Sunday, November 30, 2014

If You Clean Your Ass, Clean Your Surrounding Too



"Keep your surroundings clean"- was just the lesson number 5 in science text books of primary school, till the 56" wide chest Prime Minister of India awakened the sleeping India to wake up from the dirty slumber and clean our surroundings in actual!

This is India. Now it is safe to toss your trash on the supposedly called roads. It is safe to pee or poop in those bushes for the germs to survive and thrive. India has huge human population so do the germs. It's liberating and freedom. It is also safe to clear your throat and cough out the residual on the street. We are at our disposal to clean our car and flush the stagnant water in public for the mosquitoes to flourish. And we are named bloody Indians for this. Let's remember!

What a marvel nation we have turned. After the perfect independence decades ago, we turned completely independent and free enough to puke, pee and dirty our own surrounding. While the school teacher yells at the top of her voice on value education, health and hygiene, it is restricted to inside the examination hall. We are free to dirty our surrounding in the outside. Education from text books is a ritual. 

There goes a saying in most vernacular like in hindi " Jaisa Raja vaisa praja", which clearly lauds the leader who leads us is how the followers are. So do we observe too the randomness in the earlier decades and the discipline in the past hardly an year. Work towards cleaner India is the mantra our new leader has given us and so should be our actions focused on to. There are places that need cleaning, people who deserve your attention and authorities who need to hear your opinions.

You or me have never bothered to perhaps question or request the relevant authorities as to why the public trash bins are not placed in several areas or never emptied even if placed. One of the worst disasters called waste management. A call to recall. When you see that man spitting on road, try pricking his ass and remind him you could do the same like he did, but this time on his ass. 
We know that raising our voice against all that is dirty in our country is a power that we all have. Shall we spur and pledge to work towards a #SwachBharat ?


"The art of medicine consists of amusing a patient while the nature cures a disease"-Anonymous

If you clean your ass every morning take the courage to kick his ass whom you see littering the public area. Keep the clean thoughts to preserve your nature. Here's today's youth that challenge the challenge! That is exactly how Montu clears  his voice and shouts out too. This post is written for the campaign http://www.abmontubolega.com as well as Strepsils on Facebook and Twitter joining in hands with Indiblogger



Kyuki Bin Bole Ab Nahi Chalega #AbMontuBolega. 


Tuesday, November 25, 2014

Share A Drop - Of Love And Life




A class room space is all I need
One hearty meal is all you feed

Hungry tummy & hungry mind

Share a drop of love, be kind

Food with love, I ask not much

Milestone to reach inch by inch

For a life, I want to learn

Morsel of food I yearn......




India has reached Mars. No doubt. But perhaps one peek from Mars and what is seen is the poor hungry children often deprived of food, school, proper sanitation/toilets. They are the future of India, that is the youth, the children and we know the ground reality. At the ground level, the children constituting 35% of population, yet their various issues are yet to be acknowledged at giant scale so as to take that leap in solving the crisis. It could be sanitary issues, illiteracy and importantly undernourishment. According to UNICEF one third of world's malnourished children hail in India.  While, India has 440 million children, home to largest number of children in the world. 

In our India, we are very busy celebrating a socially lesser relevant "Children's Day". It's tuned in synonymous to a ritual now. The outcome of it is a zero in accomplishment with what the hungry child in India gets. A meaningless children's day, where in the most important issues of them hardly hit headlines. Some do not make to a weekly magazine too. What use is that special day where in a bunch of them hardly have food to eat or place to pee.

"When a poor hungry person dies, it is not fault of God. It is fault of you and I who did not give that person what he wanted" - Mother Teresa

We all have heard of mid-day meal schemes in schools. Akshaya Patra is one non profit organisation that has been working parallel with mid day meal schemes in schools. The main goal is to achieve a no school drop out due to hunger. Feed the stomach and then the minds is the mantra.

We have often heard of many stories of people needing helping hand to that road side paper seller or rag picker who earns his meal as well as little peek into books. But, how much does that help. A complete grooming called education can happen in a disciplined fashion in a school and in hand goes the requirement of a morsel of food. We might donate to orphanages, we might help that road side boy. But now, a novel idea is to blog a post. Every such post can feed one sponsored child though Akshaya Patra and BlogAdda. I too have indulged with doing my bit to the needy children in orphanages. Now I am going to #BlogToFeedAChild with  Akshaya Patra and BlogAdda.


Remember this:



In this era of technological advancement, the idea of channelizing the promotion of curbing the cause of class room hunger, via social media is worthy of taking an awe for. Now apart from social and  moral responsibility of helping and poor, we also take note of Bloggers Social Responsibility
A thank you note to BlogAdda for bringing up a worthy idea for a noble cause initiated by Akshaya Patra


We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give" - Winston Churchill
               

Wednesday, November 19, 2014

PEE-KABOO


"Enough is enough, will you pee now or you chose not to travel with us further"- was my mother shouting at me. Lush green grass, silence and abandoned place, just right to pee when you were travelling 24X7 on a marathon tour with the popular tour operators. More than 2 decades ago, peeing in public was an art. The older ladies educated me how they could cover my butt with their hanging pieces of sari and I could pee in peace. Peace? Hell. I peed in piece. Playing peekaboo with few pairs of eyes that pretended not to see me and few mosquitoes that buzzed around.
I am that bloody Indian with 5 rooms 4 toilets in my home today, yet dreads those memory lane journeys of pee-kaboo, where my bladder often yelled for it's respectful urinal rights, at me. Those, night bus journeys were a nightmare. Jungles as open toilets, singing loudly was only option if the bladder shouted the hell out of holding the pee for long hours. Using a public toilet was a bane. The very spell of the filthy look, feces slathered floor, and scent, knocked the saner in me and would often make me flee for my life into the sky for the holy urinals and rest in pee. 


In the country side, there is always an uncle that walks a mile every morning with a tumbler of water in hand. Perhaps the women in the family had the royal chance to use the nearby surroundings for the rituals. As for little Babli, she too learnt the royal art. The cat walk with a tumbler of water. The older aunties of babli, planned their peeing picnic. It was their time for "kitty-pee-party". Discuss life's problems over a pee time. But Babli  despairingly, watched the surroundings reeking filthy feces. Something called a latrine was a luxury. They were meant for the upper class just like those in cities who own a swimming pool inside a house, whereas folks  far away in country side often deprived of mere water line in their "so called" homes. 
Oh holy lord of urinals! The king of S.A gifted his daughter a royal toilet made of pure gold.  Our folks in India  are those fortunate enough to see stars in the sky while they defecate. 

Babli, felt miserable day by day. The behooving walk to the open pee stations, turned agonizing. Her mind bubbled, why olden  days culture included defecation in open and keep house clean. World grew faster, man stood up to a mouse click, yet not a toilet revolution. Open defecation is no more an art. It's the dirty truth of the country that the leaders who come to Babli's village with white clothing, folded hands once  a year, never looked back for a peek into sanitary issues. They brought laptops to Babli's school in order to educate and develop the youth. You want to smirk at this. Health is wealth is that proverb the teacher only writes on the school board each morning. And that leaves Babli wondering why she cant pee in peace, or play in a place without human feces or the aura of the urinals.  How long could she hold her pee at her school too, that had no toilets? Till she toiled to find a safe surrounding or a lone latrine with nearly collapsing walls and no sings of water in there for ages?


Nearly half  of India's population have no toilets. Nearly half have cellphones though. Smart hygiene faults.
Only 46.9% of the 246.6million households have lavatories. 49.8% defecate in the open. Remaining 3.2% use public toilets.  A cultural taboo of decades ago, has never seen a up gradation even today with the world in our palm. People wash their clothes in river/ponds/lakes in the country side. Pee at one end, bathe at other. The cities are worst. With no ponds, folks turn to walls, pits around municipality trash bins and so on. The women are hit most, off their dignity and safety. A summit in Delhi highlighted statistics that just 15% of rural people have access to toilet. 
For women, dignity and safety in hands with hygiene finds priority. This piece of news when reported globally, where a lady denied stepping into her husbands house in rural India, for lack of toilet, perhaps rang a bell in the society to some extent.



The Prime Minister of India has lead the revolution called "swach bharath" where cleanliness, hygiene is going to be utmost priority. Domex has taken an extra ordinary revolutionary step towards health and hygiene of folks. More in the rural India.
You are just a click away towards doing your bit for your society, your women folks, through Domex Toilet Academy. http://www.domex.in/.  
Help build healthier India, help woman, girls and children like babli find their dignity in safety.


Sunday, November 9, 2014

Maid Goes Wi-Fi

Image Source: Google.
Not before long it was, when, in India, that lady with wet sari wandered around tiding up my kitchen and the grubby kneed son of hers, cleaned weeds in my garden. Maid was the key word. The job outsourced. Unending domestic chores were to be unearthed  by the maiden of the house, hence often outsourced part of job to the maid. The luxury was face to face talks, unlike today, where my most conversations with my maid are on whattsapp and few calls.

The flash backs pose ghostly appearances in my thoughts, when I run my marathon in my "foreign" house from room to kitchen and back to another room. What! I wanted to faint on discovering longish formalities in filling up several forms, study the labour law just to have a house help. Life of an NRI was more about papers. Visas and the likes. 

The India house almost made my sweet dreams at times. Each time I clean my finger nails off the vegetable remain, reminds me of those happy moments when, I once was young and free enough to fill nail paints too. Nail paints are nightmare now. Every time I get off driver seat of my car, back home  shopping just milk and bread, my head throbs thinking of that handsome boy of the supermarket that home delivered stuff in my  Bangalore home. And that milk delivery boy, who never snubbed me, when he dropped milk packets at my door at 5 AM and most mornings had to ring bell for like forever if I had not showed up at the door on time.

Imagine you still had whole lot of time to cook-eat, cook-eat, while the maid attended other chores. Unimaginable, that my foren (foreign) house turned me into an roly-poly. Katrina lady of bollywood was lucky to be framed barbie. I could only manage to pose like Ms.Wobbly. Cooking-cooking-and feeding. The clock loved howling at me, to run, both on my toes and heels. A roly-poly me was found everywhere in the house all the time. Forward, backward, this way and that way. Night saw me like an effigy of my own, stiff out of exhaustion, ready to crash on the bed. Just the breakfast was a huff-puff. With no break the roly-poly would next be behind the wheels. Office provided refreshing coffee at least. Roly-Poly's lunch menu read like this- "hurried lunch, skipped lunch, forgotten lunch, leftover dinner stuff...and so on ". But the haunts of "getting back into the kitchen in the evening, running the laundry, dishwasher would drown me in insomniac slumber. Dining in peace was a luxury too. My creativity in work was born dead as the robot in me was conceived. Denial was punishment. You end up doing your dirty laundry, to emptying the trash.



Going by the speed at which 2G internet has transformed the world into 4G today the "maid job" too has spread wings rapidly. Giving and taking orders have taken shape of the MNC culture. Tradiotional "jhadoo" (jhadoo=hindi term for broom) have found profound use as symbols of political parties. The domestic vacuum cleaners do a better job though noisy. The silent brooms are cornered. Good bye to the old wet-sari maid and welcome the hi-fi , wi-fi  maid. The modern avatar of the maid. Here job outsourcing hops next level. You hire a maid. She hires herself a baby sitter!

Those maid gossips of India had gone online here with silent demands from the maid on wi-fi. She was everywhere. One should not miss those Facebook updates. Though I am still waiting for something like "Now vacuum cleaning-feeling annoyed"! No doubt the WhattsApp was full of her. Updating selfie after selfie, while scouring & scrubbing.  It's just that coping with chopping happens to her only as she can install her smart phone facing her and the chop board. It's just that the onions can never bring tears to her eyes, as her eyes popped over the phone. Wonder how many of my dinner menu have been rolling over on her WhattsApp or Facebook. Mind it, the man in the house has to worry both about the wife and the wi-fi. If wi-fi is down maid is upset, and if the maid is upset the wife is upset!

Bye Bye  "bayee". The maid is busy buzzing status updates. The remarkable transformation of bayee to Wi. Catch her online if she hasn't turned up for work today! No  bayee (bayee meaning maid in Hindi) sounds more like no to sleep to me. But there's no better heaven than cooking your own meal, be your own maid.
Maid made.

Tuesday, October 21, 2014

Crack-Less And Not Cracker-less Deepawali



I dislike this new app called "NO to Deepawali crackers"discovered by liberals . Close the App and open the "I love my Culture; I shall abide by rules and limits to enjoy it" app. We smart people like smart phones have scrounged in too many apps in life. Trash them. Refresh memory, recharge self and add in beautiful apps.

I am a true bloody Indian! When it comes to festivals, I am even truly traditional Hindu. And when it's Deepawali, I loved doing hopscotch on roads midst red coloured crackers scattered all over. Some half burnt that might just buzz right on you! Yet, loved standing along the road along with other neighbours and few street dogs, watch the men throw the crackers as if they went spinning the cricket ball like Kumble or if they just planned to bomb the neighbourhood, light a rocket and flee as if for life. It was little of pest control too in our mosquito filled native. I miss all these fun!

Now, to calculate why  crack the C called CONFUSION. The confusion of human ego as to banning fireworks for Deepawali that forms part of culture, and carelessness of environmental regulations. Dear oh, it's our festival, it's our culture. Light oil lamps, don't save on oil. Burst a few crackers not someone's ears or foot! Forget the weighing machine and hog on all those delicacies, sweets  and savories.

Let's not get into figures, but the fact that fireworks and crackers form beautiful part of festive celebrations. The illuminations with lamps and fireworks hold significance to victory of good over evil, indications of the joy of people on earth.
Be it Deepawali or Christmas. With the pollution standards to be regulated by government, over different kinds and sources of pollution, we ought to take oath to point the government on environmental regulation standards for which we need not compromise on celebrating 2 days festival in the entire 365!
It's become a fashion liberal trend to say absolute NO to crackers.  Pollution is the heroic reason. Why not, We mighty people have buckled up for a race. Who spends more on crackers? We human race are into big time race everywhere. Heard that children find fantasy in flaunting how many thousands they have spent on crackers. Less said the better. Beautiful confusion of ego with pollution for an No to crackers.

As for some, the very concern on why child labour encouraged in making the crackers in India. Even if it were true, at the least, that's damn not a reason to not enjoy your beautiful culture of spreading smiles through some crackers apart from sweets and love. Spare a thought to the Indian women labour involved in the making. Their long hours of labour is their bread and few hours of your fun. In fact it's more of women empowerment here.

Craving for attention, now  big boards go in hands of cute child. The board will say "I have asthma, Say No to crackers". Dear oh, please bomb your fireworks in decently open ground and not across your neighbour's window sill. And the same child will next year be acknowledging a "thank you - loved the fire works".

The cities where normal people have to jostle and jump to reach their respective offices on time each morning, are stuck with the more pollution in air already. But finally puffing and panting, they relax for Deepawali spreading eternal peace and want to say no crackers please. Dear oh, get on and  enjoy the sparklers for an hour in the entire 365. It will brighten up the child's face. We brave hearts, have gathered the absolute courage to lift the boards for most Hindu festivals on complete banning of all the festive mood. Now we need to gather that extra courage to amend them to saying "control your limits on the air and sound pollution" You draw your line. The already polluted laws and regulations along with air is apparently a burden on government, as my 'no crackers" is not going to suddenly clean the air. Also gather that extra courage to save such boards every festive season. Christmas fireworks, and the quagmires reeking animal blood  in public places during Eid. Pollution again! And also shove some boards onto the doors of the activists when animals are abducted to be savoured for festivals.

These small gesture we make will make us love law. When Deepawali is round the corner, do get busy lighting those beautiful mud lamps with oil and wick. Lord Rama was welcomed this way and even if we wish to decorate our houses with big coloured electrical lights, it is spread smiles and love not a ball of envious fire onto your neighbour's stomach that he rushes to nearest shop to get a heavier and bigger lighting. Say no to ego not celebrations.  Dear oh, crack the puzzle. It's inside us. Burst it out with loudest noise, and those fireworks with least.

Mind it, little fun is eligibility alright! But when a friend had to relocate her child every Diwali to a different location, she had to actually beat the doors of those around who flaunting tons of crackers burst at their doorstep. Pinch his ear and tell the neighbour, "It's festival darling. Spread peace and love, by drawing your line and not migraine by almost bombing the place with  cheap Chinese crackers. Because the mighty city Indians might soon as well end up preaching "No to Agarbatthis-they spread air pollution". Culture and traditions have to be experienced in their right dosage and loved it that way.
  
Le's end the "Confusion" not the "Crackers!! Let's save the Hindu culture and kill the ego not traditions.

Thoughts  have been churned in here with essence of logic, culture and a right message in festive spirits. With the extra bit of intellectual ideologies, remember to say No to all those extra bits during all festivals.

Giving it a personalized touch with my words and my preparations.










In fact, am going to expect 56 inch chest PM of India who has just vaccinated India off corruption and has intensified the process of country's progress, to in future add the feather on cap called "Disney India" where lots of fireworks be held and the same people you see here holding big boards will buy tickets to watch the fireworks.

For those who understand my plight of being bloody Indian in writing this-cheers.
For those who are still confused- do refresh yourself and come back for cheers!
Because I have this bad habit of writing and writing what is right and what I know is right.

Monday, October 20, 2014

You Specky

For most parents including me, it's such a glorious deed to persistently run a homework as to what is good and what could be bad to your child. I was, at one point such an hyper, who had to even peep right inside the diaper if a ant had wriggled in, troubling my baby. I would wash an unpeeled orange over and over  till someone laughed at me, before beginning to squeeze juice out of it for my child. But it does not end there. If I was over doing it is your idea, no, you get a wrong message. At least when it came to her food and immunity.

With both we parents gifted with short sight and having to wear spectacles, I forever ran my homework as to how I shall strengthen my child's retinal nerves, apart from eating carrots. Reminds me of my three year old back from play school told me -"Ms Kitty says carrots are good for eyes, but please give me two of them, as I have two eyes na". It was during those days, that I hogged on lots of study on herbal medication. From age 3, I kept an eye on her eye, so she did not have to design her eyes with spectacles like me. What an day! One day finally at age 5 came her complaints of aching head and mistakes in reading from a distance. My horror knew no bounds. What I was not waiting for, almost happened? I rushed to the eye doctor and alas, she declared  "astigmatism". So, we returned home with her heavy eyes! A white framed spectacles that she kept punching every minute in frustration. After flushing out loads of cajoles and wheedles and loving talks that she finally enjoyed her spectacles. But the "specky me of the high school haunted me. My past would walk past my thoughts!

"It was from my high school days, that I fantasized the idea of wearing glasses. And god granted me short sight right when I wanted. Then had begun my ever lasting craze of designing my eyes with different frames, not bothering what frame my overall size fitted into. Graduating onto contact lenses slowly I was still living happily even when the popular serial "Jassi Jaisi koi nahi" was flashed on TV screen. This just boosted my confidence.  I had never bothered to negate my feeling, just over few friends calling me a specky. You see it was my dream to design my eyes.
And then soon reality dawned on me. In the shower, during travels and so on, what an nuisance my eye designer was. Less said is better!"
After few dreams haunting me, I decided to do plunge onto to my home work mode again. With Ayurveda doctors in my family, I kept myself aloof from administering bottles of coloured syrup to my child for little fever or a bout cold/cough.  Apparently, I was beginning to understand how her antibodies worked wonders by administering only herbal products. One fine day, I rushed to my favourite Prabhu Uncle at Mangalore.  Hope he  read this post! Prabhu uncle was as usual calm, composed, and in his Amitabh Bachaan voice told me, please start treating her with "Trifala Gratha and "Chyawan Prash". I was immediately convinced with him. The gratha is a form of ghee that is to be consumed with food each night. And the Chyawan Prash to be consumed every evening with milk. Prabhu Uncle's results were out after 2 years. It was like a miracle, that my child's eye designer could be abandoned. Astigmatism went for toss. The Gratha and Chyawan Prash did it's job. The antioxidants and other herbs presence in it  gets  the product it's high value and protecting power. With doctors in my family, during their study of medicine, we often called them names like guggulu, haritaki or guduchi out of mad humour. And the names sank in so well in our minds and the herbs in our immune system!
  
Though, the practice of consuming the same did not stop there but continues till date. And, come challenge me, she hardly falls sick. Her immune system auto corrects her. Today, a day's cold and I tell her, eat your ice cream tomorrow. Medicine is a rare member in her room. Years ago, if she licked her mud filled hands in play pen my laugh worried other mothers and at times I told them- "all this makes her more strong".
Image source: Personal

It's not any magic. Or if it is there's nothing but the "Chyawan Prash" and no "abra ka dabra". My kitchen counter proudly flaunts a bottle of Chyawan Prash and other stuff forever. The eternal love of it and my child saves me from doing vigorous homework on how to protect her always. Her extra jumps in the swimming pool cant worry me of her catching cold, or her extra classes of badminton cant worry me of her strained calf muscles. As long as Chyawan Prash is protecting her.
The entire episode began with my issues of my eye designer, and ended with completely building my child's immune system with the fantastic Chyawan Prash.
A healthy child, makes a healthy home. Indeed.

Going Gets Going


Sunday, June 15, 2014

My Pal - Manipal

Picture Courtesy : Click here
You ought to savour  this extra dosage of "Manipal" from my every cell of memoir. Evidently, a very  wink before a sleep, connects my nerve cells to those photographic memory of a Manipal street that brought me up for years. Unending noise on that street seemed music to ears, an unpleasant odour, specially the open road side fish market was part of the routine. A typical scenario of the late 90's. A stretch of a kilo metre that exclusively presented odours of the- hospital stuff, masala dosa, fish curry, or the dust swayed by zooming local buses. 
A Bus and a bus stop:- Roads, full of bikes, autos and those road runner busses. A shrill whistle  by that nasty bus conductor as the bus pulled off the station happened every other second. The bus-stops predominantly share a intricate history, meant for the  stray dogs and cows for gods sake. "Who would ever wait in there?" was the fashion. What a shame it was if guys scattered not on road for a bus but in the bus stop! Few groups/pairs of people seen assembled around the place as if, for a champagne party, were true signs they actually waited for a bus. Velocity of an approaching bus, could often confuse one about the timings and placing of its halt. Vivid types of, sized and coloured buses decorated the local town. The typical Madhuri Dixit in Yash Chopra films running through greens with hands wide open is precisely the style how conductor wafts out of the bus...singing his plastic whistle. At times an silent audience can note gravity observations, if the bus almost collapsed on one side of it, or was just ready to take off in the sky. Buses zooming on the street at super sonic speed and few careless walkers at lesser than the "2G" speed confused each other of their destiny. An mindlessly walking pedestrian would thoroughly be threatened by the  noisily zooming bus, to run over him!
Healthy street is what you must call it...At very step you find either a pharmacy store or a restaurant. Occasionally  a supermarket showed a presence promising you of domestic needs too. Manipal Drug House, Manipal Stores, Manipal Canteen, that's how all these were named. An newly opened Manipal Studio or Manipal supermarket adds on. If this sounds so synchronous to you, for me it adds an touch of home.

Main street of Manipal bubbled more with young generation. The stretch between the medical college and the engineering college collided with young students. One side saw multi coloured jeans and T's other side came less coloured, hair well done one with white coats on! The ones with heavy  books in their arms and  were those with white coats and, the other side matched them loaded with big wooden rectangular boards (used for engineering drawing) or monstrous sized measuring scales tucked under their arms.  The scanty population in the crowd were often the uncles and aunts. A few were either teachers or some of them managing the banks there. Manipal streets did not commonly see families walking together except for temple, park or residential colonial area. The major crowd that filled the streets almost 24X7 were the whole set of people/patients of all ages, visiting the main hospital. People from the neighbouring states poured in, paying religious visits here, owing to the technology that popularised the Manipal hospital.
Reminds me of my grandfather tales. As he was engrossed in priestly activities in a temple few kilo metres away from Manipal town, how his friend in his "Munna Bhai MBBS" outfit, with his rifle, actually hunted tigers in the jungles of Manipal in "his" times. Perhaps in the 60's is what we are talking of or little before that too. And the popular "Tiger Circle" was that area christened so with it's history of finding the tigers commonly. Our present scene of the 90's often saw hyena's, foxes or wild monkeys from the leftover existent bunch of trees.

My words building that image formation in your mind apparently, is what precisely am trying to narrate. That busy Manipal street, that my eyes saw in my growing years, has grown too now and changed in shape and looks. But I bet, someone tell me those buses have mended their ways or used the bus stations at least once a day! Now it hardly means the buses are not a great experience. They are a part of best adventures for one, in Manipal. A good pal that promise your every visit around the town on or before time!
Every visit to this place today, loads these scenes onto my memory though my eyes view the newer scenes of newer Manipal. My pal.

Tuesday, April 15, 2014

Name Game - It's All In A Name - From The "Shy Girl Of Manipal"

That book you write,
not read.
That road, with return none,
only lead.
That lane you walk,
not run.
Life with pain,
still is fun.
Life with no name,
Sounds dull & lame.
Fancy naming a new born after a popular Bollywood or Hollywood star? Please do so. What's in a name? Bang onto "What's not in a name?". Remember you might hit a jackpot sometime when bizarre airways offer concessions to selected popular Bollywood character names. Recently the Virgin Atlantic Airways that threw away exciting offers to "filmi named" people. Behold- now say what's in a name? Whether of much use or not, I did muse upon the options on, what if I was named after some "Simran- sanorita"; the popular "pooja beti" the Yash Chopra's Madhuri Dixit; Priya or the bubbly Rani Mukharjee as Tina in Kuch Kuch Hota Hai.
Aargh, well I love my name. not the airlines!
There was a time, my introduction would compulsorily include "shy girl from Manipal!". If that meant a coyish girl, please don't be duped at all. Yes, I did be a lot much pessimistic in  communication and outspoken category. In parallel, there was the big mischief soul inside me that has attempted simpler tricks to horrendous college pranks. To the extent of ragging a senior graduate fellow in university.
Absolutely remember mother often tell me the n number of choices they considered when a fifteen days old "ME" was named. "Sushma", with literal meaning being beauty, perhaps they saw beauty of life in me. I wasn't technically named after any ancestors. But existence of many "Suhmas" in that era, marked a trendy name.
Identity apart, every single person to whom you mean calls you "a name". They symbolize affection. Hence for the past years I must have had numerous names from family, friends and so on. Either the nickname, sometimes a 2nd name, at times an abbreviation of full name. Sometimes a roller coaster of it like "Sushuuuum, suhumaaaa..so on". At times shortened, at times sweetened, at times tasty like "Sushi". The proper noun that I have accepted and adored. All through life as I was brought up almost caned to understand, the beauty was not in the physical appearance, and that perhaps inspired me to see the "beauty" in absolutely everything around me to every action of mine. Even in a few naughty teenage tricks I tried, I found a beauty called fun. If my little girl today calls me "hey your teeth are paint box" for the different enamel colour each has developed over the years, I don't mind. Find it creative. Big joys in small things. Those peppy nicknames that turn out to be relevant identity that ages later an college mate can not recognise you on facebook but marks that nick name as the verification code. Authorised for friendship, call it!

If familiarity to Indian culture strikes to you all or not, we Indians, specially South Indian Brahmins do have a ritual of changing names after marriage. The first name too! With changing world, which is losing its acceptance, yet the tradition was fun. You adapt yourself to your in laws and also change your name. Identity challenged!

"Only Love"- let me declare it so, the noun that identifies you, the name by which you are recognised . While there's a literal sense of "what's in a name", my love for my name is unique. It's the perfect love compatibility match. There is no "rename" option in real life for me. Apparently perceptions of name and identity have some perpetual thoughts beyond the "noun" factor. The identity tag that finds its best love match with the personality. Brought up in "Manipal", I love the place and the name. There's no rename option for it too! I would hate it.

An exotic illustrations of the name game can be hilarious.
How about the "bhagwan ke naam pe de do baba".  Popular slogan meant for unfortunate beggars, with the mention of "in the name of God". Times when the names turn into those of Bollywood stars are heard of too. You see, it's all in the name!
I was taken by surprise when my daughter at her age 5 had declared "Jui" is a childish name. She must change it as she grows up into some adult type! With occasional breaking burps in middle of a dinner I had to answer her, "adult type are not so popular"! Just the trend matters. She is now convinced as she reaches her teens. Take an instance if I had chosen to call my new born "Mukesh" "Aamir"! Or perhaps giving up to "adult types" changed her names to "Kiran (after Bedi)"' or "Kalpana (after Chawla)", what was the probability of the fun in matching the gravity in those names to your whims and choices? When a chord strikes between my name and "Sushma Swaraj" of Indian politics, I ....errr...let me sign off friends. It's Sushma from Manipal and that's how I love my identity tag to be fixed up forever.
Links used:- http://articles.economictimes.indiatimes.com/2014-03-20/news/48401922_1_virgin-atlantic-air-tickets-discounted-tickets

This post is also linked in following blogs:
www.manipalblog.com
http://abcwednesday-mrsnesbitt.blogspot.com/

Saturday, April 5, 2014

My Mud Toed Princess

 The decision was mine! I had paid two hoots to those monstrous mocking  eyes of neighbours tracking me, as my little 22 months plus girl splashed her legs in the muddy rain water flowing across the street of the residential area of Manipal. If, being clean clothed, running around best smelling cosmos garden chasing a butterfly was "nice", fancying the nature's beauty in "ugly form" wasn't a crime. That toddler, today, growing into pre-adolescent times has been maintaining her crown, being "grubby legged". Rains are just one form, that cant withhold her massive love to one the beautiful forms of nature.

One day long ago it was, with heavy down pour, as I stuck to the windows of our house with the little girl, there was an enchanting resonance of melodious mixture of sounds. Aura engulfed by occasional mixing of the sounds of the little one gurgling in thrill and that of water drop off coconut leaves. She had grown talking to the birds in the air, apart from spending few hours with the high end toys. Growing into a toddler she often placed herself in the balcony, throwing pieces of food at the wandering crows or other birds. While I was ridiculed by few why I could not use the baby walker but leave the toddler struggling on the lawn, I mused how one could not enjoy the little child watch a small ant take its tiny steps, with strict concentration or notice the different shades of green  by ones self. I was self flattered by how "I" wanted to bring her up. How her bonding with the nature mattered in the times of plastic world that I term to the numerous options of electronics or other gadgets handled even by toddlers.

Treat the little one a best princess way, fathom all branded toys, luxuries, food and stuff. The wings of "plastic joys" makes the colourful life. Protecting her from experiencing nature's playful wings would however be a crime. Nature's wings completes the education. The idea of letting her  secret freedom watching the birds chirp, discover a colourful butterfly in the garden, chasing a big fat cat,  study an creepy crawler or an ant in the sands, or waft away on the calm bouncing waves of the sea, always meant the best games to me.

There are few from many instances to recall. Those of her "Lost-adventures". Prompt encouraging by we parents, my little savoured the nature in very best and at times vanished from my supervisory view!
An 8 months old crawling  baby as she was, all engrossed with tiny sand play-set, in a crowded sea shore. A small gossip as I ended with my counter part, and looked around, the crawling baby was out on a date with the crowd. A instant shocked me, stood up tall and to my relief found the little one held high up in the air by a man shouting " whose baby is this?". I smiled finally. I concluded it was those small white sand crabs playing hide and seek with her in between the sand that dragged her away from us.
Another incident to recall is the one, when at age 5, she dared to sneak out of her play area with cutlery play set, and settle down briefly with a friend making mud pie and sand water juice. One would go aghast, though I had to throw out the frustration, concern and worry with a stern warning, I ended up laughing and reminding her "you mud toed princess" you aren't going to mend your ways, are you!

Most enduring educative toys, the best branded toys and so on were indeed showered on her. An comfort level would however find her settling down with those sea shells collected in a small cup with few broken, some green leaves from the garden along with few flowers and stuff in a "kitchen play set" with left over juice too to play with! What can be more educative than nature itself. How would she otherwise find the beauty of a butterfly and about the life and habits of natural habitats, greens, learn about the seasons better than experiencing over reading about it in beautifully coloured books.  She could even find sun shine delicious!
Times from her toddler-hood till those pre adolescent ones, time and again I catch her mud toed. The journey has been of playing out under the roof of the sky.....


Little Girl
www.kissan.in
Little instances of the child jotted here, little encounters of her with mother nature do add up as those flourishing memories to a parent. In a parallel, those little encounters  teach lessons to both. There is a child all who respects, understands and loves nature to fullest. An ordinary advice in our earthly existence is to remind ourselves, stay blessed with the best of nature and encourage the hymn of it in children from young age.  Let them free with the nature, who knows there is an inventor in one little mind perhaps!

Read somewhere that -"Earth laughs in the flowers".
I say - Lets laugh with those flowers and greens on the earth. Love nature, save earth and love yourself.


This post is dedicated to the best friend - Friend's of Nature..... > www.kissan.in
Is available to view in here too.  http://www.indiblogger.in/topic.php?topic=106 

Wednesday, April 2, 2014

Petals Of Love



Wafting petals of love,
 
Abhors the horrendous wind.
 
She, is a beautiful bloom,
 
Held high & cosy in delicate palm,
 
Now withered, from  glory to gloom.
 
Fret, shall be no mercy,
 
Time lost is irreversible,
 
The new bloom on -looked.
 
Shaky petals of love,
 
Abandoned with time,
 
Marred by the wind,
 
Tackling the destiny.
 
She, is a beautiful "life"!

Love it's divine essence!
 
 
An ultimate comparison of life with the rain, clouds, or bloom, and so on.... finds never ending prose & poetry.
 

Sunday, March 30, 2014

What's Aging?

What's aging?
An wandering soul,
Manipulated mind set,
Creaking bones,
On a marathon to an,
heavenly existence,
Ultimately reching hell,
Or the other way!

Why would I age?
A life that's...
A linear progressive discipline,
An army of blood cells,
Marching onto,
Not a, perpetual existence,
Feeding the mind and the body,
Only till the bones grow weak!

I am not aging. Why should I after all?
 

Image Courtesy---> Click Here

Tuesday, March 25, 2014

My "Key Prayer"


 
 
O Lord
I hold a prayer
 
Can you please CUT me
Or try to COPY me
And PASTE me into past

No OPTION?
Is a CONTROL there?
Or a SHIFT option?

There is no RETURN, from where I reached

SHIFT me as least
Give me a ALTernative
CLEAR my way, thoughts

Bring me BACK
Show me HOME
AND shower on me your blessings
 
There is no RETURN from where I reached

CTRL+ALT+DEL is possible?
CUT / COPY + PASTE ?
If not press back HOME
 
O Lord
I hold a prayer

Times when the thoughts flow into words, times when my thoughts run into "keypad" and are stuck !!
Image Courtesy click here--->  Image Courtesy 

Monday, February 17, 2014

Old Voice




Collision a formation
The brawl of thoughts in cacophony
Like beating drums on heavy toll
From the inside of the mind

The mind's factory function hindered
Malfunction could be wrong word
Demon of a noise, gobbling up thoughts
Jumbled up and lost track

Clock faking a move
Two sticks pointing  sad joke of loneliness
The vicinity of thoughts die a plonk
Mind all blank....

Standing stiff around, hands on forehead
Eyebrows, those curious, strained
Stare gaze switch clock to ceiling  to window
The walls laugh aloud

Bones old, hair gold
Age that's old
For a human that's bold
A tale not never told

In life once, stood tall
Yet melting with time, inside wall
Life's memory lane, like sank
With a mind that went "Blank"....

Image Source-  Click here

A blank mind was a fusion of big brawl of the long list of memories, thoughts, untold talks in mind. The above poetry has been an attempt, a trial reflection of stepping into the shoes of an old lonely feeling human. Staying overboard old people's homes could be fun, safe and acceptable. Somewhere resides the residual feelings of a human mind though......



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