Calico: A plain -woven cotton cloth , normally with a figured pattern on one side.
A tourist: a person who believes it is his moral duty to waste money and time.
A host: a person who believes it his moral duty to help the tourist to do so.
a museum: a place which is never brightly lit and from which no one ever derives any pleasure but never admits to that fact.
Boredom: Something no parent can digest in a child.
Hooliganism: A cousin of partying.
When we entered the house of calico
to begin the last the leg
a thought in all our minds lingered
at our hearts did it peg.
Why should be there museums
which house calico
when many out there
what it means not know.
Why to keep all that cotton
stored up for posterity
when millions on the streets
have nothing to wear or to show.
If Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder
then why does beauty always side with opulence?
Why do we have to go to a museum to appreciate it
when we won't look at the peasant who wears it
when we won't have anything to do with the weaver who weaved it.
We spent 2 hrs in a place where
which taught us the value of human life
which taught us that it counts for nothing
if it can't be displayed in a museum.
September 30, 2009
September 24, 2009
Calico Museum -2
The Characters:
A nosy tour guide who for some reason wasn't impressed with us.
The three of us and our unbridled enthusiasm.
A group of six elderly ladies who knew something about the art of embroidery and a bit too much about the art of conversing ceaselessly and unabashedly.
A foreign tourist accompanied by a local translator.
A couple of foreign origin...but I could not ascertain their nationality.
A middle aged woman and her son( I presumed)
The staff of the museum , who's duty was to dissuade us visitors from touching and going too close to the specimens and to do that were trained to utter the following words with immaculate precision and infallible effect : "Please Don't Touch" (it took everybody full 5 minutes to understand the meaning of these words , because of our underdeveloped hearing abilities and the staffs' overdeveloped vocal powers)
The tour started with a brisk walk to the main building which was to be our adopted home for the next hour and which housed some magnificent textile works with numerous variations of embroidered silk,cotton and other such materials. Our guide was a brisk walker who rarely looked back while travelling from one precipice to another and this the old women of our group realised pretty soon, much to their chagrin. When finally we all had assembled outside the building , she gave a small and cold little speech, although I could hear both my friends chuckling over something which nobody else found funny, which was of course the absence of any eatery in the museum's vicinity ; after all 2hrs inside a museum can be quite exhausting.
Nevertheless we all proceeded to begin the tour and soon were surrounded on all sides by brilliantly crafted materials which helped us to smother the hunger pangs which had already begun banging violently inside our young and hungry stomachs.
" On the left is a palanquin which the queen used used to travel from one fort to another and which is covered with a rich material and embroidered silk, which may give you asll a fair idea as to what exactly was the idea of opulence in those times....."
"To your right is a collection of sarees and other garments from orrisa , with double lining, *****frill work, this and that and what not"
For about 30 minutes all of us (except for the old ladies who turned out to be great connoisseurs of such things) tries to pretend that we really were enjoying the tour and relishing each and every moment . But soon came the time when I for on could no longer take in the any more textiles for the maximum limit to which I can be exposed to all such dress materials is 30 minutes at a stretch (that too when I am shopping with my mother or other such close relations who can force me to give them company). Uneasiness is an infectious thing and soon all of us started rushing through the museum while sweating profuse;y and my Gujarati friend also began mouthing certain unmentionable obscenities. The staff who was earlier constantly on the prowl to catch one of us going near the glass cases and exposed linen now was wondrously watching everybody's exasperated faces waiting for the tour to get over.
After an hour had elapsed the tour guide in her cold and calculated expression announced that after 5 minutes the next leg of the tour would commence. Anybody who wished to leave the tour because of certain pressing engagements could do it there and then for once we entered building no. 2 , it would be like entering a labyrinth and there would be just one way out. No sooner had she uttered these words than the foreign couple pleaded forgiveness for that suddenly remembered that they had a train to catch in about 40 minutes and before that they a had a couple or more things to do. I can't be certain but when the couple was taking leave I caught a glimpse of the lady's shoulder bag out of which was protruding a train ticket which revealed to me that the couple were to board that train not until next week . Why had they lied? why did they forego such a great opportunity? I never understood this then nor will be able to understand this ever. Our audacity abandoned us as we all marched towards the next leg of the tour when suddenly the white chick almost fainted. Oh pardon me I should abstain from using such derogatory words for a female. She almost fainted because of the stifling heat, claustrophobic corridors and the constant blabber which ricocheted of the carpeted walls of the museum.
The tour started with a brisk walk to the main building which was to be our adopted home for the next hour and which housed some magnificent textile works with numerous variations of embroidered silk,cotton and other such materials. Our guide was a brisk walker who rarely looked back while travelling from one precipice to another and this the old women of our group realised pretty soon, much to their chagrin. When finally we all had assembled outside the building , she gave a small and cold little speech, although I could hear both my friends chuckling over something which nobody else found funny, which was of course the absence of any eatery in the museum's vicinity ; after all 2hrs inside a museum can be quite exhausting.
Nevertheless we all proceeded to begin the tour and soon were surrounded on all sides by brilliantly crafted materials which helped us to smother the hunger pangs which had already begun banging violently inside our young and hungry stomachs.
" On the left is a palanquin which the queen used used to travel from one fort to another and which is covered with a rich material and embroidered silk, which may give you asll a fair idea as to what exactly was the idea of opulence in those times....."
"To your right is a collection of sarees and other garments from orrisa , with double lining, *****frill work, this and that and what not"
For about 30 minutes all of us (except for the old ladies who turned out to be great connoisseurs of such things) tries to pretend that we really were enjoying the tour and relishing each and every moment . But soon came the time when I for on could no longer take in the any more textiles for the maximum limit to which I can be exposed to all such dress materials is 30 minutes at a stretch (that too when I am shopping with my mother or other such close relations who can force me to give them company). Uneasiness is an infectious thing and soon all of us started rushing through the museum while sweating profuse;y and my Gujarati friend also began mouthing certain unmentionable obscenities. The staff who was earlier constantly on the prowl to catch one of us going near the glass cases and exposed linen now was wondrously watching everybody's exasperated faces waiting for the tour to get over.
After an hour had elapsed the tour guide in her cold and calculated expression announced that after 5 minutes the next leg of the tour would commence. Anybody who wished to leave the tour because of certain pressing engagements could do it there and then for once we entered building no. 2 , it would be like entering a labyrinth and there would be just one way out. No sooner had she uttered these words than the foreign couple pleaded forgiveness for that suddenly remembered that they had a train to catch in about 40 minutes and before that they a had a couple or more things to do. I can't be certain but when the couple was taking leave I caught a glimpse of the lady's shoulder bag out of which was protruding a train ticket which revealed to me that the couple were to board that train not until next week . Why had they lied? why did they forego such a great opportunity? I never understood this then nor will be able to understand this ever. Our audacity abandoned us as we all marched towards the next leg of the tour when suddenly the white chick almost fainted. Oh pardon me I should abstain from using such derogatory words for a female. She almost fainted because of the stifling heat, claustrophobic corridors and the constant blabber which ricocheted of the carpeted walls of the museum.
A recreational excursion to the calico museum-1
The following article has not been modified , altered or censored to suit any audience, to fit any screen or go down well with any honcho.
In the month of July when the whole human race screams for some reprieve from the scorching heat , did a fellow reach Ahmedabad to get a feel of the city, quite oblivious of the fact that the sun over that part of the country is usually brighter and stronger than most parts of the country.
I dropped in at the 11th hour just to give him company and protect him from his own eccentric traits. We were to be housed by a friend whose name needs no introduction(especially if you have been to any eating joints in and around the western region of the country).
So the three of us were to explore the city from a tourist's perspective in weather as hot as hell, but that doesn't matter. Weather hardly matters in India...or at least this what our movies lead us to believe- in a single scene the villain can be seen wearing a tweed, while the actress is dressed in a two-piece swimsuit, the hero sports a leather jacket, even as the henchmen can be seen flaunting outrageously well matched Dick Tracy attires.
Anyways....the point was to impress upon the reader the fact that weather in India is hardly ever the deciding factor.
Our Gujarati friend, a decent fellow. A good host . His obsession with potatoes notwithstanding. WE three explored the city to our heart's content. Which means that each and every excursion was plotted in such a way that either on our way to the place or on our way back we would have the privilege of having potato rich , deep fried snacks and eatables.
On about the third day he mooted the idea of visiting the calico textile museum. Since it involved no potato centric plans, we both became indecently excited about the thing and finally after a he made a few calls, we arranged for ourselves three secure places in the daily guided tour which started at about 10:30 in the morning and lasted for about 2 hrs. The duration of the tour made us all a little apprehensive . What the hell, our normal college day lasted for 3 hrs. But we all mustered some courage and this in no way was not affected by the praises which one of our classmates and who was quite close to the gujju, had showered upon the entire thing. So we all hopped into his mother's car and made our way through the giant door which hid behind itself the WORLD FAMOUS CALICO TEXTILE MUSEUM.
In the month of July when the whole human race screams for some reprieve from the scorching heat , did a fellow reach Ahmedabad to get a feel of the city, quite oblivious of the fact that the sun over that part of the country is usually brighter and stronger than most parts of the country.
I dropped in at the 11th hour just to give him company and protect him from his own eccentric traits. We were to be housed by a friend whose name needs no introduction(especially if you have been to any eating joints in and around the western region of the country).
So the three of us were to explore the city from a tourist's perspective in weather as hot as hell, but that doesn't matter. Weather hardly matters in India...or at least this what our movies lead us to believe- in a single scene the villain can be seen wearing a tweed, while the actress is dressed in a two-piece swimsuit, the hero sports a leather jacket, even as the henchmen can be seen flaunting outrageously well matched Dick Tracy attires.
Anyways....the point was to impress upon the reader the fact that weather in India is hardly ever the deciding factor.
Our Gujarati friend, a decent fellow. A good host . His obsession with potatoes notwithstanding. WE three explored the city to our heart's content. Which means that each and every excursion was plotted in such a way that either on our way to the place or on our way back we would have the privilege of having potato rich , deep fried snacks and eatables.
On about the third day he mooted the idea of visiting the calico textile museum. Since it involved no potato centric plans, we both became indecently excited about the thing and finally after a he made a few calls, we arranged for ourselves three secure places in the daily guided tour which started at about 10:30 in the morning and lasted for about 2 hrs. The duration of the tour made us all a little apprehensive . What the hell, our normal college day lasted for 3 hrs. But we all mustered some courage and this in no way was not affected by the praises which one of our classmates and who was quite close to the gujju, had showered upon the entire thing. So we all hopped into his mother's car and made our way through the giant door which hid behind itself the WORLD FAMOUS CALICO TEXTILE MUSEUM.
September 18, 2009
Can't travel by that class
Hey mister, can ya tell me the time?
It's about time .
What do you mean?
Shut up and watch.
The train was supposed to cross that stretch in less than a second. But someone had been quite cagey and had commenced some shoddy repair work along the tracks. So no sooner did the train pass than the small motley crew of them rapscallions showered stones and other solid missiles upon the Indian locomotive.
The occasion was Monsieur Gandhi's debut journey in an ordinary class after his mother had declared that minimalism would have to be the mantra . A fellow called Tharoor had raised valid objections about all this (after all it was not for nothing that he had joined politics), but Madame can never be convinced otherwise, especially when it comes to cost reducing measures.
As far as the mob which pelted those stones is concerned, there are many theories flying in the wind, as to who actually was in the mob.
One theory says it was a mob of some B.J.P. backed hooligans aided by the venerable Akalis.
Another one says that it was nobody but the congress workers themselves who wanted to dissuade the party high command from taking such dangerous and inconvenient decisions again.
Yet another one is making rounds which plants at least one representative from each political party into the mob, for cessation of travel by air and business class or by private jets is a matter of universal political concern, cutting across those flimsy party lines.
My father has contributed to this pleiad by saying that that mob was actually a group of high ranking bureaucrats and hoteliers and owners of all those airlines who were quick enough to judge the repercussions of such a policy.
Well whoever may have been in that mob, I am happy to see that there is somebody out there who still cares for the general public.
Having travelled by Indian railways I can say that any such move whereby these Politicians would have to travel by the ordinary class is a very deadly weapon waiting to be unleashed upon us. After all how can you expect to get confirmed tickets in the already choked system when Mantri ji and his train of 2345678901 bureaucrats + 908765432123456677 security guards would have to be accommodated. God Forbid, had this journey been incident free it would have spelt doom for all of us who are already used to getting 5 tickets reserved for a single day's journey, that at least one may get confirmed by that date.
So divine intervention has saved the ordinary citizens of this country from unbound misery. I am really grateful to all those hooligans who displayed civilized behaviour by pelting those stones and what not on the already dilapidated body of the train.
Since none of these leaders would be asked to pay for the journey, the railways shall also lose out on quite a sum and may be all the good work done by Lalu ji to create an attractive balance sheet would be for nothing.
So in public interest it is my appeal to all of you sitting smugly in your homes to step out on the roads with stones in your hands and a placard which reads " No second class for Third grade persons" If you are up to it, I would even ask you to spit at notion of such a policy and stone it to death, after all we are cultured people who know all about some decent ways to protest, the result of being a 3000 year old civilization which thrives on non-violence.
It's about time .
What do you mean?
Shut up and watch.
The train was supposed to cross that stretch in less than a second. But someone had been quite cagey and had commenced some shoddy repair work along the tracks. So no sooner did the train pass than the small motley crew of them rapscallions showered stones and other solid missiles upon the Indian locomotive.
The occasion was Monsieur Gandhi's debut journey in an ordinary class after his mother had declared that minimalism would have to be the mantra . A fellow called Tharoor had raised valid objections about all this (after all it was not for nothing that he had joined politics), but Madame can never be convinced otherwise, especially when it comes to cost reducing measures.
As far as the mob which pelted those stones is concerned, there are many theories flying in the wind, as to who actually was in the mob.
One theory says it was a mob of some B.J.P. backed hooligans aided by the venerable Akalis.
Another one says that it was nobody but the congress workers themselves who wanted to dissuade the party high command from taking such dangerous and inconvenient decisions again.
Yet another one is making rounds which plants at least one representative from each political party into the mob, for cessation of travel by air and business class or by private jets is a matter of universal political concern, cutting across those flimsy party lines.
My father has contributed to this pleiad by saying that that mob was actually a group of high ranking bureaucrats and hoteliers and owners of all those airlines who were quick enough to judge the repercussions of such a policy.
Well whoever may have been in that mob, I am happy to see that there is somebody out there who still cares for the general public.
Having travelled by Indian railways I can say that any such move whereby these Politicians would have to travel by the ordinary class is a very deadly weapon waiting to be unleashed upon us. After all how can you expect to get confirmed tickets in the already choked system when Mantri ji and his train of 2345678901 bureaucrats + 908765432123456677 security guards would have to be accommodated. God Forbid, had this journey been incident free it would have spelt doom for all of us who are already used to getting 5 tickets reserved for a single day's journey, that at least one may get confirmed by that date.
So divine intervention has saved the ordinary citizens of this country from unbound misery. I am really grateful to all those hooligans who displayed civilized behaviour by pelting those stones and what not on the already dilapidated body of the train.
Since none of these leaders would be asked to pay for the journey, the railways shall also lose out on quite a sum and may be all the good work done by Lalu ji to create an attractive balance sheet would be for nothing.
So in public interest it is my appeal to all of you sitting smugly in your homes to step out on the roads with stones in your hands and a placard which reads " No second class for Third grade persons" If you are up to it, I would even ask you to spit at notion of such a policy and stone it to death, after all we are cultured people who know all about some decent ways to protest, the result of being a 3000 year old civilization which thrives on non-violence.
September 14, 2009
The controversial nobodys of our world.
A lacklustre performance, a mundane life, a less than ordinary career . And guess what? all it takes is a dumb controversy to reverse their fortune.
I can count umpteen actors , leaders, writers(who were after fame), artists(you can't call them that now) and politicians....who have frequently resorted to this time tested method of gaining immortality. These low lives never did anything substantial for either their organisation/profession/art or for the world in general. When they realised this, they panicked....they panicked and in desperation reached out for their brethren to help them. They just couldn't bear the thought of being a nobody. It is another thing that simple nobodys have done unbelievable things for the world, but these " I won't be a nobody" types have done nothing constructive.
All these accusations and retorts that fly around during such controversies are quite irritating. These morons believe that we all our cactus jacks just whiling away our time so they can take us for a cheap ride into dreamland. Let us take the case of Mr. Jaswant Singh and his wretched and worthless book. Now , had this controversy not arisen he would have not been able to convince even his humbug secretary to pick up the book and read a page. And then the dream of seeing millions flocking to the local bookstore to get their copy of that crap, would have turned to dust. So Mr. Singh goes to the party office and says " Mr. party president , I have had a rather low profile career; almost no significant achievements, ya , may be some infamous episodes,but then even there I was overshadowed by that old prick sitting next to you and smiling. In spite of all this i.e. my lowly career and all that, I have served the party for a good three or four decades. So as a retirement gift I want something from you guys that would act as my retirement fund and ensure that I a don't retire as a nobody ."
The partymen get emotional and give in to his last wish as a fellow partisan. And suddenly The Mr. Who? turns into the Mr. Oh He! A book whose real worth is perhaps equal to the cost of the printing becomes a bestseller in waiting. Every citizen on both sides of the border shall now rush to the local bookstore or seller to get his copy. He'll jump to the controversial pages and satisfy his curiosity. Or better still he'll swallow nonsense from those wonderful news channels, and just keep the book on his bookshelf to show that he was around when all that happened.
Let me just wander away to Ms. Shilpa Shetty's life and times. A disastrous career, fading fortune, fading youth......So she raises a monstrous amount of money , goes to the Office of The Show we call Big Brother and stuffs the cash down the producer's throat and may be even uses her feminine features to drown the fellow, and ends up securing for herself a "win" which would revive her life. As if this was not enough , she bestows favors upon a Gearbox and seduces him to kiss her and then raises hue and cry . Oh My Good God! is this chick for real! I mean can't she even pretend that she has some honour?
So the moral of the story is that no controversy is actually a controversy but another fake reality show. I am sure that all the actors and players get their share of profits .
The biggest player is of course the media which guides these low lives through the entire process, giving valuable suggestions as to when to make which move . Rajdeep Sardesai" I think if you release the book in early august it would highly beneficial, that ways we can capitalise on the monsoon session".
So the stage is set. All these people have drawn a plan and we are the scapegoats. It is time fellows, to stand up and thrash the first reporter you see who tries to talk about celebrities and not the drainage system. Step out and manhandle those snobbish celebrities , who are nothing but glamorised buffoons . Choke that bloody politician to death who can't stop blabbering about the past and the future. Ransack that leader who has nothing to offer you but some silly figures that represent a fictional economic growth. Hack the industrialist to pieces who wants more than your entire wealth combined. Kill the King who knows nothing about the price of wheat in the market. Burn those consumer goods store where you are tricked into spending your income on goods you don't actually need. We don't need these controversies. WE don't want to see Shahrukh Khan or Salman Khans' rotten life statements. I don't want to why that **** Kareena broke up with some weirdo. I don't give a damn . Stop these controversies, admit it.....that you never did anybody no good! Just leave me alone!!!!!!!!!
I can count umpteen actors , leaders, writers(who were after fame), artists(you can't call them that now) and politicians....who have frequently resorted to this time tested method of gaining immortality. These low lives never did anything substantial for either their organisation/profession/art or for the world in general. When they realised this, they panicked....they panicked and in desperation reached out for their brethren to help them. They just couldn't bear the thought of being a nobody. It is another thing that simple nobodys have done unbelievable things for the world, but these " I won't be a nobody" types have done nothing constructive.
All these accusations and retorts that fly around during such controversies are quite irritating. These morons believe that we all our cactus jacks just whiling away our time so they can take us for a cheap ride into dreamland. Let us take the case of Mr. Jaswant Singh and his wretched and worthless book. Now , had this controversy not arisen he would have not been able to convince even his humbug secretary to pick up the book and read a page. And then the dream of seeing millions flocking to the local bookstore to get their copy of that crap, would have turned to dust. So Mr. Singh goes to the party office and says " Mr. party president , I have had a rather low profile career; almost no significant achievements, ya , may be some infamous episodes,but then even there I was overshadowed by that old prick sitting next to you and smiling. In spite of all this i.e. my lowly career and all that, I have served the party for a good three or four decades. So as a retirement gift I want something from you guys that would act as my retirement fund and ensure that I a don't retire as a nobody ."
The partymen get emotional and give in to his last wish as a fellow partisan. And suddenly The Mr. Who? turns into the Mr. Oh He! A book whose real worth is perhaps equal to the cost of the printing becomes a bestseller in waiting. Every citizen on both sides of the border shall now rush to the local bookstore or seller to get his copy. He'll jump to the controversial pages and satisfy his curiosity. Or better still he'll swallow nonsense from those wonderful news channels, and just keep the book on his bookshelf to show that he was around when all that happened.
Let me just wander away to Ms. Shilpa Shetty's life and times. A disastrous career, fading fortune, fading youth......So she raises a monstrous amount of money , goes to the Office of The Show we call Big Brother and stuffs the cash down the producer's throat and may be even uses her feminine features to drown the fellow, and ends up securing for herself a "win" which would revive her life. As if this was not enough , she bestows favors upon a Gearbox and seduces him to kiss her and then raises hue and cry . Oh My Good God! is this chick for real! I mean can't she even pretend that she has some honour?
So the moral of the story is that no controversy is actually a controversy but another fake reality show. I am sure that all the actors and players get their share of profits .
The biggest player is of course the media which guides these low lives through the entire process, giving valuable suggestions as to when to make which move . Rajdeep Sardesai" I think if you release the book in early august it would highly beneficial, that ways we can capitalise on the monsoon session".
So the stage is set. All these people have drawn a plan and we are the scapegoats. It is time fellows, to stand up and thrash the first reporter you see who tries to talk about celebrities and not the drainage system. Step out and manhandle those snobbish celebrities , who are nothing but glamorised buffoons . Choke that bloody politician to death who can't stop blabbering about the past and the future. Ransack that leader who has nothing to offer you but some silly figures that represent a fictional economic growth. Hack the industrialist to pieces who wants more than your entire wealth combined. Kill the King who knows nothing about the price of wheat in the market. Burn those consumer goods store where you are tricked into spending your income on goods you don't actually need. We don't need these controversies. WE don't want to see Shahrukh Khan or Salman Khans' rotten life statements. I don't want to why that **** Kareena broke up with some weirdo. I don't give a damn . Stop these controversies, admit it.....that you never did anybody no good! Just leave me alone!!!!!!!!!
September 6, 2009
What to eat and How to eat It.
To eat or not to eat is what is pestering my mind
to peel it from the top or to tear it from behind?
To eat it boiled or roasted or fried
in gravy , in sauce or cold and dried.
To chew it, suck it or may be swallow it whole
in slices, pieces or a tied up roll.
Brown when hot , yellow when cold
older the better , but not too old.
Fresh or stale or preserved in ice
bland , plain or a kin of some spice.
Chilled, Boiling, red hot for some
soft for some and for some to crump.
To be had with wine and sometimes water
great in the company of the Boss' daughter.
At noon,at dawn , at dusk or when it sets
a mood pensive or in midst of threats.
Easy, fast or quick if you may like
a salmon, a trout or take a pike.
In oil , without it, with it but without
wrapped in velvet or in a clout.
Eat it while you can dear Sir
for they say each year brings more doubt.
to peel it from the top or to tear it from behind?
To eat it boiled or roasted or fried
in gravy , in sauce or cold and dried.
To chew it, suck it or may be swallow it whole
in slices, pieces or a tied up roll.
Brown when hot , yellow when cold
older the better , but not too old.
Fresh or stale or preserved in ice
bland , plain or a kin of some spice.
Chilled, Boiling, red hot for some
soft for some and for some to crump.
To be had with wine and sometimes water
great in the company of the Boss' daughter.
At noon,at dawn , at dusk or when it sets
a mood pensive or in midst of threats.
Easy, fast or quick if you may like
a salmon, a trout or take a pike.
In oil , without it, with it but without
wrapped in velvet or in a clout.
Eat it while you can dear Sir
for they say each year brings more doubt.
September 4, 2009
You cannot learn to love
you cannot learn to hate
can't learn how to write
can't learn how to to read
you cannot learn to smile
you cannot learn to see
can't learn how to forget
you cannot learn to be
you cannot learn to be small
and neither to be big
can't learn how to speak
can't learn how to hear
you can just learn how to learn
and learn that you can feel.
September 3, 2009
The Four Seasons
There are but four seasons
and four seasons shall there be,
all to remind us that life
will be what life shall be.
Be it the bright sunny days of summer
or the gloomy ones of rains,
the hope of spring be it
or winter's cold disdain.
The scent of autumn is in the air
when the leaves they turn to gold
and you walk on them as they lie on the road
they crackle , they are old.
Snowy peaks and clear blue streams
frozen lakes and hands
water everywhere sometimes
and sometimes in few strands.
They begin they end with precision methinks
but then so does life,
it's just that we can't see this all
in this age of struggle and strife.
and four seasons shall there be,
all to remind us that life
will be what life shall be.
Be it the bright sunny days of summer
or the gloomy ones of rains,
the hope of spring be it
or winter's cold disdain.
The scent of autumn is in the air
when the leaves they turn to gold
and you walk on them as they lie on the road
they crackle , they are old.
Snowy peaks and clear blue streams
frozen lakes and hands
water everywhere sometimes
and sometimes in few strands.
They begin they end with precision methinks
but then so does life,
it's just that we can't see this all
in this age of struggle and strife.
1st post in September
It is true that this year the monsoons failed miserably. Shimla where the monsoon normally ends in the last week of august experienced on of the most heaviest showers of the season in the 1st week of september. This also marked the onset of the autumn season which means that all the residents of Shimla who had locked way heavy woolens would have to bring them out.
Autumn is a good season in Shimla. The whole experience of watching the temperature drop slowly and steadily and then to welcome the winters is quite beautiful.
From now on the sun shall shine brightly in the sky, but the window pains would be cold. Those who are sensitive to seasonal changes shall suffer from dry skin and other such minor ailments.
Although the rain Gods weren't as benevolent as the last time, still it would be a relief to walk on dry roads and puddle free fields. I have never loved the rains. I hate cloudy weather. When you can't see the sun for days at end you tend to get depressed. As it is Shimla has a very short summer season, and therefore it makes all the more sense for a person like me to hate the rainy season and welcome autumn. The feeling when you wake up to the bright sun's rays and step out into the balcony to bathe in them even as a slight chill in the air cools your still warm hands is ecstatic. You take bath with warm water and then quickly sneak into three layers of clothing and a lower. You step out and wait for your hair to dry and when they do you sit with you back towards the sun and read the morning paper. As evening approaches you are warm and fully charged up for an evening walk with woolens on. The cold air kisses your uncovered face and you get aroused by the romantic shape of the moon , which is shining in borrowed light.
Night comes in and you slip into the quilt which is quite cold but will soon grow warm and once it does you would not like to leave it's comfort.
Yes I love Autumn.
Autumn is a good season in Shimla. The whole experience of watching the temperature drop slowly and steadily and then to welcome the winters is quite beautiful.
From now on the sun shall shine brightly in the sky, but the window pains would be cold. Those who are sensitive to seasonal changes shall suffer from dry skin and other such minor ailments.
Although the rain Gods weren't as benevolent as the last time, still it would be a relief to walk on dry roads and puddle free fields. I have never loved the rains. I hate cloudy weather. When you can't see the sun for days at end you tend to get depressed. As it is Shimla has a very short summer season, and therefore it makes all the more sense for a person like me to hate the rainy season and welcome autumn. The feeling when you wake up to the bright sun's rays and step out into the balcony to bathe in them even as a slight chill in the air cools your still warm hands is ecstatic. You take bath with warm water and then quickly sneak into three layers of clothing and a lower. You step out and wait for your hair to dry and when they do you sit with you back towards the sun and read the morning paper. As evening approaches you are warm and fully charged up for an evening walk with woolens on. The cold air kisses your uncovered face and you get aroused by the romantic shape of the moon , which is shining in borrowed light.
Night comes in and you slip into the quilt which is quite cold but will soon grow warm and once it does you would not like to leave it's comfort.
Yes I love Autumn.
September 1, 2009
A Few Train Journeys You Shouldn't Miss-(Part 1 of a three part series)
Jhelum Express is a nice train. Notwithstanding the fact that it takes 44 hours to complete a journey which can be completed in about half that time.
Jhelum Express is a nice train,it is another thing that it stops at every station which comes along and also at spots where there never was nor will there ever be a station .
The train passes through 8 Indian states and hence blatantly refuses to accept the crow-fly distance theory . But Jhelum express is a nice train.
I don't know when did the train start running
Jhelum Express is a nice train,it is another thing that it stops at every station which comes along and also at spots where there never was nor will there ever be a station .
The train passes through 8 Indian states and hence blatantly refuses to accept the crow-fly distance theory . But Jhelum express is a nice train.
I don't know when did the train start running
but I can be sure of the fact that the trwin shall run for as long as Indian railiways is managed by the railway ministry.
Jhelum Express is the lifeline which supports the l;ives of 1000's of students who for some or the reason landed up in Pune and decided to pursue their education there. It also is an integral part of the lives of the Army personell residing in J&K but hailing from Maharashtra and other southern states.
To be continued........
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