My Passion for Poetry - "LOVE NEVER CHANGES"

"LOVE NEVER CHANGES" - My second poetry anthology published by ARCHIES G & G Ltd. in February 1999

POETIC PRIDE OF PLACE - "FRIENDSHIP IS FOREVER!"

FRIENDSHIP IS FOREVER - One of my Poetry Anthologies published by Archies G & G Ltd. in February 1999

ILLUSION!

First penned on 11th April 1995

Like a whiff of fresh air

you came into my life

And vanished with a sudden sweep of the breeze;

Like the soft shining dew

on the face of a petal

You rested on the surface of my palm,

But one ray of sunlight

And you just washed away;

Like an early morning dream

You blinked on the lashes of my eye

But disappeared into oblivion

With the first woken moment;

You were there yesterday

Next to me in flesh and blood

Today you are lost

Wrapped beneath the sands of time;

You hummed in my heart

Like a tune echoing in the woods

But amidst worldly din

You turned into silence of the dead;

Like a lone, exquisite icicle

You hung from the isolated

corner of my mind

But onslaught of maddening thoughts

And you melted away;

Like an illusion harbouring on the subconscious

You played with my life

But  a return to reality

And you were nowhere in sight.

*****************

Picture courtesy - www.deviantart.com

A BITE OF THE BIG APPLE

 CLARIFICATION –

1.    This ode to New York is based on a pre-9/11 visit.

2.    World Trade Centre was very much a part of our reality then.

3.    Global terror had not reached its current proportions.

4.    It was much easier and more pleasurable to travel across the Atlantic. No body scans, no overly suspicious security checks.

5.    The Pierre was a Four Seasons Hotel and not a Taj Hotels managed property, which it is today.

6.    The prices listed are dated to that visit and no longer valid now.

7.    Gai Brodtmann, my ex-boss and dear friend is now a Member of Parliament in the current government in Canberra, Australia.

8.    Pierre Jochem, my other ex-boss in now the Regional VP & GM at the Raffles in Singapore.

‘You will simply love New York’, friends proclaim to me as I experience the best of Americana, both along the east and the west coast.

And true to its reputation, the Big Apple, the City of lights, the City that never sleeps is as trendy and as glitzy as they come.

Nothing, not even my two and a half months long stay in the US prepares me for New York.  And to add to the glitter I am staying in Manhattan, easily the best burrough in New York, the ‘IN’ place to be located in.  My address for the Four-day long stay is going to be ‘The Pierre’, the most elite and exclusive Four Seasons hotel located on the trendiest Fifth Avenue.  The name is enough to add oodles of glamour to the introductory lines of my conversation, raise many an envious brow and catapult me from the identity of a commoner to the Ivy League of jet-setting, globe-trotting clique that sets an Armani cash register ringing.   But more on The Pierre later, the Hotel that embodies the big-ness, the High-Profileness of New York in superlatives, that is a residence to scions of some of the famous business families including Rockefeller, whose list of regulars include names like Naomi Campbell and where it is easy to spot the Casanova of modern-day love ballads, Michael Bolton cradling his favorite drink in the Hotel’s unobtrusive Bar.

You can arrive at New York by getting into either the JFK airport near Queens or at the Newark airport in New Jersey.  While a cab from Newark into New York would cost you about $80, a cheaper and easier (given the infamous NYC traffic jams) way could be to get on to an airport shuttle and get dropped at the doorstep of your destination.  As against the daylight robbery of a cabbie I pay an affordable $16 for a comfortable 1 ½ hour-long ride into the Big Apple.  The only sore point was a bit of ego bruising.  Here’s what happened. Upon being reprimanded for not knowing the directions to The Pierre like the back of his hand my shuttle driver admits that ‘this’ is the most posh area of New York and that he’s never had the reason to be here before. He further adds that ‘anybody who stays at The Pierre, I don’t think comes by a Shuttle’.  I am slightly hurt by the driver’s blunt statement but soon forget the insult as the gracious doorman takes my hand to help me step down.    The jarring comment soon becomes a matter of the past as I step into the legendary Hotel and am made to feel absolutely at home by the warm and courteous hotel staff.

New York is easily the world’s ‘Action’ capital.  There’s something happening for everybody all the time. If you are the ‘arty’ kind then NY presents ample opportunities for you to get lost in the world of museums. A guide to New York states that you could devote an entire month to museums in the city and still not do them justice.  But if you are hard-pressed for time, like I was, then I would recommend that you see definitely two of the biggest that New York boasts of.  The Museum of Modern Art that prides in itself for housing one of the world’s best and most comprehensive collection of modern art. And The Metropolitan Museum of Art, popularly called ‘The Met’, which is the biggest in the Western world. The treasures of “The Met” include a vast collection of American art and more than 3,000 European paintings, including masterpieces by Rembrandt and Vermeer.  There are also many Islamic exhibits, and the greatest collection of Egyptian art outside Cairo.

When time is of essence, one of the most intelligent things to do, I have discovered, is to get on a guided daylong city tour.  While it may leave you ‘not fully satisfied’ it still manages to give you a fair snap shot of the city.  Plus you can easily make a claim to the fact that you’ve been there and done that!  I got onto one of those conducted by Grayline Tours on my second day in the city.

After a sumptuous breakfast of toast, bagel, cream cheese, egg white omelette with herbs and tomatoes, fried potatoes, Blueberry pancake, Grapefruit juice and coffee, I take a cab for the Grayline Terminal in time to start off at 8 sharp.  (Contrary to what I had been told, cabs within the city are not that expensive and cost anywhere between $6 and $10 on an average.  However, a 10-15% tip to the cabbie is considered mandatory). 

The tour begins at Saint John the Divine – the largest Gothic Cathedral in the world.  A magnificent building, currently under renovation, the Cathedral has some beautiful stained glass works.  Since the “Manhattan Comprehensive Tour” is resolved to pack a lot in the day, the first half of the day is a quick drive through the famous Harlem (known for its glorious heritage as the intellectual, political and artistic capital of black America); Museum Mile (stretching from the Carnegie Mansion to the modernistic Guggenheim); Rockefeller Center (home to Radio City Music Hall and famous for its giant Christmas tree and ice-skating rink); Times Square, Greenwich Village & SOHO (the trio to which I return later, with a vengeance); Little Italy (offering both casual outdoor cafes and fine restaurants featuring food from every Italian region); Chinatown (a bustling, multicultural “city within a city”, Chinatown contains more than 150,000 residents, making it one of the largest Chinese settlements outside Asia.  Personally, I much preferred its counterpart in San Francisco and found it to have more vibrancy and character). 

With one half of the ‘Touch and go’ tour over at the stroke of half past noon, we are right in time for a 3-course lunch in a traditional restaurant in the heart of China town.  Spring-rolls, fried rice, vegetable noodles – Cantonese style, pork spareribs, chicken Manchurian-style, dry chili lamb, Chinese green vegetables (with the over powering presence of PakChoy)  all washed down with the oh-so-American coke, diet and regular and rounded off with delicious mango ice cream and fortune cookies (mine reads ‘you speak beautifully,’ putting a smile on my face, perhaps also having met with its purpose).

Soon after lunch we drive, on a balmy afternoon that is increasingly becoming warm, to one of the tallest buildings in the world.  The twin buildings of the World Trade Center at 110-storeys are simply overwhelming.  The World Trade center is home to 450 businesses and 50,000 workers.  For a tourist, however, the main activity involves a visit to Top of the world for breathtaking views from the 107^th floor (the express elevator takes just 58 seconds to reach this level) of the Center’s glass enclosed Observatory and 110^th floor outdoor deck.  The view of Manhattan, the beautiful skyline (immortalized by scores of Hollywood films) and the majestic Empire State Building is awesome.  A movie about the history of New York in the Center’s Simulation Theater is yet another major attraction.

The second half of the Tour begins with a Ferry ride over the Hudson River to the world-famous Statue of Liberty and the historical Ellis Island.  The Statue of Liberty, declared a national monument, is the most American of Americanisms.  Anyone who sees this spectacular Green Lady is astonished by its beauty (sculpted in a thought provoking manner by Auguste Bartholdi) and gigantic size (height from ground to top of the torch – 305 ft, 1 inch). While the museum in the vortex of the ‘Lady' could keep you occupied for a couple of hours (with easily an hour or so going away in queuing up to get in), a ‘must do’ is the strenuous climb up the 354 steps to the Lady’s crown.

Before returning to the Battery Park, the Ferry takes a detour to Ellis Island entrenched in the Immigrant American history.  More than a hundred million Americans can claim ancestors who came through Ellis Island.  A movie on the epic Immigration, a museum, audio tour, The American Immigrant Wall of Honor and live performances make learning about American History fun and informative.

Battery Park, to which you return after the second half of the day well-spent, is a hub of activity – carts selling hot-dog & pretzels, street musicians, interesting sculptures and excellent portrait artists abound.

The Tour ends with a quick passing through Wall Street (‘The’ place of green bills in the Finance Capital of the world), United Nations and South Street Seaport (a restored historic district which has restaurants and shops located in and around the piers overlooking the East River and Brooklyn).

My second night out in New York is spent dining at Amaranth – ‘the’ place to dine in, currently, in Manhattan.  Amaranth (an imaginary flower that never fades) at 5^th Avenue on 21^st East, 62^nd Street, true to its reputation, is buzzing with activity thronged by trendy New Yorkers draped in latest designer wear.  While Amaranth may be making waves, it had a set of discerning guests to please that evening.  My host for the evening is Pierre Jochem, the handsome and debonair Hotel Manger of The Pierre together with his young, strapping son Cedric who is currently interning at the other Four Seasons Hotel – considered an institution in Hospitality circles.  Pierre insists we are seated in front of the restaurant.  “Being seen and being noticed is an integral part of dining out in New York,” he explains to me.

Pierre, who was the Food & Beverage Director for Hyatt International at the age of 25, is a tough customer and chooses the menu for the evening as if he was buying a masterpiece.  Cradling our welcome drink of Champagne with guava and peach, Cedric and I engage in some looking around leaving Pierre to select the wine for the evening (Cennatoio Chianti Classic 1997) and the food.  Forking in our choice of appetizers (Baby Arugula salad with shaved Pecorino Toscano, Caprese salad, Buffalo Mozzarella with tomatoes and basil and Prosciutto di Carpyne served with Figs) we see Paparazzi narrowing down on a couple seated near the entrance, hidden behind dark shades in that evening hour.  ‘It is not uncommon to chance upon well-known TV and movie stars in restaurants on 5^th Avenue or Madison Avenue,’ Pierre tells as I forget my Gourmet meal desperate to find out ‘who’ they are.  As we weave our way through the carefully selected main course of Tagliatelle with mixed wild mushrooms; Four cheeses Raviolini with butter and sage and grilled Halibut with extra virgin oil and vegetable relish, I am delighted to be the center of attention for one of the paparazzi whose flashbulb focuses on our table.  Pierre tells me that the man mistakes me for a ‘Maharani from India’ but Cedric and I are certain that Pierre, with his movie star good looks, is the real object of the lensman’s desire.

Feeling pretty important and adequately noticed we round off our meals with Apple Tart with Sherbet; Lemon, Raspberry and mixed fruit sorbet and Biscotti with a Berry coulis and vanilla sauce.  Pierre makes his wallet lighter by 205 $ as we sign off a thoroughly enjoyable evening.

On my third day in New York I have this strange sinking feeling of there being a vacuum – a queer sensation of emptiness.

So far I’ve touched New York but not felt it.  So, I decide to get on to a walking tour of the ‘Happening’ City (walking in New York is certainly one of the best ways to see the city and let its essence sink in).

I take a cab from The Pierre to Café Riviera on the West 4^th Street, which is New York’s oldest neighborhood dotted with beautiful, brown-stoned Town houses, small cafes, salons and unique shops.  Many famous movie stars live on this street.  Walking towards 8^th Avenue I make a left on hitting the 8^th into Bleecker Street.  With its set of unique shops, bookstores and café’s, this is the main shopping street in Greenwich Village.  I find an exquisite Asian art shop from where I pick up a unique fruit bowl from Bali made in antiquated wood.  I’m sure it will make a nice farewell gift for a friend.

Having trudged purposefully some more I find myself on the Crossing Christopher Street in the Greenwich area, known to be world’s most famous “Gay” street where Gay Pride began.   

I am in the vicinity of New York University with its impressive building and thickly shaded boulevards.  I turn right on La Guardia Place onto West Houston or West Broadway (the same street changes names) and find myself in South of Houston (pronounced ‘Hows’ ton) filled with the trendiest shops, unique NYC designers, cafes and some of NYC’s most exclusive art galleries.  Popularly called SOHO and once the neighborhood for New York’s budding artists, it is known for its chic boutiques, popular art and photography galleries and make up salons. Cobblestone streets give this neighborhood a very European feel.

I moved through some more cafes, galleries, antique shops and designer boutiques on Spring, Green and Grand streets before turning right to the 6^th Avenue.  The walking tour through the Greenwich, University and SOHO areas took me about an hour and a half. 

And if you were to take a No. 6 bus to 45^th street and walk west you would find yourself walking through the Theatre District.  Broadway gave us Cole Porter, George and Ira Gershwin, Neil Simon, Eugene, O’Neill ……….., who in turn gave us Carousel, Gypsy, Oklahoma, Annie Get your Gun, Sound of Music, West Side Story, Phantom of the Opera……..  A ticket for Broadway show costs anywhere between $100 and $250 depending on the popularity and the show’s novelty.  However, if you have the patience to stand in serpentine queues at the Times Square or the World Trade Center you can get the same day show tickets for half the price.

Walking through the crowded Broadway Street I bump into a friendly Gladiator.  He obliges me with some pictures and I walk ahead finding myself face to face with that much-hyped monument to man’s modern mindset. Times Square, a place of intense activity, has been described as a “wall of light and color, urging the onlooker to chew gum, drink beer, see the world’s most beautiful girls………”

For most of the last 100 years, the Great White Way has had the biggest, the gaudiest, the most remarkable signs in the world.  While I am looking around, I see a couple of American Indian musicians set up shop at the Square and start playing to the passing crowds.  Quite a few like me stand to listen and sway to their music and upon leaving either drop a dollar in a box or buy their CD (Angel by the duo called UMBRAL, mixing sounds of guitar and a traditional wind instrument, is one of my favorite CDs).  In a typical tourist fashion, I also buy some ‘I love NYC’ T-shirts for $2 at the Square.

After my official meeting at the Marriott Marquise a stone’s throw away from Times Square, I wander around the stylish Madison Avenue before taking the bus back to The Pierre. You must remember that the buses in New York only accept 1.50$ and all in coins.  

The Pierre, as I mentioned earlier is a very exclusive hotel and a home to several kings and queens, Heads of state, Corporate big wigs and movie stars.  The day I was checking in, the Hotel was swarming with black-suited security personnel in attendance for the Israeli Prime Minister.

The Hotel brochure states, “From the multilingual Concierge, to the elevator attendants, to the housekeepers who visit twice daily, guests enjoy quiet, unobtrusive service with a standard-setting degree of personalized attention.”  I couldn’t agree more.  In less than four days I am addressed by name and my preferences are already finding their way into the Hotel’s guest profile.  I am staying in the beautiful Boudoir room that comes for $ 950 plus taxes a night and located on 37^th floor offers a breathtaking view of the NY skyline anytime of the day but much more spectacular at night.  The Hotel uses Bvlgari range of cosmetics and offers complimentary newspaper and shoeshine service.  Marked a VIP guest, I also get complementary bottles of Evian Natural spring water, S.  Pellegrino sparkling natural mineral water and a plate of chocolates or petit fours depending on the Patissier’s creativity.

In the evening I am connecting with Gai Brodtmann, my ex-boss and friend who’s also in New York to attend a conference.  Gai insists that she will take me out for dinner provided I can find an excellent Indian restaurant.  I entrust the task to the Hotel Concierge who come up with the name of the current hot favorite - Tamarind.  

Gai, looking ravishing in black pants, a pink body hugging high neck, black stilettos and a pair of her favorite Gucci sunglasses, meets me at The Pierre Bar to catch an early drink before we walk through the famous Plaza Hotel, diagonally opposite to The Pierre and now a landmark for the movies such as Pretty Woman and Home Alone that were shot there. 

We hop into the taxi (the fare comes to about $8  including the tip but Gai decides to leave a cool $10 bill) and race towards ‘Tamarind’, located at 41-43 East, 22^nd.  Tamarind, run by Restaurateur Avatar Walia, has been voted the finest Indian Restaurant to open in New York in almost a decade and is featured regularly in Crain’s New York Business and New York Times. 

The restaurant opened four months back and has climbed to the top in this short time.  Avatar Walia is a proud owner as he tells me that even “Lord Lichfield from England voted us the Best Indian Restaurant in the World.”

Tamarind’s clientele is upper class, hip and younger and a fair mix of Indians and Americans. Its décor is minimalist, consciously moving away from loud, in-your-eye Indian and with aesthetically placed Rajasthani screens, traditional textile prints from Gujarat and temple bells. Its kitchen is run by Chef Raji Jallepalli–Reiss who hails from Hyderabad and Memphis and whose extensive menu is multi-regional. 

We choose Fume Blanc, Robert Mondavi ’99 and the unavoidable beer (for Gai) for the evening and enjoy the most authentic and delicious Indian meal this side of the Atlantic. Our choice for the evening – an assorted Appetizer platter of Raji’s aloo tikkiyas, vegetable samosas and bhel puri’ jhinga angarey (Jumbo prawns marinated in yogurt and roasted with chili and cilantro)’ Raji’s machli tikka’ Chicken shahi korma, paneer makhni, achari mushrooms, Tamarind rice, assorted breads and kheera raita (passing off the dessert completely) – came to us for $130.  Apparently the pricing is also right at the Tamarind with an average check for two running upto $40-50 for lunch and $80-90 for dinner.

While the current Mayor has done wonders to New York’s reputation and cleared up the streets, earlier unsafe with criminal activities, it is still possible to get mugged in the Big Apple.  Being careful and vigilant are the buzzwords.   The other trick is to totally avoid risky neighborhoods – Bronx and Central Park at night are not the safest places to be in.  Also avoid taking buses and walking alone at night.

There is a certain, specific way of hailing cabs in New York.  Get off the kerb, onto the road in full vision of the cabbie and stretch up and flail your arm(s) as far as it goes.  If you are lucky you get one in 5-10 minutes, otherwise be prepared for a 20 minutes wait especially at night.

In the day, however, it is really convenient and economical to bus it in New York.  And it’s not even down market as you find men in business suits, well-turned out older ladies and the younger crowd in trendy outfits using it as a preferred mode of transport.  Given the scenario, shuttling between the Fifth Avenue and the swanky Park Avenue and back to the Central Park is a cakewalk.

While in New York, one of the musts that you just have to do is to walk through the legendary Central Park.  Stretching from 59^th to 110^th streets, the urban park spans 843 acres.  Highlights include the Central Park Zoo, the Wollman Memorial Ice-skating Rink, horseback riding, Belvedere Castle, Bethesda Terrace – the formal center of the park with the famous Bethesda Fountain, the memorial to the Late John Lennon and a battery of caricature and portrait artists.  The Park also is a jogger or walker’s delight.

It’s my last day in New York.  I’ve seen New York but not enough of it.  I’ve already spent four glorious days but a few more would have been nicer.  I’ve had one helluva time in the Big Apple and as an icing on the cake on my final day, I am lunching with Pierre Jochem at The Pierre’s famed Rotunda – the Hotel’s renowned signature room with its intimate, private clusters of seating and loveseats, splendid trompe l’oeil murals and ceiling, created by American artist Edward Melcarth.

My lunch comprises of orange juice, the classic Pierre salad followed by vegetarian Risotto for the entrée capped off with cappuccino (given the good living in New York, no dessert for me please).  Pierre picks up the soup of the day (a special sea bass soup) and crab cakes and washes it all down with two cups of Espresso.  As I look onto another table I can swear that we have Christina Aguilera as our lunching companion that afternoon.

At the stroke of five, having packed and rested a little, I find myself comfortably ensconced in a chauffeur driven, shiny black limo with compliments of The Pierre racing towards JFK airport via Queens with Pavarotti for company.

(Picture courtesy - Google Images & Flickr)

                                                                              ***********

MY WISHES TO YOU FOR A SUPER 2011‏

My Dear Friends,

Here's my A-Z Bucket List of wishes for a super 2011 and many, many more to come -

A - Accomplishments that you, your parents and progeny will be proud of.

B - Bravado in taking the right stand, even in tricky scenarios.

C - Courage to admit your own mistakes.

D - Divinity and your proximity to it.

E - Ethereal sense in even the most mundane of things you do.

F - Faith in the One above.

G - Grit and Gumption as two of your important traits.

H - Hope and Happiness as two strong allies.

I - Ideation and Imagination as your trusted lieutenants.

J - Joy of life; and Justice that you endeavour to bring out in your hemisphere.

K - Keen and sharp mind even in your twilight years.

L - Love of family and friends.

M - Music of the Universe that you develop a fine ear for.

N - Noble mindedness, Nice manners, Nourished soul, Notable achievements and Nirvana as the 
      final reward.

O - Opportunity to grow both as a fine individual and an above-par professional.

P - Passion for life and its finer elements.

Q - Quest for knowledge, perpetually.

R - Respect for animals, nature and what you have been bestowed upon.

S - Sensibilities for discerning right from wrong.

T - Trust in your own ability.

U - Uncompromising stand towards all that is unjust, corrupt and malaise infested - both in our       
      minds and the society we live in.

V - Vision for charting out your own unique course.

W - Warmth stemming out of the coziness of your relationships with all your significant others 
        including your pet children.

X - Xperience (sic) in life replete with all its vicissitudes and tribulations AND that little XTRA   
      (sic)  that allows you to give your individualistic spin to your personal matrix.

Y - Young spirit that conquers over an aging body and tired mind.

Z - Zest, Zeal and a Zillion dreams to enrich your own lives and to make this a better world to live   
      in.
Have a wonderful 2011.

With fondest wishes,

L. ARUNA DHIR

A BEAUTIFUL IRISH STORY!

His name was Fleming, and he was a poor Scottish farmer. One day, while trying to make a living for his family, he heard a cry for help coming from a nearby bog. He dropped his tools and ran to the bog.

There, mired to his waist in black muck, was a terrified boy, screaming and struggling to free himself. Farmer Fleming saved the lad from what could have been a slow and terrifying death.

The next day, a fancy carriage pulled up to the Scotsman's sparse surroundings. An elegantly dressed nobleman stepped out and introduced himself as the father of the boy Farmer Fleming had saved.

'I want to repay you,' said the nobleman. 'You saved my son's life.'

'No, I can't accept payment for what I did,' the Scottish farmer replied waving off the offer. At that moment, the farmer's own son came to the door of the family hovel.

'Is that your son?' the nobleman asked.

'Yes,' the farmer replied proudly.

'I'll make you a deal. Let me provide him with the level of education my own son will enjoy If the lad is anything like his father, he'll no doubt grow to be a man we both will be proud of.' And that he did.

Farmer Fleming's son attended the very best schools and in time, graduated from St. Mary's Hospital Medical School in London, and went on to become known throughout the world as the noted Sir Alexander Fleming, the discoverer of Penicillin.

Years afterward, the same nobleman's son who was saved from the bog was stricken with pneumonia.

What saved his life this time? Penicillin.

The name of the nobleman? Lord Randolph Churchill .. His son's name?

Sir Winston Churchill.

Someone once said: What goes around comes around.

Work like you don't need the money.

Love like you've never been hurt.

Dance like nobody's watching.

Sing like nobody's listening.

Live like it's Heaven on Earth.

A New Year Wish for a stupendous Twenty Ten!

Dear friends,

On the threshold of a brand new decade, I wish you two imperative things - to my mind, at least - in order to bring in a happy, healthy, hopeful and prosperous New Year. And they are -

"A network of energy flows through all living things. All energy is borrowed, and one day you have to give it back." (Borrowing shamelessly from AVATAR)

AND
"Try your best to treat others as you would wish to be treated yourself, and you will find that this is the shortest way to benevolence." Mencius VII.A.4 (Quoting Confucianism)

Here's wishing you a 2010 filled with promise, peace, passion, purity and perseverance. Go on, leave your footprints on the sands of time.

My best,

ARUNA DHIR

Picture Courtesy - www.deviantart.com (a picture by Emily Stevenson) and Google Images.

"HOPE"

By L. Aruna Dhir
First Penned on 28th July 2002 and published today on the blog.


Hope is
a single drop of rain that falls on a
piece of parched earth;


Hope is the slight heave of an ailing chest
that comes as a sign of life;


Hope is a little kick in the side of an
expecting bride,
that tells her she is now a creator
like the one above;


Hope is the curve of a smile that
breaks on the canvas of an angry face;


Hope is the glint in the eye that
creases out the stress from a frowning brow;


Hope is a morsel in the mouth that
quells the harshness of hunger;


Hope is a hint of sun peeping out of dark clouds promising that
the rainbow is just around the corner;


Hope is a child folding hands for his evening prayer showing that
faith thrives in a believing heart;


Hope is a human touch that crosses
the barrier of caste, colour, race and religion,
affirming that caring for the other
and peace in mind is the ultimate power.


**************
(Picture courtesy - Martin Gommel (http://kwerfeldein.de/) from www.deviantart.com)

I AM ANGRY

First penned on 26th June 2003, published today on the blog.

I am angry
when I spend a couple of thousands for a meal in a day,
And million mouths feel the pangs of hunger;

I am angry
when I work hard for my living,
And see bureaucratic India setting back the clock
not by hours and days but years and generations;

I am angry
at the bastardization of my culture,
5000 years old and rich in tradition;

I am angry
we wear personas so many,
With no face to back our words;

I am angry
our words have no meaning,
And our speech is dispassionate and hollow;

I am angry
as a country, we instead of blossoming to the world,
Are increasingly becoming inwardly drawn;

I am angry
we have lost our values,
Somewhere in the crowds of a billion;

I am angry
we have double standards,
One for ourselves
and the other for the rest of the world;

I am angry
we sometimes trade our souls,
For lucre and lust
that remain illusive as ever;

I am angry
we are not beleaguered by real problems,
and rage on petty and non – issues;

I am angry
we are presenting a world to our children,
That we did not inherit from our ancestors;

I am angry
we have added to our woes,
By losing the “e” from human;

I am angry
that in order to keep a balance on the surface,
We have stopped to stir up a storm within;

I am angry
we wait for destiny to knock on the door,
And fail to step up and take charge;

I am angry
that in the struggle to survive,
We have lost respect for the world we live in
For the people we live with
And most importantly for our own selves.

(Picture courtesy - www.deviantart.com)

**********

THE MAGIC OF MONSOON

It is like moments of truth. Everybody has one or maybe several. So it is with times of inspiration. Everybody has that reference of sight, smell, sound, touch, feeling or piece of imagination that inspires. For me, one of the strongest times of inspiration is when the sky opens to pour its heart out in a manner unrestrained and unabashed. The good thing is, I am not the only one raising a toast to the rains.

From Bollywood’s ‘Tip Tip Baarish’ to Hollywood’s a la Gene Kelly Tap dancing to the beats of the peltering rain; from Pop music’s ‘Listen to the rhythm of the falling rain’, and ‘Raindrops keep falling on my head’ to our very own Raag Megh Malhar; from art to fiction to poetry……… monsoon has always inspired the positive and bright side of things all over the world and from time immemorial. So, who am I to remain stoic towards such a divine sensation.

But the charms of monsoon have everything to do with the place where you are. Imagine the traffic jamming, gutter flowing, drain clogging, humid rains of Delhi and you will instantly know what I mean.

My association with monsoon spans different continents and saddles varied time zones. Walking on an old street in quaint little Alexandria in Virginia to the tunes of talented buskers playing to the gallery with dogs of various shapes and sizes and their owners - so much the same, that is shapes and sizes - for company. Cruising over River Seine in the heart of Paris with soft rain, like a companion, caressing my face. Raindrops falling on my head in oh-so-picturesque Engelberg at the foothills of Mt. Titlis in Switzerland, falling in step with the jingling of cow bells. But not quite the torrential rains in Amsterdam ruining our otherwise pleasant canal cruise - said to be the best way to see the beatific city. Or the angry downpour in Volderdam drowning all plans to seek vicarious pleasure in the country’s famed and legal night life.

The best and the strongest memories are those that belong to the hazy realms of childhood. The whiff of a freshly baked apple pie from a loving mother’s kitchen, the fragrance of aftershave used by dad – certainly the strongest man in the world at that all-knowing age of five or six, the blotches – sometimes hard to wash away - from jumped in puddles on spic and span white uniforms – a mandate at super-strict convents or the smell of earth after the first fall of rain – with several lines of poetry and film lyrics wasted on it and staying to be inspiring until that telling moment when a desensitized science-type friend opened my eyes to it stating so unromantically that it was actually earthworms that smelt thus and not the heavenly marriage of waters from the sky and mother earth that led to it. Remember what I told you about sensory references. So be it.

My fondest association with monsoon is in idyllic Dehradun, nostalgic memories of which act as perfect stress busters even today. Living in my mother’s mansion had its privileges. For one, you could always see the many moods of Mussoorie – the Queen of Hills – through the day or night by just peering over the boundary wall and looking up to the nearest cluster of clouds on your right. Trying to spot Muss (that’s what the hill station is called in local parlance) in the peak of monsoon wasn’t easy but certainly a lot of fun. Raindrops falling on my head in misty Mussoorie as I walked the length of scenic Camel’s Back Road was also an oft-repeated heady romance that brutally ended when on one such trek I was horrified to discover a leech crawl up my ankle.

Walking barefoot on the freshly rained-upon soft, velvety front lawns at home is an experience that gives a long run to squishing sand in between your toes at some touristy beach.

One of the nicest things about my mother’s abode is its big windows with a view on every side. After having worked with the hospitality industry for more than a decade, I can tell you authoritatively that hotels charge a premium for a good view. So imagine rooms with wonderful views all my growing up years. My mother had nimble green fingers and we seemed to enjoy, amply, the fruit of her labour. She had developed her backyard into a mini orchard with a myriad fruit trees – mangoes, peaches, plum, pears, apples, litchi, grape fruit, papaya, even grapes – providing shade from the Summer sun, swaying to the Spring breeze, shedding their coats to autumn and lending that extra chill to the winter. But it was monsoon when they looked their prettiest best. Freshly scrubbed, in lovely shades of green, either cradling crystal clear pearls on their belly or with rows of raindrops hanging from their edges. It doesn’t take the eye of an artist to appreciate this breathtaking sight. If I was deft with the brush then you would have seen several canvases titled RAIN in my home studio. But I chose to sing an ode to it right from the times of amateurish poetry to the time when as a professional creative writer I sold mush to couples in as far and wide places as India, Europe and the Americas.

Another nice monsoon sight is the lovely white wild flowers that take over a full hillside or come up around brooks. The off-white wild mushrooms along the grass or by tree trunks are quite irresistible too. I remember picking the flowers and the mushrooms in my cane basket and bringing them home. They would sit pretty in a corner as I would get lost in my Enid Blyton or Lewis Carroll through the afternoon with the big toadstool, typically, assuming a character in my favourite story.

Monsoon is also about food. Who can resist the wafting aroma of hot pakoras or delicious samosas to be devoured with tangy mint chutney and a piping hot cup of tea? Back home I would often bake the most luscious of sponge cakes (and I do have the nicest of recipes) on a rain-soaked afternoon. The smell would engulf the whole house, as I would bring the cake out to the kitchen table, drive a knife through the hot center and serve it with melted chocolate. These days I do hot aubergine slices with salsa toppings or baked cheese on potato dices with a dash of oregano and chilli peppers. The result is as mesmerizing.

Rainy season is on our threshold. Delhi may still not be up to it with constantly irritating constructions happening everywhere. But a short sojourn to Doon over a wet weekend is certainly within my reach.

Anybody who wields a pen almost always has a book in them. So, come rains and I am off to the family pad in my favourite valley succumbing to the muse in the lap of inspiration in Nature’s inimitable style.


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Fond Farewell to the King of Pop – MJ - truly one of the world's biggest entertainers of all time!

R.I.P. - Michael Joseph Jackson (August 29, 1958 – June 25, 2009)

I was acquainted with his music when I was in my teens. While the highpoint of the Convent Prom was that boys from St. Joseph's School, our brother school, were going to be there, the singularly most important part of the evening that made it so memorable was not the lanky boys in their new stubbles and croaky vocal chords, not their thin frames and cocky swagger, not even the fanciest of dresses that the girls wore. The lasting memory of that end-of-school-year Prom has been his distinctive voice that sang in a unique note, the sound that fell in its own genre and like no other and the overall music that just swept me away.

The second initiation came when I, freshly, got into college; and a friend who was a BBC Radio regular boasted about being abreast with the latest musical fad of that time, yes Beat It, Billie Jean and Thriller. The initial drive for me was that I didn’t want to be left behind from the mass hysteria that was fast engulfing my generation. Once I had been indoctrinated by a gentle nudge from friends, I soon, of my own volition, got baptized into this holy sect of scintillating, never-heard-before sound. Such was the pull and the drawing power of the music and the magnetism of its creator that we simply got sucked in. The western music loving people of my generation had found a new God and his name was Michael Jackson. He was more than an enigma or a phenomenon for us. To us, he was our musical messiah who herded us to the blessed land that lay beyond our daily trials and tribulations.

We grooved to his music at our dance parties that became so famous that they were sought-after in the Doon Valley. No jam sessions were complete without MJ’s albums being played to high decibels. My dancing partners and I chose Michael Jackson’s songs for our piece-de resistance in the dance competitions which we ended up winning. Today, I would like to give credit to the music more than my alacrity and nimble-footedness on the dance floor.

Over the years, Michael Jackson’s music meant different things to me at different times. During the monsoons in Doon, I swayed to the lilting tunes of Ben, The Girl is Mine and Man in the Mirror. During my dancercises I shook my body to his foot-tapping hits. Later, I marveled at the emotionality of his artistic temperament as I tuned into ‘We are the World,’ ‘Heal the World’ and ‘Black or White.’

Now with this musical idol gone forever into the realm of the unknown, into the arms of his creator; I would like to remember one of my greatest influences thus. Here’s my tribute to the one-and-only, to MJ, I loved, adored and revered.

1. Acceptance – We were part of this large international community of young ones who were MJ converts. We had been transformed by his music and we were his disciples following his every dance move or new release. We found acceptance for ourselves amongst our peers and a sense of unity with the global world.

2. Confidence – That is what he instilled in us even from across the Atlantic. We knew his songs, we tried his thrusts and shimmies and walks, we swayed in consonance with his music. And because we did all this, we were never the shrinking violets or the wall flowers who dotted the corners of the room. We were out there having fun, bringing in a lot of back-slapping bonhomie, being the heart of the gatherings – the inspired lot who in turn inspired the others in our coterie. And because we were confident souls in the social circuit, we were also bold not brazen, self-assured not cynical in our other pursuits as well.

3. Popularity – Because we attempted to move like him, because we were in step with what was in, because we were the groovy lot that jived to the MJ beat and were well-conversant with the MJ lingo, because we were this hip set that could sing MJ’s songs backwards and could use slang such as Beat It with a lot of élan; boy, were we popular. I will always be indebted to Michael Jackson for helping me get an image makeover from a studious bookworm to this bubbly babe whom everybody wanted to know in college. And guess what, because I regarded MJ’s music with a sense of sanctity and enjoyed it for its sheer brilliance, uniqueness and ingenuity, I did not allow my reverence to get diluted with any peer pressure. So, I did no drugs, did not enjoy tipple – a dance party mainstay, did not let my grades fall and generally remained a good girl who was popular and fun-loving at the same time.

4. Style - After his demise, I read in several of the obits that MJ was regarded as a style icon. My generation began following him long before the phrase was coined. We came out with our own versions of fedoras, white glove and socks, black shoes, skin-tight jeans and yes, belts. We not only cultivated this ‘MJ’ style but also had the smarts to carry it with a lot of chutzpah.

5. Stress – I don’t know about the others, but for me Michael Jackson’s music has been one of the biggest stress busters. In my last job, at one point of time, getting to work became a nightmare. The commute to work used to be filled with dreadful thoughts of facing the hell boy at work, the only bright light being the Jackson CD playing on the car system. Willy-nilly it brought a smile to my lips, put a song in my heart, lightened my steps and proved to be more meditational and therapeutic than the entire course of Art of Living (Is Sri Sri Ravi Shankar listening!). Similarly, after a hard day’s work that stretched well beyond 10-11 hours, it was Thriller that put the thrill back in my spirit and Billie Jean that helped me battle the stress.

6. Happiness – Again, I don’t know about you but I can speak about myself with the utmost conviction and say that Michael Jackson’s music has always made me happy. Even ecstatic, at times euphoric, a lot of times rapturous but always, overridingly, happy. If I wanted to shake myself from a state of ennui, if I wanted to put on my dancing shoes, if I wanted to beat the blues, if I wanted to stop being lazy and go for that walk, if I wanted a little pick-me-up, all I had to, nay have to do is listen to an MJ number. It always works for me. His music has that inherent feel-good quality to it that spells bliss, bright and bold. Given the tragic life that he has had, I wonder if he really knew how many lives he has touched positively and brought happiness to.

7. Treasure trove of Talent - Michael Jackson was a huge trove of talent. He was one of the most sensational singers of our time, his dancing skills were such that they are emulated to this day, his song writing skills were extraordinary, his videos are legendary and above all, he was the most composite and ultimate entertainer. MJ has taught us that we, too, can multi-layer ourselves with multiple talents and endeavour to reach the zenith in our chosen areas.

8. Lessons of life – Finally MJ’s iconic yet tragic life holds a lesson for all of us. Here are a few that hold a lot of meaning for me -

You can assume responsibility for your family and loved ones even at the tender ages of five or 11. You only need big shoulders and a genuine inclination in that direction.

You can face any assault to your person or mind and come out stronger. At least in the first 3-4 decades of his life, when he rode the upper crest, MJ seemed to have overcome all the negative influences of his childhood rather well. And then there are several examples from the high and mighty from whose lives you can learn to slay your personal demons and emerge stronger and better.

In his leaving for eternity he has left this eternal lesson with us on how not to lead our lives. Drug abuse, child molestation, several liaisons – secret and otherwise, masks & gas chambers, needles & scalpels, tabloids & glowing tributes…………. Certain things in some professions are inherent. They come with the package. But for most, we ourselves are the decision-makers.

In his death, he has shown us that this is no way to go for anyone, leave alone a legend of his stature. The choices are in our hands. Are we willing to turn the stumbling stones into building blocks, the hazards into how-tos and the turbulence & turmoil into a tryst with destiny that strengthens the spirit and lays down the path for betterment.

MJ has taught us how to treasure all that one accumulates not by the stroke of luck but by the dint of one’s hard work. That he dithered it all away in his later years should come as a sharp reminder to all of us, when we tend to get smug and snooty about it.

Michael Jackson, with his choicely penned lyrics and thoughtful words, urged us to look at the “man in the mirror and change some of his ways.”

He has shown us how talent and hard work can prevail over the biases. How the gifted and the genius can win over the prejudiced. In the global and huge, incomparable recognition that MJ has received in his lifetime and so much more in death, he has overpowered the bias of colour, creed, race or religion.

In his musical prowess, his inventiveness, the sheer mastery over his craft and his uniqueness, Michael Jackson has taught us all to strive for excellence and aim for the stars.

And because he had it all before he lost everything – family, fortune, fame – Michael Jackson, in his tragic, untimely death, has taught us how not to squander away the reputation built with the building blocks of inspiration, perspicacity and sweat.

With his fan base and hysteria surpassing that seen for the likes of the King of Rock ‘n’ Roll or the People’s Princess, Michael Jackson filled our hearts with love for him and adulation like for no other, just by the magic of his music and the brightness of his brilliance.

I salute the legend for all this and more.

Michael I will miss you. And I will indeed ‘Remember the Time’ when I used to ‘Rock with you.’ May you rest in peace, now that you are in God’s embrace, far from the world of ghouls and ghosts you created for yourself. Amen!!!

(Picture courtesy - Google images)

एक याद धुंधली सी!

10th दिसम्बर 1993 को लिखी और आज ब्लॉग पर पुब्लिश की.

ख़ुशी में बीतें कुछ पल
कभी आसुओं में छिपती हंसी
उदासी को अपने पंख पे ले उड़ती
भीनी-भीनी सी एक मुस्कान
आँखों में सजाती अपना बसेरा
एक याद धुंधली सी

जीवन के पथ पर साथ चलते चलते
दामन छुधाता एक अजनबी सा होता हाथ
गूंजती जैसे दूर से
एक पहचानी सी आवाज़
बीते हुईं कल की चादर ओढे हुईं
एक याद धुंधली सी

आशा की किरण संजोये षण
उम्मीद पे टिका वजूद
वक़्त की लपटों में
खोयी उम्र की दास्तान
आगे बढ़ते कुछ थके से कदम
दिल पर आती एक दस्तक
पीछे यूँही अचानक मुड़कर देखना
पर नज़र आती
एक याद धुंधली सी.

(Picture courtesy - www.deviantart.com)

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RULES OF LIFE

Speak so that you are not just heard
but understood

See so that you don’t simply look
but observe

Hear so that you do not just listen
but comprehend

Touch so that you don’t just hit the surface
but feel

Taste so that you simply do not eat
but savour

Smell so that you do not just notice the scent
but allow the fragrance to engulf you

Feel so that you are not just aware
but are driven by empathy, by compassion

Criticize, not to spite
but to change for the better

Pick up a pursuit, not to fill the emptiness of time
but to raise it to a level of passion

Work not just to earn a livelihood
but to carve a niche, an identity of your own

Do, not just so to lead a life
but because you want to shape your destiny

Walk not just to cover the distance
but to leave footprints on your chosen path

Talk not just to add noise to the existing cacophony
but to leave an imprint of your words of wisdom

Leave an impression, not of power but value
Of not just awe but admiration

Sympathise not because it is good to do so
But because it is what you really want to do

Fall for very little
but stand up for a lot more

Act not because you want to be noticed
but because those actions define you

Uphold an ideal not because it holds a universal value
but because it forms part of your belief

Amass not just for the self alone
but to share your life with many

Live, not in an isolated, individualistic microcosm
But to bring in your unique meaning to the Universe.

(Picture courtesy - www.deviantart.com)

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