

These are a few pics of some of the most beautiful places i have ever seen in my scanty travelling experience.It pays to have a digi. :D Makes me wonder why people go all the way accross the ocean to see sights that we can find in our own country.

Eyes

Clear eyes look out

On a world as muddy

as a puddle of dirt.

Unflinching at chaos

Unblinking at hate.

Bleeding no tears of pain

As man fights brother.

And mute victims cringe

with their cries unheard.

They look bright and blue

At the scarred face

Of this land of peace-

now pieces of land.

And as carrion birds sweep

And tear and pierce the flesh,

The eyes still stare

Bright and Blue

From the face of one that fought

And won

NOTHING.

Ramblings-2

Life can be strange at times.

I am sure at some point of time in everyone's lifetime, there comes a moment where you stop in your tracks and say "WHOA!"

You know like during the september 11 wtc attacks. My aunt works with the UN. In that building.The only reason she was saved was because she was caught in traffic that day. Similarly, during the recent Bombay blasts, my friend's aunt had an equally close shave- she couldn't get into the train because someone shoved her out of the station.

Its things like this that make one stop in their tracks and take a look at the life they had been leading.

I mean we go through everyday faster than a caterpillar eating a leaf!"Oh I'm so busy !" we exclaim-but boil it down, what substantial thing are we doing? Have we made any real difference through our acts? If start analysing we'd probably realise that it's the little things that make it all worth while.

I know you must be groaning "Here she goes again about memories" But wait a sec gimme a chance man! just imagine this-at the end of your college life, are your classmates going to remember the grades you got- OR - are they going to remember the things you did to help them, hurt them, the gags the the comfort sought and provided...are they going to remember that-or they going to remember the notes you wrote?

ON that note, lets stop. This was today's dose of food for thought :D.

Ramblings

Today I decided to to take a walk through the wild jungles of my slightly(??) unhinged mind.And here's the first thought that popped up.

There are a few things that really matter in this world. I mean, of course our life is cluttered with "important" things at every point of time; but stop a while- wait a minute- hold your horses: out of those millions of things that "mattered", what stays perenially important until now??Hardly any.
Shows how fickle we human beings, are doesn't it? Lets just take a simple example. two years back, 12th standard, what was topmost in our list of priorities was the boards & admission. Now? Heh heh heh.

The things that matter are the people who have supported you through life, passions, nature, memories. People who have been there whenever, wherever,whatever! Like family, friends who stick like glue, mentors. Passions which helped succour your spirit and nurture your mind- like music, art, dance, running a mile and feeling the blood pump through every vessel in your body. Nature,or should I say, beauty.Beauty as in the purity of a sea of green hills in the early morning. The tranquil strength of that giant blue ocean ,the sight of that endless blanket of blue that is the summer sky.Memories: like those endless evenings spent playing mindless games with your little brother. Thinking of the silly jokes over which both of you would laugh your heads off.Remembering how your mother had cried when you won the competetion. Of how her eyes crinkle at the sides when she smiles. How your dad just knows when you want to have ice creams and gets it for you without u saying a word. How your friends came all the way from their place driving through the traffic just to see you. How all of us spent an entire evening trying to fix a banquet and ended up eating most of it before it reached the table. Of the surprises planned and the scrapes shared.

It's things like this that really matter.Everything else is susceptible to change. But the things that remain evergreen are the things that matter. Because whatever you become and whatever your new priorities" are- these are the things that will make you sit up and give ABSO-BLOOMIN-LUTE attention.

Limericks-1

These are my limericks I dunno whether they are technically correct, but I'm sure the comments I get will help me correct any mistakes. Cheers! Read on.

There was once a man from Burma,
He suffered from Leuco- Derma.
He darkened his patches,
And broke out in rashes;
He blames it on his karma.

There was once an old Sheikh from Muscat.
He kept all his money in a casket.
His apprentice knew,
With it he flew.
He didn't know the Sheikh had a musket.

There was once a girl called Shreya,
Who spent her days in prayer.
Along came Nitin,
And she was smitt'n.
Now she has no time for prayer.

POEM- Eve's Bite

One bite-

The Elixir flows.

Succulent flesh pours forth the juice;

Thirst quenching,

Rejuvenating

Life thrives-

But knowledge awakens-

SWAT!

The flow ends-

No one mourns a mosquitoe:

It bit the Forbidden Fruit.