2012

‎2011
brought poetry
into my life
2012, what do you
promise?

Home (3)

darkness
comes again
but my mind
is much stronger this
time.

Home (2)

in

the warmth 

of your presence

restful sleep came, at 

last.

Home

                                   

     lively
     music fills

     my loving home
     piano here, there the 

     drums                                                                               

A deadly date with prawns

We had had a bitter argument the night before and hadn't so much as smiled at each other when the day dawned. I reached office and settled down to work with a heavy heart. I wasn't certain whether I'd have the heart to prolong the silence when I returned home in the evening -----nor was I certain that I'd have the heart to apologise.

It was around 1 pm that the door opened and Vimalendu walked in, with a smile and an apology and an offer to treat me to a luscious lunch at TK's Oriental Grill. I am no fan of Far Eatern cuisine and have never experimented with sea food, being mostly a vegetarian by choice, lapsing once in a while to enjoy a chicken soup or grilled fish. My husband thought, however, that I should at least taste prawns and lobsters and where better to do that than at TK's !

The lunch began with fresh juice and a fruit salad, and then came the prawns ---- a bite here and another bite there, and I was pretty clear that this wasn't a lunch I'd really relish. This was no ordinary lunch, however, and so I braved the lobsters as well, barely looking at what I was nibbling at. We spoke of this and that, laughed a little, smiled a lot ---till 15 or twenty minutes into lunch, I began to get an itching sensation in my throat. Some more juice, asked my husband, concerned that the chef had overdone the spices.

A glass of watermelon juice later, I was feeling much worse ----- my eyes had begun to water, and a strange feeling of fear was beginning to grip me. I need to see a doctor, I said, but the F&B Manager kept insisting that I'd be fine and I only needed to "rest". By this time, I'd begun to sneeze, my face was swelling up so fast I could barely see, and I was experiencing something akin to panic.

Listen, are you sure this isn't a plot to get rid of me, I asked Vimalendu. A quick call to a doctor confirmed our worst fear ----I was in anaphylactic shock.
Vimalendu contacted the nearest hospital, informed them of everything that had transpired thus far, and then drove as fast as he could possibly in the terrible afternoon traffic of Delhi, right up to the Emergency entry.

I could barely breathe, had all but forgotten the lunch, and could only silently pray to the Almighty (in whom I had never believed ! ) to take care of my children when I was no more. The doctor on duty clasped my hand reassuringly, and such was the warmth in his expression of concern that I relaxed a little.The mandatory oxygen mask, epinehrine shots and several hours later, I was pronounced fit enough to return home. A very lucky escape, the doctor told me ----- and do take care to avoid prawns and lobsters, he cautioned, as if I'd forget the experience in a hurry !!

Every time we now have an argument, we settle for coffee at our favourite coffee shop ------its unexciting, unadventurous, but guaranteed to get me home :)

Rules !

the
debate in
Parliament proves the rule
that one needn't be wise
to rule !

Winter (2)

Spring
will come
and the lessons
that Winter teaches soon
forgotten.

Winter

chilly
winter mornings
the sun's warmth
and hot,fragrant tea
bliss!

the rare commodity

We live in affluence
--- roads clean
gardens green
seasonal flowers
ficus, amaltas
garbage pick up
power back up
large bungalows
help galore
shiny SUVs
Mercs, Audis
evening walks
leashed dogs
daily gymming
weekly shopping
alert security
gated colony ----
Alas! the one commodity
that one finds but rarely
is charity.

For whom the bells toll

At dawn today, the door bell rang .

it can only be bad news at this hour
my heart whispered
with a heavy tread
and an awful fear, I opened the door

The young boy asked nervously
are you a doctor
we need succour
My heart surged, then wept helplessly

It was not for me the bells tolled ---today.

WINTER EVENING

a chilly winter evening
the radiators spread warmth
chandeliers light up the room
hands busy scribbling
words and rhymes pour forth
paint pictures that banish the gloom

a chilly winter evening
hot, steaming tea brings warmth
peanuts and jaggery light up the mood
minds furiously working
images and ideas gush forth
discussions that do not conclude

a chilly winter evening
one blogs, the other battles physics
one attempts rhyme, another mathematics
Could life be a greater blessing ?

Khayal

Sometimes

life looks bleak
I turn to music

At times
life is magic
I turn to music

tears or smiles
laughs or sighs
it's music which awakens
the harmony inside.

A date with Maoz

Where is one most likely to be introduced to falafel? In the Middle East, of course, where it probably originated and is available as street food. There's a theory that falafel originated in the Indian sub continent and then travelled to the Middle East, but Indians love to lay claim, as an ancient civilisation, to every great and glorious tradition, so I don't lay much store by that theory!!

My introduction ----and a very hesitant one ----to falafel happened in Amsterdam! It had been a hectic day of negotiating with the obdurate Americans, and we returned to our hotel in the evening only to be informed by the delegation leader that we'd be meeting in half an hour to discuss and draft and finalise our position papers on the issues that had so far vexed and vitiated the discussions.The meeting stretched late into the night and after several cups of coffee/tea and tasteless cookies, most of us would have gladly settled for a sumptuous Indian dinner than the FATF membership that we were in Amsterdam to obtain! Lunch too had been meagre because for some unfathomable reason, Europeans seem to think that cold meats are a great meal in a cold climate ----even the coffee is lukewarm, at best !!So, around 11 pm, we stepped out into broad daylight, in search of a hearty dinner.

It was June, and eerily enough, the sun had still not set at 11 pm . A friend who had lived in Amsterdam while pursuing a fellowship steered us all to a Maoz outlet. It looked suspiciously like a Subway restaurant and having had my fill of Americans during the day, I was quite clear I wouldn't settle for a Subway as my meal of the day. What I was given to eat was a freshly baked pita pocket filled with steaming hot falafel balls, eggplant and hummus, topped with salads and sauces(including really delectable tahini). On the side were crispy Belgian fries. The fries were crunchy, just right. Then I bit into the pita pocket -----and what a gastronomic experience that was. Absolutely delicious felafel, those crisp balls of chick pea that taste so familiar yet so different, fresh, juicy cucumber and tomatoes , tangy pickles, the sharp flavours of tahini ---- sweet mixed with sour, salty with astringent, the felafel was warm, the salads and sauces cold. This is Lebanese cuisine, someone remarked. Its Egyptian, said someone else. Lets just enjoy it, I suggested. Three felafel pita pockets later, I sat back content. Do we have Maoz in India, I asked my knowledgeable friend. We don't. Alas!!

The next five days, I would wait eagerly for the day to pass, so that I could reach the hotel, dump my laptop and papers, and walk down to Maoz for my fill of felafel !! Twice we took half the day off to go sight seeing ----twice I refused to have dinner at any place other than my neighbourhood Maoz, travelling back from from Delft one day and from The Hague another just to have felafel at Maoz!

Back home, my serach for felafel has been in vain ---- if I could but find an associate with business sense (of which I have none though I don't agree with my husband when he makes that statement), I'd beg, plead and harangue Maoz till they agreed to make an entry into India !!!

DOCTOR

I do not trust you, Sir
---- the tests that you order
the insistence on non-substitution
the emphatic NO to a second opinion
You seem to have entirely forgotten
the Hippocratic oath and its obligations

Alas! my need is greater
than my overwhelming fear
So I"ll trust to God
and fervently hope
that I die neither of disease
nor criminal negligence!

The first cheese fondue

                                               

It was the concluding day of a five-day Conference on Tobacco Control. There was an icy wind blowing outside the Conference venue, though it hadn't snowed. The waters of Lake Geneva lay calm, sparkling in the sun. Our delegation hadn't had much to say the previous five days, so I made bold to ask the Secretary whether we could leave early and catch some sight seeing. He nodded, too fatigued by the endless drone of speakers to even say "Yes". We bundled ourselves into the gleaming Mercedes that the Indian embassy had thoughtfully provided, and our Iraqi chauffeur, who had told me the evening before that he was a PhD consigned to being an Embassy car driver by the US invasion of Iraq, suggested that we drive down to Gruyere.

It was a long and lovely drive, the road winding along the shore of the lake, giving us glimpses of its vast expanse. Past charming little towns and villages, past curio shops and cafes, we drove down with scarcely a word being exchanged, so entranced were we by the beauty of our surroundings.The cheese factory at Gruyere was a little disappointing, because it had a strangely antiseptic feel ------ one would have expected to be assailed by the fragrances of cheese, but it was more like an obsessively clean factory floor ! We bought a variety of cheese, and stepped out, the bracingly cold air sharpening our hunger pangs. A charming little cafe was the next halt. Our chauffeur, Dr Badr, stepped in with us, rapidly spoken directions in French for a suitable table were given, and a couple of minutes later, we were comfortably ensconsed in a warm corner, right next to the French widows that overlooked a huge expanse of verdant green valleys.

The menu was a bewildering sight, French and German being the languages it was written in.Dr Badr made the decision for all of us in the masterful manner that made me understand why tall, handsome, mysterious men from the Middle East have so often figured in Mills & Boon romances. A cheese fondue, he explained, is what we'd have, that creamy, luscious, hotly dripping cheese in which we dip bread and potatoes and olives which we oh-so-carefully pop into mouths, salivating in anticipation of the delicious tastes and delectable textures. And what will you have to drink, our gracious hostess asked , as she handed the wine list. That well and truly flummoxed me, because the shortest, quickest route to my husband's displeasure is the mere mention of alcoholic drinks !!! He won't even get to know, a tiny , devilish voice whispered, and what he doesn't know won't hurt him. I smiled at the hostess, and asked for tea. She stepped back in shock, and there ensued a rapid, passionate dialogue between the Swiss who had taken affront at cheese fondue being paired with tea, and Dr Badr who appreciated a devoted wife's sensibilities !!! A compromise was struck -----tea would be served, but without milk!

The cheese fondue arrived, the wine was poured, my cup of steaming hot black tea was also placed on the table, albeit a little condescendingly ----and we had the best "social" meal I have had among near-strangers, each of us dipping the bread and the vegetables into the creamy cheese, kept hot by a flame that burned just enough to keep the cheese silky smooth, not allowing it to turn hard and stringy. The aroma was fabulous, Dr Badr's anecdotes were scintillating, and would you believe it, the black tea tasted just right !! Back in Delhi, I am still to find the perfect place for a cheese fondue.

Profit or Loss?

A farmer had a cow he loved very much, having raised it from its infancy with as much care and devotion as one bestows on one's child. His wife loved the cow no less, and Kamdhenu was the joy and pride of their lives. Hard times befell the farmer, and with a heavy heart, he sold the cow to the village zamindar. Five thousand rupees was the amount that he was paid by the zamindar but he had scarcely entered the doorway of his home when he heard his wife wailing, too grief stricken to even remonstrate with him for having sold Kamdhenu without even consulting her. The farmer had no choice but to rush back to the zamindar and plead with him to sell him back the beloved cow. The zamindar was a wily man, and it did not take him long to grasp that God had sent him an unexpected opportunity to make a profit, be it at the expense of the unfortunate farmer. He agreed to sell the cow back to the farmer, but demanded to be paid Rs 6000. Faced with prospect of an inconsolable wife if he returned home empty handed, the farmer paid the zamindar Rs 6000 and brought Kamdhenu home.

The next morning, he was summoned by the zamindar who confessed that his wife had not let him have a moment's peace since Kamdhenu's departure. Sell the cow to me, he demanded. The farmer was reluctant to sell, but he was not in a position to decline the village zamindar's request and invite the latter's wrath. So he decided to profit from the situation, and sold the cow back to the zamindar for Rs 7000.He returned home to find his clothes and other personal effects lying in the courtyard, neatly packed in large potlis. The message was clear ---- bring Kamdhenu back, or take yourself away.No amount of cajoling, persuasion,or pleading worked ----the farmer's wife was adamant. So the farmer returned to the zamindar, who smiled in glee and held out his hand for Rs 8000. With a heavy heart, the farmer handed over the money, got the zamindar to promise that he'd convince his wife not to badger him to buy Kamdhenu back, and trudged hom with the cow.

So Kamdhenu returned home, the farmer's wife was ecstatic, the farmer was happy too , except that he was a little bewidered whether, in the string of sales and purchases that had taken place, he had made a profit or loss.

Did the farmer make a profit? Or a loss? How much?

TODAY

this morning
the sun did not rise
or did I not recognize


--------

another sleepless night
and yet
I fear the endless sleep

----------

It was a restful night.
Did You rouse me?
Is my suffering not done yet?

--------

ANOTHER DAY

ANOTHER DAY

The alarm bell rings
another day begins
sleepy children dragged
out of their warm beds
geysers switched on, uniforms laid out.

the oven beeps
breakfast is ready
tuna, tomatoes and olives
that's the sandwich mix
tiffins on the table, car keys in the ignition

some high pitched yelling
the boys come sprinting
into the car, milk forgotten
my stern admonitions
invite indulgent smiles
and the daily advice
Just chill, Mom !!

If

If I could
perhaps I would
change yesterday
or the month before
or the year that went past.

But if I do
I'd change too
who I am today
the parts of me I love
the parts I had let go of.

What always soothes!

                                                            Men may let me down
                                                            they often do
                                                            Music may not elevate my spirit
                                                            sometimes it fails to
                                                            Books may not give me the solace I seek
                                                            rare ---but it happens too
                                                            But the hues of Nature, its infinite charm
                                                            never fails to soothe!

Another terror attack?

Another bomb blast ----
Some dead, some injured
Shocked spectators, grieving families
Press, TV, VIPs, FB statuses
Official statements, scathing reactions
Experts, news anchors
Oh yes! the police and NSG

Are all the elements present?
Is it any different from the time before?
No, names and numbers don't matter.

Let's move on.


(Priya VK Singh)

Resolution

the road stretches ahead endlessly

no rest, no respite

from the rain and wind

the sun that scorches mercilessly



I lift my hands despairingly

no help, no grace

from Him ---if He be--

meets the hope flickering weakly



So be it.



I return to smiling cheerfully

no regret, no tears

in the eyes---dry as dust--

that blink, and blink again resolutely



to see beauty in the rain

power in the wind

warmth in the sun

and measure the distance to eternity.

Birthdays

samosas, gulab jamuns and hot tea
that's how I remember birthday parties
my father would stop at the halwai
park the scooter, walk in with a smile
announce to whoever cared to hear
its my daughter's birthday, you see
nothing on display would satisfy him quite
he'd insist on everything being freshly fried
those were days when love counted, not calories
and it was ladled out in sweetness and ghee
the polythene bags would be nestled in the basket
that carried vegetables, fruits, and the groceries
he'd come in smiling, humming a Devdas song
and I'd grumblingly protest Devdas got it wrong
life is joy and doing and sharing and loving
its not about loving and being morose on losing
you have a lot to learn, Gudiya, he'd say
though I pray no insurmountable sorrow comes your way
then my mother would join the conversation
adept as she was at rendering order out of commotion
she'd send me to fetch the plates and make the tea
my brothers would join the small family party
no cakes to cut, no candles to blow
just good wishes and lots of love to bestow
on their cherished daughter, the beloved sister
who'd bring in tea, steaming hot and sugary
and gulab jamuns and samosas in unmatched crockery
my brother would sing, we'd all listen raptly
his voice would weave a spell , as if cast magically
my younger brother would threaten to sing as well
a tuneless song,and we'd smile and hug and let him
because these were the birthday presents, you see .

No matter where life takes me, how hard the struggle
those birthday parties I"ll be grateful for forever.

(Priya VK Singh )

Raahein

सिसकती राहों को छोड़ कर मैं
जब राह नई कोई चुनती हूँ
तो टकरा कर गम के पथर से
गिरती, संभलती, उठती हूँ

फिर आँसू बहते हैं ऐसे
की थमने का वो नाम ना लें
इस राह पर तो फूल ही थे
काँटे क्यों दामन से लिपटे

क्या राह कोई भी सुगम नहीं
और कोमल हाथों को भी
लड़ना पड़ता है कदम कदम
दो मुठ्ठी लेनी हो जो खुशी

(Priya VK Singh)

At the Dentist's

the faith I repose in my doctor
the warmth of reassurance in his touch
the smile that tells me we"ll tide over the crisis
the concern in the eyes that says so much

were men to have faith in each other
embrace warmly the differences that define us
extend a hand in succour when sorrow visits
rejoice together when trouble is behind us


on Earth we'd find Paradise ----
in the half hour at the dentist's 
these thoughts my mind beguile!

Mauasm

Mausam at least has the virtue of changing. Mausam, the movie, is unremittingly monotonous and predictable. The romance does not strikes a chord. The sub plot of terrorism  does not make one tearful. It is all too shallow, contrived, and unreal to be ever believed.

Shahid Kapoor is as unconvincing as the small town-big dreams Harry as the suave and confident Squadron Leader Harinder Singh. In fact, the scenes that involve the Indian Air Force are some of the most farcical in the movie.I am surprised the IAF hasn't sued the producer for presenting the Air Force in such a silly light.

The flight of Kashmiri Pndits from Kashmir in the 1990s, which could have been so poignantly potrayed, simply translates into a stereotyped Hindu-Muslim bhai bhai travesty. The tragedy and futility of the Ayodhya-Babri Masjid riots is reduced to inane dialogues like 'Ye hamare saath kyon hota hai?"

Interspersed is the Shahid-Sonam romance which  so lacks spontaneity/chemistry/poetry that one wishes they would just sing a song and get it over with.Perhaps the producer realised at some point that the movie would die a very quick death in Mullanpur, or was it Mallupur ----and so the locale shifts to Scotland, with bits of Switzerland thrown in. Alas! Shahid and Sonam look as NOT-made-for-each-other as they did in saada Punjab, the Mozart concert and waltz and pretty gowns and IAF uniform notwithstanding.

What next ? Kargil happens, and the lovers get separated, and Shahid ends up with a paralysed arm in a flight manouvre I couldn't make any sense of. Neither can the IAF, I am sure. So lots of trips to and fro between Scotland and Switzerland and Punjab and Ahmedabad later, when everyone has been rendered dizzy by the peripatetic couple, yet another riot takes place, the hero saves the heroine(what's new), he saves a baby girl(not new either), regains the use of his paralysed arm while engaged in these acts of chivalry (standard Bollywood fare) ---- and they live happily ever after, having adopted the child . OK, that's a new twist!!

In this whole silly train of events, Supriya Pathak and Anupam Kher are totally wasted, as also Manoj Pahwa. The music is passe and Shahid's dances right out of JAB WE MET.   What can one say about Sonam? She never fits into the skin of the role. Its as if she's nervously asking all the time -----Am I doing fine?Shahid did such a fantastic job in KAMINEY, here one sees at best snatches of the Shahid of JAB WE MET.

A movie to be avoided at all costs ----unless one is being offered free tickets for the PVR Gold Class !!