Another birthday comes along
And everyone is going on
With birthday wishes
And gifts
And ooohing
and aaahing
Bah!
I wishes I wuss fishes!
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
The Preservation of Memory
“To be born again you must first die.”
The words were unclear, both in their meaning and also because of the situation my ears were in. But somehow, the meaning of the words, murky as the water I was in, entered into the very centre of my being. I had a feeling that something was amiss, but I could not put my finger on it. Not right away at least, then it suddenly hit me – I was not breathing. I seemed to be undergoing some sort of sensory deprivation process. I could see but it was hazy, my hearing was fuzzy, my feeling almost numb, I could taste familiar tastes that I could not name. And I wasn’t breathing.
“I tell you the truth - no one can see the Kingdom of God unless he is born of water and spirit.”
I could still hear the muffled voice, I could even see the blurred outline of people, I could feel hands holding me. Was I hallucinating? Was this a bizarre dream? Where was this place and how had I come to be here? Random, disjoint thoughts flooded my head (though I was unsure if I did have a head) – “love can damage your health”, “breathe”, “genetic world”, “L’incertitude D’Heisenberg” and so on they tumbled out into the open where everyone could see them.
“Flesh gives birth to flesh, and spirit gives birth to spirit.”
Energy. Particles. Atoms. Molecules. Compounds. DNA. Code. Copy. Mutate. Transmit. Recreate. Energy.
The perception was beyond anything language could describe. I was a presence. Among infinite souls, both living and dead, and those that were neither. Thought was omnipresent but it was the kind of thought that cannot be articulated for such words do not exist in the spoken tongues of man. Memory of a collective past was suddenly accessible. Yet this was only a feeling and I could not hold on to it. But it came back, again and again, in waves. I was bathed in a warm feeling of ecstasy and I could suddenly love. Even things I had once hated. Love was the continuation of all things.
“I baptise you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”
As my awareness floated in those waters, its physical representation struggled, out of conditioned response to the circumstances. Thoughts whirled by, ungraspable, as language faded away. The pure being of all around me melted into an indescribable, endless light that was also a completely dark void. The infinite in material form that was me. The infinite in energy that was me. The infinite that was everything outside of me. I had a sudden last recollection of my body as it gasped. But only for a moment as I felt the remnants of my extremities disappear into the rest of the black light.
And thus I remember my death and birth.
The words were unclear, both in their meaning and also because of the situation my ears were in. But somehow, the meaning of the words, murky as the water I was in, entered into the very centre of my being. I had a feeling that something was amiss, but I could not put my finger on it. Not right away at least, then it suddenly hit me – I was not breathing. I seemed to be undergoing some sort of sensory deprivation process. I could see but it was hazy, my hearing was fuzzy, my feeling almost numb, I could taste familiar tastes that I could not name. And I wasn’t breathing.
“I tell you the truth - no one can see the Kingdom of God unless he is born of water and spirit.”
I could still hear the muffled voice, I could even see the blurred outline of people, I could feel hands holding me. Was I hallucinating? Was this a bizarre dream? Where was this place and how had I come to be here? Random, disjoint thoughts flooded my head (though I was unsure if I did have a head) – “love can damage your health”, “breathe”, “genetic world”, “L’incertitude D’Heisenberg” and so on they tumbled out into the open where everyone could see them.
“Flesh gives birth to flesh, and spirit gives birth to spirit.”
Energy. Particles. Atoms. Molecules. Compounds. DNA. Code. Copy. Mutate. Transmit. Recreate. Energy.
The perception was beyond anything language could describe. I was a presence. Among infinite souls, both living and dead, and those that were neither. Thought was omnipresent but it was the kind of thought that cannot be articulated for such words do not exist in the spoken tongues of man. Memory of a collective past was suddenly accessible. Yet this was only a feeling and I could not hold on to it. But it came back, again and again, in waves. I was bathed in a warm feeling of ecstasy and I could suddenly love. Even things I had once hated. Love was the continuation of all things.
“I baptise you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”
As my awareness floated in those waters, its physical representation struggled, out of conditioned response to the circumstances. Thoughts whirled by, ungraspable, as language faded away. The pure being of all around me melted into an indescribable, endless light that was also a completely dark void. The infinite in material form that was me. The infinite in energy that was me. The infinite that was everything outside of me. I had a sudden last recollection of my body as it gasped. But only for a moment as I felt the remnants of my extremities disappear into the rest of the black light.
And thus I remember my death and birth.
Monday, March 10, 2008
Mushie Filter No. 020
Ancient beautiful forests with trees that creak and groan. Winding pathways unfolding before us and we traipsed through the woods with a basket full of mushies like psychedelic nursery rhyme characters. The trees spoke, they watched us - tiny little things, stumbling along. An old tree Baba, ten feet high, sits cross-legged in Padmasana, in a state of Samadhi, or maybe just struck by lightening with thousands of little things within him that look like disintegrated flying insects, but probably not.
Rocks and boulders, intricately covered with the drawings of the little forest imps, telling their stories in drying fungi formations. They lie strewn around the stream and enable some fun stream hopping. La la la la with a basket full of mushies skipping along stones like turned-on-tuned-in mountain goats.
Cows with stories on their leather hides, (leave the leather hides on the cows), grazing, looking for their vegetable fix. Dinkle, tinkle, splinkle, pinkle - cow bells jingle jangle on the sand. Hipple hopple, they pipple popple down their paths to chill out land.
Zenlike in rolling pastures: happy-hoppy-high-up-hobos! This could be home forever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever. Amen.
I don't take cameras and such devices on my travels, this photo is by a happy hobo princess
Rocks and boulders, intricately covered with the drawings of the little forest imps, telling their stories in drying fungi formations. They lie strewn around the stream and enable some fun stream hopping. La la la la with a basket full of mushies skipping along stones like turned-on-tuned-in mountain goats.
Cows with stories on their leather hides, (leave the leather hides on the cows), grazing, looking for their vegetable fix. Dinkle, tinkle, splinkle, pinkle - cow bells jingle jangle on the sand. Hipple hopple, they pipple popple down their paths to chill out land.
Zenlike in rolling pastures: happy-hoppy-high-up-hobos! This could be home forever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever. Amen.
I don't take cameras and such devices on my travels, this photo is by a happy hobo princess
Monday, January 28, 2008
Jargon, Lingo and Vernacular of the Bangalore Middle School Kid (Including Some Etymology)
So, in a previous post, I promised the to inform the reader about dadikus. Now, unlike haikus or birdkus, dadikus are not a form of art; they're not even closely related, unless you are aesthetically impaired. Dadikus were what we, as kids, would call other kids who were fat. Yes, despite their sweet and innocent exterior, children can be spiteful and mean, and mercilesly ridicule other kids who are different.
Even Boney M sang about fat people. Remember that song?
She's crazy like a fool,
What about dadiku?
And that awesome refrain:
Dadi, dadiku
Dadi, dadiku
There were many other terms that were part of school kid dialect, back when I was a kid. Here's a listing.
da(n) - a friend, a mate. A term of endearment; predominantly male usage.
Usage: What da? Why you don't like me anymore da? What I did to you da?
There are many regional variations of this term, including macha, maam/s, bob, ra and ba.
Though I never used maam, I quite like the usage: What maams? How it is?
dadiku(n) - a person who is overweight, obese, fat, stout or even mildly pudgy.
djang(adj) - describing someone or something that is gaudy or excessively fancy; tacky.
(n) - a garish person.
This word is derived from the name of the famous guitarist Django Reinhardt - because he was so jazzy!
A common synonym for djang was djatang! and yes it comes with the exclamation mark at the end.
lambukuchi(n) - derogatory term used to refer to an excessively tall person. Derived from the Hindi lamba - tall, and the Tamil kuchi - stick. Note: The person should not just be tall, but also excessively thin, and very stick insect like, you wouldn't want to insult a tall, heavy-weight.
poda(interj) - Get lost; shoo; vamoose! To add some flair to this term one could append a "dai" to the end. Eg: "Podadai loafer!"
mother promise(v) - possibly the highest ranking promise, though this could be superceded by "god promise", some auto rickshaw drivers consider them equivalent vows as they advertise on the back of their rickshaws - "mother is god". Possibly derived as a direct translation from the Hindi "ma kasam". Had more value if you pinched you adam's apple while making the promise.
porky(n) - an aimless bum not a character from Looney Toons. Can also be used with "naye" which literally means "loafer dog".
kulla(n) - used to insult a person who is of short stature. The people who would stand at the opposite end of a line from a lambukuchi.
(adj) - indicating a lack of height.
wothla(adj) - of inferior quality; worthless; crappy.
wol, wolla(n) - a blatant lie; an exaggeration.
(v) - the act of lying.
This could also be occasionally used as an adjective, eg. "He says his father is a CID, what a wolla fellow he is!"
karpa koodi(n) - an insulting way of referring to a person of dark skin tone. Literally meaning "black cunt".
aikalakadajimbanzee(interj) - exclamation of joy, mostly used when winning a point in table tennis. Ask this man for a better explanation. Some etymologists believe that this sound has its origins in the phrase "I clucked a chimpanzee", though there are few takers for this theory.
boochie(n) - a person who can be very clingy, annoying and displaying and overpowering desire to control everything and everyone using melodrama, hysteria and emotional blackmail. Boochies can be easily spotted by the things they say, like "fine, be like that!", or "do what you want!" etc. The usage is predominantly femine though it can be applied to men who display such traits as well (though some scholars prefer the use of the word "goochie" for the masculine form). Derived from the Tamil boochie - insect, indicating the person is like a bug or blood-sucking insect.
(adj) - indicating the qualities attributed to a boochie.
boochify (v)
So how many of you used these phrases back in the day? Let me see those hands!
Did I miss out any terms? Feel free to add on with definitions.
Even Boney M sang about fat people. Remember that song?
She's crazy like a fool,
What about dadiku?
And that awesome refrain:
Dadi, dadiku
Dadi, dadiku
There were many other terms that were part of school kid dialect, back when I was a kid. Here's a listing.
da(n) - a friend, a mate. A term of endearment; predominantly male usage.
Usage: What da? Why you don't like me anymore da? What I did to you da?
There are many regional variations of this term, including macha, maam/s, bob, ra and ba.
Though I never used maam, I quite like the usage: What maams? How it is?
dadiku(n) - a person who is overweight, obese, fat, stout or even mildly pudgy.
djang(adj) - describing someone or something that is gaudy or excessively fancy; tacky.
(n) - a garish person.
This word is derived from the name of the famous guitarist Django Reinhardt - because he was so jazzy!
A common synonym for djang was djatang! and yes it comes with the exclamation mark at the end.
lambukuchi(n) - derogatory term used to refer to an excessively tall person. Derived from the Hindi lamba - tall, and the Tamil kuchi - stick. Note: The person should not just be tall, but also excessively thin, and very stick insect like, you wouldn't want to insult a tall, heavy-weight.
poda(interj) - Get lost; shoo; vamoose! To add some flair to this term one could append a "dai" to the end. Eg: "Podadai loafer!"
mother promise(v) - possibly the highest ranking promise, though this could be superceded by "god promise", some auto rickshaw drivers consider them equivalent vows as they advertise on the back of their rickshaws - "mother is god". Possibly derived as a direct translation from the Hindi "ma kasam". Had more value if you pinched you adam's apple while making the promise.
porky(n) - an aimless bum not a character from Looney Toons. Can also be used with "naye" which literally means "loafer dog".
kulla(n) - used to insult a person who is of short stature. The people who would stand at the opposite end of a line from a lambukuchi.
(adj) - indicating a lack of height.
wothla(adj) - of inferior quality; worthless; crappy.
wol, wolla(n) - a blatant lie; an exaggeration.
(v) - the act of lying.
This could also be occasionally used as an adjective, eg. "He says his father is a CID, what a wolla fellow he is!"
karpa koodi(n) - an insulting way of referring to a person of dark skin tone. Literally meaning "black cunt".
aikalakadajimbanzee(interj) - exclamation of joy, mostly used when winning a point in table tennis. Ask this man for a better explanation. Some etymologists believe that this sound has its origins in the phrase "I clucked a chimpanzee", though there are few takers for this theory.
boochie(n) - a person who can be very clingy, annoying and displaying and overpowering desire to control everything and everyone using melodrama, hysteria and emotional blackmail. Boochies can be easily spotted by the things they say, like "fine, be like that!", or "do what you want!" etc. The usage is predominantly femine though it can be applied to men who display such traits as well (though some scholars prefer the use of the word "goochie" for the masculine form). Derived from the Tamil boochie - insect, indicating the person is like a bug or blood-sucking insect.
(adj) - indicating the qualities attributed to a boochie.
boochify (v)
So how many of you used these phrases back in the day? Let me see those hands!
Did I miss out any terms? Feel free to add on with definitions.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Put your hyperlink in, put your hyperlink out...and that's what it's all about!
So there aren't too many people who can be funny as well as be nostalgic about the 80s (my fave decade!), but Vishal Patel sure can. So hop over to http://www.vishalpatel.com and get your kicks you dirty animal!
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Excerpts from the Joydev Mela
I have never met a man
Who did not make me sad.
I have never met a man
Who did not make me sad.
Perhaps it’s because
I have never met a man
To whom pain was not given.
These veins are filled with worms,
This body is rotting,
Eaten away by pride.
This body is made from mud
And to mud it will return.
Even the birds
Fly away from me.
Even the birds
Fly away from me
Oh, why did I approach them
Drawn by their sweet song?
I waited all my life
To give all my love to you.
I waited all my life
To give all my love to you.
But you threw it away
Like filthy rags
That have soaked the dirt of the world.
Song of the Baul
Who did not make me sad.
I have never met a man
Who did not make me sad.
Perhaps it’s because
I have never met a man
To whom pain was not given.
These veins are filled with worms,
This body is rotting,
Eaten away by pride.
This body is made from mud
And to mud it will return.
Even the birds
Fly away from me.
Even the birds
Fly away from me
Oh, why did I approach them
Drawn by their sweet song?
I waited all my life
To give all my love to you.
I waited all my life
To give all my love to you.
But you threw it away
Like filthy rags
That have soaked the dirt of the world.
Song of the Baul
Every year, in the third week of January, the little village of Kenduli, in West Bengal, decks itself up in splendorous colours and bedazzling lights, and prepares to host over a quarter of a million people who come to be part of the Joydev Mela. It’s a spectacular meeting ground for villagers and traders, sadhus and fakirs, and the purveyors of Bhakti in song – Bauls.
For the unaware, Bauls are wandering minstrels. Most of them lead rather ascetic lives. Some of them play indigenous instruments, like the ektara: a single stringed marvel, while other bang on anything available and sing in cracking voices. They all have a repertoire of songs that they have penned, along with a few famous Baul pieces, and these they sing – for their supper. The singing may not be brilliant but the lyrics are thought provoking. Unfortunately for me they sing in Bengali, so I was unable to understand most of the songs. One chap was kind enough to sing a song for me in Hindi, which I have translated (to the best of my abilities) above.
**********
“Don’t keep your money lying around on the ground like that - it might blow away in the wind.”
“It’s not my money, it’s God’s money, he can do what he wants with it.”
He banged away furiously on his upturned steel plate as he sang himself hoarse and delighted the small crowd. He wore only a loin cloth in the winter freeze while I shivered despite a sweater and a shawl. Next to him a small cloth bundle in which he carried his lack of possessions. People in the crowd gave him money, mostly five or ten rupee notes which he gratefully accepted, touching them to his head and then holding them towards the sky before leaving them on the ground.
Something in Bengali
“I don’t know Bangla”
“Oh, where are you from?”
“Bangalore”
“I’m sorry, I thought you were a Baul, you look like one, that’s why I asked you in Bengali, ‘what do you think of Bappi da?’”
“There must be something about being a Baba…see how many there are.”
Shankar Baba is possibly the nicest and most amicable Baba I have met, he gave me the address and phone number of his Calcutta Ashram. He was a Shaivite and I think he was trying to be funny.
“Do you think you can get me a job in
“What kind of job?”
“I don’t know, something easy?”
“What can you do.”
“Hmmm….nothing.”
“Erm…can you drive a vehicle, or cook or sew?”
“No”
“Can you read and write?”
“Yes, I studied till the eighth.”
“I don’t know if you can find a job very easily in
“What about a government job?”
Something in Bengali
“I don’t know Bangla.”
“Oh, where are you from?”
“
“Then what language do you in sing your songs in?”
“Huh?...NO!, I am NOT a Baul.”
“Doll set….Rs. 12”
“Toy air gun….Rs. 12”
“Toy train…Rs. 12”
“Magic box…Rs. 12”
And so on and so forth….
**********
"MANOJ!......MANOJ!.....MANOJ!"
With hundreds of thousands of people milling around, the narrow village pathways are jammed - people jammed. Even four adults holding hands can lose one of their friends causing the remaining three to walk around forlornly, still holding hands, yelling out their friend's name in hopes of a joyful reunion. From what I have learnt from Bollywood, they will not meet for another twenty years, by which time their long lost friend would have become an infamous underworld smuggler, while the other three would have joined the police force. It will be a tragic reunion for Manoj and his friends.
**********
"We all have wives and children, but every year, at this time, something stirs in our hearts and we have to leave them and make this journey to Joydev."
One fifty something man, who has been coming to the mela for the last forty something years told me about the origins of the mela. Apparently back in the day there was a Krishna Bhakt called Joydeva who prayed fervently for three days and then Krishna appeared to him and gave him the gift of writing lyric. He went on to become a famous poet who wrote a number of poems about Krishna and his playboy antics. He also told me there still exist the footprints of Krishna where he appeared to Joydeva, though I could not locate the spot from the directions he gave me.
In the centre of the village there stands a large, bizarre 13th century temple that is dedicated to Joydeva. It's walls are decorated with carvings illustrating the life of Krishna as well as some bits from the Ramayana. Overall the whole village as well as the mela has a Vaishnava feel to it.
"We all have wives and children, but every year, at this time, something stirs in our hearts and we have to leave them and make this journey to Joydev."
One fifty something man, who has been coming to the mela for the last forty something years told me about the origins of the mela. Apparently back in the day there was a Krishna Bhakt called Joydeva who prayed fervently for three days and then Krishna appeared to him and gave him the gift of writing lyric. He went on to become a famous poet who wrote a number of poems about Krishna and his playboy antics. He also told me there still exist the footprints of Krishna where he appeared to Joydeva, though I could not locate the spot from the directions he gave me.
In the centre of the village there stands a large, bizarre 13th century temple that is dedicated to Joydeva. It's walls are decorated with carvings illustrating the life of Krishna as well as some bits from the Ramayana. Overall the whole village as well as the mela has a Vaishnava feel to it.
Friday, March 02, 2007
Necrosis
Pale and sickly she lay, her grandmother applying a cold compress to her burning forehead.
“You are young, cheru” her grandmother said, “and your body is ready to fight; if we old people get sick, no, papapa…but you will be back on your feet soon.”
“I feel like I’m dying the”, the girl mumbled feebly.
“Eh! Again the same nonsense you say child! The will to live is what will speed up your recovery, so don’t say all this rubbish! Anyway, the doctor is on his way today.”
“Water, grandma.” She had been ill three days now.
“Children nowadays,” the old lady clucked as she hobbled towards the kitchen, “why, I can barely see, but with these meagre inlets of light I can fight a buffalo!”
Three days ago the young girl had woken up feeling drained. When she fainted while washing the clothes, her grandmother had put it down to the illnesses that adolescent girls suffer from, and told her to get a days rest. But the next morning when she woke up feeling worse than before and with a temperature higher than normal, her grandmother quizzed her to determine what could be ailing the girl.
“What have you been eating? When did you take a bath? How long were you in the sun?”
There was nothing in the girl’s answers that could diagnose her fever. So her grandmother decided to administer general medication. Various herbs with known healing properties were ground with a mortar and pestle and the resulting paste was included in the girl’s diet.
The next morning she could not get out of bed. Her body ached, her arms and legs were limp, her eyes sunken. She had no appetite and refused the porridge her grandmother had made for her, claiming the very sight of food would make her nauseous.
“We must call a doctor!” the old lady told her son, the girl’s father. Fourteen years ago, his wife had died giving birth to their only daughter. He had been a depressed man with a melancholy humour since that day. If it were not for his mother, obstinate in her old age, the house would have fallen apart. It was she who decided the daily routines and delegated household tasks among the three of them.
“But, it will take a whole day, ma” he groaned. They lived in a small village that was mostly self-sufficient. People were born here, lived their hard, simple lives here and eventually died comfortably when their time had come. It was a quiet and boring village where nothing eventful ever happened.
“That is why you must set off today, so that you can be back tomorrow, before the sun sets.” The old lady responded.
“But, it’s only a fever, why are you so worried? Children get sick you know.”
“And I know that as well, but I can see no reason for the child’s illness, and my usual medicines are not working. Also she looks frighteningly weak. Did you see her this morning? Her skin looks sick and wrinkled as if the flesh has gone. Poor cheru, papapa….now go! I’ve made some food for you to take also.”
What else could he do? Taking the food his mother had prepared for the arduous journey, he wrapped it in some leaves and cloth, tucked some money into his garments and headed out. If he was lucky he would find a bullock-cart or perhaps even a caravan, on the road a few miles away. If he did he wouldn’t have to walk all the way to the town.
The girl had fallen into a stupour when she had returned with the glass of water, so she dabbed some water on the child’s lips with her fingers. The girl’s lips moved slowly, taking in the moisture, or perhaps she was trying to say something, or maybe she was just dreaming.
“Don’t worry my little cheru,” the old lady said, lovingly stroking her frail granddaughter’s hair, “papa’s getting the doctor, they must be on their way right now even. They’ll be here in a few hours.”
Her grandmother looked out of the window, the sun was low in the sky, the girl’s father would return with the doctor any time now. She had been frightened by what the girl had told her the previous day. Those dreams of death and sacrifices and blood and life that her granddaughter had drowsily recounted were what had prompted her to send for a doctor. Or should she have sent for a priest? Could someone have put a curse on the child? But who would want to harm this sweet little thing? Everyone in the village looked kindly upon her – this hardworking and innocent, motherless child. But let us wait for the doctor first. Despite her old age the grandmother still had a stronger faith in tangible science than in the rituals of god.
When she came back into the room an hour later the girl was still asleep. Her fingers twitched slightly. The bones in her arms could be seen. She had been a healthy girl, never had a major medical complaint before. Now she had lost so much weight that she looked hauntingly corpse-like. Her eyes were shut in a placid sleep and the dark circles around them made her look aged and tired.
They old woman felt her forehead, the fever seemed to have come down. She would get well soon now. But where was her son and the doctor? A doctor’s wisdom is always more reassuring than one’s own medical conclusions. The girl would need lots of rest and a good diet to get her back to her earlier fitness, and the doctor would most probably prescribe some medicines to aid her progress.
The old lady went to prepare some dinner for the doctor, who would no doubt be exhausted and hungry from the journey. The sky was a deep red, the colour of blood that had coagulated.
Having finished her cooking she came back to check on her daughter, muttering about her son’s lack of motivation in anything he did. There was a strange smell in the room, she could not place it, but it had an acrid sense to it. Her heart skipped her beat – the child! Had something happened to her little cheru? She leaped towards the bed. The once pretty girl now looked old and haggard, but she was still breathing, her chest heaved slowly and sometimes jerkily.
“Oh, cheru…what is wrong with you darling?” She could detect the odour emanating from the sleeping child’s skin. It wasn’t a putrid smell, but it wasn’t fragrant either. She rubbed the girl’s neck, there was a sticky moisture that clung to her skin.
Getting up on her creaking joints, she hurried off to the kitchen and heated some water with fragrant spices. “What diseases we have nowadays and my poor, poor cheru has to get them.” She said, running back to the girl’s bedside.
With a cloth dipped in the hot water she rubbed the pale, lifeless skin of her granddaughter. The girl seemed to breathe a little better now. She undressed the girl and continued to bathe her with the damp cloth. As she moved down to the girl’s stomach she dropped the cloth with a start. There were drops of viscous, dark brown liquid just below her navel. No, it wasn’t blood. The old woman was relieved for a moment. She wiped the liquid off with the cloth to reveal a row of tiny puncture marks on the girls abdomen. What was this? She pressed her granddaughter below her belly where the marks were, a few more drops oozed out and then stopped. A watery residue followed and then nothing more came out. The old lady was sure it was not blood. She wiped off the rest of the substance and looked closely at the marks. What were they? Had something bitten her? They looked like insect bites.
She lifted the girl up with ease in spite of her age, for the child had lost so much weight that her body was very light. She checked the bed sheets for bugs! Her clothes, under the bed, the mattress - nothing!
As the night grew darker, the old lady fell into an uneasy sleep at her child’s bedside, still wondering what could possibly be wrong. She could not understand why the girl was sick, nor what the marks were or where this strange liquid had come from. And why had her son not returned? All these thoughts formed a haze around her and caused her to dream strange things.
As she slumbered her granddaughter moaned softly. The rest of the creature continued to slither in through the window even as it attached itself to the girl’s abdomen.
“Cheru? Cheru?” The old woman was still disoriented as shook the sleep from her eyes. She had felt something. Her dulled eyes could not make out what she saw, but she was sure that she had seen something move. She looked at the girl’s face, she looked peaceful in her sleep, happy almost. She felt around there was nothing. She pressed the girl’s forehead, the fever was gone, and she seemed a little cold, but she was breathing normally.
She was woken up the next morning by someone at the door. It was her son with a handsome young man.
“Oh thank god you’ve come” said the old lady. She looked disheveled and frightening. “ I don’t know what’s happened to that child, but I’m glad you made it. Come in, come in.”
The doctor examined the girl in her room, while the old lady prepared breakfast as she recounted to her son how terrible his daughter had looked the evening before and how strange the night had been.
The doctor walked into the kitchen as the old lady laid out the food on the table. “The child is perfectly fine” he announced.
“That’s great news” the man said, and to his mother “see, I told you she’d be fine.”
The doctor continued, “she doesn’t even seem like she was ever ill!”
“But what about the marks?” the old woman cried.
“What marks?” asked the doctor.
The old lady led him into the room and screamed when she saw the girl sitting comfortably on the bed.
“What happened grandma?” the girl asked smiling.
The old lady lifted up the girl’s dress to point out some marks that didn’t exist. The doctor and her son exchanged glances.
“I’m feeling fine grandma” the girl said, still smiling.
“But…but…she was almost dead last night, and there were these marks on her stomach, with a brown, sticky, bad smelling liquid…”
Later as the doctor prepared to leave he took the girl’s father aside and told him “you have a beautiful, healthy daughter, but I’d be worried about your mother – I think she’s getting senile!”
“You are young, cheru” her grandmother said, “and your body is ready to fight; if we old people get sick, no, papapa…but you will be back on your feet soon.”
“I feel like I’m dying the”, the girl mumbled feebly.
“Eh! Again the same nonsense you say child! The will to live is what will speed up your recovery, so don’t say all this rubbish! Anyway, the doctor is on his way today.”
“Water, grandma.” She had been ill three days now.
“Children nowadays,” the old lady clucked as she hobbled towards the kitchen, “why, I can barely see, but with these meagre inlets of light I can fight a buffalo!”
Three days ago the young girl had woken up feeling drained. When she fainted while washing the clothes, her grandmother had put it down to the illnesses that adolescent girls suffer from, and told her to get a days rest. But the next morning when she woke up feeling worse than before and with a temperature higher than normal, her grandmother quizzed her to determine what could be ailing the girl.
“What have you been eating? When did you take a bath? How long were you in the sun?”
There was nothing in the girl’s answers that could diagnose her fever. So her grandmother decided to administer general medication. Various herbs with known healing properties were ground with a mortar and pestle and the resulting paste was included in the girl’s diet.
The next morning she could not get out of bed. Her body ached, her arms and legs were limp, her eyes sunken. She had no appetite and refused the porridge her grandmother had made for her, claiming the very sight of food would make her nauseous.
“We must call a doctor!” the old lady told her son, the girl’s father. Fourteen years ago, his wife had died giving birth to their only daughter. He had been a depressed man with a melancholy humour since that day. If it were not for his mother, obstinate in her old age, the house would have fallen apart. It was she who decided the daily routines and delegated household tasks among the three of them.
“But, it will take a whole day, ma” he groaned. They lived in a small village that was mostly self-sufficient. People were born here, lived their hard, simple lives here and eventually died comfortably when their time had come. It was a quiet and boring village where nothing eventful ever happened.
“That is why you must set off today, so that you can be back tomorrow, before the sun sets.” The old lady responded.
“But, it’s only a fever, why are you so worried? Children get sick you know.”
“And I know that as well, but I can see no reason for the child’s illness, and my usual medicines are not working. Also she looks frighteningly weak. Did you see her this morning? Her skin looks sick and wrinkled as if the flesh has gone. Poor cheru, papapa….now go! I’ve made some food for you to take also.”
What else could he do? Taking the food his mother had prepared for the arduous journey, he wrapped it in some leaves and cloth, tucked some money into his garments and headed out. If he was lucky he would find a bullock-cart or perhaps even a caravan, on the road a few miles away. If he did he wouldn’t have to walk all the way to the town.
The girl had fallen into a stupour when she had returned with the glass of water, so she dabbed some water on the child’s lips with her fingers. The girl’s lips moved slowly, taking in the moisture, or perhaps she was trying to say something, or maybe she was just dreaming.
“Don’t worry my little cheru,” the old lady said, lovingly stroking her frail granddaughter’s hair, “papa’s getting the doctor, they must be on their way right now even. They’ll be here in a few hours.”
Her grandmother looked out of the window, the sun was low in the sky, the girl’s father would return with the doctor any time now. She had been frightened by what the girl had told her the previous day. Those dreams of death and sacrifices and blood and life that her granddaughter had drowsily recounted were what had prompted her to send for a doctor. Or should she have sent for a priest? Could someone have put a curse on the child? But who would want to harm this sweet little thing? Everyone in the village looked kindly upon her – this hardworking and innocent, motherless child. But let us wait for the doctor first. Despite her old age the grandmother still had a stronger faith in tangible science than in the rituals of god.
When she came back into the room an hour later the girl was still asleep. Her fingers twitched slightly. The bones in her arms could be seen. She had been a healthy girl, never had a major medical complaint before. Now she had lost so much weight that she looked hauntingly corpse-like. Her eyes were shut in a placid sleep and the dark circles around them made her look aged and tired.
They old woman felt her forehead, the fever seemed to have come down. She would get well soon now. But where was her son and the doctor? A doctor’s wisdom is always more reassuring than one’s own medical conclusions. The girl would need lots of rest and a good diet to get her back to her earlier fitness, and the doctor would most probably prescribe some medicines to aid her progress.
The old lady went to prepare some dinner for the doctor, who would no doubt be exhausted and hungry from the journey. The sky was a deep red, the colour of blood that had coagulated.
Having finished her cooking she came back to check on her daughter, muttering about her son’s lack of motivation in anything he did. There was a strange smell in the room, she could not place it, but it had an acrid sense to it. Her heart skipped her beat – the child! Had something happened to her little cheru? She leaped towards the bed. The once pretty girl now looked old and haggard, but she was still breathing, her chest heaved slowly and sometimes jerkily.
“Oh, cheru…what is wrong with you darling?” She could detect the odour emanating from the sleeping child’s skin. It wasn’t a putrid smell, but it wasn’t fragrant either. She rubbed the girl’s neck, there was a sticky moisture that clung to her skin.
Getting up on her creaking joints, she hurried off to the kitchen and heated some water with fragrant spices. “What diseases we have nowadays and my poor, poor cheru has to get them.” She said, running back to the girl’s bedside.
With a cloth dipped in the hot water she rubbed the pale, lifeless skin of her granddaughter. The girl seemed to breathe a little better now. She undressed the girl and continued to bathe her with the damp cloth. As she moved down to the girl’s stomach she dropped the cloth with a start. There were drops of viscous, dark brown liquid just below her navel. No, it wasn’t blood. The old woman was relieved for a moment. She wiped the liquid off with the cloth to reveal a row of tiny puncture marks on the girls abdomen. What was this? She pressed her granddaughter below her belly where the marks were, a few more drops oozed out and then stopped. A watery residue followed and then nothing more came out. The old lady was sure it was not blood. She wiped off the rest of the substance and looked closely at the marks. What were they? Had something bitten her? They looked like insect bites.
She lifted the girl up with ease in spite of her age, for the child had lost so much weight that her body was very light. She checked the bed sheets for bugs! Her clothes, under the bed, the mattress - nothing!
As the night grew darker, the old lady fell into an uneasy sleep at her child’s bedside, still wondering what could possibly be wrong. She could not understand why the girl was sick, nor what the marks were or where this strange liquid had come from. And why had her son not returned? All these thoughts formed a haze around her and caused her to dream strange things.
As she slumbered her granddaughter moaned softly. The rest of the creature continued to slither in through the window even as it attached itself to the girl’s abdomen.
“Cheru? Cheru?” The old woman was still disoriented as shook the sleep from her eyes. She had felt something. Her dulled eyes could not make out what she saw, but she was sure that she had seen something move. She looked at the girl’s face, she looked peaceful in her sleep, happy almost. She felt around there was nothing. She pressed the girl’s forehead, the fever was gone, and she seemed a little cold, but she was breathing normally.
She was woken up the next morning by someone at the door. It was her son with a handsome young man.
“Oh thank god you’ve come” said the old lady. She looked disheveled and frightening. “ I don’t know what’s happened to that child, but I’m glad you made it. Come in, come in.”
The doctor examined the girl in her room, while the old lady prepared breakfast as she recounted to her son how terrible his daughter had looked the evening before and how strange the night had been.
The doctor walked into the kitchen as the old lady laid out the food on the table. “The child is perfectly fine” he announced.
“That’s great news” the man said, and to his mother “see, I told you she’d be fine.”
The doctor continued, “she doesn’t even seem like she was ever ill!”
“But what about the marks?” the old woman cried.
“What marks?” asked the doctor.
The old lady led him into the room and screamed when she saw the girl sitting comfortably on the bed.
“What happened grandma?” the girl asked smiling.
The old lady lifted up the girl’s dress to point out some marks that didn’t exist. The doctor and her son exchanged glances.
“I’m feeling fine grandma” the girl said, still smiling.
“But…but…she was almost dead last night, and there were these marks on her stomach, with a brown, sticky, bad smelling liquid…”
Later as the doctor prepared to leave he took the girl’s father aside and told him “you have a beautiful, healthy daughter, but I’d be worried about your mother – I think she’s getting senile!”
Thursday, February 01, 2007
My Visual DNA
So a close friend linked me to this site
http://friends.imagini.net/
It's fun, I like the connects.
Here's me results
http://friends.imagini.net/
It's fun, I like the connects.
Here's me results
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Chuggity Chug
The hills are mottled with fresh grass, the rains have made the countryside vibrant with lush greens, bright browns and demure yellows. For some reason the peaks of the hills remain barren, devoid of the green below, like someone rashly ran an oversized lawn-mower across them.
The mud is rich and fertile. We pass rivulets of clear water and buffaloes grazing in the multi-hued green landscape.
There are thatched huts and narrow tarred roads leading up to a level crossing where dark-skinned people wait patiently in lorrries and bicycles - the south has arrived.
The mud is rich and fertile. We pass rivulets of clear water and buffaloes grazing in the multi-hued green landscape.
There are thatched huts and narrow tarred roads leading up to a level crossing where dark-skinned people wait patiently in lorrries and bicycles - the south has arrived.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Beaten Rhyme (or how I took a train ride in the land of death)
Picture print gnostic day
Prize gator all the way
Canter banter guess book
Overhead palatial nook
Insect feeder antic boy
Auto trotter water-toy
Globe globe purple ski
Double eagle friend what?
Yes, yes, no, no,
Okay, go!
Prize gator all the way
Canter banter guess book
Overhead palatial nook
Insect feeder antic boy
Auto trotter water-toy
Globe globe purple ski
Double eagle friend what?
Yes, yes, no, no,
Okay, go!
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Excerpt from Conversations with an Alien
My computer's a bit fucked this morning - hungover and questioning the meaning of his existence; he's been through rough times lately; uneasy childhood. He uses acting out as a defence mechanism, he doesnt understand we're all in the same boat, just trying to find a reason to wake up and get working.
I need a cigarette.
I am enlightened.
I dont have any bread.
And I dont have any cigarettes.
What's the point of anything? When you don't have any bread see how you feel. Have you ever eaten peanut butter on fucking shredded wheat? Dont ever - you'll want to kill yourself.
Think kindly of this subterranean homesick alien for she lacks a web presence and I cannot link to her. She is on a facebook though.
I need a cigarette.
I am enlightened.
I dont have any bread.
And I dont have any cigarettes.
What's the point of anything? When you don't have any bread see how you feel. Have you ever eaten peanut butter on fucking shredded wheat? Dont ever - you'll want to kill yourself.
Think kindly of this subterranean homesick alien for she lacks a web presence and I cannot link to her. She is on a facebook though.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Tadah!
Yes, I have successfully created another blog which I hope I shall be able to update at frequent intervals.
Now hop along to These Indians are Crazy
Now hop along to These Indians are Crazy
Friday, November 17, 2006
Desert Verse
Scarab beetle run along
Through the desert sands
If the wind should blow you o'er
It won't slow you down
For you'll surely wriggle back
***
See the camel labour on
Through the desert sands
If this hardship he won't weather
Chewing ponderously
Then his hide will soon be leather
Through the desert sands
If the wind should blow you o'er
It won't slow you down
For you'll surely wriggle back
***
See the camel labour on
Through the desert sands
If this hardship he won't weather
Chewing ponderously
Then his hide will soon be leather
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Intercity Performance
“Surrender your ticket within 3 (three) hours of departure of last train in case you are unable to perform journey.”
Well, there was definitely not going to be any performance: missed the train by forty-five seconds. It was just pulling out of the platform as I reached, I thought perhaps I could make it, but there was more than a hundred metres to cover and it was picking up speed. And all because Bangalore City Station decides to use only four of the twelve ticket counters it has set up! I wish I had read the reverse of the ticket though, I didn’t know about the refund on the ticket. So I decided to take the bus from across the road: the Chennai State Express, not much of an express though, it stopped at every place possible and never went beyond fifty kmph.
The seat next to me was occupied by Anand Babu M: full name, or so he introduced himself while tapping his chest. I spoke to him in Tamil, but he refused to answer in Tamil, replying to my queries in English. And his English was worse than my Tamil.
I asked him what he did. He took out a folded piece of paper from his pocket, a letterhead for ‘V.S. Technical Works, Chennai – manufacturers of all types of bearings’
“So you’re an engineer then?” I asked.
He nodded. They were the largest manufacturers of ball bearings in
A few minutes later he produced another card from his pocket. This was another job he did. This one was in Kohlapur, in the garment business. Apparently he was the manager of Royston garments,
“What about V.S. Technical works?” I asked
“That is side job. When manager call I come.”
I wondered how he could be an engineer. Perhaps he was a salesman? I asked him.
“No, no. Technicals!”
“So, now what are you going to do in Chennai?”
“Boss call. Urgent. So I come.”
It seemed a fair explanation.
Later as I was reading (Paul Theroux’s The Great Railway Bazaar) Anand Babu M: full name tapped me and pointed out a huge manufacturing plant that we were passing. “Hyundai factory” he said, while rashly driving an imaginary car. “Very big. Two thousand kilometres.” I suspect he may have been exaggerating. It seemed to be a trend with him.
I asked Anand Babu M: full name if he knew where we were.
“Sriperumbudur” he remarked grimly. Not seeing any recognition in my eyes he continued to explain “Here, Rajiv Gandhi, finish!” This ominous statement he accompanied with a severing of the neck motion.
Friday, August 18, 2006
Empyrean Epiphany
Shanti, shanti, shanti. From the branches overhanging lake where dragon-fly-by two-by-two, red, like fire red, and yellow, from reed to reed, over algae covered water and hyacinth float, home for frogs that croak, croak, croak, to be eaten by stork with white wing span white, and fly with ducks multi-hued, and egrets black, dive and surface, fish thrashing and squirrels chirp, chirp, chirp, frolic along the branches with ants, running along, gangly, carrying twigs and leaves.
Warmth in the middle of the monsoons, only last night a torrential downpour and now the world is green, green, green. Rain-water drops shimmer dew-like on the gossamer thread of a spider web between coconut trees, for miles and miles atop hills around the lake with blue sky back-drop like oil on canvas and cloud wisps like beedi smoke insanity.
Water lizards dart by. Ripple, ripple, ripple. Fish swim away in jerky, united, direction under water crocus and lily, while butterfly flit back and forth, black and red, and white and yellow, like lemons and leaves that have just begun to dry. Splash, splash, ripple, ripple. Ducks alight on the water's surface, preen, clean, screen.
Quiet pathways and red mud for cycles and red stone houses live shanti, shanti, shanti. There are no reasons for greed and destruction. Shanti, shanti, shanti.
Warmth in the middle of the monsoons, only last night a torrential downpour and now the world is green, green, green. Rain-water drops shimmer dew-like on the gossamer thread of a spider web between coconut trees, for miles and miles atop hills around the lake with blue sky back-drop like oil on canvas and cloud wisps like beedi smoke insanity.
Water lizards dart by. Ripple, ripple, ripple. Fish swim away in jerky, united, direction under water crocus and lily, while butterfly flit back and forth, black and red, and white and yellow, like lemons and leaves that have just begun to dry. Splash, splash, ripple, ripple. Ducks alight on the water's surface, preen, clean, screen.
Quiet pathways and red mud for cycles and red stone houses live shanti, shanti, shanti. There are no reasons for greed and destruction. Shanti, shanti, shanti.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Of Black Ghosts and Suchlike
For me dad's birthday, which was just recently passed, I bought him a pair of strange and awe-inspiring fish.
They're called Black Ghosts.
They're of Amazonian origin, and the South American Indians believe that the souls of their dead warriors reside in these fish. Now the fishies I purchased are only around 2 inches long, but apparently they can grow upto 20 inches in length. We'll need a new tank then. They're awesomely fluid fish, and can swim in all directions. It's fun watching them swim backwards and upside down and in circles after their tails. And they also play with each other, twirling around like olympic gymnasts.
Another cool fact about these fish. They belong to the same class as eels, and they're mildly electric. Not strong enough to shock a human, but they do zap the other fishies once in a while. This is most fun to watch!
They're also close to blind, with small shiny, white dots for eyes. They use their electric signals to navigate, and also for mating. This, of course, allows for a variety of jokes. Like how sparks fly, and how they indulge in some very shocking activities. I shall leave you to make more electrifying jokes!
They're called Black Ghosts.
They're of Amazonian origin, and the South American Indians believe that the souls of their dead warriors reside in these fish. Now the fishies I purchased are only around 2 inches long, but apparently they can grow upto 20 inches in length. We'll need a new tank then. They're awesomely fluid fish, and can swim in all directions. It's fun watching them swim backwards and upside down and in circles after their tails. And they also play with each other, twirling around like olympic gymnasts.
Another cool fact about these fish. They belong to the same class as eels, and they're mildly electric. Not strong enough to shock a human, but they do zap the other fishies once in a while. This is most fun to watch!
They're also close to blind, with small shiny, white dots for eyes. They use their electric signals to navigate, and also for mating. This, of course, allows for a variety of jokes. Like how sparks fly, and how they indulge in some very shocking activities. I shall leave you to make more electrifying jokes!
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Rapunzel DIY
Brick upon brick
She laid. Around her
The wall was built.
Slowly encircling;
Growing ever higher.
Soon the structure,
Much taller than her,
Bid no one in.
She did, however,
Build tiny peepholes, through
Which the world could
Enter. Narrow streams
Of light would seep
In. Her only ken
Of the outside they were.
Desert, forest
Lay all around her,
But the wall her
Perception was. The
Image she herself built.
One day an eagle fashioned an aerie at the top of the tower.
She laid. Around her
The wall was built.
Slowly encircling;
Growing ever higher.
Soon the structure,
Much taller than her,
Bid no one in.
She did, however,
Build tiny peepholes, through
Which the world could
Enter. Narrow streams
Of light would seep
In. Her only ken
Of the outside they were.
Desert, forest
Lay all around her,
But the wall her
Perception was. The
Image she herself built.
One day an eagle fashioned an aerie at the top of the tower.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)