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?
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Mumbai Diaries - Kala Ghoda aur Gori Kapoor
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.
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.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Mumbai Diaries - Smiles and Sunset
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.
.JPG)
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.
.JPG)
More in Next.
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.
.JPG)
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.
.JPG)
More in Next.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Mumbai Diaries - The Heady Concoction
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.
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.
Monday, February 09, 2009
Mumbai Diaries - The Case of Stolen Shoes
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.
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.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Hundred Reflections...
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.
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.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, December 28, 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...
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...
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, December 22, 2008
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.
.JPG)
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.
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.
.JPG)
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.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
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.
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.
Friday, November 28, 2008
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.
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.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
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?
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?
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
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!
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!
Sunday, September 14, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, September 04, 2008
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.
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.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
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 -
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 -
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