Grunt of the Empress

A paradoxical communion

2011-09-25T11:11:00.001+08:00

Where doctrines of ages collude in a spiritual union,
I stand in silent prayer on the mount of a paradoxical communion.

Where battles razed structures, doused spirits; only to rise once again,
I stand with my palm on the wall of angst that reverberates of disdain.

Where mandates they may sign, lines they may draw and votes they may beseech,
I stand under a dome of peace, seeking only what has been promised to each.

Once again...

2011-07-14T21:33:00.000+08:00

Once again I seethe in agony as they devise plans to inflict pain,
I dreamed of paradise, I saw a world devoid of disdain.
But I was wrong.

Once again my bosom cannot comfort, while they shed a joyous tear,
I held anguish in my arms, I tried to preserve the breath of a soul, and I tried to vanquish fear.
But I failed.

Once again a million souls weep, while a few mock in distaste,
Am I old and weak, from the wounds of ignominy, from the pelts of hate?
But I should rise.

Once again I fill my heart with stone, while fear lurks in my warm embrace,
I will rise, I will provide, I will fill laughter, I will spread joy, with progress I shall once again set pace.
But I fear, will I fail once again?

He was buried without a nation

2011-06-09T20:55:00.001+08:00

Abstract thoughts would waft as he gazed in to the void world beyond,
History would dance on the palette of joy as this eccentric soul daubed imageries so fond.

A romantic soul whose age would defy, but heart needed no reason to flutter.
But alas, a mother abdicated her prodigal son while humanity could only stutter.

Poetry set ablaze from canvas of love, parochial thoughts construed humiliation,
Posterity shall always be fida, not knowing that he was buried without a nation.

She is death

2011-03-27T17:40:00.002+08:00

A sacred bosom that holds images of that first coy kiss,
A darkened soul of a devil that wraps within a silken bliss.

A heart that reverberates with anguish and provides for helpless multitudes,
A poison ivy insidiously tormenting with her vicissitudes.

A beautiful mind that beckons the bereaved to peace,
A harried thought that beguiles the innocent to a dreadful abyss.

She is life, she enraptures, she loves and she creates,
She is death, she torments, she hates and she destroys.

Angels of peace

2011-02-04T11:38:00.001+08:00

Angels of peace perched on twigs by a reflective puddle,
All knowing eyes plumb the depths of worldly muddle.

Joyous cryptic wings gossamer challenge the mundane,
Refulgent colours waft by and heal the disdain.

Synchronous flights darn your soul mottled by distress,
Meditative glance beseeches your thoughts to flee the duress.

For, it started raining all over again!

2010-11-10T20:44:00.000+08:00

On a day like any other, on a day when heavens failed to judge,
Gray and musty like a widowed damsel.
Broken reflections in puddles of diabolical sludge,
View by my window like a melancholic sequel.

On a day like any other, on a day of muddle,
Beams of laughter filtered through the mist.
Warmth of gentle sunshine began to cuddle,
Rustles amongst joyous leaves being kissed.

On a day like any other, on a day that wouldn’t vanish,
There bloomed a twilight of a beginning and a blush of a dancing dame.
But then, it all failed to flutter and flourish,
For, it started raining all over again!

One Hundred Years of Solitude

2010-06-26T23:14:00.002+08:00

I am in love. Yes, you read it right. I am in love with a Colombian who goes by the name Gabriel Garcia Marquez. As with ‘Love in the Time of Cholera’, ‘One Hundred Years of Solitude’ immerses you in a surreal world of ‘magical realism’; where you are forced to intertwine reality with the improbable and eventually concoct the two in to one inseparable potion of ecstasy.

The story is about an enchanted land called Macondo – a land lost in the realms of time – where life persisted in solitude and transformed itself from the world of discovery to the world of illusion and desolation. It’s a chronicle of the Buendia family which starts with a promise, achieves acmes of success, and oscillates through wretched self destructing cycle of decrepitude.

Marquez paints vivid and biblical images of Macondo undergoing transformation through times of progress, despair through war, and ignorance through times of gloom. He explores layers of human psyche through juxtaposition with various characters in the novel spanning from angelic innocence of Remedios , barbaric ferocity Jose Arcadio, listless ego of Col. Aureliano Buendia, carnal angst of Aureliano Babilonia and tenacity of Ursula. He mesmerizes and challenges known institutions of human thought through his fable set in solitude, set in misery, set in ignominy and set in turbulence. Life seems to repeat as history is re-learnt through mistakes and future is prophesied and pre-established by the past.

One Hundred Years of Solitude is a masterpiece which can be architected only once in a while. It’s a challenge to the accepted framework of human thoughts and would devour your being in to ‘magical realism’. Go celebrate your thoughts and challenge its limits.

Love in the Time of Cholera

2010-05-28T15:24:00.000+08:00

For 51 years 9 Months and 4 days, Floretino Ariza had waited – to consummate a dream of unbridled love of his youth. This is an epoch weaved by Gabriel Garcia Marquez in ‘Love in the Time of Cholera’.

For some – like Dr Juvenal Urbino – unrequited love meets its fate with a whiff of bitter almonds(cyanide) while for the impassioned few it’s a tide of undulating time stretching itself between upheavals of the youth and the fast approaching mortality. Marquez creates layers of unencumbered imagination in this saga of love – which falls astray in its youth only to rediscover the true meaning in crepuscular years. Marquez’s fable revolves around Floretino Ariza and his undying quest for Fermina Daza through which he unravels the depths of passion, character and love. Dr Juvenal Urbino marries Fermina Daza – who chooses a steady life over impassioned love – and thereon begins the wait.

This book is a translucent depiction variegated with vagaries of human mind and complexities manifold. Yet at the heart of it lies simplicity. It’s a saga set in the time of disease, war and change. Marquez does not fear exploring the human cravings for the carnal pleasures through Florentino Ariza’s navigation of life neither does he shy away from probing at the inherent human weaknesses which tend to uproot even the most earnest. Every action or inaction, every step or misstep, every thought or lack of it - guide or misguide Florentino Ariza through his life towards his only desire, only goal and only dream.

‘The trouble is without river navigation, there is no love’ – Florentino Ariza’s uncle had once advised and this would reverberate years later –when on board a ship, underneath a starless sky, his doddering hands would explore and find bony and ragged fingers of Fermina Daza waiting – as if forever.

The book is a celebration of an imaginative brain and a toast to the ability of the author to portray the most complex with such lucidity that you are left gasping for more.

Read it and dare to explore.

I buckle my shoe

2010-04-04T14:44:00.000+08:00

Rain or Shine, when it is time, I buckle my shoe,
Gentle caress of speed, daub my countenance on the move.

Butterflies of freedom, flutter from shackles of incarceration,
Winding paths, unveil symbols locked in mystic diction.

Blessings from paradise beyond, laden with ecstasy,
Crimson rays sneak, conveying messages heavenly.

Whispers of silence, hymn magical chants of joy,
Songs of divinity, reverberate, in all senses - I deploy.

Rain or Shine, when it is time, I buckle my shoe,
Beads of exhilaration daub my countenance on the move.

Mumbai Diaries - Part 3(Pune Diaries)

2010-02-21T22:52:00.002+08:00

As I meandered towards the dusk of my Mumbai chapter – I embarked upon a new section – Pune Diaries. My first stop entailed a journey through a village in the outskirts of Pune and an enriching experience through the agricultural revolution in the area. Amongst the farmer community, I stumbled upon my long lost buddy Praveen and his wife Arathi. In anticipation of yours truly’s arrival Arathi had admonished all the farmer folks to produce the best of their wares. The result was ambrosia which would have even had Goddess Edesia craving for more. Avial; which apparently is not her speciality, oozed of such exemplary taste that led my palate in to state of euphoria.

After having bolted enough to last me two winters, my next rendezvous led me to Mickey Mouse aka Nilesh. Here I must inform the readers of the perils that underlie when Mickey Mouse offers to pick you up from a meeting point. This extremely hazardous offer necessitates you to pillion on his Enfield Bullet, which gets hammered down on any road at 300 miles per hour( On that note Mickey Mouse stays very close to an airstrip – which sees constant take off of Sukhois). I survived this ordeal and also managed dinner(despite my stomach still reeling from extreme shock), with Mickey & Minnie Mouse as well as Amol. A late night tapri chai topped with a meetha paan brought back senses to my being.

After sometime, I do not know how long afterwards, I was piloting a Sukhoi- which thundered voraciously over the landscape below – and before I could crash, I woke up in shock. Sukhoi was not the shocking part, the fact that I slipped up in calling Her Highness of Pune aka Pooh was all the more quivering. After the initial ‘bash up the rat(myself)’ session, Pooh gracefully announced of her intentions of picking me up at Swaargate.

Pooh managed to pick up her waiting subject, not before being subjugated to the torture of an ignorant Hawaldar(The hawaldar was perhaps unaware of the traffic rules that apply to Her Highness). Soon, Pooh & Myself were ensconced in our seats (with atleast two rows of police protection) awaiting King Khan to start his latest boast(My Name is Khan). The movie started off well with flashes of mature handling of a sensitive topic of autism (though I would not completely agree with all aspects being portrayed as autism in the movie). However as the movie ambled on, it embroiled itself in to two complex topics – autism and Islamic fundamentalism and in the process managed to completely hash it up. My only take away however was – Kajol still rocks.

I was still reeling till my epiglottis; Pooh decided to embark on a shopping spree to overcome the shock and in the process managed to daub a mehendi on her palm. In the mean time, in came a whiff of smile smeared all over a familiar countenance of Amey aka Jet accompanied by his better half – Sayali. Next stop – Little Italy where the troop decided to dine a sumptuous meal which was punctuated poor to horrible service by the staff.

In the mean time, there was another world which was reeling from horror of mindless acts of terror. As India remains subjected to such radical acts of cowardice(German Bakery this time), my heart prays for the innocent victims.

As the last pages draw to a close on this somber note – I did manage to catch up with Sush(just in the nick of time) as well as old engineering mates(Prasanna & Sawant). Jhansi,ever so sweetly, stopped by, laden with a month’s ration of grapes. And soon the SQ421 beckoned. Till next time.

Mumbai Diaries - Part 2(Kala Ghoda aur Jhansi)

2010-02-20T22:24:00.002+08:00

I had immersed myself completely in to ecstatic depths of Mumbai’s warm caress and it was just about right time to meet Jhansi – my cousin extraordinaire. To meet Jhansi however, is a mammoth task – for it entails her time off – from her students, her lecturing & her sojourn(through the city) – which trust me – requires large scale pre-planning and preparation(on her part).

Blessed as I am – Jhansi decided to bear with my presence and ensured my yearly Mumbai visit would be enriched with the blissful sights of Victorian Architecture. As I met my tall cousin, she has an extraordinary talent of adjusting her height – depending on the audience – just like my tripod, at CST station and proceeded forth in to warmth of Mumbai – I was disappointed. BMC had planned its renovation drive to match with my stay and extraordinarily – decided to revamp all the domes on all the Victorian Monuments that Mumbai has to offer and all at the same time. My head exhibited extreme springiness as it hung at its edge but perched up again at the prospect of Kala Ghoda 2010.

Presence and company of an artistic cousin(Jhansi) ensures vivid pleasures and Khala Ghoda offered unrivalled visual treats including the 3D- Horse and a mini Eiffel Tower (which lights up on solar power). Of course , some of the other ‘attractions’ including a weaver bird nest made of metallic wires were a bit too esoteric for the wrinkles in my brain to process.(We visited Eiffel Tower later in the evening only to meet the person who designed it boasting all the way to glory).Jhansi , however, ensured that I do use some of those wrinkles by planning a NCPA sojourn for the Mumbai International Film Festival 2010.

I have to confess – documentaries always have sounded scary, and I soon discovered, this fear was unfounded. ‘Children of Pyre’ depicts an astonishing saga of real life heroes – angels of death – little kids enforced with the responsibility of ensuring the consummation of the process of body to ashes. It’s a travesty – which portrays innocence lost to death, honesty perishing over the flames of life and a bizarre industry of ‘kafan’ being recycled. I was overwhelmed.

I scaled zeniths of peace after this overwhelming experience as winds laden with love from the Arabian sea and the setting sun daubed my countenance. However the sun like the domes played tricks and was lost in the maze of smog that progress has presented Mumbai. Jhansi ensured I do not depart her august company before buying a shirt.

My sojourn also ensured that I catch up with Ganesh(my ex roommate),Rashmi and their lovely daughter Adwaita. And soon it was the glorious day – the day when the sun shines ever so brightly, butterflies flap ever so loudly, the flowers bloom ever so sprightly and repeated reminders from Parakeet,Jhansi et al about the ‘BIG 3’ did not deter this fable or so I thought.

8 AM – 8th Feb 2010 and I woke up with a cramping feeling in stomach and my entire being was ensnared in a spiral of gloom. I was however determined to fight it and so after the initial grumble and feeling of utmost hopelessness , myself and parents headed for the Mumbai pilgrimage. No camera episodes this time(for I was not carrying it) and no lost shoes(this version of Nike shoes remains with me) and the day ended in peace. Though I could not savour Kela Bhajji at Ram Ashraya@ Matunga this time – some wishes remain unfulfilled – next time perhaps.

More in next.

Mumbai Diaries - Part 1(Seeking Mr Ho)

2010-02-19T09:25:00.004+08:00

It was not fear, nor, was it exasperation at the realization that Singapore Airlines changes its movie menu only once a month – it was rather extreme relief for being 30,000 feet in the air and heading towards Mumbai.

6:15 AM(Jan 31,2010) and I was extremely glad to see façade of Changi Airport(and I know its façade pretty well!!) till the point I touched my butt. Oh no I am fine – my butt was fine, but a layer of leather that would otherwise have felt my touch was missing. I pirouette not as gracefully as a ballet dancer I would imagine – for my countenance would have expressed an unusually contorted look. Perhaps the back pocket of my Levi’s Jeans was not yet awakened from slumber when I dropped my wallet to its rightful place after having disbursed the fare for the cab ride.

I pour sweat over my immaculately white HTC Magic as I scramble for ideas, and eventually manage to contact Comfort Cab call center. After uttering gibberish for perhaps an extended period – my mind hears the voice at the other end beseech ‘ What was the name of the cab driver?’ At this point I realized that in our daily humdrum we overlook some basic civilities – but fortunately I remembered having glanced at the driving license and recalled ‘Ho’ written somewhere. I conveyed this very vague description with utmost clarity.

The time that followed was spent, incessantly, tiring my legs as my parents watched on worried. My immediate aim was Mumbai and SQ422 but the hurdle was my missing wallet which held the key – my Singapore Identity. The façade was not pleasing anymore, the butterflies of happiness were not fluttering anymore and the horizon was not bright anymore (with the benefit of thorough reflection I now realize that the sun had not risen yet).

At this moment of despair, the silence of gloom is suddenly broken by ABBA in full throttle ‘Mama Mia’, which I realize after a few moments of hopelessness to be my ring tone. And lo it was Mama Mia indeed for my key would be delivered. My heart and my being reverberated, in unison, ‘Thank You Mr Ho’.
But relief at 30,000 feet in the air did not mean that I had let my mind to rest. I split my lenses from camera (in to separate bags – mine & dads) to avoid the customs bribery net as soon as I landed, but this was not necessary owing to a Japanese girl who had learned to say ‘Namaste’ and in the process hogged the limelight amongst drooling custom officials.

The next few days I sunk my soul in to the breath of Mumbai. My first social interaction was enabled through Sameer aka Garfield’s wedding – which entailed winding down the Ghodbunder Road at 1000 bumps per second. Garfield seemed to have remained faithful to his version of lasagnas while Rachno was chirpy as ever. Jigar and Nidhi would have assured Garfield or any jittery dulha of the possibility of bliss afterwards. The economics prof aka Ritesh just about managed to congratulate Garfield & Arlene as family and friends were almost convinced that no one else would turn up.

Breath of Mumbai warm & fragrant and it had just about begun. More in next.

Never out of sight and yet long gone

2009-11-28T22:37:00.002+08:00

I am the delight of a muddy street enraptured by the sleet.
I am the conspiracy of a moonless night where lovers meet.

I am the carelessness of a damsel whose feet found music,
I am the verve of a bird garnering for the future stick after stick.

I am the aroma of a windless afternoon where cares retreat,
I am the rustle of a soulless leaf beneath your hasty feet.

I am the blush of a bloom bedecked by the morning dew,
I am the joy of a cloud embraced by the familiar rays anew.

I am the splendour of a rainbow; incomplete, incongruous and yet a rapture drawn,
I am the simple pleasures of life, never out of sight and yet long gone.

There was none

2009-10-30T23:28:00.000+08:00

On tracks of steel, cramped space and body awry,
A man, with a bag precariously poised on his left, I could descry.

Amazement led to the discovery of mirth,
A stance sideways and legs stretched out wide, to every movement alert.

Mirth allowed grievance to creep in, for fellow beings as an afterthought,
Handgrip above, and not the deportment and space, use he ought.

Steels grinding to a scratchy halt, and a twitch in the posture so fun,
Bitterness then dawned, where there should be right – there was none.

I still have a dream...

2009-10-02T00:43:00.001+08:00

In an era of struggle and strife, I had a dream,
Into utopia I would segue and peace I would glean.

Impossible they admonished, methods would yield no good,
Lessons from experiments, by truth I stood.

Of prosperity and of choice, I did hope,
Simplicity was my motto, nadirs of despair I would cope.

Through your soul I breathe, through your eyes I deem,
In an era of struggle and strife, I still have a dream.

Oh I just love looking at him!

2009-09-09T21:22:00.003+08:00

So uncouth! So condescending! So unfit!
Blurted out an agitated Annie,
Flair he lacks, chivalry he has not a bit.

Marie- befuddled at visions so ugly,
Oh look at his face- inundated with scars,
A sight grotesque and so unsightly.

He has no standing and he holds no fame,
Dreamy eyes bedecked Angie,
To things of importance he holds no claim.

Wild calls from within didn’t sting,
Maggie broke out of a spell cast,
Oh I just love looking at him!

P.S - I was inspired by what a dear friend inadvertently said.

Daw they call me

2009-08-01T21:50:00.003+08:00

In the hush of this lonely night I lay in disdain,
Not of life or people, but of this immutable pain.

Free thoughts and free minds I, did and will, aspire,
Tears are for the weak, courage for those who follow and admire.

Bereavement or despair, my strife is life long,
My voice may not quell your agony, but in your tenacity I find myself strong.

Bars of iron encumber, kindred spirits propel,
From nadirs of solitude, to the enchantment of heavenly gospel.

Daw they call me, my heart seethes in ignominy,
Eyes await a dawn, of new horizons and harmony.

- Of what has been a life of struggle and and a voice of hope - Aung San Suu Kyi

Quest for Paro

2009-07-11T13:13:00.015+08:00

My olfactory glands (and related glands) do not always comply with the normal rules of nature’s propensity towards well-being and such was my state as I embarked on my next trip. The regulars on this page shall sigh in anguish and repetition – ‘Since when did normal rules of nature apply to your body?’ Anyways, as I boarded Air India flight en route to Bangalore, little did I know, it would turn out to be my quest for Paro.

The Beaver Beckons..

Bangalore was a long transit and I was enchanted and entertained as well as ensconced by Beaver. Yes, the one with claws and buck tooth. This time I also noticed keratin effusion of the rough variety. Beaver also ensured that I was well rhymed with all crevices and nooks at Bangalore International Airport, thus ensuring a safe passage in my quest for Paro.

As dusk began to gather, I headed for Kolkata (with a brief excursion over Hyderabad). May be time was my nemesis during my overnight stay at City of Joy, but first impressions failed to enchant me towards this Eden. However I was enchanted by a woman next to me, perhaps entrusting her house for the first time to the untrustworthy care of her husband which entailed statements like ‘Gas theek se band karr dena,Khidkhi khula matt chodna,theek se khaana khaana…’

And the Fairy Tale...

The next day began a fairy tale, as my flight (Druk Air) segued through heavens, glided over lush valleys and gently caressed through the clouds – and I was finally with Paro.

Paro airport is in Paro District(one of the three districts – Thimphu,Paro and Phuentsholing not requiring a special pass for Indians arriving in Bhutan). The journey from Paro to Thimphu meanders through valleys of captivity and enchantment, through hills of intrigue and passion and through rivulets of purity and devotion.

Of the time afforded by work, I did saunter through mystical valley that lends itself in to Thimphu City. A quaint landscape hugged closely by hills, romancing with the flirty clouds; Thimphu is culturally ‘very much’ Bhutan with men and women – their gho and kira respectively and yet as dusk settles over this sleepy town, the night life propels in to being. Thimphu and perhaps Bhutan seems almost like a home away from home with Indian influences everywhere from food to usage of Hindi.

Colour and Simplicity...

This is a country of colour and a country of the sacrosanct. The chorrtens,stupas and monasteries dot this landscape and the prayer flags add splendour to charm. An interesting note on the prayer flags as pointed out by my cab driver – Ugyen – the flags are etched with mantras and as they flutter in blissful winds of Bhutan, they convey a prayer from the mortals to the Almighty. The colours – five of them (red,blue,green,yellow and White) represent the five elements.

Simplicity is reflected in every strain of what is Bhutanese. Red Rice and Ema Datshi( Chilly in Cheese Gravy) spoil your palette, leaving you craving for more. There is a smile of warmth everywhere you cast your eyes. There is also warmth in the chill Himalayan breeze that hugs like one of its own.

A Dream...

In my time in Bhutan, I also saw a dream. I could feel the bliss of spirituality and I was walking through clouds. I saw 109 celestial stupas speaking a language of divinity cleansing me of my worldly ordeals. I could feel heaven filter through me, straining impurity and infusing goodness of life. I was in Dochu La, about 45 minutes drive from Thimphu.

Shangri La....

In a world which holds time precious, Bhutan is the best kept secret perhaps the mythical Shangri La. As the forces of nature concoct a mystical mixture, time stands still perhaps in awe, perhaps in a trance. Forces of global economy and growth have not yet bewitched the region and time seems to have entrapped the simplicity of life and yes, bestowed a smile on every Bhutanese.

Quest for Paro took me down several paths, through unknown territories and magical landscapes and then it dawned – this quest is life long.

Check out the album -

Quest for Paro - Bhutan

My past you shall descry..

2009-06-15T22:57:00.000+08:00

Where the lawn lays unkempt and the street goes awry,
Behind murk of uncaring time, my past you shall descry,
My memory betrays, my mind has gone numb, Who am I?

I have been your reflection; I have been your raconteur,
I have shown you your soul, read your mind and known your allure.

Opulence I have witnessed, tales of poverty have saddened,
Exuberance of youth has elated; rashness of mind maddened.

I have been privy to tender whispers of care,
I have withstood wails of agony and anguished in your empty stare.

I have been cynosure of care and have been a chronicle of apathy,
I have scaled summits of pride and plumbed nadirs of atrophy.

Where the lawn lays unkempt and the street goes awry,
Behind murk of uncaring time, my past you shall descry.
My memory betrays, my mind has gone numb, Who am I?

I observe in protest

2009-05-24T22:21:00.001+08:00

My heart pains, agony writhes my conscience,
An hour in darkness I observe in protest,
And long hours under hot sprinkling, without any prescience.

The ruthless felling -contorts and strains my being,
I raise my voice, argue making my presence felt,
No scruples encumber as I set fonts in ink unflinching.

Random scraps from mindless indiscretion,
My soul stirs with wrath failing to comprehend,
My body embroils in laze mindful of the tactless jettison.

Let us strive to do our bit for Mother Earth.

Sweet Summers of Yore

2009-05-02T18:50:00.001+08:00

A fruity aura that floods memory and bedazzles,
A joy that palpitates with sweet summers of yore.
An aura that seduces, teases and puzzles,
A feeling that blinds the conscious and makes the soul soar.

Colours of pleasure and a texture of elation,
Colours of blush daubed across by a flirting sun.
Shouts in earnest and of perspiration,
Livelihood perched on head - basket of marvel and fun.

Titillating the tongue, a heavenly ordain,
Sometimes sweet and sometimes oh-so mildly and pleasantly tartly,
It is that time of year again,
Alphonso in all verve, joys limitlessly and pleasures profusely!

Sleepless in Frankfurt

2009-04-10T22:52:00.012+08:00

March 2009 enters my diary of life and stays there for the sheer exhaustion that it subjected me to. My limbs had started reacting to commands with a marked time lag, my brain took longer to process images transmitted through retina(rubbing my eyes couple of times helped sometimes) and yes my spinal cord had started providing able back up(though it never told the brain what it did when the brain was away).

Anyways, in this tousled framework, my profession led me to Germany. March had subjected my corpus to such a state of repair that a cramped seat at Qantas Boeing 747 and the 12 hour flight journey could not provide enough deterrent for the slumber rekindle again. And I slept like a baby.

6th April 2009 and I greeted the German sun and the land of Euro, with a tired but pleasant smile. A sleepy town of Neu-Isenburg, about 10 KM in the outskirts of Frankfurt, was where I was put up. Spring was beginning to peek in from behind the wintery shadows, as lively flowers of yellow and pink shivered in the chilly breeze.
Neu-Isenburg, a small patch of land with a population in low 10 Thousands, is blessed with two Indian restaurants(primarily attributed to the Pakistani presence in the area) and one Sub-way joint. For the starters, that was a welcome relief, for German vegetarian food – which I am sure – if given ample time to explore would suit the palate, from the first looks seemed to contain indiscriminate selection of arbitrary leaves and grasses and generous portions of cheese. On that note, ‘plain’ water was hard to come by as well – by default water meant the liquid (H2O) infused with miserly portions of Carbon Dioxide thus rendering it ‘sparkling’.

Of the limited time I could afford, I did saunter around Frankfurt. The city is a miscellany of ancient Europe concocted with the role of German Financial capital, rendering it unique in its own sense. The river Main splits it open, offering splendid views of the city. The western sky is busy with concrete and steel structures while the bank of the river is dotted with the idyllic charm of Europe- cathedrals, cobbled roads, narrow lanes and beautiful buildings including Romer or the City Hall. The roads are enshrined with restaurants and street side vans – which will serve you well as long as you have a taste for it.

The city is splattered all over with beautiful architectural sights, random fountains and a quaint allure. A tram line walks right through the city which adds exotic to the exquisite.

Right in the center of the city is the Frankfurt Hauptbahnhof or the Central Railway station , run by Deutsche Bahn and offering a gateway to Europe – you can imagine how tempting that is. Deutsche Bahn also offers bicycles on rent for an excursion around the city. Back to my favourite part of the city – the river Main, dotted with beautiful sidewalks and flowers of spring. The colours of spring and the air of freshness rejuvenated my limbs and infused verve in to my aching psyche. The river is also lively with fauna as well. The boats along the river double up as restaurants as well.

The jaunt was short yet pretty. The images are few yet vivid and fun. The air of spring and colours of life, the memories are forever. As the trip came to an end and as I was leaving for Singapore, I emptied the contents of my backpack – laptop and purse for scanning at the airport. My spinal cord instructed me to carry my bag through, without scanning. The dazed looking security official pounced on me to scan my bag too, perhaps alarmed for a split second. My spinal cord does share some secrets with my brain afterall.

Leaking dirt in the rain...

2009-03-15T22:12:00.002+08:00

I am the little girl across the street, tanned skin and in the torn blue frock,
With dirty nails and callused hands, sight which makes you run amok.

I am the despicable countenance leaking dirt in the rain,
Apathy behind shades and windows save the pain.

I am the stench, from which you wriggle your nose in disdain,
But cherish the view and award bioscopes of the same.

I am the child of poverty, with tears reeking of an unfulfilled wish,
I am the child with stretched and lifeless hands, which you avoid in fear of a blemish.

I am your reality; I am part of you as you are of me,
I think of you and admire you, do you ever ponder over me?

Mumbai Diaries - Kala Ghoda aur Gori Kapoor

2009-02-28T17:29:00.007+08:00

Three seas and one strait (and yes plenty of other perennial and non-perennial water bodies) away I ponder over events which waft fresh in my memory in what, now, appears to be a distant corner of the time frame. Without meandering much over water bodies and their perennial state, let me rewind the reel of time to set the stage at Kala Ghoda Festival 2009.

As Jhansi and myself sauntered, in the oppressing heat of the mid-day sun – she effectively shielded me from any direct rays – the sun accidently discovered me – courtesy Snell’s law applied along the periphery of her body, we encountered paradise. A very contemplative looking David Sassoon- appreciating art perhaps – on the façade of the David Sassoon library, which never fails to inspire poetry. The building manifests rows of black columns, on the first floor, which lend in to proud high arches endowed in alternating white and yellow-brown stones. Against this background was the Kala Ghoda Festival.

Jhansi, donning an extra kilogram of verve compared to last time, was glee personified as we descried artifacts ranging from – Man on Rope, Ganesha made of spare bicycle parts(400 Kgs of them), a tall pyramid adorned with mugs and taps – now that beats me and yes a half decorated(with red glazed paper) balloon. Had the balloon been fully wrapped, it might not have met the guidelines to be there – lucky balloon!

However this particular piece at the festival stole my heart(considering that I have weakness for windows) -

A round at the Jehangir Art Gallery, where we appreciated art based on the quoted price(under the assumption that higher price would mean better art) and multiple rounds of chocolates – Mousse et al later, we met up with Ashish, who incidentally likes mirrors and being photographed through reflective properties of light. The day flashed by and yes sun cleverly rolled over sides to finally catch me unawares, and it was time to adieu to Kala Ghoda and my tall warrior cousin.

My Mumbai diaries were also endowed by secretive creatures like Beaver. Let me tell you about Beaver – very shy creature, remains quiet only when in burrows and ensconced in sleep, likes pruning claws (err nails), adores chocolates and yes loves the winds along the Arabian Sea. As Beaver and I, in deep tete-a-tete sauntered along streets of Bandra, we encountered magnificent whiteness. As my heart leaped, palpitating my entire Thoracic cavity, at the extreme suffering of this Leukoderma patient, my head swiveled propelled by some sudden realization by the efficient nerves along the spinal cord. ‘Haila Karishma Kapoor to bahut gori hain be’ – were the involuntary words that were led through by those same efficient blighters. The shock so severely affected my memory cells that I inadvertently missed on the promise made to Beaver – a splurge on Vada Pav!

As days drew to a close, my final stop was obeisance to Pinks and Giraffe. Pinks was her usual punctual self as examples of chivalry- Giraffe and myself turned up only an hour late. I have only the ADAG group to blame(check out Metro construction site at Saki Naka yourself).

The day of rude awakening was approaching – for I had to check to work soon – and this episode of Mumbai diaries was seeing its last chapters. On the penultimate day I had a surprise phone call from none other than the effervescent PC on his way to Mumbai from Baroda. A pact was made that we meet before the chapter ends. However that pact, unfortunately and hopefully, would have to be fulfilled only when Mumbai Diaries gets re-opened, the next time.

Mumbai Diaries - Smiles and Sunset

2009-02-21T19:26:00.006+08:00

As I ponder, over the next set of incidents to narrate in this episode of Mumbai diaries, my soul fixates around the core set of people that made my trip replete with joy. This would entail we zoom in on my peregrination to the land of Her Highness of Pune – Pooh. En route the court, I caught up with ex-Patniites – Praharsh -The Philosopher and Priyanka. The philosopher had a tough time locating my whereabouts, not owing to any changes in my outward appearance, but due to the fact that at a traffic circle, I was at the side painted yellow and he, red. We circled the circle, yellow and red, and then red and yellow, till we eventually and inadvertently bumped in to each other, through no prior design of doing so.

The Philosopher promised me a safe passage to the court on his 25000cc Activa, profusely assuring me of no further circular confusions. Alas, The Philosopher turned to be colour blind, with a particular deficiency in detecting the colour Red (at this point I was, with my keen sense of observation, able to solve the traffic circle mystery as well). The Philosopher, I must inform the readers as a note, is an ardent stickler, to moral laws. This was evinced when he refused to bribe the Hawaldar and paid the full fine.

The court was where I next found myself ensconced. I must also let the readers know that Pooh had ordered goods exquisite quality and quantity which had to be lugged across the seas by noble subjects like Yours Truly. Banter session ensued, which only meant bashing for Yours Truly and mirth for Her Highness. As sunset sunk in to Her Highness’s territory, other creatures from the courtyard ventured in to the fiefdom. The Derivative Champ and Pooh-2 ushered in with a note of enthusiasm, joy and poking each other regularly and with ferocious intensity. Jet accompanied by his wife – Supersonic Jet, flew in next. What ensued could be largely kept out of the purview of public knowledge as face saving exercise for Yours Truly – more bashing obviously.

As Pune set over the horizon of time, memories shaped themselves.

However – one of the creatures of the Pune fiefdom had been left out- whom I caught while flying through Mumbai. Tweety accompanied by her tranquil chirp, was her enigmatic self.

The visit to Mumbai also enabled me to catch up with a huge bundle of SP Jain Janta as well as revisit some of Mumbai's charms.

Jigsaw, finally managing to get hooked up, was carrying future Mrs Jigsaw’s pictures, in various sizes, and yes was glowing on the prospects of a happy married life. Dream Lover, the Boston return Indian, was etching his way past the streets of Mumbai as well, in pursuit of a Mumbai Tea Party.

My first meeting with Jhansi, found her inexorably overworked and inextricably tired. As Mumbai winds set in by the bay and the sun sobered, energy seeped back in to this brave warrior. A round of chocolates and pastries did also add to spirit. But, what really pepped her was my incessant clicking and capturing pictures of supremely elegant quality – some of which showed evidence that her pony tail (oops hair) has a very aerodynamic design and her spectacles of supremely refractive material.

More in Next.

Mumbai Diaries - The Heady Concoction

2009-02-14T23:13:00.000+08:00

Jan 24th, 2009 and the long awaited dawn – a harbinger of a sweet sojourn to Mumbai had finally arrived. The onset of the Year of the Ox (some prefer to call it Bull – in hope of a Bull Run) enabled me to cascade official with personal leaves.

Soon the Singapore Airlines flight hissed past the tranquil and dreamy landscapes of Sahyadris bedecked with clouds lazing in the late morning benign winter sun. The air smelt familiar yet like a distant dream- a heady concoction of nostalgia and warmth of being home. My bags were making their way past the X-ray machine, then with a screech, Mr Bhatti entered this dream and concoction had a smell of tobacco in it. With perhaps a jerk in to reality – I came to the senses that Mr Bhatti – a customs officer with Mumbai Chattrapati Shivaji International Terminus – did not approve of my camera,lenses et al entering Mumbai free of cost. After a lengthy debate with intermittent perusal of the obscure rule book – Mr Bhatti (not showing the least signs of exasperation) proffered three possible alternatives – 1. Leave camera at the airport 2. Pay duty at 35.7% of value above Rs 25,000 3. Bribe Mr Bhatti a nominal fee(however hand the fee to the Hawaldar). Option 3 looked lucrative. Mr Bhatti also offered me a tip as well (free of cost) – next time travel during peak hours which means Hawaldar may not notice the heavy equipments.

Dazed – I then proceeded to the taxi counter and indicated my preference for 2 taxis. The man behind the desk looked back, found 3 pairs of eyes looking back and wondered aloud the reason for 2 taxis for three people. On showing him our wide array of baggage – the guy remarked – ‘Iska double bhi hum ek taxi mein fit karr dega’

By now you must have realized that the heady concoction was making rounds somewhere in the stratosphere. No sooner did we trundle our way towards our good old abode at Thane, that the heady concoction was getting stronger again. For a fleeting moment – a moment of insanity – did I expect the lift doors to open automatically – it was only fleeting – let me assure you that.

Anyways, the moment had finally arrived, my dad encompassed the key between his index finger and thumb and pirouetted the same. The heady concoction was stronger than ever. The house, from the initial glimpses, was dapper enough and seemed well taken care of (by the neighbour). The next big moment was setting sights at my room – which incidentally was under locks and wraps beyond the bounds of human activities. The concoction suddenly crumbled under the effects of gravity – my room was a self sustaining eco-system. Spiders,Cob-webs, bugs and other exotic creatures - I was perhaps at the bottom of the food chain. The icing on the ecosystem was a happy pigeon family – right outside my window.

As you would have imagined – next few days mostly spent towards giving the house a heavy polish. This routine was disturbed with intermittent rounds to Post Office, Banks and other sites of exquisite interest. Each of these visits would entail and warrant a blog of their own(which I would refrain from).

During the first week, also had my first touch point with the SP Jain Gang at Ritesh’s aka Professor Economics’s House Warming/ Pooja ceremony. A lunch at Rajdhani(Ghatkopar) entailed which was interspersed with banter and jokes dating back to MBA times – Ritesh and his appetite(which is admirable), Bhakti aka Bee and her driving skills, Koushik aka Cowboy and his flashy smile – and the heady concoction was getting stronger.

More in next.

Mumbai Diaries - The Case of Stolen Shoes

2009-02-09T02:29:00.004+08:00

The glorious day had finally dawned. It began with a bleating at 11:59:59 PM on 7th Feb 2009 by Parakeet. She was the first to usher in the congratulatory note concocted with smug remarks on the incremental effects of the Birthdays on the age. Jhansi( a tall cousin of mine) was all too keen as well to get even with what I had dealt to her two months ago.

After greeting the cozy Sunday sun with a beaming smile, the day was all set to be basked in. Post a sumptuous home cooked lunch, was time to head out for a bit of Mumbai pilgrimage, with mom and dad. First stop- Siddhivinayak Temple at Dadar. En route, our taxi driver was crying hoarse with interesting and covertly wicked tales of harassment meted out by the Mumbai Police Hawaldars. All we could afford him was a smile of empathy.

The security had definitely been beefed up from last time. Bunkers,Hawaldars and Higher ranks and road discipline around the temple premises- were promising . My bulging bag with the brandishing tripod jutting from the side, caught the attention of all the guards at once and at the same time( a feat which I am remarkably good at repeating). A few looks and I realized the companion on my back was not a welcome here. An opportunistic flower vendor immediately offered his whole-hearted commitment to protect my companion with all his life and heart. My over-protective heart, however, declined such largesse. The end-result was that I waited outside as my parents ensconced themselves in meditation. Pooh, a consultant by profession, would for the next 35 years of my existence remind me that she would rather have me go to Siddhivinayak in the morning- which would perhaps have enabled me to enter the premises. I shall test this theory next time, if it works I shall claim the theory to be mine else blame Pooh for her miscalculations.

Next stop was Mahalaxmi Temple. One of my earliest memories of Mumbai as extricated from my childhood(Parakeet and Jhansi would smirk on the incremental effects) has been the winding and the narrow lane leading up to this beautiful temple by the sea. Security at Mahalaxmi Temple was a stark disappointment. I wheezed through with some preliminary inspection and a verbal promise of not taking any pictures. After the darshan, it was time for me to click a few snaps of the iconic Haji Ali. As I descended, in deep contemplation at the possible angles, I found something amiss. My shoes were gone. I could see mom’s, I could see dad’s – my white Nike shoes with yellow in-soles were strangely invisible. I blinked and fluttered my eyelids in despair. The despair suddenly turned funny- for I had to contemplate all those angles –barefoot (socks!)?! At this point I would like the readers to observe a 2-minute silence in prayer and good wishes for my Nike Shoes. It had done well and I hope it shall continue to do so.

My initial reaction was to find a shoe store in the area- which bore no results. I then stuck to my task of clicking pictures – yes I was barefoot(save the socks) while doing so and roaming around the Haji Ali area. Mumbai has a unique charm – it enforces pilgrimage even on the non-believers.

Haji Ali is in need of serious repair(I shall upload pictures in my next blog). The stench in the area needs BMC to pull up its socks.

We next headed to King Circle(Matunga), with the primary aim of satiating our bellies and a critical aim for finding solace for my burning feet. Solace found and we hit Ram Asharaya to devour on the piping hot Kela Bhajjis served with the yummiest chutney. Mom’s face was glee personified as she revisited the taste of ginger lemon which Ram Ashraya is famous for.

Dusk dictated that we head back home. After a brief stop-over it was time to head back outside- for dinner. We headed to a neighbouring restaurant –Abhiman – usually known for catering good food. As the waiter segued by our table, we placed our order – beseeching him not to make the dishes spicy. The waiter grinned, an all-knowing smile and promised that the chef would comply. The dishes arrived – looked gastronomically attractive enough. As the first piece of roti(encumbering sabzi inside) entered my mouth, a chain reaction was set to play. A few milliseconds later my face was red, I was seething in agony and sweating beyond all descriptions of profusion. I had lost my appetite. So had mom and dad. After a few more attempts at ingesting the food, we gave up. We decided to head out and end the day with an ice-cream.

That was how my day came to an end. However the mystery remains – my shoes. Do pray and yes thanks for all your wishes.

More in next.

Hundred Reflections...

2009-01-13T21:44:00.003+08:00

Shattered glasses all around me, hundred reflections, of blaze, stare,
Senses reverberate, to the deafening roar, in shock, in awe and gasping for air.

I huddle on my torn carpet amongst stares, amongst the shock, incredulous and oblivious,
Eyes, wet in the images of a crushed skull, awake, wide open and yet unconscious.

An unfinished piece of bread, stale perhaps, for the darkness that lies ahead,
Mind starves, and heart feeds, in blood, in fear and in hope for all things sacred.

Eyes bulging out of my skull, hair withered away and mind playing dumb,
In the cold of the night - nails wasted and blue, lips thin, skin clinging to bones and senses numb.

I am destiny’s child; I know not what is mine, what is the future and what is bygone,
I am God’s child, child of the Promised Land, await I do -for a dawn.

A never ending conflict for the Promised Land. May the year 2009 herald peace very soon.

A year of fate....

2008-12-30T20:43:00.001+08:00

It was a year that filled promises of change for the pilgrims of Mayflower,
It wrenched the children of the Promised Land in to strife, joy a fruitless endeavour.

A year which humbled the Bull, disinterred sharks of agony and shook pillars to crumble,
The year inflicted carnage impious (at a heritage) and, made millions of hearts stutter and stumble.

It wielded powers to a mad man, ruining an erstwhile British Colony -hastening a destined fall,
It also buoyed the Greek Lords to scale the Great Wall.

It fulminated and roared in angst, made the earth tremble and winds humble,
It also conjured evils of the sea and also submitted great powers to bungle.

A year of hope, A year of learning, A year of despair, A year of change and A year of fate,
As the Age of Aquarius segues in to another dawn, dusk shall never settle on the year of 2008.

A pattern of stories untold

2008-12-28T20:33:00.003+08:00

Saunter did I, in the paths traced seldom,
Ensconced in chirps, in tranquility and in the verdant fiefdom.

The coy rays flirting with the leaves of tropics, anticipating frolic and fun.
The wet land, below, tossing in the caress of the sun.

And then, basking in the morning beam, I did behold,
A house of love, an abode of labour and, a pattern of stories untold.

There it stood, in vigour and in boast, and in a musical oeuvre,
A zephyr tickling and a playful sun stroking this magical gossamer.

I could not resist penning this poem. I did saunter through Bukit Timah Nature Reserve and found this intricate beauty. Fortunately, the light conditions were perfect and I could capture...

Truly Asia - Part 2

2008-12-23T22:32:00.012+08:00

As we hopped off KL tower we hopped on to ‘Hop on Hop off’ bus for a spin around the town. The concept of this bus is very appealing – pay a fixed sum and gain unlimited rides with as many hop-ons and hop-offs for duration of twenty four hours. With four buses serving a fixed route, this mode of transport seemed a capital proposition (in comparison to cabs). However, as we found out, bus drivers are liable to their whims and fancies, sauntering away for lunch, drink or whatever their fancies may proclaim leaving behind much harrowed passengers waiting in puzzlement.

After squeezing our way through the cramped and choked streets of KL (in the air-conditioned comforts of the bus of course) we decided to give in to the cravings of our gastric juices as we descended at the Indian portion of the city – Masjid India. Streets lined with sari shops, loud blaring music and a waft of a familiar scent – the aroma of what I call -home. In this magical scent lies - Sangeeta (Franchise of the branch in Chennai) and herein we discovered ecstasy. I discovered love – love for Kuzhi Paniyaram – for the uninitiated this ambrosia is concocted by frying dosa-type batter and molding in to a rotund shape. And the glee, that adorned my mom’s face as she savoured the frothing filter coffee served in the traditional davarah- tumbler, fails to be framed in mere words.

Post-lunch was a quick pit stop at the Merdeka Square and gaze of awe at the Sultan Abdul Samad Building.

The evening breezed in, and post dinner; we decided to head for the twins - blazing in all glory in the still of the late evening. After some camera posture experimentations and trying very hard to break my back and strain my neck – it was time for the eyelids to take over.

The third and final day witnessed my enthusiasm towards procuring tickets for access to the 41st floor bridge(sky bridge) across the twins – however as I reached(pretty early) the Petronas towers I was greeted by an already burgeoning queue(tickets are free) with some members who seemed to have packed their sleeping gears for the wait they foresaw and/or had witnessed – and I realized to give-up is not always to be frowned upon. Instead the day saw more of Merdeka Square, Gardens and yes, Masjid India. Hibiscus, which Malaysia boasts in plenty is also the National Flower -

6 PM and we were launching back towards Singapore. My mom promised to come back and visit Batu Caves. She had only one condition – the ascent of 272 steps to be replaced by an elevator. Her request will be forwarded to the concerned authorities.

Truly Asia - Part 1

2008-12-22T23:19:00.008+08:00

The journey commenced during the wee hours of a still-sleeping Friday morning from Harbour Front Centre. Anticipation daubed my mom’s countenance as our double-decker bus, a fully loaded bus serviced by Aeroline, segued over the Straits of Johor(separating Singapore and Malaysia) and soon we were zooming along the 6 –Lane express way, heading towards Kuala Lampur. Bedecked with lush green landscape on either sides, the expressway was also a window towards one of the drivers of Malaysian economy – Palm Oil. Landscape dotted with palm trees and nothing else, absolutely nothing else.

Lunch was served during the journey. A peek in to the offerings and I thought my dad’s eyebrow raised 1/8th of an inch (Jeeves would have been proud). Presenting themselves to the raised eyebrow were green noodles very artistically strewn with tofu, broccoli and other unrecognizable items of presumably edible properties. And for a fleeting moment, I saw my mom radiate an all-knowing beam for having packed a very sumptuous lunch.

Kuala Lampur soon beckoned and we were safely ensconced in our hotel room. After being lost for sometime in the abyss of translation errors, from the bottom of which I was shouting ‘ I need a third bed in my room’, we were on our way for a bit of a saunter in the evening.

The saunter began through Bukit Bintang, dotted with innumerable shops, eateries and ah yes – massage centers – each of them having a provision for a plastic stool, outside, which is occupied mostly by skimpily clad girls offering pamphlets(which market the offerings of the centers. Some of the centers seemed true to their businesses, for the rest, I am not an expert to opine on). On the other hand this picture was clicked later just outside Petronas Twin Towers – Truly Asia.

The saunter ended at the Twin Towers.

The lines that you notice across the above picture are streams of water flowing from a fountain near-by.The posture which the picture demanded from me, goes with out saying, is indescribable.

As the bustling evening drew to a close we had a sumptuous grub at Sri Rekha restaurant catering Chettinad delicacies and sleep soon followed.

The next day started early with a cab trip. On that note cab drivers in KL have a knack of recognizing locals from tourist and thereby offering differential pricing schemes and with a not-open-for-bargain option of not turning on the meter. The KL Tower or Menara KL – the fifth tallest of its kind at 421 m – lords over the concrete jungles with panoramic views(with a beautiful view of the Twins) to as far as Batu Caves at the outskirts of the city. The vertical journey was traversed in 58 seconds.

Post the KL Tower was a time for bit of hopping around the city.

Let not doubts accumulate

2008-12-14T21:17:00.000+08:00

Here, have this – said a man, hands doddering and countenance reflecting, lines of age,
Shock and doubt dismayed my face, as eyes discerned a bottle of water offering to assuage.

Sweat bedecks your brow and simplicity reflects through your soul,
Have some water and proffer me a smile, for your body seems to have taken a toll.

Thanks, but how much? – said I perplexed and fumbling for words,
Eyes wandered and mind pondered, over the easy beam that on my tired spirit conferred.

An easy tone answered, money shall not tantamount the joys that, here, encapsulate,
Spread joy and diffuse fears, and let not doubts accumulate.

Who stole my innocence?

2008-11-28T23:03:00.001+08:00

An innocent bliss, an alleviating zephyr and a soothing rhythmic sound,
A Victorian architecture, of grey and white, would offer joys profound.

Who stole my innocence? Who snatched my wind? Who created this melancholy?
Heart beats disbelief, agony writhes in frustration, numbness encumbers soul at this heartless atrophy.

Is it hatred? Is it revenge? Or is it an assault mindless and indiscreet?
Hoping, for the city of spirit (my city) to spring back (once again) to its feet.

In remembrance of all the innocent lives lost and all the brave hearts. In remembrance of the two SP Jain Juniors who lost their lives to this recklessness. May their souls rest in peace.

At a crossing..

2008-11-15T23:58:00.000+08:00

At a crossing, near the old Banyan tree, as the traffic goes sour,
On my windows clean, tiny hands would rest, a face would conjure.

Nails ridden with dirt, face with dust, hair unkempt and clothes messy,
Disgust they would, my body would shrivel and my eyes would stare and not see.

Rains would anguish and the winds would distress – that face would not relent,
I wished it disappear, why me, should the face torment?

Then one day, at a crossing, near the old Banyan tree,
Hands would not rest, face not conjure and my window empty.

My soul choked in repent; ponder why, for the sight I detested to discern,
At a crossing, near the old Banyan tree, for that face – I now yearn.

Why would I then rile, displease or distaste?

2008-11-12T21:44:00.000+08:00

I am the provender of life; my benign smile evokes ecstasy and upholds peace,
Rile my flares, trouble my essence and life as you know shall cease.

My wake stirs life; I am the messenger of serenity and accordion of bliss,
Peace with my soul and pact with my heart and, nothing shall go awry and amiss.

My trail evokes life; I am the curator of order and harbinger of faith,
Appease my spirit and fate shall chance good taste.

Forever indebted, humbled, awed and in righteous wake,
Can my love and loyalty tantamount with your sanctimonious partake?

Why would I then rile, displease or distaste?
Or is it care that speaks and does heed in bother berate?

Why would he be so selfish?

2008-10-22T20:59:00.000+08:00

A tired and resigned look daubed my face,
I clutched my way to find a seat- much wanted,
A wry looking man occupied the seat next – friendliness on his face – not a trace.

I was feeling bitter and angst seethed beneath my calm reserve,
The man next, occupied more than what should be his legal right,
His legs spread, breaching into space which I deserve.

All the hatred in my heart I did suppress, which I thought magnanimous,
Why would he be so selfish? I did ponder,
Let me pardon men, their trespasses – I smiled feeling auspicious.

My home finally was in sight and I trampled towards the exit ahead,
In deep wonder as I sauntered, a man limped (perhaps polio?) his way, out of the corner,
My heart bled, it was the man for whom contempt I had bred.

Will you buy me some milk?

2008-10-15T00:44:00.000+08:00

One fine day a young girl tapped on my hand,
Desolate she looked, sorrow too early for her innocent brow,
Lips curved –where a smile deserved to stand.

Sir, will you buy me some milk, she said in a voice low,
I stared – curiosity asked why do you ask for milk and not anything else?
She smiled, hiding the trouble which brewed in her heart below.

Money – do not mistake me sir – I find no use for,
A pang of hunger from my younger brother does make me stir,
I do not ask for free, this post card for the trade, of this city which I adore.

I smiled, simplicity and the plight had its toll,
Milk was bartered for a tattered post card,
I wished for the grief to fade and for a smile forever to roll.

I wish!

Elusive Chalice

2008-09-14T18:06:00.000+08:00

Strife is what they aspire or is it revenge that they conspire?
A country of hundred countries, for peace one does perspire.

A sea of innocence congregates unawares,
Frolic in the sanctity of peace and devoid of cares.

A melancholy does reverberate, an evil frown,
A thud and burst – and all fall down.

Acrid fumes of despondency waft and stare,
Sea of innocence tides in to a wave of despair.

Is it strife or revenge or is it a despotic cloud of malice,
Surmise whatever may, peace remains the elusive chalice.

From pig to man,and from man to pig...

2008-09-04T17:37:00.005+08:00

The power of imagination is what propels us beyond the dogma that governs everyday life. We find art in the mundane, we infer from the mistakes of the bygone and we find black humour in the darkest of evils. But, mockingly, this power is unevenly dispersed amongst us. George Orwell –unduly gifted – displays such powers - for us to conjure, for us to satire and for us to propel beyond the routine.

Interpretations can be manifold – from an innocent fairy tale to the darkest hours of history. Orwell spurs us to think, to satire – through cunning use of metaphors in his enigmatic – Animal Farm – and that too written in an era when literary works of a ‘certain class’ were censored by the cohorts involved with this industry.

The book begins with a promise – summoning itself through a dream which occurs to Old Major, outlining and fueling the seeds of a revolution. For starters – Old Major is depicted as a wise and seasoned boar (pig) that inspires thoughts and stimulates a revolution. The revolution is against the torments of the human being – Mr Jones who owns Manor Farm. This revolution succeeds,indeed, only to lead in to strife – which perhaps the mutineers(horses,donkey,hens et al) had no notion of.

The promise personifies through the song ‘Beast of England’ – which takes on the mantle of an anthem for major portion of the revolution and beyond. Orwell weaves magic and imagination and introduces varied characters - including Boxer – a horse and the strongest animal on the farm. Driven by blind faith and ensconced in the motto of ‘I will work harder’ – Boxer is a representation of the proletariat. Your heart, heart of an intellectual, shall let out a yelp – like that of Benjamin the donkey – at the tragic fate of Boxer.

Napoleon (Tyrant Boar) usurps power from Snowball (Friendly Boar) through tact and coterie and, eventually the commandments and promise personified through Old Major’s dreams take a wild and ugly turn.

There are obvious parallels with the Red October Revolution (Russian Revolution) and Stalin’s rise to power. But this fairy tale delivers messages much beyond and is relevant to every era of human history. The pigs succumb to the allures of power to re-interpret promises and even re-invent the definition of a ‘tyrant’ free world. There is a message for the ‘friendly’ neighbours (of the farm) as well.

This is a fairy tale of lessons and juxtapositions. I am sure as you read this masterpiece – you need not cast your mind back to the days of Russian Revolution for the satire to make sense. Just look around you – Animal Farm is alive and the pigs are depicted even today.

Note - I love pigs. It was Orwell's choice of depiction and drawing parallels. Snowball was a good pig after all.

A bystander of pain

2008-08-30T14:47:00.002+08:00

The land, desiccated and dried, of strife; awaits a tomorrow,
The land drenched in tears, in blood and in sorrow.

A ruler did vacillate, rerouted history for lack of resolve,
A leader promised choice, which time fails to absolve.

Where beauty once dazzled angels, lakes were tranquil allure,
Azure embraced snow-caps, brooks leapt with verve.

Land besmirched with slaughter and promises stale,
Peace lost in a melancholy cloud, over the vale.

Religion can calm, excite and even torment,
Politics can lead, inspire and even foment.

Land can only be a bystander of pain,
Of blood, of tears and, of people who hope see the azure again.

A day trip around Phnom Penh

2008-08-17T15:32:00.008+08:00

After a week of grueling meetings and visits, my colleague and I decided to take time out to explore Cambodia. Initial plan entailed a day trip to Siam Reap, home to Angkor Vat. But then, a day trip would not have however justified the magnificence of Angkor Vat. So we booked a cab for a day trip around Phnom Penh and for a bit of Khmer Rouge history. Our driver, Chanda (Yes Khmer owes its roots to Sanskrit after all) was chirpy and was wearing a dashing green tie as well a sparkling smile!

The name – Cheung Ek Killing Fields is enough to fill your senses with scenes of pathos and with scenes of depravation. The grounds, about 15 Km from Phnom Penh, are in shambles and dotted with overgrown weeds – perhaps acting as a reminder of the iniquity of the past and of Khmer Rouge and of ‘Brother Number 1’ – Pol Pot. A stupa at the center marks as a reminder to this past. It houses a glass case – a column of skulls, which are classified by age and gender. These are remnants, which have been excavated. As you explore the mass graves around the stupa, you might even stumble on fragments of remains. You will also stumble across grim reminders including the ‘magic tree’; which used to have loudspeakers mounted on it – to produce sounds which would veil the moans of the victims.

Closely tied – historically – is the Tuol Sleng School/Prison. Yes, a school which was converted in to a prison by the Khmer Rouge’s secret organization S-21. A grim voice percolates through the cracks on dilapidated walls and on the blood stains which still reek horror and cries of the tales of the era gone by. The tools of torture – iron bars, monkey poles etc survive – to tell a story – a story of moans and of depravity. A chill shall run through your interns as your eyes gaze through the cells which were used to house the victims. I did notice a tremor as I clicked pictures, a shake ever so slight.

Our day trip also consisted of brief visit to the Royal Palace and Silver pagoda. Although, parts are not open to public with further restrictions on photography – the colour and splendour that emanates transport you to the rich historical heritage of the South East Asian region. The Silver Pagoda – also in the same grounds as the Royal Palace boasts of several Buddha statues – dating various periods – including the Emerald Buddha as well as a well-adorned one(with 2086 diamonds). Also, interesting to point out is stark resemblance to the Indian Culture(owing to the history of Angkor as well as Funan and Chenla) – through figures such as the Naga, Elephants and even Lord Ganesha in various inscriptions.

Also – worth a visit in the city of Tuk-tuks and Two-wheelers is the museum. An interesting portion of the museum is the Angkor version of the Ramayana. Also dotted are artifacts and bronze statues of Ganesha,Vishnu as well as Krishna along with Buddha artifacts. Check this statue of Lord Vishnu -

The final stop of the day was the Russian Market. Narrow alleys littered with cheap goods as well as fidgets. And yes a cute monkey made my day -

Saunter...

2008-08-06T22:57:00.003+08:00

One night in reverie, I did, saunter,
Gazed up, in awe and, I did, wonder.

O beauty, What do you see? I did, ask,
In mire and smog, why do you bask?

Eons of faith, forgotten and betrayed,
Crusaders of regret, make your divinity fade.

One night in reverie, I did, saunter…

Hushed tone, rustled in good faith,
You see regret, I see passion which, for ages, elate.

Pirouette together, through happiness and sorrow,
A ray of hope shall colander tomorrow.

You see betrayal; I see beauty and attraction,
In the chill of loneliness, we seek warmth and affection.

One night in reverie, I did, saunter..

Suffer I shall...

2008-07-26T16:29:00.003+08:00

Peregrination in pursuit eons ere,
A fable of legends, divinity and love; and for every raconteur.

Bridge over waters sacrosanct and shallow,
Good over Evil recounts the legend and of His halo.

Versions interpret, mistrust sometimes even grotesque,
Legal conundrum and political miasma lend to a burlesque.

Sacrilege fume many, of the legendary allegory,
Trade and commerce plethora say sundry.

Sethu or not – Suffer I shall…
Mother Earth does pall.

Comments?

Am I yet to see the second?

2008-07-12T15:50:00.006+08:00

Politics has never been a topic which has captured my thought process. But then, is there a thought process when it comes to Indian Politics? You may search tomes of political history, apply theories which would usually lend to various strategies and ruminate to figure out the whole process – the result would be sheer helplessness.

The architect of India’s economic turnaround in 1991 is merely considered to indulge in lip sync. I am sure even his worst (intellectual)detractor would not want to believe this. The same architect and his council of ministers spin a strategy which would almost obviate the Non Proliferation Treaty and yet ensure India is adequately armed for the future in terms of raw materials, power and technology.

Alas! this strategy cannot topple the complex labyrinth of Indian politics. The Marxists do not see how it would cater to present and future needs of the common man. By the way should not this be the foundations of Marxism? Some say this how The Great Wall speaks.

Then there is the Sikh factor. How can we betray our alliance with the NDA and yet how can we topple a Sikh, said one party. And I thought this was restricted to how we choose our Presidents!!

Indian Politics is a complex melodrama. There was Italy which history suggests was confused(inadvertently I must clarify),during the World War. Then we have the Bicycle party which abhors the Elephant Rule in Uttar Pradesh. And then, they would ensure they throw in a spanner or two in the Corporate Brotherly rift.

The looks of this treaty are positive. But, history always rekindles gruesome memories. Some even go to the extent of praying that this not is the next Bofors. Yes, the budget has been lackadaisical and in parts so has been the government (though there are areas which I would say it has been good). But I do hope the no-confidence motion does not spin this ‘possible’ deal into turmoil.

But then, here is another thought. How did we, with our messy democratic framework, ever achieve and sustain the 9% GDP growth rate? Perhaps the devolution of power to Panchayats, ages ago was the first step. Am I yet to see the second?

P.S - The blog has been subject to grammatical scrutiny by the literary genius who happens to be my cousin

Tweety knows no language

2008-07-10T00:28:00.003+08:00

From 30,000 feet in the air as Silk Air MI 608 made a slow descent towards the land, all I could descry was a canvas. A canvas utilized by an artist, unconsciously displaying his talent with colours and his/her penchant towards green. A canvas, daubed with patterns of green and brown, kissing the blue horizon and creating a melody of colours. I am 15,000 feet above Phnom Penh (perhaps outskirts) and all my eyes can see (as far as they can see) are beautiful fields speckled with brown rooftops.

My days in Phnom Penh were dotted with a regular and undulating pattern of – Sumptuous Breakfasts in the morning at the Intercontinental, Meetings and Gyaan Sessions, Lunch, Dinner and Sleep! So basically it was about food and meetings.On that note there are more than 20 Indian Restaurants in this city.

It was not all meetings though. If ever Honda sets up a crash test/load test centre for its mopeds (under 50cc kinds), Phnom Penh is the place for it. I had exhilarating ride on one of the ‘Tuk Tuk’s (a moped with a carriage attached). So far so good. Tuk Tuk ride in Phnom Penh sounds fun and local. Hold on! Imagine six fully grown and overfed males returning from dinner in the middle of the night being driven by a drunk Tuk Tuk driver. This realization dawned on us when the driver took us through a one-way street (against the traffic). We read the sign which expressed its desire to be ’One Way’ after we had the passed the street (in the opposite direction of course). In the end we had to part with 6USD for this joy ride. Yes, Khmer Riel is not really a preferred medium of exchange, USD serves you well.

The city has a quaint and an idyllic charm to it. It seems as if this sleepy town does not want to be awakened and at the same time – it seems as if civilization (or modernization as we know it) is hypnotizing it in to a nightmare. A beautiful river side dotted with serene temples, if only man knew conservation.

Anyways I did make a promise to revisit this sleepy town and to immerse myself in this mystic land. A land which was almost wiped out in the 1970s and a land where the new ‘crop’(as a friend there put it) has seen tough times.

As I was leaving Phnom Penh, my mobile phone got so attached to the city that it decided to stay back. However, I have ensured it does reach Singapore in a day or two. No escaping me!

Tired and mystified as I emerged from the security check at the airport, a young girl at the counter smiled and returned my key chain. She smiled again, pointing this time to my key chain. Tweety (which forms a part of my keychain), bright yellow and beaming, can conjure a smile irrespective of race or language– smile knows no language. Tweety knows no language.

...to be a child again

2008-06-22T15:44:00.002+08:00

Heavens unfurl, clouds frenzy and angels quench disdain,
Wind unbolts time, to be a child again.

Elements render a heavenly opus,
Mind levitates, disentangling from worldly onus.

Waft of warmth drifts, reassuring divinity,
An aura familiar and soothing, summoning serenity.

A sip of rapture, a caress of warmth and an experience of calm,
A goblet of joy ensconced in my palm.

A goblet of peace...any guesses?

Heavenly Fields of Peace

2008-06-15T21:46:00.001+08:00

I wandered as a lonely cloud – a great man once said,
Scars from fumes of progress were not bred.

Caresses of zephyr have flirted with my wake,
Soothing rays have filtered through purity of my make.

Hues of time and season are my reflection,
Azure stretches and silvery countenance - companions of my affliction.

As the Age of success scathes my heart and renders me meek,
Heavenly fields of peace, reeking simplicity, is all I seek.

Ulysses By The Merlion

2008-06-08T14:55:00.005+08:00

Found this poem on the plaque by the Merlion. The title of the poem is as the Blog Title says. The poem is written by Edwin Thumboo. It personifies this creature and the island nation.

I have sailed many waters,
Skirted islands of fire,
Contended with Circe
Who loved the squeal of pigs;
Passed Scylla and Charybdis
To seven years with Calypso,
Heaved in battle against the gods.
Beneath it all
I kept faith with Ithaca, travelled,
Travelled and travelled,
Suffering much, enjoying a little;
Met strange people singing
New myths; made myths myself.

But this lion of the sea
Salt-maned, scaly, wondrous of tail,
Touched with power, insistent
On this brief promontory...
Puzzles.

Nothing, nothing in my days
Foreshadowed this
Half-beast, half-fish,
This powerful creature of land and sea.

Peoples settled here,
Brought to this island
The bounty of these seas,
Built towers topless as Ilium's.

They make, they serve,
They buy, they sell.

Despite unequal ways,
Together they mutate,
Explore the edges of harmony,
Search for a centre;
Have changed their gods,
Kept some memory of their race
In prayer, laughter, the way
Their women dress and greet.
They hold the bright, the beautiful,
Good ancestral dreams
Within new visions,
So shining, urgent,
Full of what is now.

Perhaps having dealt in things,
Surfeited on them,
Their spirits yearn again for images,
Adding to the dragon, phoenix,
Garuda, naga those horses of the sun,
This lion of the sea,
This image of themselves.

The Hong Kong Smile

2008-06-07T15:33:00.003+08:00

Short trips always hold me in a perplexed state of affairs –
1. What do I pack? How many clothes?
2. More importantly – Will I get time to click?

Unfortunately, second turned out negative with regards to my latest peregrination - Hong Kong.

In retrospect, you could not censure me for having packed my accessories which included the not so ‘light ‘lens set, a camera body and tripod and hence reducing scope for carrying other accessories which would have been construed to be necessary under conditions classified as normal otherwise. With this back ground in mind, I would make an audacious assumption of having the readers pardon my trespasses towards a packing pattern which involves half the bag loaded with camera accessories.

The cramped land of skyscrapers awaited me as boarded SQ 870 from Changi International Airport. A minor blip which I had not foreseen awaited – I had not pre-informed the Singapore Airlines officials of my penchant or strict adherence towards vegetarianism. But SQ proved my loyalty worthwhile as they conjured a vegetarian food packet out of nowhere. ( A friend of mine disapproves of recurrent usage of the word ‘Conjure’ – but I shall withstand the wrath that may accrue, for the want of a better word).

Hong Kong awaited, smiling (I presumed ,veiled behind the immigration officials. The veiled smile seems to have been broadening as the official passed a stern look at my passport. No sooner the official was perplexed – perhaps trying to compare the picture that envisioned itself on the passport to the countenance that, very weirdly, was smiling at him. ( A brief back ground- it was my first trip to Hong Kong and Hong Kong allows visitors with the facility of Visa on arrival and pretty freely I heard)

And before I could realise the thickness of the veil, behind which I still presumed Hong Kong to be smiling, I was escorted to a room which read ‘Immigration Authority’. After a wait which seemed interminable and which was dotted by a grumbling Kenyan by my side, could not blame him it was almost 1 AM, an official; after having taken some time in spotting me in a group of 3 to 4 people, with the aid of the same photograph which had perplexed another official earlier; approached me.

Questions, which I would otherwise have considered invading my right to existence on planet earth barraged at me. I must admit, officials were pleasantly hospitable. Post the torturous wait I was eventually escorted, towards what I assumed the other side of the veil( Remember, the smile is on the other side of the veil!). I was beginning to see the curves of the smile as a hand obstructed my right to free space ahead, admonishingly directing me towards a path which did not allure my senses. My bags were screened and I was made to sit. Then an amazing thing happened.

I was directed to remove my shoes. Considering that I was not in the process which would require fruitful use of my shoes, I readily obliged. The officer then inspected the shoes, looked at it in awe – which I presume would be attributed to the brand name that flashed on them or at the thought of how an object so small could encase such an immensely repelling stink.

Finally!! I was let go – towards the smile – the smile which I presumed to be sustained despite the fact that it inched towards wee hours of the morning. How was that smile? Well that will be another story altogether!

Heavenly Psalm

2008-05-29T00:09:00.000+08:00

Starry night sultry night windless calls of heavens beyond,
Jingles of laughter I envision as I thrust my ears against the walls of calm.
A blush gathers on the horizon promising a world of fond,
Moist eyes gaze at stars above; palms feel the mud beneath, as my lips spurt a heavenly psalm.

-Dedicated to people rendered homeless in Myanmar and China

The Case of the Missing Block

2008-05-18T12:38:00.000+08:00

It was early parts of my tenure in Shanghai – perhaps April last week of 2008. The exact date eludes my consciousness.

After tiring days of work, luncheons filled with pizzas and burgers and dinners packed with a curious hotchpotch of vegetables conjured by ‘Yours Truly’; Sharath, Kripa and myself embarked on a mission to satiate the long forgotten yet distinctly vivid taste of culinary delicacies from India. And we made a curious pick indeed. We decided to head for Karma(restaurant). The reason for this choice was simply because this place shared the same road as our hotel – Huaihai Road or the internet claimed so,

This,despite warnings from Kripa – ‘Guys, this looks shady!!’ In retrospect and on a closer dissection, based on the information we had, viz. name of the restaurant, Kripa seemed to have a point. Apart from the hard core Subash Ghai fans – who would want to name his/her restaurant Karma? And who would want to dine in a restaurant which would perhaps plays ‘ My Name is Lakhan..Sajnon ka Sajan.’ ? Apparently hunger had numbed all reasoning.

Anyways, our minds, despite interlacing doubts that lingered on the probability of success of the mission, were made up. Conviction ran so deep that we decided to walk it down. Starting from Block 282(Our Base Camp) and ending our mission at Block 1111(Karma), at a rate of approximately 16 Blocks per minute, we estimated a total walk time of 45 minutes.

The peregrination towards the end of all gastronomic distresses began with exuberance and long strides, but as minutes wore on, the rate of ascension in the block numbers began waning threatening to jeopardize our estimated time to target.

Series of ‘Hitachi’ arches and bevies of ‘Brands’ later, we were at Block 1010. Our stomachs did convulse in agony when 1110 was followed by 1112. Our dreams, of hot tandoori roti that shall waft steam as you break, began to blur. But, hold on Ladies and Gentlemen, Yours Truly just had a brain wave.’Hey, we didn’t see any odd-numbered blocks on this side. Guess we are on the wrong side.’

Hope is a funny thing! So began a renewed hunt and exuberance. Quick steps across the other side and Block 1041 smirked at us. We smirked back. We walked past an open area – perhaps an area under construction. Our minds had already pictured Block 1111 greeting us on the other side with arms wide open. Much to our consternation, the block that grinned was 1131! We pottered around, looked in all directions geographically and topographically feasible, within the constraints of the movements allowed by our necks. Block 1111 was not there!!!

So we decided to retrace, perhaps we missed it. Block 1041 smirked. We scowled.

With drooping shoulders we decided to head back to our nest. Dejection soon gave way to hope and the spirit of worldly camaraderie lit in our souls as we vowed to make the evening worthwhile. We decided to switch loyalties and head for a Thai restaurant which we had descried on our way.

Doubt, they say is a root cause of all worldly bothers. But under circumstances which warrant a closer introspection and a careful tread, to be in doubt is not a bad way to go. Anyways, we decided to head straight in to the Thai restaurant and grinned ear-to-ear,at the waitress who approached us, in expectation of a sumptuous dinner. As we perused through the menu our grin transmogrified in to despair. We turned to the waitress who was now inflicted by the grin we had donned a few minutes ago. We conveyed ‘Vegetarian? No Meat?’ She conveyed ‘ Pork?’

The three of us looked at each other at the same time, a feat unachievable under normal circumstances. We scampered out, with shoulders drooping more than ever.

Hope reappeared soon, like a fairy awaiting clouds of despair. We decided to cook it up!!Ah yes! A movie as well. Ah the movie, well that requires another blog altogether...

A voice croons....

2008-05-13T23:39:00.000+08:00

When corpus misplaces co-ordination and mind twirls in a miasma,
A voice croons.

Tranquility wafts in a slow rhythm like the smell of the morning tea,
A voice croons.

Haze strips itself and reveals a world that blooms and chirps in harmony,
A voice croons.

Worldly bothers dissipate away like the red autumn leaf from a tree looking beyond winter,
A voice croons.

Weight sheds its ego and mind flees in direction unknown yet splendid,
A voice croons.

Pupil dilates and eyelids compress whilst mind immerses in a trance,
A voice croons.

A voice….Mohd Rafi Forever.

The Story of Shanghai Part 2

2008-05-02T22:27:00.001+08:00

Another opportunity to sneak out! This meant a 7 AM excursion to the Jade Buddha Temple also known as Yufo Si.

If you are lucky, you can envisage peace and solitude in the concrete jungles of Shanghai, in this abode – in this monastery, right in the bustle of the city. As I said – if you are lucky. Despite the environs of an active monastery, Yufo Si has been ensnared in the clutches of tourism.

The monastery, architecturally, transports your senses in to the mystique of Buddhism and the charms of a Heavenly Kingdom. The monastery’s pristine architecture stands on wood; polished, preserved and personified and emitting an aura of tranquility.

The monastery is divided in to various chambers. The courtyard, which witnesses congregation of those seeking divine blessings – has ‘Heavenly King Hall’ (housing – among others – Laughing Buddha ,Four Heavenly Kings)on one side, and ‘Grand Hall’ (housing – among others – Three Golden Buddhas) on the other.

However, the mainstay of the monastery are the two Jade Buddhas(origins seem to be from Burma). The seated Buddha, ensconced in meditation and evoking tranquility, is bedecked with jewels and gems – adding richness and splendour to solitude. The chamber, which houses the larger of the two Jade Buddhas – stirs up sanguinity and inviolability. The other Jade Buddha – Reclining Buddha manifests His peaceful death.
Photographing the two, as expected is prohibited. There is also a replica of the Reclining Buddha, much bigger, made of marble and gifted by the government of Singapore.

Also, back yard of the monastery – has a small pond, abode to Koi Fish(es). The fish, seeming survives for over 200 years!

As I had indicated – tourism has overwhelmed this tranquil monastery, stealing the other- worldly charms. Go early and you might just catch the twilights of peace!

And yes, there is a restaurant adjoining the monastery, where you can enjoy Buddhist delicacies, devoid of meat, garlic, onion among others. This is what constituted my breakfast –

Bread – perhaps made of maida flour and fried, a taste reminiscent of batura, and soya sauce on side. Oolong tea (Oolong tea leaves in hot water), is a must try as well.

Wounds for Joy...

2008-05-01T00:09:00.000+08:00

Toiling by the day and labouring through the night,
But there is only so much I can bear, in this relentless fight!

Hungry mouths aplenty I descry, my bosom shrieks in agony and terror does accrue,
But apathy is not mine, may you not misconstrue.

Pliable I have been, demands afresh and burrows deep,
Scars and wounds I bear for your sake, harmful substances I help seep.

Tears have been in happiness, and wounds for joy,
But there is only so much I can do, my boy!

Your scars grate my wounds; nightmares carve themselves out of harmony,
But there is only so much I can bear to see, my eyes strain in melancholy.

Riches copious I did seed, Rice, Oil, Corn, Salt or Meat,
But plea I do in solemnity, may my seeds be treasured as greatness you seek.

- Dedicated to World Hunger Problem

The Story of Shanghai Part 1

2008-04-27T00:21:00.000+08:00

Work has so far plugged most of my stay at Shanghai. However, exploration runs deep and I did indeed extricate some time out – here and there.

A couple of visits to Nanjing Road were enough to convince me, if there be compiled a list of shopping paradises in the world – this one makes it. Nestled in the heart of the city and well connected by the metro line, Nanjing Street transports you in to a world and a vision, built on conviction. The walk is, well – crowded (as you would expect in Shanghai or for that matter China) and dizzying. As you make your way on this walkstreet(traffic is not allowed),you get jostled by hawkers – ‘You want Role-es(Rolex)?’ to ‘You want gal?’!!!

As you trundle past bevies and squint past glares of advertisements – the progress conjures itself(and the generous use of electricity) – and also conjures a dream someone had projected – ‘Mumbai will be Shanghai’ – and you shall smirk.

The road eventually ends on ‘The Bund’ along the banks of Huangpu River. To get the topography cleared Huangpu splits Shanghai in to two – Pudong and Puxi. All this while we were in Puxi and as you saunter and hit at the banks – Pudong skyline gazes at you. The Pearl Tower beams down at Huangpu, appreciative of its manifestation in the waters.

Ohh yes! I almost forgot what do you get to eat? Everything! Unless you are a vegetarian, of course. There are a couple of Pizza Huts yes, else you have this option –

like.no.other

2008-04-06T22:51:00.000+08:00

Ring out the old, Ring in the new- someone said,
Beauty and performance, inter-twined and well-bred.

Elegance personified in every touch and every curve,
Caress - seeped in love and delicacy, performance in verve.

Purity effervesced in your every stroke and in the rind you did boast,
Sincerity thy name, many victories did we toast!

Glimpses of treasure I encapsulated in your bosom,
Thick or thin, with trust - you served me fulsome.

like.no.other – Sony VAIO FS 550.

Heavenly Alcove

2008-03-29T15:22:00.000+08:00

A rumble distant and unseen,
Or hungry pangs unforeseen.
Or is it an ego and display of might?
A baritone roars trying to invoke fright!

Or is it just unflinching love?
Grunting in the shelter of heavenly alcove.
Endless heed for what lies underneath,
Of the infinite stretches that lay beneath!

Evoking an aura appeasing even the bleak,
Levitating soul to joys simple and unique.
Tumbles and pirouettes on the stretches of love,
Rain does evoke bliss and ecstasy that life may disallow!

Did YOU?

2008-03-29T00:36:00.000+08:00

Did YOU marvel when you made me?
Did in seven days second thoughts cross in THEE?

Conjure did YOU the blessed flaring in red?
Or a Forbidden land where freedom has not bred?

Did YOU see confluence of faith in the disorder?
Did YOU perceive religion form from the heavenly fodder?

Did YOU think of struggle in creatures of the stripe?
Or soil tarnished with blood and sufferings with no gripe?

Did YOU foresee hunger making a few prosperous?
Or power that breeds greed and that fosters melancholy copious?

I wonder what would have been had YOU seen?
I wonder would I have been?

Rendering a Pantomime...

2008-03-15T13:41:00.000+08:00

Mockery by a confluence of faith,
A star shone changing the course of fate.

Some were promised a place chirping in harmony,
Some saw in it strife culminating blasphemy.

When the seas were split summoning serenity beyond,
Missiles waylay a promise, crafting miseries profound.

Blood drips suffocating the parched soil, echoing a lost shrine,
Silence is deafening in the cacophony, heavens rendering a pantomime.

Age of Aquarius swore end of discord,
Melancholy strains to tears hoping a magical accord.

Smile beguiles the angst beneath

2008-03-15T00:49:00.001+08:00

Solemn say some, sacrosanct for others – blessed by the forefathers not far from the banks of River of Jordan,
Hunger pangs many, poverty copious and plenty – blessings, like a distant dream, seek an earnest pardon.
Blood besmirches lands parched, missiles resound where Holy Hymns once reverberated,
Smile beguiles the angst beneath – confluence of Holy Forces; ere this melancholy goes unabated.

Seeking Peace!

Spell of rhapsody

2008-03-13T19:26:00.000+08:00

Puffed and steamed, idyllic ecstasy wafts from this epitome of purity,
Rice and White Lentils (Urad Dal) reek a concoction sanguine and effusing harmony.
Daubed with the supernatural mélange of ‘gunpowder’ and (til/sesame) oil stirring merry,
Taste buds pirouette and rollick under a whirling spell of rhapsody.

For the uninitiated – I am blabbering about the innocent culinary delight called – Idli!!

Land of Enchantment!

2008-03-09T00:13:00.000+08:00

Official trip predestined that the five days in Vietnam were tightly wrenched and overly exhausting. Anyways I tried to assimilate as much as possible from this mystical land of Enchantment.

The journey began 2nd March 2008 10 AM from Singapore on a flight destined towards Ha Noi – the capital of Vietnam with the three of us – me, Aditi(Sleeping and Snoring Piglet) and Arvind on board. The Hotel Intercontinental at Ha Noi was the next stop, nestled in the heart of the city at the banks of West Lake – a legend claims it be formed owing to trampling by a golden buffalo. The sunset at the West Lake was equally mystical.

An idyllic charm enamors your stay in Ha Noi. Onset of spring meant Ha Noi was shrouded in a weather mildly titillating and pleasurably soothing. Dotted with beautiful water bodies and small two storey colourful buildings – this place wafts innocence so pristine that you wonder if you could encase the same, wrap it tightly away from vulgar stares and carry a part of this unadulterated air.

Work took away most of the two days planned at Ha Noi but still I managed to assimilate some of this untouched air. 4th March 2008 – late evening and Ho Chi Minh City or otherwise formerly known as Saigon - beckoned. The innocence had, alas, evaporated and fallen prey to commercialization.

However, HCMC imprinted on me a sense of mélange – of an era gone by – of history, survival and of an era of change and globalization. Every nook that you glance by you shall find artists having opened shops – drawing melodies on canvases or carving wonders on wood. Perhaps the wars have cultured artists in this nation which welcomes you with a broad smile. Yes, everywhere you look – you shall be greeted with a smile, reminding you that world is a beautiful place.

Coming back to HCMC – weather though not as soothing as Ha Noi – French history of the region is etched in the architecture – especially in the area neighbouring the serpentine Saigon River.

Another factor that strikes you is that this Land of Enchantment is also a Two-Wheeler Country, where driving or riding or even walking on roads requires perhaps a special certification which is in ingrained in every Vietnamese. HCMC is also dotted variedly with cafés catering to the thirsty travelers camping here.

While I enshrine the role of a raconteur – I must touch upon a topic or experience that binds most humans and is in my opinion the only solution to peace on this planet – Food. If you are a strict disciplinarian with respect to the food you eat and refuse to eat anything non-Indian – good news beckons with Tandoor - with branches both in HCMC and Ha Noi. The other saviour for the endangered vegetarians like me was Al Fresco’s with its mouth-watering Italian and Mexican cuisines – weight watchers – leave your watches behind. Finally – such a thing as Vegetarian Vietnamese food exists (thanks largely to the Buddhist population) – even to the surprise of localites. One of the localites(client of ours) said ‘ So all you eat is vegetables?’

Anyways my tongue rolled in ecstasy as I savored joys of culinary delights including – jackfruit rice, rice pan-cakes, fried bean curd ,morning glory soup and yes lotus seed soup. The food amazingly oil free and healthy and yet seeped in joys of life.

On that note – a visit to Vietnam without a whiff of Vietnamese Coffee means having left the place and having not etched Vietnam in your heart. Not for the faint hearted though – the coffee is overly dark and thick and enlivens your senses out of slumber – for perhaps a week. A hint of milk recommended for those whose tongue is likely to burst in to hysteria at such esoteric tastes.

One other factor that surprised me - despite being classified as an economically developing country - was the distinct lack of shanties/slums. Also lacking were the footpath dwellers. May be I am wrong or may be I was presented a parochial view of Vietnam or perhaps socialism has it positives.

7th March 2008 and Singapore beckoned once again. But the Land of Enchantment stamped such unfathomable impressions that my soul yearns to be enmeshed in the pleasures of a sun-rise by the Saigon River or in the idyllic saunter through the streets of Ha Noi. The lady in this picture was too shy to pose for my camera – I shall be back – to capture that million dollar smile.

Will this trend continue?

2008-02-21T22:38:00.000+08:00

Oil reaches historical peaks, so does gold! Now when my pet subject is so hotly contested - it leads me in to doing some digging.

I calculated the historical ratios of price of gold per oz vis-a-vis oil per barrel in dollars. Monthly data from Jan 1985 to Feb 2008. And the results -

Certainly the average value has hovered around 15-16 and todays value at 9 -10 makes gold look cheap.

Why this particular ratio?

1. Gold has for long been an alternate form of investment to counter the inflation injected in to the economy. The prime source/driver being oil.

2. Figures dating back from 1949 suggest a 15-16 average.

But does this average hold true as of today?

1. Gold is a prime and a lucrative investment. But surely we have far more avenues to invest today.

2. Will economies/investors go back to buying more gold as a hedge against inflation considering the continued devaluation of the dollar?

3. Consider this alternate school of thought'Gold being overvalued'. Surely supply surplus will slowly kick in and gold value will moderate.But gold unlike other commodities - is a metal, there is only so much that Mother Earth can produce.

Views?

Burning Bright!

2008-02-17T12:56:00.000+08:00

Beauty conjures itself in a reddish-orange hue smeared with vertical dark stripes – nature is an artist with the right colours. Grace embodies itself through those proud white whiskers and the gait that evokes awe. A creature which would not want to relent!

The national animal of six countries namely India, Bangladesh, Nepal, Malaysia, N Korea and S Korea , it also has been adopted in various symbols, mascots and coat of arms. Revered and elevated to the status of deities in many cultures. One of the signs of the Chinese zodiac as well. Exhibited widely in literature and adopted in various cartoon depictions including Calvin and Hobbes - serving to the esoteric and the plebian cravings.

William Blake in his works ‘Songs of Innocence’ and ‘Songs of Experience’ juxtaposed child’s world versus an adult world, lamb versus a tiger(tyger) -

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

Yet – humans can be diabolical most of the time. Tiger’s bones heal our bones, tiger’s teeth relieve us of tooth aches and yes tiger’s skin provides us warmth and decorate our walls.

Latest survey indicates 1400 tigers surviving in India today. Of the nine known tiger species – three are extinct (Javan, Bali and the Caspian). Bengal tiger which accounts for more than half of world’s tiger population is dwindling at an alarming pace. Project Tiger fizzled out with the Sariska fiasco. The revered creature is struggling to keep pace in this ruthless world.

The economy is booming at a torrid pace for the betterment of its citizens - for a hearty and healthy life. Surely a sanguine world would accommodate this elegant beast. Alas! Where? And add to it - the forest officials in liaison with poachers – thereby ensuring comforts which a government job may not satiate.

Conservation does not mean armed guards. Tigers need space, they need water, and like us they need a home. Conservation should be imbued in every human. Conservation needs education, it also needs a leader with a vision (Project Tiger results show!). It’s the crimson beauty - today - in fear of losing its stripes – the malice can surely spread to other charms of the wild.

Valmik Thapar had once said - 'Nothing short of a miracle can save tigers in the wild in this country. There are many well-intentioned people, but they don't know the needs of the tiger. We have half the world's tiger population. But on the horizon, politically, I see a zero chance of its survival'.

Should I be?

2008-02-13T22:42:00.000+08:00

O petite plant what shall you be?
O petite plant what shall you be?

Will you be an Oak – steadfast and stout?
Will you be an Acacia – branches o’er cuckoos shout?

Will you be a Flame tree – hue red and bright?
Will you be a Cedar – soaring and a pretty sight?

O petite plant, do tell me.

When I am old and green, will it matter thee?
When I am old and stout, will it matter thee?

Steadfast and stout – for flames and warmth of your family,
Nesting and dense – choking and in disharmony.

Colours I shall proclaim – for you to make a pretty frame,
Kissing the clouds – to be cut and rendered lame.

What shall I be, will it matter thee?
For I wonder, Should I be?

The movie that beat Lagaan...

2008-02-10T20:48:00.000+08:00

Chinese New Year meant time on hand to catch up on some movies. Opportunity presented itself to revisit a movie that had left an indelible imprint on my senses.

The movie that beat Lagaan at the Oscars and was released way back in 2001 – yes I am talking about No Man’s Land. Written and Directed by Danis Tanovic – this movie on a very grave subject of the Bosnia-Serbia conflict renders itself in to a black comedy.

The movie meteors in with a bang with the dialogue which runs as –

‘Do you know the difference between a pessimist and an optimist?
‘A pessimist thinks things can't be worse. An optimist knows they can’.

This sets up the fable perfectly. In a strife-laden terrain and in the midst of smog emanating from the tanks and guns from either side – there lay a land which both parties dreaded to step on. A group of Bosniak relief workers lose their way and as the shroud of the night fog lifts – fall victim to the thundering Serbs.

The storyline meanders to find two Bosniak soldiers (one of them supine –with a triggered off mine under him which would explode if he moved) with a Bosnian Serb Soldier stuck in the same trench. What allures me to the movie is the way the movie encapsulates subtle plebian interactions under adversity. One scene that stands out is how the two soldiers try to prove a point on ‘Who started the war?’ by brandishing guns at each other!

With the two parties – Bosnia and Serbia – keeping away from the troubled trench – UNPROFOR comes in to play with media intervention as an added spice. The movie unfurls the politics at the helm and makes a mockery of ‘Play Neutral’ motto adopted.

These are just snippets in to what truly was a master class screenplay. The movie attempts to unravel, mock and question – inane human characteristics, politics overwhelming adversity and the war itself.

A must see!! Ah yes – you will need sub-titles.

Happy Birthday Rat! :)

2008-02-08T22:20:00.000+08:00

Ousting Progress

2008-02-06T23:05:00.000+08:00

‘Maharashtra is for Maharashtrians’ – 1970’s Balasaheb Thackeray Campaign

‘When in Maharashtra, act like Maharashtrians’ – 2008 Maharashtra Navnirman Sena(Raj Thackeray)

Like Uncle Like Nephew?

It all started in somewhere in 1967 with fiery speeches - that moved masses(or did it discombobulate), ‘son of soil’ admonishments and sparks of violence against the South Indians – who were slowly creeping in to middle class strata snatching away jobs from the ‘sons of the soil’.

Fast forward history pages and you shall find – Anti region turn to anti-religion and anti-Pakistan(including digging up Cricket pitches and the Bombay riots),Anti-actors and Anti-Bollywood (Dilip Kumar for the uncle and Big B for the nephew) and finally giving way to Anti-North Indian which now probably has culminated in to Anti Samajwadi Party!

All this – ofcourse- can be disguised as Nirman. Nirman which pirouettes itself around the hinge called Politics – of deception, mockery, clannish penchant and insatiable desire for power.

The root of unemployment of the Marathi youths shall not be extirpated by ousting the clans who in a larger picture form one face of India. Nirman has to assume a larger and a social meaning. Fiery speeches which are directed towards discombobulative effect shall need to assume a progressive nature towards shaping tomorrow’s Maharashtrians. There are lessons to be learnt from the neighboring state of Gujarat (not from the politics or the politicians there but from the scale of development it has assumed). Castles cannot be built by blistering speeches – neither can Mumbai turn in to a Shanghai by ousting progress.

A close friend of mine reiterated something Charles Schultz had penned for Snoopy –

‘Yesterday I was a dog. Today I'm a dog. Tomorrow I'll probably still be a dog. Sigh! There's so little hope for advancement.’

Maze of ecstasy

2008-02-02T23:18:00.000+08:00

Concoction mildly bitter benignly saccharine and cherubic overtly,
Time gazes in awe as Coffee and Chicory sieve in propinquity.
Davarah-Tumbler that encases this potion - ferments fantasy,
Milk and Filter Coffee twirl, bubbling aura elevating senses in to a maze of ecstasy.

You are still the morning sun to my Yelda

2008-01-15T21:25:00.000+08:00

From Wikipedia - Shabe Yaldā or Shabe Chelle is an Iranian festival originally celebrated on the Northern Hemisphere's longest night of the year, that is, on the eve of the Winter Solstice.

I am talking about a promise I had made a few blogs ago – The Kite Runner. Gist of it – I have fallen in love with the way Khaled Hosseini writes.

The book is about the unquenchable quest for that morning sun, it is about the long excruciating wait for that blissful dawn, it is about never-ending darkness looming a devilish cloud of melancholy and it is about conquering your Yelda. Above all – the book is about – Redemption.

As with Khaled’s second book (A Thousand Splendid Suns) – the book revolves around Afghanistan, the Afghanistan of turmoil, of pathos, of blood-drenched soil and of spirit, of conviction and of culture.

The book conveys its renderings through Amir – a diffident, self-indulgent, artistically-inclined Afghan boy – born to a rich father, The book is also about Amir’s friend and servant – Hassan – a Hazara boy – altruistic, all-forgiving and a boy of undying loyalty towards his near and dear ones. Hassan is the Kite Runner. He is that unflinching friend who would run that extra mile for Amir.

The story takes stark and sometimes suffocating turns through the 30 years (close to) it spans. Khaled gasps the reader for air with his heart-wrenching rendition of sordid human character, of spirit, of friendship and camaraderie, of selfless acts and of Afghanistan. Khaled brilliantly portrays relationships – of friends, of master and servants, of father and son and of husband and wife.

I relent from mentioning the plot - I shall only eulogize. No amount of eulogy can tantamount the vividness and clarity in Khaled’s portrayal – of characters and his legerdemain in conjuring almost movie-like scenes.

If I were to pick between the two Khaled books? The writing style is unchanged in the two – but vividness seeps in much more life-like in The Kite Runner. 'The Kite Runner' is far more melodramatic than 'A Thousand Splendid Suns' and far more heart-wrenching.

As Hassan says ‘ For you, a thousand times over’ – I am a Khaled Hossieni fan!

Pouring Care...

2008-01-09T01:02:00.000+08:00

The sky blushes in its crimson hue as the fickle lightning caresses the clouds,
Rhythm – in resonance with my heart beat - reverberates on earthly sprouts.
Silky brushes of droplets trickle and pirouette on my unkempt hair,
Eyes turn heavenwards hailed by peaceful and upbeat blessings pouring care.

Happy New Year!!!

May 2008 pour care!

A Thousand Splendid Suns

2007-12-29T19:24:00.000+08:00

Yes, this is about the book written by Khaled Hosseini.

The title of the book inspired by the work of Saeb-e-Tabrizi, Seventeenth Century Persian Poet –

“One could not count the moons that shimmer on her roofs
Or the thousand splendid suns that hide behind her walls”

The verse describes Kabul.

The book is set in a war-torn land, of unfulfilled dreams, of torrid times, of misinterpretations(religion and otherwise), of wrecked relationships and of earth- shattering lies. The book is also of camaraderie, of hope, of unencumbered ambitions and of sacrifice.

Khaled Hosseini narrates a story of simple characters coloured by intricate human emotions. The book is in itself - a saga , spanning close to 30 years. The saga begins by conjuring itself through eyes of Mariam – a quiet, unwavering, God-fearing and an illegitimate child - of medium intellect and of limited wants. The saga meanders in to the life of Laila – a bubbly and spirited girl of high ambitions and above average intellect. The book unwinds through turmoils of their lives and through the saga called Afghanistan.

Khaled Hosseini spectacularly transports his message through immaculate use of metaphors, through enlivening words and by creating an effusive melody of literature. His descriptions of characters - vividly personify and transport the reader in to his world of splendid suns.

In the end – the book is about Afghanistan. Where once ‘a thousand splendid suns’ hid – became a playground to parties who could care less of her walls. The book is about the women of Afghanistan. The plight is heart wrenching and words conjure, deftly, images of sorrows that shall move the readers to empathies.

I am picking up ‘The Kite Runner’ next. What about you?

Fleeting glance of enchantment!

2007-12-20T15:32:00.000+08:00

Freshness and verve waft from the verdant cover that engulfs the Lion Den- setting up an esoteric stage,
Droplets of bliss descend from beguiling gray cover – flirting with the air still- elucidating terms of endearment.
Sparks fly setting off winds ensnared in worldly bothers in to a roaring rage,
Earth reeks a moist aura – heaven descends on this world providing a fleeting glance of enchantment!

Iguana Lore!

2007-11-30T23:47:00.000+08:00

By the silvery river that serpentines through the heart of Singapore,
Wind bellowed and mellowed alternately – conjuring vividly the Iguana lore!
Tongue rolled in ecstasy – as Nachos and Tortillas enmeshed themselves in Salsa and White Cream,
Chimichanga and Quesadilla did satiate the Mexican crave - as Fajitas pumped their chest in full steam!

An evening at Clarke Quay in Cafe Iguana, in honour of Vinod(my mentor) at i-flex - the gang did indeed rock!

Nachos laoded with cream sitting pretty...

Quench all worldly repugnance!

2007-11-21T22:12:00.000+08:00

White paws, Blue-gray coat and proud whiskers - titivates a beguiling smirk,
Miniscule frame, cheese frenzy and tricks up its guiltless countenance.
Eyes never fail to pop out, Forehead never ceases to distend, Tail never ceases to be ensnared in mouse trap – Tom shall never lose his quirk,
Cheese shall never fail to entice, Samaritans always to the rescue, Smirk that never ceases to conjure jocundity – Jerry shall quench all worldly repugnance!

Keep laughing away to glory!

Lost in Indonesia!

2007-11-13T20:27:00.000+08:00

Idea of traveling always conjures animation and unparalleled zeal – which is what prospective 2 days at Bintan Island, Indonesia managed. But what lay ahead of me – was only to be experienced to be believed.

From Wikipedia ‘Bintan is the largest of 3,200 islands in the Riau Archipelago, and is located less than 40 kilometers from Singapore. Bintan has tropical forest and beautiful white beaches’. On that note Indonesia has 17,508 islands - on last count!!

Sesh(Fellow SP Jainiite),Karthik(Sesh’s Cousin) and myself backpacked, after not much deliberations over the fate of travel, were on our way to Bintan! 9 AM(10th November 2007) ferry(Aria Bupala) from Tanah Merah ferry terminal headed towards Bintan – Singapore is gateway to the ASEAN countries with easy accessibility to most of its neighbours. 9 AM and we reach Bintan( Shocked? Bintan is one hour behind Singapore).

We were ushered in to this resort island - Northern portion of Bintan – and find ourselves in Nirvana resorts being greeted by young Indonesians performing a ritual dance – with wide innocent beams on their countenance entrenched in their occupation and celebrating our arrival in all gung ho. After figuring out our way through the resort (more on the resort to come later) – we decide to head for Tanjung Pinang(Capital of the Island) – southern portion of Bintan.

For the uninitiated- Singapore – for the betterment of Indonesia ( as well as itself) helps manage and maintain these resort( a couple of dozen of the them on the northern shore of Bintan offering tourist a world full of water sports,beaches and golf courses) – whereas the rest of the island is what you would typify to come under Indonesia. En route to Tanjong Pinang we serpentined our way through winding roads bedecked on both sides by green shrubbery and stark red soil(rich in Bauxite as per our driver –Rudi). These were dotted by small villages – strikingly desolate and deprived of the most basic necessities. Finally , we hit Tanjung Pinang - only to be hit by pangs of hunger.

Hold on! Three TamBrams in the middle of Indonesia? Thankfully – Chinese Buddhist – form a sizeable population of Bintan and make the lives of similar such vegetarians as us less thorny. Post a 7000 Rupiah lunch – our sojourn continued. 7000 Rupiah??? 1 SGD is approximately 6300 Rupiah. 50 SGD fetched us 3 Lakh 15 Thousand Rupiahs! Amusement coupled with distress clouded Karthik’s face as he held out the notes. The country hit hard by the 1997 Asian Crisis; red tap-ism and political turmoil hitting this oil producing economy.

A quick walk around the Tanjung(Bay in Bahasa) followed by boat trip along the fishermen colony(houses in the creek supported on bamboos) and heading towards a Chinese(Buddhist) temple at Senggarang. Stench wafted from the waters that our doddering boat managed to cut as we were flummoxed at the state of the bamboos that supported the hutments. At the Chinese Temple, history somehow reeked – although age and dilapidation seemed to have creeped on faster.

Post a saunter around the market area at Tanjung Pinang – we headed for Pasar Oleh Oleh(Pasar means Market Place in Bahasa and Oleh means Souverneir) – haven for tourists from Singapore for tax free goods shall entice their spendthrift(ing) urges.

Back in the resort – we strolled by beach that rimmed it – white sands and lazy waves brushing against foggy and misty clouds at the horizon – it was blissful and unaware of the world outside. As a hammock titillated between two coconut trees in the cool breeze ( climate here soothes – is mostly cloudy and averages 25 degree celcius though out the year).

A reassuring session at the Jacuzzi and a few saunters later bed beckoned.

I was up next day – 11th November - by 7 AM clicking away at the white sands and the coconut trees. The resort had one of those coconut trees – which you always think are creation of the movies - tilted at such an obtuse angle that it almost touched the sea floor ( By design I presume for it was supported on a concrete structure).

Breakfast beckoned – double omelet, bread toasts, salads, muffins, coffee and loads of pineapple. If bliss conjure itself in Indonesia – it is through those juicy pineapples that this country produces in humongous quantities. One hour of breakfast and soul levitated to unprecedented heights. Beach Volleyball and some more photographic experimentations later – it was time to get the first ferry back – Singapore.

Struggle ensued in pursuance of tickets at the ferry terminal – but we managed! Indera Bupala cruised us across the South China Sea and post a Mysore Masala Dosa at Komala’s – I was where I began , with memories I shall carry – forever.

Armaan bhara paigaam hain ye..

2007-10-20T21:07:00.000+08:00

Choo lene do nazuk hoto ko…
Kuch aur nahi hain jam hain ye…
Kudrat ne humko baqsha hain..
Woh sabse haseen inaam hain ye…

Sharmake na yuun hi kho dena..
Rangeen jawani ki ghadiya…
Sharmake na you hi kho dena..
Rangeen jawani ki ghadiya…

Betaab dhadakte seeno ka…
Armaan bhara paigaam hain ye..

Voice so soft and soothing, for it shall wither away, that you beseech your ears to carefully harness,
Maestro could make clouds sob, make the rains flirt with beguiling winds, make the introverted moon dimple away in all coyness.
Trance encumbers my soul, as my mind rejoices over tears of joy, subconscious ventures a karaoke endeavour,
Music rendered from his soul wafting a halo of goodness - Mohd. Rafi etched forever!

Sun's Aloha....

2007-09-29T16:06:00.000+08:00

An excursion to Lakeside in the wee hours of the morning for a photography expedition…

Trail winds - tearing through the greens braving the foliage and the aftermath,
Fog ensnared amidst the thick greens, soothingly caressing the unfaltering path.
Flowers rouse – blushing, as the dew flirts with the smiling corolla,
Sun drudges through the fog – stretching its rays - for the trail beseeching the Sun’s aloha.

Tu Tu Revisited...

2007-09-22T20:24:00.000+08:00

Tu Tu is a sweet dish with coconut and sugar(or peanut) stuffed inside rind of powdered rice.

Concoction of coconut and sugar conjure magic as the duo titillate the savour,
Hidden under a veil of white rind – of rice – in ambush for the prospect to flirt with buds – alluring the buds with their multihued flavour.
Served on a neatly cut leaf – a bite in to this ambrosia and heaven unfurls petals of benevolence,
Memories refreshed – of the days gone by – as every morsel excites in ecstasy and music silhouettes itself in this atmosphere of dalliance.

Ganpati Bappa Moriya!

2007-09-16T17:37:00.000+08:00

I was invited for a lunch at my distant cousin’s place here in Singapore on 15th September 2007. Banana leaf never seemed so alluring – and there in the corner on top left side ‘it’ stood brandishing its flavour and wafting an effervescent aroma.

Steam crawls over the rind - that does reek purity – like a vaporous halo – alluring all its followers seeking clemency,
Concoction within - sometimes sweet sometimes sour – levitates soul and sends the dizzying psyche in to frenzy.
Palate flirts with the ecstatic tongue as the savor immerses in to the soul ensconced in amnesia,
Time stands motionless – lost in a miasma, as the taste transcends boundaries - salute this ambrosia.

Ganpati Bappa Moriya! Pudcha Varshi Laukar Ya!

Doff my hat! Crave for more!

And yes, my Mom’s Modak (Kozhakattai) ROCKS!

Rapture Blitzkrieg

2007-09-09T22:52:00.000+08:00

Shallow layer of blue water entices the corpse - weary and ambulating with a stutter,
Titillating senses of rapture blitzkrieg through the soul as the toe flirts with the surface tension of water.
Sprinkles of water rise - gently massaging and tickling the muscles hampered by stress and laze,
Encumbered mind flees and soul moans in rapture as the bubbling warm water unearths the mystery (of life) and demystifies the haze.

For the uninitiated..this is an Ode to Jacuzzi at my Condo - Yew Mei Green.

Octaves accolade

2007-09-09T11:33:00.000+08:00

Melody croons from the depths – wafts sometimes in melancholy wafts sometimes in ecstasy,
Baritone yet mellifluous voice, psyche segues from rags to riches – from nadirs to summits – to rapture from despondency.
Mind and Soul levitate in to a reverie, as the tenor encumbers deliberation of this morsel.
Octaves accolade The King – as feelings transcend heights – ecstasy drools and soul does swivel.

Divya – Thanks for the Collection. Elvis never left the building!

Cafe Coffee Day and Aamchi Mumbai...

2007-09-01T23:11:00.000+08:00

Bangalore etched memories indelible and imprinted experiences so fascinating that memory shall relish for eons to come. August 9th 2007, I left the IT city to embark on a stopover to Aamchi Mumbai. Little was I aware of what lay in ambush in the city that beckoned and in the city of Vada Pavs and Rains.

Smile embellished my tired countenance to see myself wedged at Dharavi – in the muck and smoke - in the middle of an incessant downpour – Mumbai was in its pristine elegance. Relieved looking parents awaited my arrival at residence – and a mom surprised at my saree picking abilities (well Divya- My engineering mate- takes credit for that). I wonder if the saree shall ever see the light of the day though 

9th August 2007 and time to catch up with remaining pillars of Char Minar (We were the Four inseparable Pillars during our training days at Patni) – Chirag or Chiga or Gujju Ghatti, Pramoth (our dear Giraffe) and Jasma aka Pinks. Ere the rendezvous, how dare I drop by the city and be not in the court of Pooh (Dipika). A sweet banter at Vikhroli Café Coffee Day and an Irish coffee later I was at Pizza Hut at Hiranandani. Chiga was not his usual self – not in his emblematic purple and not in his emblematic yellow – the colours might have gone in to mourning at such audacity. The bell at Pizza hut had never undergone such stern scrutiny as on that day when Chiga was around, even the waiters had a tough time. Giraffe was hoping that I get deported to Cambodia and run around the country protecting myself with a AK-47. Pinks – pictures of icecreams and pizzas still did the ruse for she still ordered by pictorial representations rather than content.

Next I caught up the ‘Hum Hain Na’ gang of Kush, Shikha and Koushik. Koushik aka Cow Boy seemed to be nucleus of all taunts - hurled at him by Kush and Shikha. Kush whose tie seemed to be more refulgent than the sun flashed his million dollar smile and Shikha was at her effervescent best. This was followed by an epigrammatic meet with Rashmi who happens to be sister of close friend of mine- Deepak. Inherit did she the poetic musings of her brother as well as the timing of wit and sarcasm.

August 14th was hurling towards the present fast and there was plenty of work left undone in Mumbai. August 11th,2007 and Sylvester aka PC aka Parasharan Chari graced my house with his un-laconic self and unmistakable charm. The duo then head to Dadar Café Coffee day where a broad beam and twinkling eyes of Rachna aka Rachno CA hails our ingress. Irish coffee again and more people trickle in – Jigar aka Jigsaw with his innocent charm and a mind hell bent on becoming the next Ambani. Ritesh aka Ritz barged in Riteshsque fashion brandishing his weighty camera and continuing further with the experiments on that front. Bhakti Bal aka Bee flew in and the keratin that overflowed from her scalp scared the air around – the spirit that lay about here was still relentless and present.

Sunday and Pooh actually undertook the arduous peregrination from Pune to Mumbai in the White and Green Asiad bus which reverberates more in the vertical direction rather than its propulsion forward. Indomitable spirit of Pooh and unbridled enthusiasm is what I have admired always. Amey aka Jet - joined at my cozy home where the trio devoured on Pooh’s favourite Pav Bhaji and Gulab Jamun. Nirmal Lifestyles was the next stopover which ensued by an encounter with Sushruta aka Derivative Champ and Lisa aka Pooh-2. Another Café Coffee Day sojourn later, the duo surprised me a typical Sushruta kind T-shirt – yellow with the addidas kind stripes- sweet indeed. The trio of Jet, Pooh and Rat (me!) then headed for Chak De India. No fuss No Songs No Rona Dhona. This was not a archetypal SRK movie and was really good in parts.

Post the movie session – Jet and Pooh drag the Rat to Fab India to bestow on him a nice kurta – blessed indeed. In the mean time Siddharth Ghaisas aka Ronald MacDonald Jr joined the trio through the peak hour Mumbai traffic. The light-eyed Ronald seemed perplexed with the discombobulating city and work pressure that seemed to mount itself in a heap. Post dinner at Ruby Tuesday – it was time to part.

Penultimate day in Mumbai – August 13th,2007 and time to catch up with Jhansi aka Anusha. Café Coffee Day again – Jhansi seemed low in health but soul within still bleated the tenacious spirit. Talk encumbered time – it flew. This was followed by a breezing visit to the Phoenix Mall with Pooh - and yes the Rat and the Pooh were lost in the twirls of Gelato. Jet – whose unencumbered spirit always lights up the fire of enthusiasm and ofcourse whose smile shall light up million mourning faces – breezed by for the final byes.

August 14th 2007 – bags packed and the wick of Mumbai sojourn flickered. 8 PM and Mumbai Chatrapati Shivaji International Airport flashed a sign saying – visitors not allowed inside. Aggrieved at this – I awaited with my parents for the pony tail to conjure itself at the horizon. As Daisy Duck aka Divya waddled in – final moments at Mumbai flashed by…….

Bangalore Diaries - Part 3

2007-08-19T20:53:00.000+08:00

Part2 of my narration of Bangalore experiences had glaring loopholes as was rightly pointed out by the gravity defying 'Dream Lover' Hemant.I had missed out on 'Biscuit Queen' Delnaz's blackberry which she would brandish at every juncture - whether to note down your number or to show the refulgence of that human invention to show how accurately it reflected the other human beings countenance. I also missed out on 'Hitler Jajee' Lohit who happened to be shoulders for crying out grub related tribulations during our college and his Hitlerish cap which reminded most of the Fuhrer's era.

Back to the source of my provender and my subsistence and a few of my colleagues. Act 1 Stage 1 - The Three Ammas - Aditi, Divya and Sireesha.

Aditi - Sleeping and Snoring Piglet. Perpetually pink and seems to have befriended cold. Slumber can incarcerate her any moment. She does indeed articulate brilliantly and was our 'awaaz' during the training period.

Divya - Daisy Duck (also affectionately called Mickey Mouse). Descry a ponytail wagging at a distance and lo! thats the duck waddling her way through. A countenance so cheerful that can stop 100 armored ships, even a grimace on her looks rapturous.My fellow Mumbaiyya loves her vadapavs and the inundating rains.

Sireesha - Badi Amma for the fact she seems to be pertinacious on getting me incarcerated for life in to a relationship called marriage. Heart which beats within is no less than gold.

Next stop - my fellow assasin in foraging for chocolates - Charu or as I would call her Parakeet or Mirchi. Wit,Optimism and sarcasam precede her presence, she adores her slumber and lugs to office in the morning under duress.Irreproachable gift for her - clothes coloured black or gray! On that note - I should thank this person for introducing me to a fabulous outlet in Bangalore- Cakewalk - Chocolate lovers of the world rejoice!

Roll back time in to my B-School days. Two people I have hardly spoken to - Love and Siddharth. Behold, I find them as my colleagues!!

Love - Energy oozes out of this 6 footer. The staff and helpers at the college know him more than the fellow students.A childish grin daubs this dudes face as he wishes you a healthy morning.

Siddharth - Punter drives his horse of trading to death and then drags the body out of the grave till the person listening to him turns deaf and may be blind due to stress. Derivatives runs through his veins and gets filtered out through his heart as treasury. Passion peaks new levels in his case.

Bangalore was an exhilarating stop over. Plenty to look back on and ponder.....

Bangalore Diaries - Part 2

2007-08-15T16:33:00.000+08:00

As I further try to articulate my stay in Bangalore, let me venture out of the Manor. Let me warn the claustrophobics – this is no effortless task for out of the cozy comforts of the home you step in to gravity-defying vertical ‘travellator’ called the elevator which at the Manor gives you an eerie sensation of disquiet and succumbs you in to numbness as you summon aid from the mighty forces to consecrate their sanguine prayers during your voyage in this mean machine.

Next stop – Lighthouse. Yes my office building in Bangalore. The sojourn was daubed with a training period which lasted 2 months – etched indelible experiences and memories.

First stop – project presentations. Sublime team with an ever bubbling buddy and a serene and collected mentor. I have attributed them with an ode before in my blog. I shall paste the same

‘Andhra Mess drives him higher and ‘rounder’,
Kaushik effuses a pertinent beam and energy - propels him farther and farther.

Smiling eyes belie the fire that in her soul, forever, dance,
On Marketing and Branding, Jennifer takes an obstinate stance

Cheer precedes her presence and Pumpkins make her skin glow,
Sinchana can wand her magic and pinch presentations from an unutterable low!

Reticent he may appear but the talent behind those specs he does belie,
Baboo (Vikas) scales new heights in concentration, tenacity - and success I do descry!

Universal Buddy Solutions is around when you need the most,
Mani’s lunch time is with dames galore, he – grossly engrossed- almost!.

Mentor indeed slogs and inspires to drive stronger and higher,
Intuitive and thought provoking, perfection Vinod strives over and over!’

So Kaushik is ‘Andhra Mess’, Jenny is ‘Smiling Eyes’, Sinch is ‘Pumpkin’, lets call Vikas as Baboo, Mani is UBS and Vinod is….hmm…Mentor!!

My stay at Bangalore was dotted with sporadic meets with the most entertaining characters of yore who would never fail to conjure blithe and a rotund smile of my countenance.

These included the ‘Biscuit Queen’ Delnaz who with her boundless energy and spark can scintillate a smile-blitzkrieg on the most blighted of the spirits. ’Dream Lover’ Hemant was his energetic gravity-defying self (his feet are never on the ground) who would ‘networked’ with every other Bangalore-an you would have come across. ‘Two left feet’ Rajaram has stopped dabbling around with basketball for the benefit of NBA aspirants and Mother Earth – still gets fired up with the word ‘Bangalore’ and adores a place called Chennai. ‘Oracle’ Murali smoking down Bangalore with his flagship product and is the ever chirpy character who would go ends for you.

More in next….

Bangalore Diaries - Part 1

2007-08-11T14:35:00.000+08:00

As my flight to Bangalore segued itself in to the spongy clouds that resembled wings of angels bestowing their saccharine benevolence over the city – a feeling of enchantment overcame my soul. It would be a mammoth task to narrate in to the ‘its and bits’ the of stay which began 3rd June 2007 and ended 9th August 2007 – but I shall try my best.

Let me begin with the inmates of Oxford Manor. Yes my abode during my Bangalore sojourn. The species inhabiting this place were variegated indeed as well as splendid and blithe characters.

There was Janish. The nick for him was hard to come by but I shall resort to ‘Surfer’(he surfs through not ocean but movies,channels and yes books!!) Movie buff and bookworm indeed – and yes he likes his food more for the looks than the taste! This capital chap could finish three voluminous tomes in a day or flick through five or six movies in one sitting! Adores does he – sparkling colours (kidding) and is the latest bloke to sport the Anupam Kher look.

There was Mayank. I will call him ‘Chimney’. He abhors, detests all those in the populace who have fallen victim to the dreaded tobacco and are caught using the tobacco stick (eh? Mayank?). The ‘Young Man’ is indistinguishable when flat on his cot; you would have to rummage around hard for him amongst his quilt. He adores his idols – Indian Idol – would not miss it for the world. A stopover to the Manor and you shall find this bloke – on the couch or cot (almost indistinguishable) or at his IBM machine – cursing no ends or up in smokes (: )).

Then there was Divya. I am again at loss for a nick. A decade of acquaintance has only reinforced this dude’s marvelous personality. Oft mispronounced and referred by a feminine name – he has taken it in his stride. Neat and dapper – he folds every cloth so meticulously that he will give the most benevolent housewives a complex. My hindi falls to smithereens in ignominy when it encounters this fellows chaste diction. Camera is his new found love ( Divya – get married) for he finds art even in a towel- a wet one- arbitrarily placed on the cot.

Oxford Manor – indeed were capital times – from midnight tea at Electronic city , Scoops of icecreams at Gelato, frequent visits to Manipal Canteen for filter coffee including visit to the Manipal Hospital( Me not visiting a hospital in a new city? Impossible!!) and yes – accidentally bumping on to old acquaintances as well!!

More in next……

.........in the rain

2007-07-29T13:38:00.000+08:00

Droplets of blessings sanctify from the heavens beyond - caressing your spirit and soul,
Countenance turns heaven-wards - as rain-drops reincarnate the tranquility that time stole.
Fancy they stay guiltless - cajoling my spirit, levitating my soul as I drench in the rain.
Extend my hands like wings as heavenly plummets crash in to my palms – cleaning destiny’s stain!

Bangalore Rains!

2007-07-21T21:47:00.000+08:00

Wind flirts with the droplets from the clouds heavenly,
Tantalizing the aquatic plummet - testing the reverence of gravity!
Winds wail, ensnared among man-made structures, in agony,
Odour, that is redolent of the mud guzzled in water, levitates soul to spirits extraordinary!

Ecstasy Drone......

2007-07-15T13:29:00.000+08:00

Fluffy,creamy and thick – tongue twirled in sensations unknown,
Seasons of flavour danced in the palate and romanced - as my tongue would ecstasy drone!
Chocolate Mousse , O Friend I must thank thee, was a bathe of bliss with every savour,
Aroma that reeked soothed the soul as the essence lingers and yearns once again for the endeavour!

Credit Card Solutions :)

2007-07-11T17:45:00.000+08:00

An ode!

Andhra Mess drives him higher and ‘rounder’,
Kaushik effuses a pertinent beam and energy - propels him farther and farther.

Smiling eyes belie the fire that in her soul, forever, dance,
On Marketing and Branding, Jennifer takes an obstinate stance

Cheer precedes her presence and Pumpkins make her skin glow,
Sinchana can wand her magic and pinch presentations from an unutterable low!

Reticent he may appear but the talent behind those specs he does belie,
Baboo (Vikas) scales new heights in concentration, tenacity - and success I do descry!

Universal Buddy Solutions is around when you need the most,
Mani’s lunch time is with dames galore, he – grossly engrossed- almost!.

Mentor indeed slogs and inspires to drive stronger and higher,
Intuitive and thought provoking, perfection Vinod strives over and over!

Success Ferry!

2007-06-22T18:55:00.001+08:00

Amidst the smoke and cacophony, a zephyr caresses gently,
Verdant cover of Bangalore flutters in the wind, which is sometime benign sometime ghastly.
Fog encumbers the early dawn as canaries chirp and squirrels merry,
Weather remains a saving grace in this IT city on the success ferry!!

Pune Diaries - Day 3

2007-05-25T02:50:00.000+08:00

Supposedly the final day of my saccharine sojourn had dawned – 20th May 2007. I had to pay tribute to my sisters and B-School Mates – Pooh (Dipika) and Pooh –2 (Lisa). Anyways 11 AM and I was all set depart Mickey Mouse’s (Nilesh) apartment leaving Giraffe (Pramoth) behind, not before a splendid breakfast.

Noon-ish and I was at Pooh’s residence – the colony is idyllic, endowed with verdant cover and blessed with an old-worldly allure - slothfully entrenched in a sofa in tête-à-tête with Pooh-2, who had camped there over the weekend. Pooh was….err..helping auntyji (her mommy) to concoct what would be nothing less than ambrosia. Yes!! Pooh was actually cooking! She in fact made dal and sev puri – all be herself and so that world would not mistrust my statement – I made a video of the same. She was in to a groove in the kitchen among the culinary – indeed, roll back time a couple of months to the B-school days and you would have been aghast by these revelations!

Lunch was nicely served and set (again by Pooh) – as Pooh-2 and myself only devoured over the sev puri,paneer sabzi, dal and gulab jamun. Lunch served as a deterrent to any lateral movement of the corpse and enhanced earth’s gravitational pull – as was witnessed in case of Pooh –2 – gravity was particularly being mean to her eyelids. I expected the afternoon to be bashing session, for myself, amongst Pooh and Pooh-2, but both the Poohs seemed to have spared me and were more ponderous than anything. Anyways Pooh once again articulated her command over the kitchen by serving us finely prepared tea that we slurped up!

Dusk was settling over Pune and as the sun was sanctifying the city with a crimson drape– it was time I set my foot out and head back to Aamchi Mumbai as Pooh-2 headed back to her accomodation– or I thought so. Swaargate ( Pune’s M.S.R.T.C terminus) proved callous and an hour’s wait in the queue proved futile as buses to Thane/Mumbai seemed to have been booked till 10:00 PM. Pune had incarcerated me. Anyways, I decided to make the most of it.

8:30 PM and a rendezvous was set at a place near Mac Donald’s. This was preceded by pillion seat ride with Pooh – who rides her scooter as if it is reincarnated Hayabusa. Roopa greeted us and the first statement that came to me was ‘ I dink I daw a Puddy Cat’ – indeed she was a human reincarnation of Tweety! Her expressive eyes (owing –as she avers- to her dance training) and unbolted beam eased me in to a conversation with Tweety – another addition to my list of sisters.

Sid Ghaisas aka Placomm guy aka Ronald MacDonald Jr was perched on a bench and seemed to have been in a profound conversation with Ronald MacDonald seated beside him. Differentiating between the two was quite a undertaking! After the usual vacillations over the venue we decided to stick to a desi restaurant (Ronald McDonald must have been extremely peeved over Junior’s conduct!). Over dinner Tweety went about interrogating me..err.. pulling my leg as well Ronald Jr’s leg as both Pooh and Tweety giggled away their time!

Post a not so auspicious dinner (the food was below par) the four decided that the soothing Pune air deserved a saunter. Chocolate milkshake – that would make my stomach linings dance to the tune of its magic – beckoned. Tweety went about explaining the galaxy of stars that stared at us and with consummate ease. After a few more rounds of leg pulling and interrogations– it was time to part ways. I would venture again on the Hayabusa, as Pooh showed me her old residence before I retired for the day, only to head back to Mumbai the next day!

Pune Diaries - Day 2

2007-05-24T00:35:00.000+08:00

19th May 2007 would start off, late with the, usual laze, which deters most commonsensical humans from getting off their comfy cot. The day continued with sumptuous and scrumptious breakfast ..err..brunch as we gorged ourselves with upma (Minnie Mouse has an extraordinary culinary knack) daubed all over with bhujiya sev. With stomach declining any further advances of ambrosia and legs feeling the effects gravity we were vacillating over the next..err…move!

Life in a Metro at Miramax Adlabs seemed a good watch. The 2:15 show seemed apt. Giraffe (Pramoth) would pillion with Mickey Mouse (Nilesh) aka Valentino Rossi aka Bullet ki Safari while I shall venture my courage by agreeing to pillion with Minnie Mouse (Shilpa) on a use-starved Kinetic Honda. Ok, relax, I survived.

The movie was…well..convoluted to say the least. Irfan Khan despite his typecast and clichéd performance stood out as he delivered dialogues with astounding comic sense. The three singers popping up in the streets of Mumbai were the obscure elements. I wonder if they would croon for me whilst I am sauntering! Anyways, the film is a worth a watch, atleast watch it to pity Shilpa Shetty and Shiney Ahuja over their fate!

While Mickey Mouse continued in his vein of pulling Minnie Mouse’s leg, grub awaited us at Kentucky Fried Chicken (KFC). A few roosters might have shrieked in enchantment as Giraffe and Rat ( arrey..me yaar!) ordered Veggie Delight( envisage that too at KFC!!). Back abode and away from the desiccating Pune heat and sloth encapsulated us again as the snug sofa seemed to defy gravity.

Rat was lost deciphering the fiefdom of rock music that seemed to be providing some vague delectation to Giraffe and Mickey Mouse. But the Tube Box came to rescue albeit not for long. Television brings home such startling movies that can be viewed only in the company of friends over probing looks and mirth. Lethal Dose playing on HBO was one such. Rodent bites to Human Brain the less I delve in to this the better, but it sure did keep us clinging on to our sofas..err..in frustration cocktailed with mirth! Dare not watch it alone!!

As the soothing evening air revisited Pune to tranquil the scorched souls hiding in concrete walls, Mickey Mouse would guide us to the Camp area in Pune. Abuzz with activity and filled with bevy of shoppers, Camp provides capital opportunities while away. Pangs of hunger revisited and Mickey Mouse suggested open-air restaurant was the way to go and rightly so!

Pune seemed to have congregated to eating out that night as restaurant eating entailed long waits. Finally we hit upon Prem’s which had a decent ambiance and saved on electricity by having kerosene lamps on every table(what else?? MSEB is starved of electricity anyways!!). After munching on the delicious paneer, that would make palate go wild in enthrallment, and recollecting the good old days it was time to head home. Not before we devoured over Pune’s very own Kulfi and the belly groaned in rapture for the last time that night!

Pune Diaries - Day 1

2007-05-22T01:54:00.000+08:00

After scheduling and rescheduling and series of mails later we decided to head for Pune on the weekend starting 18th May 2007(a non Grand Prix weekend).

Sacks packed and tickets booked, Giraffe (Pramoth) and me were all set to leave for quaint city of Pune. The time set to meet was 5:30 PM at the mystifying ST stand opposite imposing, pristine and notorious Vandana Cinema at Thane. Giraffe must have lumbered in as the clock stuck the half hour and me as usual was lagging behind trundling along in our very own polluting agent called the Auto Rickshaw.

The Rat (who else? Me) was lugging along 10 Kg sack that Nilesh had ..err..forgotten in the city and Amol had passed it on to the Rat under the shroud of a diminutive hand bag. As the Rat and Giraffe met conversation ebbed toward the days gone by. Giraffe exploited the 10 Kg sack to catch up on the exercise which he had skipped earlier. Our bus…err…trundled in. The white and green Asiad bus inundated all over probably effects of aging (these buses are way past their prime). Hats off to M.S.R.T.C that they keep these beasts ambulating.

The journey was pleasant with Sahyadri waving her unkempt hair in the southwestern winds and parching summer not enough to mess the verdant landscape. Series of tunnels dot the silky roads that serpentine along the mountainous terrains ever climbing and ever extending. Sun was shying away in the horizon as the sodium vapour lamps took over. Rat and Giraffe as usual surmised back to the pizza parties and Mahabaleshwar trip of the days of the yore. A few of our ex-managers might have definitely got hiccups that night.

10:30 PM Pune City beckoned. As we hailed, another pollutant, to hurl ourselves towards Viman Nagar,through the tangled roads of Pune, the weather was titillating and the slight breeze that soothed all nerves. Nilesh aka Mickey Mouse (both are endowed with similar cheeks) awaited us at his colony. Mickey Mouse has not changed over the years – I must admit he had pruned up – his hairstyle might have undergone an inconsequential tweak but largely unaffected and yes loves to be with friends.

Cozy and comfortable in a house, we relished over culinary artwork carefully concocted by Shilpa (I am tempted to use Minnie Mouse). In the balcony outside, as we ex-roomies tided over the days gone by – Beeper stories ,DVD player stories(ok these stories entail another blog by themselves) – an owl circled overhead penetratingly looking out for a snack. The air in Pune during the evenings and nights levitates the spirits as it encumbers your body with its coolness. But, alas, it levitates the mosquitoes in to a renewed sense of potency as well!!

Back in to the cozy comforts of concrete walls and it was time to hit the bed, but not before it took some time for the Giraffe to soak in the brutal reality that no matter where he goes his feet would always hang over the edge of the bed!!

Saunter in the city!

2007-05-14T01:44:00.000+08:00

It is probably once in a year I get to meet and yes anguish my cousin – Anusha (I have nick named her Jhansi). So 10th May 2007 was the auspicious day, which was set, and at a timing – 1 PM - that beat the bevy that accompanies any expedition in Mumbai. The encounter spot was set to Chattrapati Shivaji Terminus – near the tea stalls at the egress. As usual – I was held up in traffic and Jhansi reached 10 minute early and me about 15 minutes late.

As I alighted at CST after a not so momentous sojourn through dug up Thane roads(why do they dig up roads just before rains?) and CST fast train shown on the indicator to arrive at a wooly time I was again enchanted by the terminus in to a sense of levitation. As Jhansi rightly commented later ‘I never get bored at this station’.

Jhansi stood in a corner- bewildered and bemused – probably observing probably in incredulity – shifting positions every minute. She seemed have lost height or have interactions with the human race – most of whom do not enjoy adequate summit to see eye to eye with her – had its toll? Her torch like spectacles seemed not have changed covering almost her entire countenance. Draped in green and she carried a colossal(she claimed not) purse which could probably lug merchandise for the entire Iceland cavalry.

Down we went the murky and cacophonous subway outside CST and out in the open sun as our conversation meandered around my new employment and finally reached ‘Not Just Jazz by the Bay’ (yes again!). This time we seated ourselves at the red furniture in Pizzeria outside gaping at the Arabian Sea through a neat set of windows adorned with red sills. Conversation flew in to her area of expertise as the pasta was being drained.

Out in the open again, as we set out to saunter towards Metro through the perky Fashion Street. Marketing Gurus and sales gurus – this is the real world – fashion street abuzz with innovative ways for luring customers including having fake customers admiring the eminence of clothes they hope to vend. A sorry looking Metro cinema(adlabs now) beckoned. Disappointed with having no shows for us at an appropriate time we trundled back to Eros Cinema to catch Spiderman–3. Jhansi was not complaining thus far despite the abject walking exercises I was subjecting her to.

Eros Cinema has a stately façade, which seems to rise in countless tiers. The spiral staircases that glided up at an extreme curvature at Eros are a treat to any connoisseur. The foyer leading to the main cinema hall is a delight to the iris, as it gazes in marvel towards the ceiling gilded in marble. Ok the seats at the stall area do not recline they do not glide and they are not exactly ergonomically friendly.

As we giggled at the promos and ads, and at this very Americanized Spiderman was going about his errands spreading the web of justice over the city of New York. Did I sound dreary about the movie? Well the graphics were good but it was too mushy for an action hero movie.

Post movie was saunter session again. As we vacillated over the next haunt, our minds could not go beyond crimson kissed waters, soft zephyr and spacious promenade -that embellish the Queen’s Necklace. Chat went around the social issues in the Indian Educational system and well as the waters shone in gleaming lights of the city – it was time to head home. Not before we drained down a glass of sugarcane juice at one of stalls Jhansi had gained adeptness on.

Why Jhansi? Well that entails another blog altogether!!

Rendezvous by the bay!

2007-05-04T21:14:00.000+08:00

Back to Mumbai. Amchi Mumbai. The air never felt so capital (err for it provides you respite from the scorching heat and cools the overheated pores reeking sweat). Time to catch up with some ex-Patniites (Ex from my perspective..)and ex-Somaiyaites…

After an extended deliberation and series of mails it was decided that April 28th,2007 at Churchgate Station ticket counter …the rendezvous shall transpire! I left out one inconsequential detail, the time! 1 PM. Yes when the gorgeous sun shall grin all its love over its joyous subjects!

So I set out boarding a fast local for CST station from Thane - bemused and nostalgic,for it had been an year since I set foot on this mode of transport(Mumbai Train). As the train neared Ghatkopar, I was almost about karaoke to my favourite song which was playing in my vicinity ‘Ajeeb Dastaan hain ye..’ …Hold on that’s my ringtone! I held up my cell..call from a mysterious number. I answered and was greeted ‘Tum apna dabba uthake fek do..’.

Smiles daubed my countenance as I realized this to be none other than an aggravated Pooh(Dipika) whose patience had brimmed limits trying to reach me through a labyrinth of network issues that AirTel service assures you. Incidentally Mr Mittal happens to be her role model (Ask her!!). Time flew – in conversation with Pooh or lambasting the AirTel connection, which could not keep lick with the Mumbai locals.

Anyways after short jaunt through Azaad Maidan,Cross Maidan et al I arrived sodden in sweat and pouring like Niagara to descry a giraffe in deep tête-à-tête with a pink canary(kidding). Now NatGeo experts beat that! Ok the Giraffe is none other than Pammu Don aka Pramoth who incidentally has ceased growing any taller and the pink canary is Pinks aka Jasma.

Giraffe was his usual hunky dory self dressed in his emblematic maroon T-shirt and sporting that ‘I am gonna take your case’ grin on his face! Its bird flu season it seems!! No wonder he has stopped ascending heights..he has had to cut down on his egg ingestion. Eggs of the world rejoice!!

Pinks was the Indian Bahu in Western outfit. Apart from the typical Indian bahu jewelry that she adorned - nothing had changed. She was her usual pink self. She changed earrings for every occasion. Apparently she had procured two sets of earrings at the station and in fact immediately embellished herself with one of them. She had to- regrettably -carry her purse for her hubby was not around to carry her credit cards.

As we waited for our fourth accomplice to materialize chatter meandered towards the times gone by and as our banter was ambling along in came a roly poly figure which was unmistakably that of the person we were waiting on. Ten years have not changed a thing about this individual or at least the way he carried himself neither have they changed his greeting style – quick beam and witty gag – Divya (it’s a He :)). Divya… I am at loss for a nick that suits you!

Next stop – ‘Not Just Jazz by the Bay’. A protracted wait and we had a nice little table by the corner and sumptuous lunch awaited. Giraffe loves his mocktails and more so for their names. Some things do not change. Indeed! As the three assassins tried to beguile me in to savouring the Tabasco sauce to reminisce the good ol’days where yours truly would sweat under the attack of heavily spiced up culinary preparations!

Meal never tasted so good with the warm Marine drive breeze for desserts. The sweeping promenade along turbulent water refulgent under the late afternoon sun and a warm zephyr that soothed the soul set the stage for a fun filled afternoon show!! Yes Mr Bean’s Holiday playing at Inox. Pinks had changed her earrings in the interim as fun never ceased to stop as Rowan Atkinson set the stage on fire.

As the sun slowly ventured beyond the horizon it was time to head back home. Wait!!
Pinks had caught sight of Nautica outlet on her way and that surely needed a stopover. We were amused by the multihued Bermuda shorts, which only reminded us of another Patniite – Gujju Ghaati aka Chirag. As we reeled under the price tags so heavy Pinks set out buying saccharine gifts for Mr Singh(her husband!!) and Churchgate beckoned…..

8:47 Kasara Fast

2007-05-03T23:24:00.000+08:00

It was May 2,2007. An evening well spent. I caught up with a couple of my B-school batch mates – Ritesh who was blandishing his weighty camera around trying to capture the sprawling city – Aamchi Mumbai and Lisa err ..Pooh-2 who was in the city as well.

Anyways as the clock stuck 9 PM, I thought wisdom fairy would advise any commonsensical individual out of touch with the crowded worm like trains of the city to head back abode. The edifice of Mumbai Chattrapati Shivaji Terminus with the triumphant figure of progress towering over the city, Jaguar shaped water outlets and the two large lions welcoming you at the gate have always beguiled my iris in to a feeling of enchantment. As I headed in to the train terminus and in to the ticket counter and gazed up the beautiful British work on the ceiling, I would but stare in approbation for the roof this section still sprightly as it might have been in the hey days and of days when white marble was the preferred material of construct to titivate the ceiling.

After a menacingly long stay at the ticket counter, I headed back in to train terminus. This colossal structure can distress those uninitiated whose first glimpse of the city invariably is this humongous edifice with translucent roof that conjures up an eerie yet idyllic ambiance. The stained glass windows never fail to bewilder me. A swift glance at what was in store for me – 8:47 F N (interpretation 8:47 fast for Kasara). A glance towards the clock indicated 9:20 PM. A smirk adorned my countenance, this is central railway , this is Mumbai!

Platform number 5. Crowd started pouring - ready to pounce like a predator on a creepy crawly – the Mumbai train! A beam of light conjures in the distance. The light gets sharper and assumes a circular shape. This sight is closely followed by a familiar sound – the bellow of the train and the rhythmic beating of the metal wheels against the iron track. As the train caresses itself between the concrete platforms, the predators pounce. Using door handles and the vertical iron rods for supports the clutches of these predators grasp on to the running worm, hungry for a place on the wooden bench. Four people squeeze in on benches which are made for 3. This is Mumbai. This is General second class compartment of the Subarban local train! The train finally came to a standstill…and the platform was almost empty!

My mind must have numbed over the period of next few minutes…err seconds? For I next found myself all cramped and crouched one place away from the window in a vantage position for I would receive all the odoured air on my face as the train chugs away. I was not as ill-fated as the teen seated in front of me who looked diffident and profusely sweating – perhaps trying to figure out the mechanics of the Shankar fan as to why the air flew reverse towards the roof instead of showering the coolness of its love over him!

The person next to me on the window seat looked like one of those characters in the movie the politicians send out as goons. Thankfully he was asleep and ..err yes snoring. The person diagonally opposite at the window was at an unfinished crossword in one of the Devanagiri scripts perhaps left incomplete from the morning journey. As the train refused to budge from the platform more people poured in trying fill every crevice. The leg space that I proudly occupied till now gave way to 3 more pair of legs!

Thud! The train was mobile…I sighed a sign of relief for my pores which were reeking sweat will now undergo a break! Over the chug of the train I could hear my neighbour – 30 something - on my right (away from the window) asking his hubby the specifics of the culinary preparations that await him and ensuring that everything was done – just right! While my goonish neighbour managed to sleep through all the cacophony, the people who had snatched my legspace away started conversing about the poor state of affairs of the Indian cricket team. Over the chug and expletives I could make out that the entire Indian cricket team needed to be sacked!

A few stations later – I never knew how time flew off – I was either engrossed in The Economic Times or disturbed by the not-so-hush conversations floating around or trying to makes sense of ads which urged you to call Baba Bengali for all your ailments! – Mulund had arrived. Prudence angel appeared once again urging me to make my way to the door else I would be stranded in the train. I squeezed past corpses, which were drenched in sweat – Shankar fan takes the credit for this- stomped a couple of hundred legs and finally made it to point were I felt safe of my egress.

Thane arrived. Avalanche. I didn’t move a muscle and I was landed safely on to the platform!!! As I stood there taking toll of what just happened, I saw this worm leaving the platform bulging with people hanging on to whatever they can hold on to…..

What ‘lies’ beneath

2007-04-28T01:20:00.000+08:00

Rind that is dreary, hirsute, greenish-brown fails to conjure the tartness of what ‘lies’ beneath,
Origins trace back to China but the name ‘Kiwifruit’- echoes with what is marketing replete!
Refulgent green seizes the iris, high in Vitamin- C content, tanginess exemplifies itself with this gooseberry,
Tongue rolls over in joy as buds stir up in ebullience and palate gathers verve with the savor so extraordinary!!

Wikipedia serves well to uncover the secrets that this fruit hides!

Happy eating!

Glimpses of rapture

2007-04-24T23:35:00.000+08:00

Passion soared novel summits as glimpses of rapture I could encapsulate in a frame,
48 X zoom and Leica lens - a tool incredible that proved any convoluted light conditions so tame!
Bliss when encumbered in my palms as this Panasonic camera sanctified me from Baltimore to the islands of Phi Phi,
Cultivated dexterity did I, it now does lay in heavenly accord, and of learning there shall not be atrophy.

An ode in remembrance of my Panasonic Lumix Camera that met the fatal waves at Phi Phi Dawn...