A year of fate....

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

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

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

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

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?

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..

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?

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?

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?

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

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...

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

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

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...

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...

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?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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....

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

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...

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

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

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

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?

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...

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

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

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!

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?

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!

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?

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...

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! :)

Ousting Progress

‘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

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

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...

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!