i wonder
at the blunder
that threw my life asunder

i think
then i sink
so low, down, under

at a wedding

Binny's face was crusty with the make up. She called it 'cake up'. The mascara and eyeliner were no longer where they were to be and she appeared like a harried, and very married raccoon. The husband was bored and glanced at this black-eyed pea from time to time. Sighing at his sozzled bachelor friends prancing with PYTs on the dance floor, he wondered if it was all a big mistake. Raccoon, meanwhile played with the idea of rebonding her hair. Meghna looked fabulous with that oh-so-stright hair. Oh no, she was approaching the stage. Sheesh look at her navel. I'm sure Aditya's looking at her. Sure enough, he was. What a body, look at that navel, why isnt her blouse as diaphanous as her chunni?

PMS

My horoscope is a horrorscope
Things are getting out of hand, and I can't cope.
No one understands me,
I am not what I seem to be.

I try, try, and then lose,
I hate PMS blues.

I dogle

Wet drops on noses

And whiskers (not on kittens)

Bright eyed daschunds and hungry curs in kitchens

Brown mangy mongrels tied up with string

These are a few of my favourite things

Cream coloured retrievers and half shaven poodles

Angry dogs, sad dogs and pups who leave puddles

Wild dalmations that fly, and don't listen when you call

I love them... yes I love them ...all

Pomeranians and lap dogs always so snappy

Loving labradors lazy and happy

Silver white huskies that I've never seen

These are several of my favourite theeengs....

I belong to a family of 'doglers'. Oglers at dogs. Its crazy ... our unconditional love for canines.

A trip to Baraut

There's something about the villages of western Uttar Pradesh that makes me feel like running on the dusty roads or along the bunds of the fields like the urchin boys... in nothing but grubby shorts that are falling off my bum!

My field trip to a couple of orchards in Baraut, a Tehsil in Bagpat District, U. P. reminded my of my ancestral village near Mathura. How do these places... miles apart seem so similar? The whoosh of dust, cowdung cake-firewood smoke and aroma of freshly cut chari (Sorghum, used as fodder) filled my nostrils and made me so nostalgic. And the bumpy roads..coupled with the rickety Armada we were aboard formed this deadly combination in which my head felt as if it would jerk off from the neck, and my internal organs seemed to have got dislodged from their various points of attachment to beome a homogenised pulpy mush inside. Nevertheless, the overcast sky and cool breeze laden with familiar smells kept me happy.

The orchard men were pleased to oblige with their knowledge of local mango varieties. They were surprised and probably dismayed that I had come all the way from Delhi for leaves of those trees,and not fruits. Shabudin alias Shaheen (pic) was of great help. My guide, Dr. Bhat and the HOD (Collection & Exploration), Dr Malik, were amazingly cooperative - doing all the jumping and plucking... while I simply did the labelling (Womens lib? HUH.. its great being a girl... and a shortie at that).

Forty three varieties later, we decided to stop. We lunched at Malik Sir's nephew's place. The ghee was superb. Ghevar, the sweetmeat of the monsoon was there in its saccharine, perforated glory. We bought lots on the way back.

The onward journey was bad... bumpier as the driver got mixed up ith the roads. I wanted to cry as I felt my medulla separating from my spine. AARGH. Dr. Malik had to be dropped back yo Mayur Vihar, my leaves had to be refrigerated in NBPGR, and I was dropped home last. Reached at 8 30pm... But it was a rewarding trip.

evenings in bus no. 721

The blueline buses have been in the news for all the wrong reasons. Anyway, now that the rogue buses are back on the roads, my onward journey from my lab is the same hellish experience. What with lactic acid soaked armpits all around, the sight of sweat-drippy females in SYNTHETIC fluorescent salwar-kameezes makes me feel all the more nauseous. Add to that the entire architecture of a part of the male anatomy pressed against the side of my thigh...I count to three and take deep breaths...there's no place in the bus, thus the squashing. But when the rascal inches his way closer and he actually begins hints of gyrations and thrustings, my elbow comes crashing into whatever part it can perforate. Darn, I forgot the pins my lab mates thrust into my hand - a better weapon to puncture lumpenous thrusty elements. The good-for-nothing gets the hint and shimmies himself out of the way. My stop is approaching (actually I'm four stops away), but I've got to move ahead otherwise I'll never make it (make it? a couple of INCHES of bus space towards the door)!

Getting off the bus I dread the next day, just because of all this...

want don't want don't know

Have you ever felt that you knew
Exactly what you didn't want
And didn't know
What you wanted exactly

mango maniac

Some think I'm an insane snipper of mango leaves. I lovingly collect them, then ruthlessly snip and de-vein them (as if they are prawns waiting to be cooked). And what I do to them later is worse... crush them by dehydrating them in liquid nitrogen in a regular mortar-pestle. Its so difficult explaining what I do exactly... and why.

she was giddy with glee

she could barely hear or see

she swung from tree to tree.............

..............................................

and finally got stung by a bee

................bzz

bzz..........

.....bzz

bzz..

..bz

..

.

lizard lizard on the wall

lizard lizard on the wall

who's the most accommodating of them all?

you slither about on my lovely walls

making me scream and my skin crawl

with your friends up there, i'm so scared you'll fall

right on my face... so just stay up there, on the wall

drown 'em in soap suds

I know something to lift your spirits

when you feel really low

In just a matter of a few minutes,

you'll feel upbeat and happy, here we go:

Pick out your dirty laundry ( I mean it literally)

Then go at them with a vengeance -

Pound and squeeze and rinse nicely and properly,

turn on the tap full gush, and wash as if it were for your sustenance!

You'll see, with the soap suds and grime

your sorrows and anger wash away

Up and up your spirits climb,

As you put 'em to dry on a hot sunny day!

(Cheers. try it. it really helped me today)

autumn in spring

There's this dry dry wind blowing
Trees are bare, the branches are showing
The yellow confetti of dried leaves saunters to the ground
With a swishy swooshy sound

hoarse teacher

I realized today that I love teaching. I can explain somthing till I'm hoarse and till the student is satisfied and most of all, I am sure that he /she has got it. can I see myself as a tacher/ lecturer/ professor? hmmmm.
maybe

dear blog

dear blog
gotta keep ya goin
my brain i gotta jog
to keep some writing showin

to stop u frm becomin a ghost blog
my jammed brain i've gotta unclog

?

what happened to all of what was
and how is it that what never was, now is

how can it go on, without a pause
what ever happened to make things as bad as this

gold

golden stalks sway
rooted in the dark soil

is it worth it to wage a war aginst the planets?
malefic malefic planets
that are wreaking havoc with my fate?
can i?

words

Consonants and vowels strung together
Scribbled carelessly on a paper scrap
Mumbled softly in a lover’s ear
Sung, forlornly
Painted huge, proclaiming
Typed hastily
Whispered surreptitiously


What is it with these concoction of syllables that makes us think, want, do?

Pusa Krishi Vigyan Mela

Rustic country bumpkins love agricultural fairs. They have gathered from different corners of the country to attend the three day Krishi Vigyan Mela at Pusa. There are plenty of food stalls and farmers flock them in large numbers once they are through with conversing with farm experts. Their noisy kids blow those squeaky-trumpety things that come with shocking pink feathers. “paaarp—squeeeeak” and out rolls a silvery chamaleon-like tongue. Egad. Anyway… smug agriculture experts display their satin badges while some meek weather beaten farmers approach them with questions about the latest pest that’s been bothering their potato or wheat. Some prosperous farmers linger around the implement stalls eying the latest tractor attachments. Some farm women are gleefully carting back mango and guava saplings while sinewy lads are lugging sacks of paddy seeds. All happy :)

Pooch

A blue string bites deep into the mangy scruff
He snaps at pesky little flies in the dusty sunshine
His coat is threadbare and rough
But if he gets crumbs from here and there, he feels fine

He chases tyres on the road
And barks when urchins pull his tail
The crumbly footpath is his abode
And if you whistle, he’ll give you a wag without fail

wrong job

puerile attempts at prose

grammatical mistakes so gross

the line of work she chose

and her capabilities, were't even close

truancy on the job

hand mostly on the doorknob

dying to run out and sob

when her peace, her colleagues would rob

tick tock

Time abrades rocks to grains of sand
Time bids rivers to cut gorges grand
Time heals a broken heart
Time brings together, time takes apart

Time passes you
As you pass it

Rajjo

She hasn’t eaten green vegetables in weeks. Even a coriander-chutney or chillies seem a luxury as they go to the male members of the family. She doesn’t mind. Her broad shouldered, had working husband needs it more than she does. Her bosom swells with pride at the sight of his shoulder blades peeping from his vest. His expanse of a chest was like the desert around her – vast and rippling with sand dunes.

Her anklets clink and the faux ivory bangles clack as she washes the dishes. Just a little water will do – there’s no grease. The clanging vessels smother the sounds of her rumbling stomach.

“Rajjo!!” summons the mother-in-law. A huddle of old women are cackling and cawing in the courtyard and they fall silent as Rajjo enters. “Four years. Four years since this ill-omen of a woman entered this household, and there’s no child.” screams Rajjo’s tyrant. Rajjo bites the dupatta to keep it from flying away from her wheat brown face. The sludge of tears and kohl- murky as night, spreads under her eyes. They know nothing of the miscarriages, the pain and blood. “We’ll tell Manohar to get a new wife. Arrey Saroj… tell me who will look after the fields? And Paro, who will look after us in our old age? Will I die without seeing the face of a grandson? Oh how unlucky can I be?”. The women look at Rajjo, the harbinger of ill luck “Baanjh hogi” (she’s infertile) says one “she’s so ugly, he wouldn’t want to hold her” says another.

Manohar appears at the doorway. He growls at Rajjo to go inside. One look at his mother and she knows that the incriminations are futile. She sighs and whispers to her friend Saroj “Look, she has taken him away from me..”

14-02

another day replete with false promises
empty words
shifty eyed glances
large fur balls of teddy bears and hearts
a candy world full of candied dreams

Her eyes are glazed
with the stoic film of acceptance of her fate

The fine lines on the parchment of her skin
run deep with the stories of her life

She gives me her martyr smile
that is a shadow of her sadness

The once dark monsoon of hair
now a withered autumn of frizzed white

Is she beautiful?
I have seen her this way, always
I have not seen her in full blossom -
a tender bud, eager to burst forth
and spread her colour in the canvas of life

But now the colours on the palette are dry, are few
O Lord wield your brush anew

four lines

i found

that i had lost something

i lost

something that i had found

pilgrim's progress ;)

Varanasi or Vrindavan. There's a certain something common to these holy places in North India. The five senses have an array of things to absorb..

Olfactory: musky agarbatti fumes combined with heady fresh-cowdung and a hint of marigold aroma

Auditory: Resonant bells, urchin cries, the Lord's name being sung or chanted...droning in the background

Visual: Colour splashed around...saffrons, reds, greens... water in ever changing moods

Taste: Saccharine sweetness of prasada, charan amrit...

Touch: the textures... of fabric, of the gritty dust...

This year has started on a good note.. a trip to Varanasi in Jan, a trip to Vrindavan in Feb..
hmmm Ver next??

limerick no good

If it were to happen, it would
If I knew it was to be done, I would

I never even understood
That it was for my own good

I think of you often
The bitterness has now softened

But forget you, now I really should

can love be unwelcome?

Love can come in many forms... Dutifully giving a toffee whenever we meet, caring admonitions, a glance that says so much, an invite for coffee for no reason at all, a chewing gum in the middle of a class in which I'm nodding off to sleep..
The distances and differences are so much, yet there is so much closeness and care. One worries for me, the other dotes on me. And I simply bask in the combined warmth of their affection. Not giving, just selfishly receiving. Because its NOT THEIR affection that I want.
Although it is a manifestation of some kind of love, I don't want it. They both are such wonderful friends, I've never had male friends who actually cared or bothered about me. But I can't reciprocate it to them. ...

Why do I like Billy Joel's songs?

Ther was a certain somebody who had set Billy Joel's numbers as caller tunes....


"In the middle of the naaaiiiiiiiteee.... I go walkin in my sleee-eeee-eeep...."

"Sing us a song, ur the piano man..."

" .....But its still rock and roll to me...."

" We didn't start the fire..."

"O--o---o... uptown girl..."

I dont know where that person is these days and what he's upto. Upto no good...of that I'm soooo sure...