~ 2 Himself ~

---

Now you will rest forever,
My tired heart. The fabulous deceit
That i myself believed eternal has ended.
Ended. How sharply i feel,
In we of the dear deceit,
There is no hope, desire being spent.
Rest forever. So many
palpitations. Your flutterings
Serve no one, nor do you dignify the earth
with your sighs. Life is bitter and empty,
nothing more. The world is a slough.
Calm yourself now. Despair.
For the last time. Fate gave your kind
no gift but death. At last
nature disdains you, the brute
power that, lurking, imposes the common day,
and the infinite variety of things.

~by Giacomo Leopardi from the Italian version, and yet the tears dont stop reading these lines, knowing these lines, living these lines....

~ You and my cigarette ~

--
Most times,
when i travel miles,
across the skies and oceans,
reaching you and your gentle hand,

I can sense your numbness.

I move my fingers slowly
on your sleeping ones
i wide awake in the sun of the day,
you in your dreams of the night

And you turn around just a bit.

Slowly, i caress your hair
move the sheet up, to cover
your sensitive soul
and give you a kiss on the forehead.

I walk out then for a cigarette.

It is sunny here,
people soaking in daytime activites,
me and my cigarette sees them
and smiles in trifle sadness

You get up,
something told your dreamy self
that i must be out, on the terrace
or on the streets, smoking,

And you come and embrace me,

I hold you tight,
I stand still,
i sense my numbness as you get alive
and i ask my stupid self,
Why, WHY do i smoke a cigarette?
--

~ to Love ~

'To Love'


----

I didnt ask you to stay
but you stayed
I never asked you who you were
Or what you wanted.
You were simply there.
What do you want from me, love?
Was i not stronger alone?
And did i ever need you?
But stay a bit longer.
Not long,
Just until they stop asking
how i am,
And i stop saying, 'Fine'
Everyone can tell at a glance:
You are here.
If you ever leave me,
i will go with you.

-------

~ from 'Love in thoughts' extract 3.

~ at the zenith ~

Maybe its true
that people are only truly happy, just once in their lives,
just once, And then they are punished for it for the rest of their lives,
The punishment is that they can never forget that one moment.
I think its best..to say goodbye at the right time. Namely when you'are the happiest.
Precisely then, At the zenith.

-- From 'Love in thoughts' extract 2.

'love in thoughts'

-------


Dear Universe,

When we have ceased to exist,
we dont want anyone to miss us,
or shed even a single tear for us.
If anyone wants to keep us
in his memory, let him do so in joy.
For you see,
we did the only right thing,
we lived.

-------

from the movie, Love in Thoughts, extract 1.

| Blessed are the cigarette smokers |

Dear Mr Cigarette Manufacturer,


Its time to compliment you today.

Many years back i had slapped a friend, who smoked and entered my hostel room. I was a young chap then, with preconceived notions of what one should and should not do. Smoking and drinking came under the aegis of those 'one should not do' activities. Times have changed and like the aging leaves of autumn who stand the wrath of winters and finally wither off, that me has wrinkled away as well.

The new me survives on cigarettes. And what beauty and solace you bring to me, Mr Cigarette. Especially in times like these. When i scout for some soul in this world to talk my soul out. But find none. Not my mother. Not sister or father or even the person i am going to marry in a few months time from now. No friend to open my pains out for all that they possibly can do listening to my predicament is to listen and empathise. But given the backgrounds they come from they possibly wont be able to offer me active strategies.

And behold i dont want 'strategies' i just want the blessings of the 'cigarette smokers'. :)

The first snow of the season has occurred. Its cold today but that is only but a metaphore to my life. Life has become a queer concoction of conflicts, which i might want to handle and steer towards peaceful solutions. But know fully well, that i cant. It will be difficult. Handling never solved anything, the outcome, as Mr Godbole in Forsters 'A passage to India' will like to say: is defined.

Writh in pain i may, handling strategies i might devise, but the outcome shall still remain defined.

Mother understands it a little. But what can she do? Poor she, she feels it, but given her willing submission, she has opted to be the second player. Else perhaps she would have met somebody to my liking and steer my wedlock in that direction. And then again, who can assure that that particular outcome would have assured perfect harmony. Perfect harmony is a myth is it? I dont know but till then:

Blessed are the cigarette smokers.

Sister gets married off in a few months. To a very lovable chap. And i, to another lady a lovable woman. Unfortunately, the women in question, sister and she, will be trapped in the beholdings of us - the lovable chap and me, their respective husbands. And they might whimper about comparative situations, but the outcome still shall remain defined.

A moving out, is that a solution. Staying single for some more time, a punch on the face of a lady whom i have 'touched' gently and genuinely, is that a solution? Dont think so. How selfish would that be? Perhaps silence is golden only for such situations.

But till then Blessed are the cigarette smokers, and the song writers who write words like these:

"And here i sit hand on a telephone,
hearing a voice i know,
a couple of light years ago,
heading straight for a fall..."


Bless the fall Mr Cigarette Maker...

~ Amen, the cigarette smoker.

? Who am I ?

---
Who am I?
---

In many ways,
you are like her,
coming with your ideas to me,
a flash flood not known in the seasons,
of lost love
and broken faiths

In many ways she was like you,
picking the phone up,
talking a little,
then rushing off, with excuses,
money or work, whichever you want,

In many ways,
you are like her
calling me by the same name,
with which mother ushered me into this world,
a baby long back, now a aged bumpkin,

In many ways,
you and she,
and she and you,
are like all of you,
who walk into my life,
own me, despair owning me,
leave, leaving me wiser, whimpering,

that you are not she,
and she,
if alive and listening,
is or was not you,

how about me then,
who am I?
----

|Junk Talk|

-------

Good morning!
Hello!!!
How are you doing ?
Oh..i am good...
How about you?

Quite nice..
Thanks for asking:)
Catch you around


Walk on.. Next Morning,

Good Morning!
Hellooo!!!
What's up ?
Nothing much!
You ?
Oh same old story! :(

Life is boring,
Ah...true!
I got to rush
(fear getting emotional in office)
(have to keep work n life in separate silos)


That is fine..
Have a good one.
Take care man..
How about taking it easy..
No No, hang in there..
not too easy, nor too tight.
figure out the optimum..

Junk Talks..
give me my solitude,
please, i rather not talk,
than to talk junk at all.
-----------

A letter to Senor Sharma

---

A letter to Senor Sharma

---
Dear Mr Sharma,
Your Sons, A & R,
Are with me in the same college,
Young Chaps, good chaps, Senor,

They have it in their eyes,
yet many a times,
a little low i feel,
not for them,
they are fine,
eager to make a mark,
like you the strolling diplomat,

no roots, no anchor, so what,
for the country's sake, you
rove the world, but for you,
yes,

a little low, i feel,

why this messing up of life,
why leave your kids behind,
in one concrete jungle after another,
large cities and small,
urban and semi urban conglomerates,

When,

they could have done so well,
by being a little more secure,
a little less fidgety
surer a little more of their wants,

More importantly, also of,
not what they want,
with you,
Senor Sharma at home,
surer roots not travelling,
alas you dont, you come and leave them,
fine chaps, good chaps,
the Sharma brothers
talking to me,
another Senor in the making,
in their college?

--

out of fear or fearlessness ?

----
There as you stand, smoke,
And smoke and stand,
tall, strapping, hair unkempt,
fearless, loquacious,
you remind me of past days.

There used to be evenings,
not so long back, a year
there or after, when,
fear i had known none, today

not that i am afraid,
but the question of being so,
has walked past me,
as if,

lapping me up in the corner,
leaving that last iota of
travelling thoughts,
beyond fear or fearlessness

Me still not venturing,
or having ventured,
in a journey useless,
stand here still,

looking at you,
standing and smoking
and smoking and standing,
wondering why i am, where i am,

trembling,
out of fear or
fearlessness ?
----

'Washed up on a distant shore, can’t go home anymore'

~
Everyone knows that there’s no place like home
I’m just seeking refuge in a world full of storms
Washed up on a distant shore, can’t go home anymore


The natives are hostile whatever I say
The thing they fear most is I might want to stay
By their side on a different shore, can’t go home anymore


I escape my tormentors by crossing the sea
What I cannot escape is the memory
Washed up on a distant shore, can’t go home anymore


Everyone knows that there’s no place like home
I’m just seeking refuge in a world full of storms
Washed up on a distant shore, can’t go home anymore
Washed up on a distant shore, can’t go home anymore
Washed up on a distant shore, can’t go home anymore
~

-- and however much, i try to forget, that its puja time, this irish folk song catches me by my tears...am washed up on a distant shore, cant go home anymore..i can smell the kaash ful, feel the air back home, sitting here, on a distant shore, and do nothing, sit silent, i can't go home anymore..

'Bhalobasha bhalobasha'

Amaar moton shukhi ke aache,
aay shokhi aay amaar kaache,
shukhi hridoyer shukher gaan,
shuniya toder juraabe praan...

Protidin jodi kaadibi kebol,
ek din noy hashibi tora,
ek din noy bishaade bhuliya,
shokole miliya gaahibo mora,

Bhabona kahaare bole,
Shokhi..jatona kahaare bole,
tomra je bolo dibosho rojoni,
Bhalobasha, bhalobasha,

Shokhi bhalobasha kaare koy,
She ki keboli chokh er jol,
she ki keboli dukh er shaash,
loke tobe kore ki shukh er tor emon dukh er aash...

-- my day starts with this song, some silent tears, and loads of classes! :) bingo!!!!

'Amelie'

amelie

walking home alone from the crowded
theater, i stop to watch a single
petal float and shimmer in the
street lamp's gentle warming glow.

i cup it in my open palm,
and say softly to myself:

i need to be reminded,
now and again,
to love.

- DBN

and this poem by a new faculty member, posted on his website, reminded me of that Hariharan ghazal...Halka sa ek nasha tha...

'Its Mom you Know'

--
I have been thinking about this
for sometime now,
how drab i have grown,
my lines dried up

Lo-behold they came back to me,
today evening after classes,
with a stick in my hand,
i strolled out for a smoke,

The droplets tried to
run my stick over, but
i tried being fast
outpacing the rains from drenching my smoke

When i caught hold of a chap
seated beside me
talking on the phone
as a lady strolled by

Keeping the person on the phone
waiting, he chatted with her
and when she said, i will catch you
later, you get back to the phone,

He said,
'Its Mom you know..'
a smirk exchanged,
and i wondered, Mom did you know?
---

time for 'A Sentence'

its time to be back to life again..celebrating with a poem, writer, Anna Akhmatova, fits my situation well..travel on...

A Sentence
--
And the stone word fell
On my still-living breast.
Never mind, I was ready.
I will manage somehow.

Today I have so much to do:
I must kill memory once and for all,
I must turn my soul to stone,
I must learn to live again—

Unless . . . Summer's ardent rustling
Is like a festival outside my window.
For a long time I've foreseen this
Brilliant day, deserted house.
--

| Fire Asha |

--
Dobhashi r dayitto niyechi,
likhte boshechi kobita,
banglay, ebong ektu, engreji,
Shironaam, Fire Asha.

Nischoy bolbi, dhong,
kobita likhe i khalaash,
kothay fire ashish tui,
kaar kaache ashish,
aashar icche ki shotti i aache tor,

Uttor to jani naa shona,
tobu likhi, fire ashi,
I come back, fire asha,
coming back

Cheshta kori naa,
uttor dite, amar dike
deyal er oi kon e boshe,
tui jokhon takiye jiggesh korei cholechish,


Fire ashi, ei kon e,
shuye, tor dike takai,
amar priyotomo tui,
janish, shomoy, jug, kaal,
praani ke koto boro theke,
koto choto kore dey,

Kintu dekh toke dekhe,
aami onuprerona pai,
Shunte pai, ekshomoy
tui naaki, prithibi dapiye berati,
ki guru gorjon tor,
aami i dhoritri r raja,
ekhon khali, tik tik, aar tik tik,

Maa bolchilo,
amar o naaki, golar gorjon,
hariye geche,
tui to amar bondhu,
bujhish nischoy keno,

keno, train ta jokhon,
chottobelar bhore r bhire r,
station e thame,
aashe naa kono chokhe jol,
hridoy e unmadona,
tobe ki shotti fire ashi,

firi, maa er kol e firi,
nischoyi, firi, icche thaka,
baa naa thaka shotteo, fire
aami ashi, eta onekta,

bari r briddho manush ta r,
shesh din gona r moton,
bachte i hoy, beche aachi,
firte i hoy fire ashi,

Aar pitpit kore takash naa,
amar je kicchu i hoy naa,
bhoy, lojja, shorom,
kicchui noy,
shudhu tor pit pit dekhte pari,
tik tik shunte pai,

cheshta korlam, toke bojhate,
je fire eshechi, kobita ta likhe,
dobhashi r kaaj niye, engreji teo
fire ashi, i come back,
bangla teo, shei fire asha, having coming back.
--

|Walking through the open skies|

An Open Sky


After all
the prayers
have been said,
and the tears shed
and the uncomfortable silences,
when we cannot respond,
endured
there remains
the soft, tender sorrow
that time does not heal.

And in that sorrow,
Fatah,
an opening
to the genuine sadness
of being alive ---
open to
the absolute necessity
of letting go
of everyone
and everything
we love.

we can close off
this deep sadness
or open
our tender hearts
so wide
that our heart
becomes as an
open sky ---

no borders,
nor boundaries,
just
an open sky.

---



In a couple of days more – the first chapter of the story shall be over.



A boy shall enter into intermission - much like movie show ones -- having tasted another un-tasted chapter of life. How was it like? Warm, nice, affectionate, slow, fast, alien, uncomfortable or what special adjective shall fit the bill?



Neither the boy knows, nor the writer of the story. Sometimes the boy wonders does anybody know anything at all. He looks at eyes of men and women, layered with various colors of the skin, looks at large cities and small, sits in long journeys in the buses or in trains smelling or perfumed. Nobody knows, they, much like him, seem like zombies walking the walks of life. Only the kids know and the simple village folks do. But then when was the last time he was with one of them, a small child or an unaffected simple working rustic fellow? He has forgotten.



What he remembers though is that the last year was another plunge he took. Was that by choice, or just that he was made to drift into here, this small city so many miles from what he knows to be home. He faced people who have migrated too, much like Siberian cranes as they do to escape the harsh winters. The people here from all around the world do that too – unlike winters they escape their pasts, the old roads from home, the hardships of a not so easy life back in what they call their home country. There is no home, noone’s own country, just where the heart lies, there shall the feet travel.



So where does the heart lie? Interesting question, wish he knew, or somebody knew, but maybe it lies just around the corner, ripped apart from the torso, throbbing still. He looks at it at the corner of the door, still pumping, not willing to die, despite failures in his life, myriad throwing around by fellow men or the feet becoming tired still. Today the heart lies and looks at its heartless body. Walking like a zombie. And then it looks at the open sky, cries with Rumi the poet:



No borders, no boundaries, just an open sky!



In a couple of days more, the first chapter of this story shall be over. He will be back into the skies again, kissing the clouds, travelling across borders and boundaries, crying up in the air, hidden from everybody, to see if there is any chunk of heart still left, from where his feet first started walking.

| Ruk jana nahin, tu kaahin haar ke, kaaton pe, chalke, milenge saaye bahaar ke |

---

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank my advisory committee for their help and support during the years. Professor RP has always been on my side and her constant encouragement has been priceless in finishing my dissertation. She mostly helped me in modeling and empirical analysis, but her influence on my research and life is far beyond that.

Professor RT is one of the most dedicated and wise researcher we have ever seen. Thanks to his help in modeling, I am able to finish the third chapter of this dissertation with full confidence. And lastly, I cannot express enough gratitude for the support and encouragement by Professor AA. He helped me in every aspect of my research. He left a mark on my research style. And I will benefit from his influence immensely in my future research. He was the one that encouraged me not to take the shortcut, but challenge the best.

It is never enough to emphasize the importance of my family in my life. Without their dedicated love, life is meaningless. Particularly, my farther has been my life-time role model. He taught me no matter how difficult it seems, there is always a solution. He has not had the opportunities to devote his energy in research regardless of his thirst for knowledge and innovation. I would like to express my gratitude to him: ”You have been a great father, and this dissertation is also yours.”

Moreover, I would to thank the Heinz faculty. It was Professor RK who led me into this fascinating research field. Professor WV has offered his best effort in sharpening my empirical study skills.

Finally, I would like to dedicate my thesis to my homeland, China. I have been a proud Chinese throughout of my life. That never changed and will never change!
---


A few notables of life hopefully in order.

- Visited New York city, mingled with different kinds of people. Some newly in, boisterous eager to gell into the city. Some dearest ones, long timers, looking to settle down in life. And some others, talking about how to shift midtown and stay close to their working places.

- The city is huge, a totally different experience, imagine how it has been so for all these decades, a strange medlee of different cultures, and this is the city the other-world creators tried to attack and destroy. Capitalism, is this world, first make a different world dearests, and then you wont need to attack or destroy anybody, they would come and flock at your corner. Just like they did at the Big Apple. Saludos New York City am humbled by your show...

- Coming back, i met an angel on the bus. An upcoming singer from New York, a beautiful discussion we had, on life love and longing. That is how the strangest things happen in life. After a year of studies, there the interesting bit of life came back to me, on the bus, in a different land, but the feeling of travel and fellow travellers still the same.

- Pittsburgh, dear old pittsburgh, i missed you. Sorely missed you, and suddenly when in New York city, realised how i have neglected you. The secure confines that you have blessed me with, my desk at school, the research solace, am glad am here, i must not be as negligent as i have been till now with you.

- And finally, the 'acknowledgement' section, above. By a passing out PhD student in his dissertation. Some day, lady, yes i see you as lady, i will write one such page too. Till then, do be with me, despite my weaknesses, frailties and shortcomings.

- About 4 days from the travel back home, am totally full with emotions. Each note, each path comes back, the taste of the different fishes maa makes, the leaves of the trees in my city back home, the open spaces, baba, bon, maa, we all together after such a long time again....

I am coming darling! I am coming...but then, my lady awaits me here too, and i will have to be back...:)

~Amen...

| Holud Paakhi |

shei je holud paakhi..
boshe jamrul gaach er daal e..
o tor holo dakadaki..
amaar shoishob er shokaale..


Ekdin gelo ure, janina,
kon shudure..
Firbe naa..she ki firbe naa...
Firbe naa..aar kono din..

......

| Smiles gone Grey |

I have been asked
to write a poem on the colour grey
Not black, nor white
but which lies in between, grey

And all i can think of
to start with greying hair,
grey school trouser a decade ago
or the grey clouds embracing my sky's home

The poet, me
feels like a child
Asking me, she has vanished
Into her greys, me here in black and white

A dozen things in this world
are in those two colours
but for those three blind men
coming down from the train

the station before mine
in the last city i lived,
they i know, knew not grey,
neither black or white

Colours, grey, black,
white, or those of the rainbow,
do they carry much meaning?
or it is about how they are splashed at you

On a tottering easel
and splintered drawing board
modern painting they might say
But she and I

Having seen the greys
the blacks, the whites
knowing, what it was,
Smiled..

I had been asked
to write a poem on the colour grey
Not black nor white
but that which lies in between, grey

And we smiled
our smiles now, grey..

~Amen..

|Bharat Hum ko Jaan Se Pyaara Hain|

15 more days and i cant but be restless to get going...Home, where my heart is...and look at my fellow country men, here so many miles away, so apathetic, merciless, so nonchalant about being away..from the land that they smelled, toiled and grew up in!!!

Guide says, rather unemotionally, before going u have XYZ more days, c what you can do? - How can somebody work, after all these weeks of toiling, when home starts ringing its siren bells..Doesnt he understand?

A friend says - come out of it, what home sickness man, dont behave like a woman, is it a trait of a woman, that you long for your country back so many miles away..

People - ask why are you going home, you could have stayed over summers and done research, what research, i wonder, when the heart is not in its place, bled, despondent, full of stories to be told my nearest ones, where in the picture does research come at all ?

- Listening to Hariharan and writing, they have, i have allowed them, to take away all my poetry, but not this last bit, never....

~Bharat hum ko jaan se pyara hain...

| Hey Mohajibon|

| Daayeri Theke |

From a Diary..

Kobita r Agraahtishojye aami aaro oneker i moto,
du-chaarte bhul kore feli, chonde r bepare toto,
Obohito non uni, kono mastaar bolechilo,
shikkha r obhav aache - emon o shunechi.

Shob i oudhashinnye mene ni, karon shokaale,
bajaar er pothe, shobji r dokaan e, aarchokhe letush pata ti
dekhechi, ebong bhebhechi, jodi or moto lojjay,
kukre jete paartaam, jol er obhav e jodi shukotaam,
khure nebaar kicchu khon baade jodi benke jetaam,
chire portaam sthobdhotaay, holud-shobuj salader plete e..

A Translation

In the overeagerness of poetry, myself,
like so many others, make a mistake or two,
about rhyme, he is not so aware of,
some teacher had said once, education he lacks,
have heard that too..

I accept all such shortcomings, nonchalance, because,
in the morning, at the market, buying vegetables, i saw,
kind of benignly with my slant eyes, the lettuce leave,
saw, and said, if i could like her, shrink up in shame
just before being dug up, if i could bend out like her,
tearing myself, in the sounds of silence,
over the yellow-green salad's plate..





Oshadharon, beautiful poetry, by Utpol Kumar Basu, this time's Anondo Puraskar winner in Kolkata..More on him at http://www.boipara.com/bengali_literature_ebooks/bengali_poetry_literature_utpal01.asp

~amen..

| Musafir hoon Yaaron |

Musafir Hoon Yaaron
Na ghar hain naa thikana
Mujhe chalte jaana hain
Bas..Chalte jaana..

Ek raah ruk gaayi
to aur jud gaayi
mein mura to saath saath
raah mud gaayi
Hawa ke paro par
mera ashiyaana..

Musafir hoon yaaron
na ghar hain naa thikanaa.
mujhe chalte janaa hain.
Bas chalte jaanaa..

Din ne haath tham kar
idhar (pittsburgh) bitha liya
raat ishaare se udhar (durgapur) bula liya
shubha se shaam se mera dostaana

Musafir hoon yaaron..

|nucleus of a song and a smile|

one song, one smile..and how it captures..the nucleus of life, subtly and delicately.. ..am i the person for such a somebody!

him jhora chandni aalote..
haath duti raakhle noy ei haate..

ei tumi ei aami aanmone..
ek hoye gechi prem milone..

him jhora chandni aalote..
haath duti raakhle noy ei haate..

kotha noy aaji i niralaay..
mon deoa neoa hok dujonaay..

ei tumi, ei aami, aanmone..
ek hoye gechi, prem milone..

him jhora chandni aalote..
haath duti raakhle noy ei haate..

~tis a week of a song, which killed me..a smile which soothed me..thank u lord, more than me, do bless her..

| Remembering Mumbai |

~An Ad..nice one..

Omolkanti

| 2 Questions, i dont want answers|

How are you?

happy or unhappy,

Last night, after so many days,
living with you, your imageries,
left over silences, chirps,
loving you, i finally unloved you..

Go, where you want to go,
come back, and the promise
i had made, i will be there,
will be null and void..

She deserves all of me,
not you, not you,
how mean, how black
and white, full of no-greys,
how ruthless you were with me,
understanding me, and yet
not at all understanding me

If you find me, or I find you
dont expect anything, from me,
she has all the rights,
her hair, her eyes,
her gait and silences, obediences,
the child in her, has rights on me,

Today i have again decided
to become free, to love her,
unloving you...

What is love, though?

|Amaar Nisheeth - o Raat - er o - Badal - o - Dhara..|

In Bengali..

Amaar Nisheeth - o Raat - er o - Badol - o - Dhara..
Esho hey, gopone, amaar, shopon o loker dishahara,

Ogo ondhokaar er, ontorodhon, daao dheke mor poraano mor,
Aaami chaine, aami chaine, aami chaaine topon, chaine tara,

Nisheeth - o - Raat - er o - Badol - o Dhara..
Amaar Nisheeth - o Raat - er o - Badal - o - Dhara..

Jokhon shobaai mogon, ghum er ghore, niyo go, niyo go,
Amaar ghum niyo go boron o kore,

Jokhon shobaai mogon, ghum er ghore, niyo go, niyo go,
Amaar ghum niyo go boron o kore

Ekla ghore, chupe chupe, esho kebol, shur er rupe,
Ekla ghore, chupe chupe, esho kebol, shur er rupe,

Diyo go, diyo go, amaar chokh er jol er diyo shaara,
Nisheeth - o - Raat - er o - Badol - o Dhara..

Amaar Nisheeth - o Raat - er o - Badol - o - Dhara..
Esho hey, gopone, amaar, shopon o loker dishahara,
Amaar Nisheeth - o Raat - er o - Badol - o - Dhara..


In English...


|Amaar Nisheeth - o Raat - er o - Badal - o - Dhara..|

The clouds and rains of my dark deep nights
Come over, secretly, so what,

if aimlessly from the land of my dreams
Oh the innermost treasures of darkness,

Come over, cover my soul,
I dont want the sun, nor the stars,
Just the clouds and rains of my dark deep nights

When all of you are asleep,
do take my sleep over, you oh darkness,

If you come, come over,
only as music, in a solitary corner of the room,
And try giving answers to the tears of mine,

The clouds and rains of my dark deep nights
Come over, secretly, so what,
if aimlessly from my land of dreams...


~This song in bengali, explains the phd path, in totality it seems, start walking dear child, she, he, they are all waiting for you to join the walk with them, its time, high time.....else everything will fall astray...

|How Ustadji taught me a lesson!|

Am talking of Ustad Amjad Ali Khan, and his recital here, at the Carnegie Music Hall, yesterday. Some factoids before we get into the meat of the story.

a. He was accompanied with his two sons, Aman and Ayan.

b. Two tabla players too, one a disciple of Pandit Kishen Maharaj, and the other son of a decently stalwart tabla player, Anindo Chatterjee, the names: Anubrata Chatterjee( the announcer got it wrong, spelled it like a woman's name, and i wondered, how incidental, :) the readers of this page would know why!:)), and the other i have forgotten the chap's name, its a sacrilege but am sorry...

c. The plan of the programme: Ustadji, plays two short compositions first, leaves the stage for his sons, comes back, plays again a short one, and the three then end, the story for the evening, with Raag Kirwani, a South Indian classical borrowing, very judiciously picked..since all evening we were listening to entire India, East (Bengal and Assam), North (with a pilu kinds beat), West ( a Ganesh Bandana ) but then, what would happen to the South Indian brethrens spread around the world...hats off Ustadji, you sketched it nice...

The lesson:

a. But before that, let me talk of what else, if something else, is happening in life. A friend calls up, wants me to help her with an online magazine she wants to launch, and i talk of, i can help, but...lets bring young people, writers on board..and she agreed, and i thought, so are we becoming old....

b. The other day, my advisor, and two other very senior professors, start debating in a seminar if 56 is an old age, and i wondered, so...here is a feeling thats not new to me alone, aging men and women think about this too, that there time is going, and its time to pass on the baton, the stories to a new generation ...after all, tomorrow we will all perish aint it!

c. So hold on, the lesson is coming, but the weather outside was beautiful. It was sunny the entire day, rained a little in the evening, with Kimi, my Japanese friend, ( who thought Ustadji's music, seemed to give him a feeling as if he was walking on an ocean, he could feel the waves, and could see the bed, and yet, he knows that his walk on the ocean is alone, still, ongoing...) i enjoyed the sporadic Westerlies, that were stripping the spring flowers and laying them astray on the plush American roads, so typically home, i thought and felt comfortable....

All righto, the lesson then, and we go back to Raag Kirwani, and how Ustadji managed the cadences with the Sarod, he went fast, and then went slow, and then allowed Aman and Ayan to pick up the speed and then calibrate it too, giving space to the tabla players to catch up with the beats and the intermittent gaps as well, beautiful control, yes, thats the word, control, and beauty, composed, and lilting, like the rivers, which flow from the mountains into the plains, and soon submerges into the oceans, Kimi's oceans.....

Got the feel, collected it all, her and my thoughts to include young people, on board, how professors think/dont know/wonder, if 50+ means you are aging, Baba had written about this a little while back, the brain not being able to store data more, and i understood..the winds of change are blowing..

If i dont latch on to it now, bridge the young the aging with a new garb of being on stage, who will..if you dont, dear readers, who will!

So on that note, Vaah Ustadji, heres to you a bow, and a lovely poem to leave you with...


O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring;
Of the endless trains of the faithless--of cities fill'd with the foolish;
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light--of the objects mean--of the struggle ever renew'd;
Of the poor results of all--of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me;
Of the empty and useless years of the rest--with the rest me intertwined;
The question, O me! so sad, recurring--What good amid these, O me, O life?

Answer.

That you are here--that life exists, and identity;
That the powerful play goes on, and you, you...will contribute a verse.

~Still a Child, but a growing child, the poem courtesy Walt Whitman!

|Tales and Truces|

|Tales and Truces|


Tell him dear,
That if i could
I would have written
this in my mother's tongue
This small piece for him..

Years it has been,
have left her womb,
embraced languages and concoctions
Writing still In adopted
scripts, the words loosing meaning..but not the feelings,

Tell him that my old friend,
Dadu, Grandpa, waits for him too,
Up there, Is it up,
Maybe its down, or maybe
the transition is on a same level ground

From one womb to the other
One tongue to another
One country to another
Some people to some other
All one, the same, life and the world..

Tell him that as i write
Sitting in a class, a professor,
narrates his work, a goatee,
suggesting dissertation topics, I look
at him, write and cry,

Tears, Moist eyes,
Wet noses, but they,
they are all so busy,
engrossed, analysing the area,
'The dark side of social ties'..

In this life, Am privy
to a social ivy, but,
the people who study the
world, seem to me as
nothing more, but on a chevy..

Tell him, am still on my legs,
No wheels, not yet, future,
i dont know, mother says,
she is afraid, she emails
me, and i revel at her dexterity..

To adapt and adopt,
changing times, varying rules
of the same old game; she sitting there,
just refuted the professor,
and then she went quiet..

Everybody knows the futility of it,
this is not a changed world, some things
are always the same,
vulnerable, praying, hoping,
still beautiful, with its own beauty..

Like her, continuing the argument
the professor tries, explains,
She just smiles, a beatific
one, the prof shakes a litle,
his goatee rumbles, truce;

Thats how life has been,
will always be; about truce,
He, my granpa, you, me, the lady
In the corner arguing, the professor,

My mother, her son,
the world, students inside
or outside the class, workers or
idle chaps, lovers or
disbelievers of love...

Everybody i know, look around
has made a truce, I realise
there is, was, always has been
a battle, for the children,
the young and the old,

Making a truce at the end of it,
waiting for nights to arrive,
the sun blazing, little too much,
the moon beckons, Its calmness
and languid black etches...

Like her voice,
the rare time she speaks,
I write, keep writing,
dont utter a word, hoping
that this you will tel him dear..

That nights, the deep darkness,
Days, the warm sun clad ones,
the most thoughtful lost ones,
or the nonthinking fools, around,
they are the same, mirror images of each other,

Truce that is what, they have all
made with each other, the images,
the people, with smiles,
tears, anger, sadness, warmth or
perhaps with a little blood

Tell him dear, we,
you and me,
still the warriors, and when,
our tales on the battlefiled
will have been written, shall make truce too...

~Rather shoddy, will embellish this one, some time..

~ The Night, from outside my house ~

--The Night--

1.
Today I have become the night.
Let no light touch me.
Let the meaning I have been cease.
Let my body become a different body.
Let all names signifying me disappear.
Pushed by an irresistible impulse
to become the night
I arrived here.
Let me become the night today.
I have a single aspiration today—
to become the night,
to abolish the ugliness in everything
and install beauty in its place.

2.
How long must I wait
before it is night ?
One cannot recollect the day's looks
unless it is night.
The moon and the stars will not arrive
unless it is night.
The whole sky will be a wilderness
unless it is night.
How do I get the time
to bring back to my mind
your celebrated eyes
unless it is night ?
How can the tuberoses of my steadfast love
blossom into expanding whiteness
unless it is night ?
How long must I wait
before it is night ?

3.
Describing that night is unholy.
Remembering the eyes of that night
is also unholy.
Years pass,but that exquisite night
does not re-enter my mind
that's still, and on the way to holiness.
Some unfinished poem
was inscribed on that night's face.
In the lamplight of my soul
I had once read its lines.
I am the despair of that poem,
and I dissolve
in the night.
I am already an ingredient of the night,
but the splendour of that night
(which, once upon a time,
was my own body's splendour)
does not return,
and years pass.

-- Prabashini Mahakud Tiwari,

Source: An old man, a close friend's grandfather suggested him to read this poem and having read it he sent it to me.

| for Maa, Baba and Bon |

|To every Parent |


There are little eyes upon you,
And they are watching night and day;

There are little ears that quickly take
In Every word you say;

There are little hands all eager to do
Everything you do,
And a little child who's dreaming of
The day he'll be like you.

You're the little child's idol,
You're the wisest of the wise,
In his little mind about you,
No Suspicions ever rise,

He believes in you devoutly,
Holds all you say and do;
He will say and do in your way when
He's grown up to be like you.

Theres a wide eyed little child who
Believes you're always right,
And his ears are always open and he
watches day and night;
You are setting an example,
Everyday in all you do
For the little child whos waiting,
To grow up and be like you..

~Author unknown.

| No more Masks, No more Mythologies ! |

The Poem as a Mask


When I wrote of the women in their dances and wildness, it was a mask,
on their mountain, gold-hunting, singing, in orgy,
it was a mask; when I wrote of the god,
fragmented, exiled from himself, his life, the love gone down with song,
it was myself, split open, unable to speak, in exile from myself.

There is no mountain, there is no god, there is memory
of my torn life, myself split open in sleep, the rescued child
beside me among the doctors, and a word
of rescue from the great eyes.

No more masks! No more mythologies!

Now, for the first time, the god lifts his hand,
the fragments join in me with their own music..

~ Muriel Rukeyeser.

| Reality, from above, through the window |

"Everytime i close the door on reality, it comes in through the window."

|Spring 2006|

|Spring '06|

Last spring, was down and out,
This spring, feel the pressure of the world,

Last spring, she went out of my life,
This spring, she strides in

Last spring, hated discipline
This spring, start loving it

Last spring, was still near home
This spring, so far away, that distances i fail to understand

Last spring, was made a man,
This spring, am becoming a gentle-man

Last Spring, despaired,
This Spring, stay aware

This of two Springs, from other seasons,
of two mes, from all my other mes...

Some select things happening in life.

* Shed off my favourite moustache after about a decade.
* Try to love routine and organisation to give reign to myself.
* A very senior (i respect a lot) economic history professor tells me, i need to discipline myself, though my "ideas flow a mile a minute".
* Float the idea of a magazine in our school's research community, might steer it start a Heinz Research blog. Seems like i am getting included in the community.
* Maa is worried, sister is worried, but i am not, i feel peace ever more so in life. This despite, a queer financial crunch i live through these days.
* And that despite knowing life shall be tough from here on.
* And yes, after a long time, i meet a good lady, dont know what will happen with her though, despite our ever promising increasing friendship.
* She says, i dont know a thing, and really i dont know a thing, let it remain that way.
* Remember dadu a lot, these days, and his walks, and the walking stick and what he shared with me, before he was gone.
* Got to sit with baba, its been a long long time, since we have had a heart to heart discussion, maybe we need it, so that we both enrich ourselves..

~agrowingchild.

| Am sad, is this how the world should be! |

From a post at IIM Calcutta's Discussion Board..somebody wanted to convey something about the current reservation debate..Gross.

Re: Petition against "RESERVATION"

I am having drinks at an upmarket pub, Zenzi, in Bandra. It's a Saturday evening. I am alone and on a lookout for a hot babe.

And there she is. Lissome and Sensuous. Enjoying a beer with her girlfriend. Before I make my move, a hunk approaches her. I am cursing myself, thinking why am I always late. May be my Boss was right when he denied me promotion citing my lack initiative.

The alphamale hunk is having a drink with her. Both get close. Seems that my Saturday night is blasted. But hey! Suddenly the hunk looks disappointed and leaves. What happened?

Anyways. It's a blessing in disguise and I make my move. We start with casual talk. Her gestures are inviting. We share a drink. She knows how to hold a guy's interest and that's rare. I am thinking 'Why does this have to be a one night stand; Can we have something more than that?'

I make my final move.

She hears: I've got a beautiful apartment. Wanna be my guest?

I hear: You know the policy of 50% reservation. Yesterday was my "Merit Night" and today's the "Quota Night". So, what's your surname?

Zenzi Hears: Hey, Alphamale! Wait!! I am coming too.

Am Sad.

a. I know whats he saying.
b. Probably i would have done the same.
c. Why is the world like this?
d. Why cant I, and the world move out of such mental frameworks?
e. Leave India, Leave USA, Leave the world, is that answer, am sad indeed...

~isthereacornerwhereicangettruehappiness!

..an illusion of some days..

--
Some days are like this
full of ennui full of clouds
look out the window
for sun, none, neither a stretch of blue

some days are like this
you know you are late
for reasons you wish
you were not so irate

some days are like this
full of void and knowing not
what to expect, cold or hot
despite outside the flying kites

some days are like this
you with yourself, and only
yourself, no change in
matters, or events galore

and i look at that pic of yours,
glasses and jeans, looking,
no, not at me,
an illusion, like today,

or those days
when like today
some days,
have always been like this.
--

Youngs Guys writing to me, Fill me with Tears...

May god bless them with the right direction...A mail from a very close junior from undergrad, one of the nicest blokes i have seen in life, highly promising, at the crossroads of life..What exactly can i tell him, save, keep the faith, keep working hard, its all the same story all the time, then, now, forever!!!
May god bless you dear...

love u dear...


Dear Chiru,

Hi...Its been a long time since I wrote to u...But I think u r intelligent enuf to interpret such spells of silence...

Today I need the advice of an elder brother...And I am turning to u for the same...

D's story:
I joined TCS hoping to work in the field of GIS...GIS in terms of technology holds levels of promise as mobile telephony did 15 years earlier...TCS had promised to provide me with opportunites where I wud get to use my architecture/planning skills as domain inputs and combine the same in working on some state of the art GIS projects...Sadly, enuf that did not happen...I did join TCS (the eventful day was the 28th of July, 2005...the maundy thursday of my life...)I went thru an excellent trng program and manage to top the trng...But I was in for a cruel shock when I came to Delhi...The GIS group did not have any projects...But then they did get a big project related to the oil and gas domain...halliburton was the client...a big name...one of the senior members of the GIS group recruited me for this project...atleast it was better than sitting on the bench...(the ones who didnt join this project are still sitting on the bench !)...

now...i was a fresher in a project populated by grandmas and grandmoms...they first wanted me to be a shadow resource...one who wud chip in when others wud be holidaying...its just like the rig u knw...the billing cant stop...so someone has to be all the altar to be sacrificed to the gods of halliburton...

but then the gods felt othewise...my client made me a fulltime billable resource...and a gentleman with almost four years of experience was sacrificed...the tcs manager felt bad...for his bet had been mocked and crucified by the client...

I like my client...he is a very practical and nice man...I am a member of a 3 member team...my team lead has 9 yrs of experience...my boss is from hell...and i shall soon land up in hell for cursing her always...

the folks in tcs are mediocre...mediocre too is a superlative degree for their skills...
the management sucks...docile group leaders and spineless managers...
the company hardly pays a salary...

but still I continue to battle...rarely do I get credit for my performance...the boss takes all the credit...but then I am patient...

all this while...i made a resolve...to go for a management degree...

I have joined TIME weekend classes...
I have been part of organisation initatives...(Corporate Social Responsibilty, I represent the TCS Gurgaon debating team, ushered in strategical changes...like a system of 360 degree feedback and many more, essay competitions, etc...)

I shall take CAT 2006 in November...and GMAT in August 2006...

Now, if u r wondering as to wht makes me write this mail other than a crib story being scripted...

well, my accuracy is fairly good for my cat preps...but then my speed is very, very slow...somehow i am not feeling very confident to crack the CAT...Though, I really want to do it...

I am fearful...wht happens if I am unable to bell the cat ???

i am also considering isb, hyd as a strong choice...for that i need a good gmat score...720 plus...i m confident of achieving that...
the essays i can manage...reccos...that too sudnt be much of a problem...

another surprise has come my way...my client wants me to visit houston for a month...sometime between august/sept/oct...the dates for the same have not been finalized...that wud affect my preps as well if I have to go...

Now I want to ask u...sud I continue working with TCS or look for better opportunites elsewhere...(e.g. evalueserve.com where I cud work in the area of business research...inductis...again a consulting role...etc...)these opportunites wud be more rewaring in terms of compensation and HOPEFULLY workwise as well...

but then a job hop wud mean that I get the label of an unstable employee as well...one who jumps...(this might not be very productive in terms of my B-school application for ISB, hyderabad)

on the other hand...

existence each day in tcs is a battle...the crib story sud paint a picture to u...

Chiru Da...I need ur insights to help me make a decision...

Looking forward to hearing frm u soon...

Mom keeps remembering u very often......

I hope that u r doing well...Do write back abt happngs at ur end...

Luv,
d

| A man has a heart 2 |

The Heart
---

In the days of his youth,
When he is still blinded to the truth,
In his quest for passion and joy,
A man's heart is like an unused harp,
Still to be played for others to enjoy.

With the slow passing of time,
As he enters the era of his prime,
Aching for a touch to stroke its strings,
His eyes are still with his heart,
Ignorant of the pain that love brings.

Until his harp is finally stroked,
And its brittle strings are finally rocked,
By the coy, the gentle and the strong,
He will learn the danger of being touched,
When one string makes everything go wrong.

To educate a seeking heart,
Which is devoid of art,
One has to walk a while,
Where beauty is a thing well known,
Learning when to put on a smile.

~Oley Maruma

| To be Honest and True |

To be Honest and True

My father brought me up well,
Haranguing me whenever he could,
That if I did not want to go to hell,
I should be good, honest and true,
Even when I was dejected and blue.

Whatever happened to my life,
My prospects would always be good;
Whether beset by misfortune or strife,
If my belief in honesty and truth,
Stayed with me beyond my youth.

My name would be puffed into fame,
If I did not become a thief or a knave;
Rose through deeds to the top of my game,
Acquiring wealth by fair and honest means,
And not by foul and dishonest means.

It is better to have an honest fame,
Living a modest, good and virtuous life,
Than to acquire a rich and notorious name.
It is better to feel loved at home,
Than to be revered abroad, in a foreign dome.


-- Olley Maruma

~Captures everything, so beautifully, saludos poetess..:)

Lying in Me..

Lying in me

Lying in me, as though it were a white
Stone in the depths of a well, is one


Memory that I cannot, will not, fight:
It is happiness, and it is pain.

Anyone looking straight into my eyes
Could not help seeing it, and could not fail

To become thoughtful, more sad and quiet
Than if he were listening to some tragic tale.

I know the gods changed people into things,
Leaving their consciousness alive and free.

To keep alive the wonder of suffering,
You have been metamorphosed into me.


-- Anna Akhmatova

| You |

You
--

I don’t feel like writing about you,
And yet I Do

You who pull yourself on,
Clad in white uppers
Beneath, the black bellows

You who come around me
At the dead of night
Various speeds, almost a shadow of

the zooming black car
Or the dragging white one
I stand, keep looking at you

Afraid, fearful, that if you
Look at me, I will live
And die too,

leaving my fingers trivial
These words inconsequential
You who walk around me

Wanting to give me a hug
Giving not still, being patient
Waiting for your time

Giving me time, why?
To enjoy your other shades
Not white or black alone

But those, my eyes
looking at you,
can see in your tears
and me wanting,

To shake hands with you
For your smile,
Alone, forlorn, walking, dragging,
On and on and on

Without me or my poetry
A sham, and yet I do,

Though I don’t feel like writing about you
Tell me why I do?
Though I don’t feel like writing about you,
And yet I do…

| Aapnara Bangaali |

Ajeeb Dastaan Hain Yeh,
kahaan shuru kahaan khatam,
Yeh manzilen hain kaunsi,
Naa woh samajh sake naa hum..

For a change i will not translate the above in Hindi, but this one pertains to the journey, that Hindu philosophy where the journey, its wonders and saga, keeps the travellers motivated to keep the walk going..Some days in that walk appears so excellent, full of life, shine and verve as if you were here for this precise purpose to live...

Today seems to be one such too! Though like the capricious clouds my moods change, yet it seems at least till now it still is. Thank you! Last night i was watching Iqbal and seeing the brother-sister chemisty in the movie, was remembering my own dear little one. She was in the capital of my country, that same time, hopefully taking another plunge of life.

When she was small, and i dont remember this story, but this gets repeated every now and then in our house's folk lore, she broke her leg. With a broken leg then, she went to her primary school admissions, won over the nuns at her missionary school with her zeal and bagged a seat in what was a critical thing in a small town then in the lives of our parents. A good education, they always believed, like most others, around the world, would give us both, sister and brother the fundamentals to walk forward in life.

I heard last week, that she sprained her leg again too. But look at her defiant self, she travelled to the capital, met her prospective match, and i hear things are going in the right direction too. When she called me to tell this, the first thing i felt was relief for her. Nobody can know this, but we, baba, maa, myself who are close to her, can only understand what she has gone or has been going through in life.

May god, baba lokenath give the right direction to her life. Out i spring from the bed after the call from home, try to make chowmein, fail miserably, ending up with a hotchpotch, walk out, flakes of snow oozed through on a sunny day, strange combination aint it.

I reach school, buy my daily quota of cigarette, and suddenly hear a bengali couple sprinkling away mishti, sweet bengali monotones at each other.

After a long time, more than 9 years of staying from the bengali environs in which i was groomed up, having travelled to north of india, mastered the art of functional hindi as well as the colloquial one, travelling to bombay for my job, and messing all that mastering too, having left home and the language that gives me the peace of my mind, when i hear songs in it, i asked them, "Aapnara Bangaali"..Are you bengalis!

You had to see the glitter in their eyes, the guy and the girl duo, pittsburgh residents, and deep within hidden a bengali soul, saying, haan, aamra kolkata theke..we from Calcutta, and then we introduce ourselves and then disperse as usual in the new-tech life of ours..

But i am touched, not by anything, but by that moment, in which i ask, not so usual of me to do, but still i did, "Aapnara Bangaali", and then they with glittering eyes answer, Haan, yes, Aamra Bangaali !!

Today thus to this ajeeb dastaan, to the land of the Royal Bengal Tigers, the strange story of "Aapnara Bangali!"

~Thank you..

.."Tis isnt life that matters, Tis the courage you bring to it"..

* A lady writes -- part of the matrimonial stuff, that she liked the above lines at my email signature. No extensions no interpretations.

* Lucky she, caught me at a time, when i got bashed by my advisor, my strategy paid, though in a risky way, now i know, what exactly is the thought going in his mind..

* But then, tis a time to walk the tight rope, and sail too!

Billy Joel sings in Downeaster Alexa:

So I could own my Downeaster "Alexa"
And I go where the ocean is deep
There are giants out there in the canyons
And a good captain can't fall asleep

I've got bills to pay and children who need clothes
I know there's fish out there but where God only knows
They say these waters aren't what they used to be
But I've got people back on land who count on me

So if you see my Downeaster "Alexa"
And if you work with the rod and the reel
Tell my wife I am 'trolling Atlantis
And I still have my hands on the wheel

Now I drive my Downeaster "Alexa"
More and more miles from shore every year
Since they tell me I can't sell no stripers
And there's no luck in swordfishing here.

I was a bayman like my father was before
Can't make a living as a bayman anymore
There ain't much future for a man who works the sea
But there ain't no island left for islanders like me...


So, for islanders like me, another life, another sail, what shall you call your ship, Senor Chatterjee?

~Is that how, they drag you in, every time, pity you Senor? :)

..Dreams of Glasses, for Vineet's Mother and Mine...

dheere jalna dheere jalna
zindagi ki lau pe jalna
dheere dheere dheere dheere, dheere jalna
kaanch ka sapna, gal hi naa jaaye,
soch samajh ke, aanch rakhna...

Today's post shall be an effort to capture this mood of mine. Let me not use any adjectives to describe or define it. Rather state some facts that have happened offlate in life. And end with a song's line i am listening to in Hindi as i write this out.

- Heard a lady i have always admired, having tied the knot too. Sure, i didnt have any expectations/dreams with her, but then, as long as you are untied, hope lives isnt it! Now its gone, Mr Chatterjee! Again, a close school friend and it happened in such a surreptitious manner, sometimes i dont just understand this essence of keeping things under the wrap by people at all, thats my only complaint, nothing else!

- She, the She of the poem below taught me real goodness. So did my sister and maa, some of the good-est women i think i will ever happen to walk by in life, sometimes i wonder, where will i be, when each of them are gone, sooner or later!

- I have also decided to keep my door ajar, wide open, for anybody to come and stroll by and leave, somewhere i dont know from where, this coming and going, and its affecting me, is no longer of concern to me. I rather enjoy the changing of these stations, people, and places.

- Last night, i thought of some of my most treasured childhood memories, grandfathers' places in Belur, the artifacts that laid bare on the way to the terrace, the TV shows that me and sis used to watch together...Where have all those days gone, and why do i even ask that question, for that matter!

- Work has stormed into my life, research, is this how they drill it into you, i am getting savvy with huge datasheets, loving the interface of MS excel, as i do a kind of boney, robotish socialising in my life in this city. I fear i am getting sucked into the lifelessness that pervades almost everybody around me..

- Vineet's Mother, and mine, share one common attribute. They cant think of how to live without their kid, V's mother wonders tells me that when she talks to me, and mine, tells me when i ring her home -- that she looks at the next door kid, and remembers intensely the long gone days, when swinging water bottles i used to go to school.

- There is nothing much more to report then, India lost, should not have, Mr Dravid, i am with you, these things happen, as always i am expecting you to learn from it and keep marching like the soldier, sister darling has like her yester years sprained her leg, just at a critical time of life, god's way of telling us how uncertain things can be, all the time..

This, to Vineet's Mother, My Maa and kaanch ka sapna -- dreams of glasses!

dheere jalna dheere jalna
zindagi ki lau pe jalna
dheere dheere dheere dheere, dheere jalna
kaanch ka sapna, gal hi naa jaaye,
soch samajh ke, aanch rakhna...

~dheere jalna, dheere jalna, dheere dheere dheere dheere, dheere jalna...burn slowly, burn slowly, slowly, slowly, slowly, burn....

| She and I |

She and I
--

She has decided
to be fair with me
And I,
torment myself

As She
teaches me goodness too
And I,
Enjoying her classes

She,
is leaving it to other births
And I, a fool,
wonder which other?

She says,
one of the supreme power,
And I, dumb,
write out a poem instead

She,
I ask, can i father your child?
And I
Will she ever mother mine?

She,
refuses to show me her face
I, smile,
having seen it already

Tis of She and I,
two children, with us,
knock, knock,
Is anybody around?

--

to the "Chicken of the Sea"

Yes, they call it that, the Tuna Fish, and here is a recipe i created last night, for my burger fillings.

The international part of the recipe:

a. Buy the tuna fish.
b. Beware it smells, much like most sea fish, my first taste of that in Mumbai.
c. Put some Teriyaki Sauce in it, allow it be covered and be like that, for about half and hour.

The Indian part of the recipe:

a. In the vessel, oil, shredded onions, garlic and ginger tinklers, tomato gravy or shreds, a little carrot shredded again, some small green chilly, a little Meat Masala and/or Goan fish Masala, if you have some such at your disposal, and offcourse a little coconut powder and salt to your taste.

b. Please be aware, the oil goes first, warms, then goes, onion, then goes garlic and ginger, then the tomato, peas, green chilly, at the end the meat masala when the onion is a little browny, finally the coconut paste.

c. Take the tuna now marinated with the Teriyaki sauce and keep stir frying the same on the pan.

d. It dries up pretty fast, no excess water, take the fried fillings out, bake it on a microwave or a oven you have, and then spread some little cheese(preferably chedar or Italian parmesan i suspect)/butter on it.

e. Hopefully by now you have your burgers warm and ready, your cucumbers slashed, and your onions and anything else you would like to add as a raw filling prepared too.

f. Take the fried-baked Tuna Teriyaki, paste it on the burger, warm it again, or eat, depends on hungry you are...

So shall we call this the Tuna Teriyaki burger, just got to know something like this already exists, not the first one to test it out, and offcourse that was to the Chicken of the Sea - The Tuna Fish...

~Saludos, an evolving Chef at your disposal Ladies and Gentlemen! :)..

....defining a Poem...

"Poem"
--
I am like a distracted child
whom they drag by the hand
through the fiesta of the world.
My eyes cling, sadly,
to things...
And what misery when they tear me away from them.

--by Juan Ramon Jimenez, beautiful!

"Ain't your feet getting Cold !! "

On a solitary sunday afternoon,
Walking into his kind of permanent abode,
Slowly, but surely and steadily too,
the police-woman asked him,

Aint your feet getting cold!

Turning around, he noticed her,
Kind of plump, driving a cop-car,
wanting him to take the elevator
with her to the second floor, asking

Aint your feet getting cold!

Knowing not, how much to answer,
and what to omit, he just smiled,
Stopped, looking at his own feet,
not in shoes, but relaxed floaters

Sure it was cold outside, and those
fingers were stiff a lil bit,
but the feet of his, needed some airs too,
And how could he not offer them the same

Thus he replied,
i am tired of wearing shoes,
wanted to give them some airs,
yep, they might be a lil cold,

She smiled, left, a nice warm one,
and i, walk up, rest in peace,
wondering if indeed,
my feet was getting cold.

..Love & Left Overs...

So there you go with another definition of love, picked up from the movie, i watched today morning. Captain Corelli's Mandolin.

Says a character in the movie: "love ignites like a volcano, flows, and then slowly everything subsides, it is then the left over you have to deal with, and make choices, if you can live or not live without it."

Outside of this new definition, Captain Corelli's Mandolin, was nothing too great, i must pick up the novel to taste what happened in the Ionian Islands those times.

Offcourse here are a few goodies, you can surely watch the movie for:

a. http://www.captain-corellis-mandolin.com/main.html - the movie site, offers you an intriguing facility to write a love letter to somebody, pretty enigmatic way of sending somebody an e-version of a letter!

b. Penelope Cruz - how can i ignore her - ethereal, smooth, sensuous, in the movie.

c. In my dream destinations of some day doing a getaway, alone or hopefully with a suitable lady of my dreams, comes now the Greek Ionian Islands too. The scenic beauty of the place, reminded me of a place i had visited on the Konkan coast when i was in Mumbai, Harihareshwar, around 6 hours drive from Mumbai that is towards Ratnagiri district.


Beyond that, the more definitions of love i am lapping up these days, the better i stay out of it, its not at all my cup of tea!!

ps: Yet why do i always get embroiled in it -- hahahahah -- wish i knew, perhaps good i dont know!

Enjoy the mandolin!

~aquietchild.

..Ask not what you can do for your country. Ask what's for lunch....

Well i cant comment on which side of the above statement i shall take sides on, but then, heres a quick recipe i mastered..all courtesy, Vik, a new friend of mine..

Enjoy the kathi rolls, i intend to try the non-veg versions too, with some keema if that can be located anywhere.

Ciao!

Paneer Kathi Roll - Quick Recipe.

raw material:
buy milk.
buy lemon juice - white vinegar - any souring agent.
buy chick peas, gajaar shreds, peyaanj shreds, tomato shreds, hari meerch shreds,
get either and/or - indian roti-parathaa or mexican tortillas ( substitute of rumali roti)
u can buy some - basel sauce and/or coriander leaves/parsley leaves for some cool garnishing.

process:

a. milk ko aache se ubalo - fhir ubalte hue milk mein souring agent daalo aur fhir -- paneer ko bante dekho -- u might like to add some saffron color to the paneer - fhir channi se paani ko nikaal do paneer ko taiyaar rakho alag se.

b. in tawa peyaanj - tomato - ganjaar chick peas - garlic-ginger paste - a little salsa sauce if available - aache se stir fry karo...fundu saa..u can add a little bit of whatever indian masala combination and salt to the stir fry according to ur choice and palate.

c. fhir thora reddish ho jaaye - usmein paneer daalo aur usko fry karo -- it would be like a paneer bhurji thing that would be ready through constant ulatna palatna.

d. meanwhile on a different tawa -- put oil -- take the tortillas or the roti/parathas and usko thori se tel mein -- aache se seko...thora brownish ho jaaye usko alaag se raakho.

e. and keep wrapping it with the fillings prepared as in pt b and c and garnish with little dhaniya patta and serve hot....

f. alternative: make a few such and keep it in the fridge microwave mein garam karo aur dostoon ko khilaao...



~this to long left home, and my eternal love, then, who else but food!

| This place in the Ways |

This Place in the Ways--

Having come to this place
I set out once again
On the dark and marvelous way
From where I began:
Belief in the love of the world,
Woman, spirit, and man.

Having failed in all things
I enter a new age
Seeing the old ways as toys,
The houses of a stage
Painted and long forgot;
And I find love and rage.

Rage for the world as it is
But for what it may be
More love now than last year.
And always less self-pity
Since I know in a clearer light
The strength of mystery.

And at this place in the ways
I wait for song,
My poem-hand still, on the paper,
All night long.
Poems in the throat and hand, asleep,
And my storm beating strong!
--



i read a good poem after a lonnnnnnnng time!

~This to the poetess Muriel Rukeyser, then.