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.