a note

Life is the only way
to get covered in leaves,
catch your breath on the sand,
rise on wings;

to be a dog,
or stroke its warm fur;

to tell pain
from everything it's not;

to squeeze inside events,
dawdle in views,
to seek the least of all possible mistakes.

An extraordinary chance
to remember for a moment
a conversation held
with the lamp switched off;

and if only once
to stumble upon a stone,
end up soaked in one downpour or another,
mislay your keys in the grass;

and to follow a spark on the wind with your eyes;
and to keep on not knowing something important. --

by Wislawa Szymborska (Translated from the Polish, by Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare Cavanagh.)

for the oldies and the goldies

TO ALL THE KIDS WHO SURVIVED the 1930s '40s, '50s, '60s and '70s !!

First, we survived being born to mothers who smoked and/or drank while they carried us.

They took aspirin, ate blue cheese dressing, tuna from a can, and didn't get tested for diabetes.

Then after that trauma, our baby cribs were covered with bright- colored, lead-based paints. We had no childproof lids on medicine bottles, doors, or cabinets, and when we rode our bikes, we had no helmets, not to mention the risks we took hitchhiking.

As children, we would ride in cars with no seat belts or air bags.

Riding in the back of a pick up on a warm day was always a special treat.

We drank water from the garden hose and NOT from a bottle.
We shared one soft drink with four friends, from one bottle, and NO ONE actually died from this.

We ate cupcakes, white bread and real butter, and drank soda pop with sugar in it,

but we weren't overweight because WE WERE ALWAYS OUTSIDE PLAYING!

We would leave home in the morning and play all day, as long as we were back when the streetlights came on.

No one was able to reach us all day. And we were okay.

We would spend hours building our go-carts out of scraps and then ride down the hill, only to find out we forgot the brakes! After running into the bushes a few times, we learned to solve the problem.

We did not have Playstations, Nintendos, X-boxes, no video games at all, no 99 channels on cable, no video-tape movies, no surround sound, no cell phones, no personal computers, no Internet or Internet chat rooms..........

WE HAD FRIENDS, and we went outside and found them!
We fell out of trees, got cut, broke bones and teeth, and there were no lawsuits from these accidents.

We ate worms and mud pies made from dirt, and the worms did not live in us forever.
We were given BB guns for our 10th birthdays, made up games with sticks and tennis balls, and although we were told it would happen, we did not put out very many eyes.

We rode bikes or walked to a friend's house and knocked on the door or rang the bell, or just walked in and talked to them!

Little League had tryouts, and not everyone made the team. Those who didn't had to learn to deal with disappointment. Imagine that!!

The idea of a parent bailing us out if we broke the law was unheard of. They actually sided with the law!

This generation has produced some of the best risk takers, problem solvers, and inventors ever!
The past 50 years have been an explosion of innovation and new ideas.
We had freedom, failure, success and responsibility, and we learned HOW TO DEAL WITH IT ALL!
And YOU are one of them!

CONGRATULATIONS!
You might want to share this with others who have had the luck to grow up as kids before the lawyers and the government regulated our lives for our "own" good And while you are at it, forward it to your kids so they will know how brave their parents were.

Kind of makes you want to run through the house with scissors, doesn't it?!

with special thanx to the 60s kid Ron Pirkey who contributed to this postin'

all india radio and western music

An old-fashioned RADIO



Let me dedicate this post to the announcers of State-owned radio stations the world over, especially those that play English music... or should I say English language music.

Ever since I can remember I have been listening to the radio: it was The Sri Lanka Broadcasting Corporation that helped me through the wonder years,

it was those songs of love that it would bring to me and I memorised each word...

and then during the summer holidays it was Calcutta All India Radio and the mandatory Musical bandbox that accompanied every lunch hour...

and then, somehow, televison crept in...

and schedules changed...

and then years of work in the Hindi heartland of Bihar had no access to western music over radio, except, of course the Beeb on short-wave now and again.

Over the years the airwaves have grown weaker... SLBC no longer broadcasts eight hours a day to India over the commercial services....

2005 has been a year of discovery for me... I had an extended stay in Delhi and discovered that Western music over All India Radio still existed in the form of broadcasts over AIR FM Rainbow.

At first, I listened in utter shock, as I tuned in to the late evening programmes and discovered that announcers -- I refuse to call them RJs-- RADIO JOCKEYS!!!???--- slurred their words, didn't seem to have proper scripts, and generally acted as though they were convinced that nobdy was listening to them.

However, I've changed my opinion somewhat... AIR FM Rainbow has improved drastically in the past four months, though it still does not reflect the cosmopolitan nature of a country capital. The Holiday Season is a case in point. Sadly, the announcers, or RJs who are directly responsible for programmes can't tell the difference between a carol and a song.

Compare Delhi to Calcutta AIR Western Music Section(WMS) and you'll realise what I'm talking about.

In Calcutta, the WMS reflects the SEASON of winter starting December with the first few decembery songs. By the second week, we all know that Santa Claus is coming to Town, the third week, is all Christmas and new-year cheer with jingle bell rocking around the clock.

In Delhi, what do we have... the brat pack still playing hip-hop nonsense and heavy metal on Christmas eve... with the announcer on Christmas morning's 8 am programme, talking about Christmas eve... for Chrissakes!!!

Having said that, there are a few RJs who go that extra mile to make their programmes matter, one such person is Vandana vadhera, aka Wendy the witch, who is fun to listen to... and i found mself writing in to her programme.
 Another lady is Kiran, whose Matchless Music Hour plays wonderful oldies, however, I wish she wouldn't overdo the 'information' and 'inspiration' part.

 A guy with a nice sense of music and radio presence is called Supradeep who makes the music programmes appealing to all ages. There is a lady called Rosamma who should be told that we do listen to her shows, and so she shouldn't seem so folorn.


In the coming new year... more power to radio... now that satellite radio is in... I'm gonna rock to that retro piece that goes.... RADIO someone still loves you!!!!!!!!!

a south indian idli

Rough food tastes nicest when you're hungry
I sat in the Karnataka Sangam in New Delhi
I sat there contemplating
a pair of white, fluffy, light
round cakes of rice-flour
accompanied by a bowl of pale creamy coconut-and-lentil chutney
and a piping hot offering of fiery golden-red sambhar

the idli....
I don't know when I fell in love with this simple South Indian dish
these steamed rice cakes

probably way back when I was knee high to a grasshopper
in St Xavier's School, Doranda
Class two
Jostling along with the other lads
fighting to get to the window of the 'canteen'
to receive a cold steamed idli floating in thin watery dal-chutney
nestling in a makeshift bowl made with a twist of green leaf
held together by a toothpick for the princely price of ten paise.

Today my dish of two idlis at karnataka Bhawan
costs me twenty rupees.....
they're delicious
but I doubt if they'll ever match
the taste of those coarse white rice-cakes
nestling in that ecologically friendly bowl
a feast for an ever hungry seven year old......

the morning' after

The twentysixth of December
Boxing day
Last year around ten in the morning I was in Patna
catching up with some old friends whom I had last seen in Shillong
And around that time, Dominic said that he had planned to go with his family
to Vailinkanni... a pilgrimage spot by the Tamil coast
to light a candle at teh feet of the Virgin... and he also spoke of the many memorials to
those who had gone to visit the Virgin in the hope of recovery... but died there
about that time... a huge tidal wave had hit
the shores of Vailinkanni.... and several pilgrims must have lost their lives...

The tsunami... as the media called it...
a huge tidal wave that obliterated everything...
even the very identities of the people who survived...
bank records... gone
ration cards... gone
School leaving certificates... washed away
Photo-identity cards... swallowed by the sea....
and so... I become nameless...
who am I? Do I exist? How can I tell you that I do exist?
Money in the bank... but how do i prove that I am me???

That's what the Tsunami did to so many thousand people
and all we good meaning middle class folk did
was to send in truckloads of used garments...
as though an old castaway pair of trousers
could compensate for a lifetime washed away...

This 26th of December
All I can do is remember
and salute those many people
who had the courage to survive
Those who rose above their personal grief and loss
to help others .

Starry starry night......

white christmas

I'm dreaming of a White Christmas filled with the sound of silver bells
And the memory of an old Christmas card in the mellow voice of Gentleman Jim Reeves...

It's strange being in this city of Delhi... biting cold alright
It's filled up with white fog... so how much whiter can it get...
But the city is brash, brass and tinpot
Trying to keep up with the Joneses
a very plastic kind of Christmas

Christmas in Calcutta.. that's what my memories are made of
Tall trees in the New market
Cakes from Nahoums, Flury's and Kathleens... and cookies from cookie jar
The beautiful choir at midnight mass in St Paul's
Carols playing from mid- December....
Home made Wine and Bandel Cheese
Warmth and good cheer... certainly not cold... and not white
but Christmastime in Calcutta is a joyous, jolly time

Or give me the Christmas of Shillong...
Boisterous and beautiful
Gangs of kids, youngsters and crusty old men and gals
rushing around with guitars , harmonicas...
belting out Joy to the World
Hark! the Herals angels sing in Khasi, Garo, Jaintia... dialects of the Seven Sisters
Beautiful voices... delicious pork roast flavoured with the local moonshine

But most of all... give me a Christmas season
among friends.. some quite moments... the glow of a log fire
the smell of genuine pine coming from my small living room
warm lemonade, lots of laughter
fruit cake and walnuts
salt pork, cheeses, home made ginger wine
opening presents after Midnight mass
the joy of giving presents
the joy of receiving friends...

And all this happens
because the world is waiting for a Child
a child who will grow up... and bring peace to this world

baby it's cold out there

H'm... being driven through the streets of Delhi in one of those bone-shakers: the ageing ole autorickshaw on a windy winter evening with not much woolies on the carcass is a challenging proposition.... until a small underfed hand thrusts a two-rupee tabloid under your nose at one of the interminable red traffic lights and two large eyes stare out cheerfully from a mop of soot-black hair ... and then you're thinking of this smllish lad dodging the traffic, inhaling the traffic fumes and smog trying hard to peddle his two-bit angrezi newspaper... and you know he'll hardly make enough to get some warm broth inside him... and suddenly you can't help feeling like old Scrooge in Dicken's timeless classic...

so your blue mood disappears, you ruffle the black mop and hand the kid a five rupee note and how the heart warms up at the look of glee and utter disbelief that greets you.... yes, it's Christmas once again...

and the glow that you get from paying trubute to the kid that knows he's not gonna stop the rain by compainin'... the glow is so warm... that you can take on Delhi, the smog, the utter chaos that masquerades as traffic...

and suddenly, the cold winter nite has lost its bite........

round the block

that's the colour of my mood today.
blue.
not just the chill that comes from riding a rickety auto-rickshaw through the smog-filled streets of the capital shitty- i mean city of India on a bleak december morning.
or listening to the eight o'clock instrumental programme on AIR fm rainbow in which a rather cantakerous woman goes on about how morbid she's feeling... i mean, what's happening to radio... there were times when you tuned in and could expect to hear a nice bright voice and listen to some refreshing music... but all india radio sems to have some strange 'radio jockeys' who seem to be running their own private little on-air chat rooms... this one's a wierdo.

anyhow, there's one thing that makes me perk up like your morning wake up cup of refreshing brew and that's a good photograph ...
and this one, sent in by friend of mine is really nice
there's nothing like a tall dark hot guy to keep you warm on a murky december night

and boy... i'd like this baby to comwe and light my fire
wouldn't you???

An Ulster Twilight

The bare bulb, a scatter of nails,
Shelved timber, glinting chisels:
In a shed of corrugated iron
Eric Dawson stoops to his plane
At five o'clock on a Christmas Eve.

Carpenter's pencil next, the spoke-shave,
Fretsaw, auger, rasp and awl,
A rub with a rag of linseed oil.
A mile away it was taking shape,
The hulk of a toy battleship,
As waterbuckets iced and frost
Hardened the quiet on roof and post.

Where is he now?
There were fifteen years between us two
That night I strained to hear the bells
Of a sleigh of the mind and heard him pedal
Into our lane, get off at the gable,
Steady his Raleigh bicycle
Against the whitewash, stand to make sure
The house was quiet, knock at the door
And hand his parcel to a peering woman:
`I suppose you thought I was never coming.'

Eric, tonight I saw it all
Like shadows on your workshop wall,
Smelled wood shavings under the bench,
Weighed the cold steel monkey-wrench
In my soft hand, then stood at the road
To watch your wavering tail-light fade

And knew that if we met again
In an Ulster twilight we would begin
And end whatever we might say
In a speech all toys and carpentry,
A doorstep courtesy to shun
Your father's uniform and gun,
But -- now that I have said it out --
Maybe none the worse for that.


-- Seamus Heaney

supercaliflagillisticexpiallidocious

mmmmmmmmmm...ahhh

that's what went through my brain
the moment i set my peepers on this one

some people are just poems
in flesh and blood

and this one
is a sight for sore eyes

now its guys like this one
which make me wish i'd been a good little kid
so santa can
put him into a stocking and send him down
the chimney just for me.....

incidently, i do care

November ends. The winds turn cold.
Hands freeze and its not just the tip of my nose that's turned blue
Somehow, today, the chill has settled deeper
My very insides feel clammy, sick, sluggish...

Reason: it's that time of the year again The First of December... World AIDS Day...

There's going to be a whole lot of stuff floating around on the media tomorrow.. about AIDS about HIV and there's going to be the flurry of celebrity whirls, the usual breast beating and moaning about how this pandemic is stalking more people.

This whole idea of high risk populations... this is the most discriminatory and prejudice instilling notion that's still being touted. For heaven's sake, there are no high risk populations, just high risk behaviour, and high risk practices.

An HIV infection isn't the end of life, a person who is infected with HIV isn't a risk to the general population, the general population is more liable to be dangerous to the positive person... after all, it's we who are roaming around with all the possible infections that could affect him or her!

On this day, what all of us to do is break the silence, and start enabling our friends to live life fully.

hello... all india radio?

Hello? Okay, My name's Kris and yeah, so it's greatt-a to be finally included in your phone in programme, aFTER YOU KEPT ME ON HOLD FOR THE LAST TEN MINUTES, chatting up some dame, but never mind that.


Didja tell ya that ya have a real sexy voice, dude?
Ya... I kinda know the name of your show is Live Wire on fm rainbow...

message?
Ya you bet i have a message , bud
This message goes outta for my- uh -significant other
Daniello... yes, that's right Daniello
Ya? Am I Italiano? naah, just gotta this accento from watching too many
Godfather movies...

Which reminds me about the message , dude... yaah.. to my boyfriend Daniello
ya his papa works at de Italian embassy as an attache-case
ya, he's pretty mad at me... you know why??
'cos I kinda criticised his mother's meatballs

Ya? Of course he's listening, he always listens to your programme
in the hope you'll play that Ricky Martin stuff... that Vida Loca loco song

Whaddya mean...hey, what do you straights know about how complicated
our Gay relationships are... daniello hasn't spoken a word to me ever since I said
his mother's meatballs had too much pepper...

Okay Daniello, I know you're listenin'
an' I didn't mean to knock your muddah's meatballs
but you know she hates me...
why else whould she say stuff like, 'my Daniello likes real thick noodles???'

Anyway, so dis is my message to ya
I'm a sorry, and i'm a waitin for you to call
Or at least return my black leotards....

MY DAY ... SUCKED

DELHI: a few days ago: FIRST.... I am in a hurry to go to return a video CD which I received in damaged condition... I have to go to Connaught Place via the celebrated Delhi Metro, so Ravi [ a friend] will drop me at Vishwa Vidyalaya station which is about 12 kilometres away from the place I'm camping in... now we have a very tight schedule and the guy is yelling let's get started already... or something like that in the vernacular... now the fellow is in such a tearing hurry that he doesn't notice he's parked his bike JUST next to a pile of GOBAR [a steaming pile of cow shit] ...... where my SHOE had to go to near there to climb up... and I come rushing out of the house and STEPPED right into into the shit... ugh... my beautiful hand-crafted cowboy boot made for me by that great master Lee was covered with cow-turd first thing in the bloody morning and i had to get that cleaned up... which was not so simple considering my shack is on the first floor and the landlady's daughter had just cleaned up the entrance and the stairs nice and shining....

NEXT... at the Metro ticket counter at 9:30 during the rush hour, my stupid wallet [new, by the way, genuine leather from Pakistan bought at the much hyped International Trade fair at Delhi for what i privately consider a rather inflated sum ...but what the hell, with everybody trying to do their bit smoothing out India-Pakistan relations, I suppose I just had to contribute to the general mood, even though I'd probably get a fancier piece at the local tannery ... no pun intended I swear...]... now this bloody wallet gets caught in the back of my pants pocket and i have to spend more than five minutes try to extricate it and in the bargain strike some very embarrassing positions in front of the cute metrosexual chappie whose counter i usually buy tickets from, much to my extreme consternation and the obvious delight of the several smirking members of the Delhi University population !!!

As If that's not enough, when I alight at the Rajiv Chowk station and am going through the automatic gates, some kid has messed up the touch panel just before me, so when I put my coin inside, it gets stuck and sets off alram bells that shrill, trill, clang, scream, ululate, and generally serve to have the bloody Delhi security forces come charging towards me wireless sets at the ready and hands on guns at the hip as though I'm some terrorist... and everyone staring... the metro staff discovered the problem, then escorted me to a special gate which they had to open with a lock.... and there was sheepish me trying to appear non-chalant ...and feeling like the perfect ass.

NOW, the shop.. the Music World outlet near the Plaza Cinema...that i have to visit does not open at 10 am... not at 10:15...not at 10:30... not at 11 am... finally it opens at 11:30 am... and I have to hang around that area for sooo long... that the mobile police wallahs start eyeing me suspiciously and the buxom, barrel- bosomed punjabi grand-mother types start reaching for the chilli powder in their handbags 'cos they're always on the lookout for middle-aged perverts who hang around to leer at their nubile daughters-in-law... anyway... I was sort of saved by the bell, because the shop finally opened and I got my CD exchanged without much fuss.

THEN we have to go towards IGNOU [that's the Indira Gandhi Open University] in located in Saket, so Ravi meets me at Connaught place...and we have a deadline, he's got to have some things fixed up on his examination card and that involves the bureaucracy who are the type that take two hours to complete a 60 minute lunch-break... and we have to travel around 20 kilkometres.. and the time's already 11:45 am and we have to make it to the babu's window before they break for their lunch at 12;30 or thereabouts.... now u just won't believe this.... first he's going okay but doesn't realise that there's a new diversion which he takes by mistake and it sends us back three kilometres... and we're rushing against a deadline...

NEXT we come to a place where the traffic is in an absolute mess because the GREEN light on all sides has got stuck and there's no policeman around .... It was a bloody nightmare at noon....

BUT we manage to make it to the window before munching time and get the papers submitted... and then are told to come back at three o'clock because it's officially the celebrated feeding -the- face hour...and since we're so hungry... we think of going to the IGNOU canteen and all we are able to get is phikka chai [ that's weak tea that looks like dioshwater, tastes like washrags boiled with sugar and has a temperature very muck alike to the Gospel of Saint Luke.... and the patties were as cold as last month's corpse in the local mortuary and tasted like they had been exhumed from the Pyramids... my taste buds reacted so violently that i left the stuff on the table and insisted that we go to Dominoes for some hot chicken Pizza....

and that was the first reasonably decent thing which happend that day...
.

Rustic celebration

On a Diwali eve in a village near Bodh Gaya I sit on a veranda with Nick, the Englishman who founded a charitable trust in this area about ten years ago, working with the poor in this militant-prone district in Bihar. So here I was, returning to Kanjihar village on the invitation of People First, imbibing beer with three of his guests from Blighty, doctors and travellers no less.

Nick goes on about what a unique experience spending Diwali in the backwoods of Bihar is going to be for the visitors, how unlike the synthetic and saccharine stuff that is on display in Delhi. He tells us that we’re all going to be invited down to the village that night as special guests to witness an extremely ‘cultural’ evening that’s being put on by the village folk as part of the Diwali festivities...

After an extraordinarily long wait during which Nick's ever-smiling staff served up a wonderful supper.. we finally set off to the village cultural event..... and then....

The good doctors stared open mouthed at what was obviously a cross-dressing performance... young men dressed as women belting out a 'prayer song' in hoarse, unmusical male voices... and this was followed by a whole lot of hip-shaking to some raunchy Bhojpuri numbers. Bhojpuri is a north indian dialiect spoken in central and north Bihar.

More suggestive dances followed... in true rustic style... with the males cheering on these 'laundas'[dancing boys] from Sasaram. After about twenty minutes of cross-dresser items, two ladies of the night bounced onto the stage. This was just after I had sort of explained to one of the good doctors that guys usually dressed up like girls because women weren't allowed to perform on stage in rural Bihar!!!

These ladies were so obviously entertaining that the audience... males of all ages... went wild, and rupee notes were proferred to them as they gyrated to ribald rustic rhythms...

Well, it was just about all the entertainment we could take, and the doctors and I bade our farwells and departed... as they say, post haste... ....

late summer musings in winter

Yes, this is me... doing what I love doing... pretending to be a DJ... now they're called RJ's and I've been manipulating a record player since I was knee-high to a grasshopper... only now I teach college students how to make radio programmes....

When I was about 13 years old
my class-teacher used to call me frank sinatra
at the time I didn't take it much as a compliment
as I had begun to worship somebody called neil diamond
but by the time i reached my 26th year
I had begun listening seriously to what the man from the mafia had to sing

and one of his songs became my theme for living

and now the time has come
when i must face the final curtain ...
[hell... the rest of the verse just slipped out of my leaky mind]
hmm... of which I'm certain...
but the song says... I did it my way

and that's what i have probably done
throughout my existence

i remember one easter night
when I was about 16
going to church in a pair of old faded jeans
a blue sleeveless vest with a carnation
much to the consternation of my parents
who didn't appear to live down the 'shame'
for about a month!!!

maybe i was a rebel ... but with a whole bucketful of causes

and maybe that's who i still am
maybe slightly mellower
maybe more mature... [mature?? MATURE??? ... er.. I dunno]

so here I am
looking at the September morn .. or the September of my life
not very far away

and I suppose it's gonna be
a very eventful one.

Birthday Eve

The eve of yet another birthday
I wonder... will the hypothetical candles on the cake
start a forest fire??

What thoughts cross my mind on this evening
sitting in a small room in rural Delhi

I've travelled far and wide
trekked around
till my boots bit off my feet

Memories....
flit through on the edge of my mind
like the theme from Cats

Some things are more immediate...
like the realisation that yet another of my friends
or ring of aquaintences
has tested positive for HIV...

I wonder...
Is it what we call the darkness under the lamp??
So many of these friends
Are actively involved in the fight against HIV/AIDS
promoting the use of condoms... safer sex...
and teh thought sometimes darts across my mind..
do we follow our own advice?
Do we actually practice what we preach???

I find it interesting that my birthday
comes before Thanksgiving...
Certainly not an Indian festival..
but my Eurasian upbringing makes the day special

I think theere's sense in giving thanks
for the opportunities, bricks and boquets
life throws at you

This night i fondly remember
all the lovers
the friends
and the so many wonderful people
living in tribal and backward areas
in this sub-continental country
who have made my life richer
and full of adventure...

reasons to believe

It's getting to be that time of the year again.

The chill in the air
compensated by the warmth in the heart
that starts creeping in at this time of the year.

The Hindu... or should I say Indian festival of Lights
is over... and this year it coincided with
All Saints Day... so i got to celebrate
Hallow's eve and Diwali eve together
in a sleepy little village in Bihar in Eastern India
drinking beer on the terrace with three Englishmen
and afterwards went down to the village
invited to their open air cultural show.

Diwali festival of lights

I was away from my desk
And in a village in Bodh Gaya
the place where a nepalese-Indian prince
sought enlightenment
what netter place to celebrate
the festival of lights???

more on this later

earth shaking

I'm sitting on a rickety cot
in a village on the outskirts of New Delhi
tapping away at this computer when I feel the cot under me tremble a little. Having lived for a while in Shillong, in the earthquake zone of northern India, I'm familiar with this tremor and instinctively look at a bottle of water placed across the room. Sure enough, it's undulating. The movement lasts for about ten seconds, nothing really alarming.

The family downstairs are busy with their daily hores, stuff that village people do at about nine thirty on a Saturday morning, and I call out to them... there's just been an earthquake... look at the water in your kitchen vessels, and they are amazed that the earth could have trembled and they were unaware of the fact.

A few minutes FM stations break in with the news that a government meeting in Chandigarh hasbeen disrupted because of the tremor, the Prime Minister was moved out of the building. An hour later, the earthquake is on the national and international news headlines... the earth shook in Kashmir, .. that much disputed piece of land in the Himalayas that has been the bone of contention between India and Pakistan; Kashmir- [Cashmere]- an issue that has rocked several hundred sessions of the Indian Parliament -- once again the Kahmir shook and literally, the tremors were felt in New Delhi.

The devastation and loss of precious human lives accompany any natural disaster. and once again, the media feeds us with stories of death, of struggle, and of heroism.

Maybe, tragedies like this one are sent to us so that we can prove to ourselves that we are not just mere thinking animals, that there rests within us what is known as an eternal soul, a ruh, an atman, and that we frail human creatures can rise beyond our narrow confines of self and up to the occasion and perform acts of selflesness and courage for the well-being of others....

c'est la vie

While on a trip through thecrowded streets of Patna
in the province of Bihar, India .... this vendor caught my eye
and so I stopped to talk to him

turns out he left his village when he was ten
because there was nothing to eat...

no future
and now this small roadside trolley
gives him some sense of security
and hope for the days to come
when just perhaps, he'll own a cigarette stall of his own one day.....

Far Pavilions

There's so much i dream of doing
There's so many roads to travel
there's a whole lot of life out there

And here am I...
hopeful
ambitious
serene
doubtful
poised on the treshold
of life

[a young man of 15 in a Delhi village]

'The Invaders'

Coming by night, furtively, one by one
They infiltrate according to the Plan,
Their orders memorized and their disguise
Impenetrable.

With the rising sun
Our citizens welcome them.
Nobody can
Think that such charming creatures might be spies.

So feeble, so helpless, no one could suspect
They come to make this commonwealth their prey;
So few, they pose no threat; their cohort grows
So imperceptibly that we neglect
To notice how it musters day by day
And, unalarmed, we watch as they impose
Themselves, make friends in all directions, take
Impressions of all keys.

They gain access
To all our secrets; learn to speak our tongue
Like natives; profit by each false move we make;
Work on our weaknesses; observe and guess
The sources of power and study them to be strong.

And when it happens, there will be no fuss,
No streets running with blood, no barricade.

We shall simply wake one morning to discover,
As those who ruled this city before us
Found by each door a headstone and a spade,
That a new generation has taken over.

-- A. D. Hope

Me uncensored 

blowing in the wind

How many roads must a man walk down
before you can call him a man?

How many seas must a white dove sail
before she can sleep in the sand?

How many years must the cannon-balls fly
before they're forever banned?

-The answer my friend, is blowing in the wind
the answer is blowing in the wind......

How many years will it take till we know
that too many people have died???

-of hate related crimes
-of neglect
-of prejudice
-of the results of blind religious fanatics
-of cancer
-of HIV releted causes
-of neglect
-of apathy
-of sheer ignorance?

the answer my friend
is blowing in the wind......

Dismembering Gandhi

The second of October
The birthday of Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi
so widely known for his philosphy of non-violence

and the morning news
bombings in Bali
Students shot and curfew imposed in the Indian State of Meghalaya
and dozens of Income tax officers arrested for corruption

today thousands of India politicians
will pay lip-service
to 'the father of the nation'

amidst poverty accelerated
by human made disasters
political opportunism
and naked greed
Independence, Gandhi said, would only dawn
when the tears of the poorest of India's poor
could be wiped away

Howvere there are no tears left
the eyes of the poor have dried up
their mouths are too parched to speak

didn't start the fire

Didn't start the fire
It was always burning since the world was turning...

Somebody told me yesterday:

I never asked to be different
I never asked the Lord to make me somebody
Who falls in love with another of his own sex
I never wanted to be called 'fag', 'queer', 'chakka'
I never wanted to have limp wrists and a dancing eyebrow

I just wanted to be alive
To have friends
To be one of the guys
To grow up and get married
To be accepted and loved by my family


I didn't start the fire
Then why do you
Why burn me at the stake???

Frog talk

Did you ever hear about the frog who dreamed of being a king....

Well, Neil Diamond said he became one
And except for the names and a few other changes if you talk about me
the story's almost the same one

But I've got an emptiness deep inside, and I've tried but it won't let me go
But I'm the type who sometimes swears
And i've never cared for the sound of being alone....

Just back after a gruelling day
Talking to small industrialists about the advantages of having
an awareness programme on HIV for their blue collar workers
however vary few workers in India wear blue colars
Or for that matter shirts -- at all

The government of India is doing its ostrich act
has come up with figures syaing that 0.09 percent of the
population probably has HIV

But that 0.09 percent translates into 51 million

But we know that the figures are perhaps double that number....

And so we try to shout into the roaring winds
What's the sound of being alone????

hi

Just started

But where do I begin?

How does one reach out to gather the fragrances from the ever changing winds that fill the sails of the little vessel you call life?

What am I doing here, sitting on a rickety camp cot tapping away at an ancient computer in a rat-infested village on the outskirts of Delhi and what in the blazes do i do with this thing called a blog?

Maybe there's something i want to talk about... or it's a vain attempt to recreate what it was like to be sixteen all over again.... maybe it's the realisation that one of these days I'll have to start dealing with male menopause...

Whatever be the reasons, I'm here. In the here and now.
So if you've stumbled across this clumsy page, don't turn up your nose at it pray

There's a lot for me to learn
And I've only just begun.....