Basic stuff I should be able to…

8:36pm Saturday, 24th August 2013 § 1 Comment

I, for one, should be able to

dance shamelessly and if possible, infect others as well,

do gardening/agriculture and cherish the fragility and complexity of life,

sail a boat and let not the beautiful wide seas scare me,

run, swim, play and cycle and keep testing the limits of my body and mind, even as I grow older,

climb walls for they mustn’t hamper me,

climb trees and let them pamper me,

make fire with stones/hay/wood and ensure that primal safety when I’m lost and in trouble,

make new friends- it feels unimaginably good to have them around,

be vulnerable to a few people in my life,

hitchhike often, give lift often, without fear of pickpockets, kidnappers, and aliens. The odds are very thin.

communicate effectively without language, with signs and actions. Maybe I should start with a smile, before they tie me down and sacrifice me to the hill Goddess.

understand computers for they are important, potent and, indeed everywhere,

write and share code to make life simpler, organised, and clutter-free,

use a gun, but not use it,

avoid fights, settle fights, and if necessary get into fights,

build an efficient house

sing to myself, and to a bunch of people,

sketch/draw/paint for, often, words fall short,

stop reading a boring book without second thought,

use logic and reason prudently to not let them make me dogged,

cook for self, and for a bunch of people,

give a helping hand without hesitation when my instinct calls,

stargaze and get succumbed by the mind-numbing vastness of the universe and also, to stay humble,

drive/ride a car/truck/bike/cycle and repair them for it’s a lot of world to cover for one lifetime,

and keep sharing my life stories with as many as I can.

I should be able to; If not all, at least a bunch, on the assumption that others cover the rest. Hey, that much I am allowed to trust, in people ;)
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There is this place, Bombay…

3:48pm Thursday, 26th July 2012 § Leave a comment

That place, Bombay;
One cunning city it is, I tell you my friend!
That city which drugs and mugs
And lullabies and nurtures them all,
Into poets, prosets,
Paintets, photets, filmets,
Songets, and romantics alike,
So that they may,
In clandestine captivity of freedom,
Sing eulogies, of scum, and rum,
Paint canvases, of garb, and fab,
Pen parchments, of hunger, and bling,
And lure the distant listener in me
Into the cosy, yet seething clutches
Of that cunning city.
.
But of what little use
Is this wisdom of cun and con?
When I, as I write, am already
Swaying to the eulogies
Down to every piece of me,
Blinded by the canvases
In their blisses and spree,
Chewing away the parchments
In their sweetness of bee.
Alas! It is all a matter of time, it seems
Till I go tipsy, drenched in love
With that topsy-turvy city,
Bombay.
Very cunning indeed.
9's eye

Silence

11:04pm Wednesday, 18th January 2012 § 1 Comment

Whilst my senses, five,
Lay devoid of you.
Whilst my memories, nigh,
Paint pictures with you.
I thirst for words from you,
And all I get…
The baffling silence of Silence.

I sing to you, my song,
Apprehensions in mind,
A student that I am, nascent,
Seeking your dwell. And all I get…
The mysterious silence of Silence.
Is it a pat on my back
For luck next time,
Or loss of words, in awe?
My shallowness tells not.

I cry to you, my angst,
Foolish fears of love and life,
A learner that I am, bothersome,
In need of guide. And all I get…
The eerie silence of Silence.
Is it the trust in my character
to break free sans aid,
Or a reminder of my solitude, my noise?
My ignorance tells not.

Is the jargon of love, Silence?
Where words surrender, Silence endures?
I fall short.
There is a long way to go, then,
To seize the sounds of Silence.

A matter of two rupees

12:44pm Sunday, 25th December 2011 § 1 Comment

The temple near our house got rich. This attracted desirable commerce through shops and devotees and also undesirable paupers. The local traffic SI ordered to cordon the road and divert traffic. A just decision, I’d say.  The traffic got streamlined, the SI smug. Thence, the barriers, not only did they become the back-rests for the beggars, but also provided for an alignment to park vehicles. If parking in this part of the globe gets anywhere close to being organised, more than vehicles, it’d attract those pink-recycled-paper parking ticket sellers, the price being adjusted to inflation. Maybe, it’s hunger that makes one see opportunity even in the remotest of sites. Overall, the temple complex and surroundings got more coordinated and God and allied industries got a boost.

It was around seven yesterday evening. I was standing by my scooter parked near the temple waiting for my sister. The temple, for us, those who live in the vicinity, is a standard landmark. A road to our locality from any direction cannot ignore the landmark- “Come straight from station towards clock tower and take the lane beside the temple…”, “…if you take left near the bakery, that road will go directly to temple. But you needn’t go till the temple. You take the first left…” or “…take a share auto near the temple and get down near the gift shop”. My sister called me up and said that she’d be there, near the temple, in another fifteen minutes. But it took her more than that. So I was standing there, wondering about random stuff-maybe the bus got stuck in traffic at Begumpet; none of those traffic timers work; wonder what goes through the minds of these beggars; man, this chill is intolerable; Hyundai Eon looks a lot like Chevrolet Beat; pollution is aweful in Hyderabad…

Sudden commotion interrupted my highly intelligible thoughts. Two beggars, dizzied and mellowed by alcohol, were locked in a noisy tussle.

“adi naalugu”        [That is four]

“naalugu kaadu vaay, rendu”        [that is not four, that is two]

“adi naalugadi, lan<swear>ka, iyyi bey”        [that is four, you <swear>, give it to me!]

“rendu raa adi, rendu”        [two, that is two]

What actually happened was that devotee, on his way to his Honda Civic, gave money to one of those beggars to share among themselves. While one argued it was four rupees and each had to get two rupees, the other, who actually recieved the coins, said it was only two rupees and each had to get one rupee. Initial blurred vocal arguments, dominated by rendu and naalugu, eventually led to physical conflict. There were women among the beggars. They were neither drunk nor showed much concern. They threw one fleeting look at the hoo-hah and continued with their chat. I could only guess what they were talking about. Meanwhile, the swearing continued, with increased rigour. Beside the parking lot, the flower shop owner was talking to the vendor selling bananas, as he was shutting his shop down for the day,

“dunnapothulla untaaru, evaina pancheskochu kada”    [why don’t they look for work instead of begging, they are as healthy as a bull]

The banana vendor replied, “ee thaagubothu vedhavalaki evadisthaadu pani”    [who’ll give work to these drunk idiots]

Meanwhile the fight for those two extra rupees continued. They weren’t speaking much in their intoxication now, on random swinging of limbs. While one continued throwing abuses, the other kept
repeating ‘rendu’ in a trembling voice. Suddenly another older beggar at the other end of the line stood up and walked in a limp towards these two. One of his arms was heavily wrapped in gauze cloth. He walked to them, and started beating them up real hard on their backs with his other intact hand. To my surprise, they did not retaliate- it could either be seniority or sympathy towards his handicap or neither, I’m not sure. As the thrashing ended, one beggar picked his bowl up and walked away swaying and mumbling. The other sat down still chanting in a low shivering voice (I suspected crying),

“rendu…rendu…rendu”.

As my sister, on our way back through broken roads, glowing billboards and middle-class odes, was narrating her day’s experiences, it was all a distant song for me contemplating over that incident. That incident, which was a routine for many, but a story rare enough for me to put it up on my blog.

Wonderful designs of Life

2:45am Monday, 19th December 2011 § 2 Comments

 

life

Myriads of paths traced,

By the ebbs and tides

Of the flow of life.

Countless journeys,

Paths explored, retraced,

Songs composed, echoed,

People met, friends born,

Failures faced, abandoned,

Mistakes made, repeated.

Midst the mystic events

Of birth and death,

Myriads of paths traced

The wonderful designs of Life.

“We can make the best or the worst of it. No one’s a loser. But yeah, I hope you make the best of it.”  -9

We shall make each other…

1:21pm Monday, 25th April 2011 § 3 Comments

Across the wind

I’ll make you, you make me

We shall make each other.

On a Saturday to Monda…

12:48pm Saturday, 23rd April 2011 § 1 Comment

We left Voodoo’s cousin’s place at around 7:15 in the morning, nothing in mind as to where to head. The Sun was hiding somewhere behind the transluscent clouds and that mild breeze, unusual on a summer morning, was teasing.

Bojja said, “Monda?”.

I asked, “Did you get your camera?”.

He nodded and it was fixed. I was heading to Monda Market finally! Though not for the first time, I never went there without a purpose.

Monda market. Lying on the way from the busy-ness of Secunderabad Railway Station to the business of General Bazaar, Monda is one of the oldest market places in Hyderabad. At around 7:30 in the morning, as we entered the lane, it was still calm to my surprise. Gunny bags filled with vegetables were moving in, from the backs of aged lorries, on the backs of sweat-wet men and women. Yesterday’s trampled green swept into small piles laid every here and there . While a few were sifting the vegetables into heaps of various sizes probably to attach different price tags, a few others were busy with their everyday morning rituals. While a few were half way through their first dose of the day’s Adrak Chai(Ginger Tea), others already got into their seats alongside their common balances. So this is how that vibrant, energetic and abuzz devil of Monda Market looked in its early morning laze! The beast still asleep, I wondered.

We walked around for a while, had two cups of Adrak Chai (Ginger Tea, if you are wondering) each, a plate Poori with Pappu and Koora, did some random clicking and ambled out. The Chai was awesome and the Poori, filling. It was indeed a ‘Good Morning’.

“If only a Poet is born into a family here to describe the beauty…” -Bojja Rajesh

P.S: I’ll try to update post with the Photographs snapped as and when I make time to take them from him.