life goes on, uncaptured

much as we try to capture the best moments of life,
in photographs, in words
in our hearts and in our minds...
much of life passes away, uncaptured.
i wonder, what it is that we hold onto.
everything and everyone seems ephemeral.

the more i learn and know of life, the less i seem to know of it.

no, life is not intimidating, its only humbling...

And now, I hear it more than once in a day...

Last year around, the ambulance siren dint go off this often.
Over the last couple of months, I hear the ambulance siren go off atleast 2-3 times a day!
Might sound weird, but what's with so many sirens going off in a day!?

Its almost like my day isnt complete without hearing that heart-displacing siren.


This I jotted last year around...

A damp morning and the waning siren

The morning mist made way for the damp wind.
People chugged along in the daily rut of routine.
Wake up in the morning, rushing for the 10 seconds of green signal waiting for you before a sea of wheels and heads.
I chugged along too, with a watchful eye.
The grey sky, almost colourless, loomed gloom.
The leaves refused to rustle and the wind blew uninhibited.

Some paved the way for others, some for themselves.

Then came along death.
Sounding its siren loud.
Pulling out everybody from the humdrum of thoughts.
The ambulance went ahead,
Trailing behing questions to ask and answers to seek
With its waning siren.

And everybody limped back to their humdrum of thoughts,
As the siren died silent.

Change agents, where are we?

A thought- tomorrow is Gandhi Jayanthi, the birth anniversary of Gandhiji.
I was just wondering if this had come to mean more than just a national holiday.
If all of us were to pledge this one day in nation development, collectively as a nation, the country in its last 60 yrs of independence would have reached another level, probably on a level of refined equality amongst, classes, castes and creed.

Its not too late. Change agents, where are we?

puppet in an evil devil's hand

will anything go right for me?
hardly seems so, nowadays.

the last thing to evince this conviction is a bottle of water slipping off from my hand and getting poured into my laptop!
looked like i was a puppet in some evil devil's hand.

sigh.

Madhavi Mudgal and her troupe from Gandharva Mahavidyalaya

The months gone by...

The months gone by have gone by whizzing... well pretty much. And there's been so much to see and learn. The Krishna Shringar dance festival was awesome to say the least.

A reinforcing, long-believed conviction in the uniqueness of Indian art and culture....

'Art is not like any other profession'

It was absolutely inspiring to be part of an interview with Priyadarshini Govind, the legendary bharatnatyam dancer of our times. It was great to be in the ambience of a person who is situated at a different altitude altogether...

She was very humble in saying... ' Art can look after itself. It does not need people like us. The bad things will grow out... '

And she was so right in saying that ' The arts are not respected enough in India... and that's why its a vicious circle... so many people do not take to it... as its not respected as its not viable enough...

' Art is not like any other profession.. you have to surrender to it... you cant switch off from it when you get home whether one likes it or not...' She feels its the spiritual aspect alone that carry forwards the arts... not the educational and the other aspects...

She's performing at ISKCON Bangalore's annual Indian dance festival ' Sri Krishna Shringar'. She feels that performing in a temple atmosphere is an alotogether a different trip and its sheer beauty to get the right stage...

I really look forward to her performance....

When a loved one dies, a world in us dies

There was just one thing numbing my mind all through the afternoon and the night of 20th July. Disbelief.
It was not possible to anticipate how ajja, could have left.
But well, he had.
And that I had not met him for a very long time, painted an emotion very hard to describe.

Restlessness engulfed me, until it was settled that few of us family would travel to siddapur in a private van. Meeting family gives a sense of roots, in some way, and in these circumstances, I was glad to be with family- uncles and cousins.

What started as a journey from Bangalore to Siddapur, was rather a painful trip down memory lane. It brought back in packets, all the other journeys that have been taken from any starting point that meets at Siddapur.. Bangalore to Hubli to Siddapur, Bombay to Hubli to Siddapur. Hubli to Siddapur ofcourse is the one route I could blindly drive, for all the infinite trips we took for occasions like nagpanchmi, ganesha habba, deepavali, new year parties and many visits without the need for one than just going to siddapur...
Driving to Siddapur, was a drive back to the roots, back to home, to puttappan kere, neergudi, back to kith and kin,
back to ajja and ammamma...

The first thing we all did when we reached was meet ajja, touch his feet and hug him. He was a towering figure without being overpowering.

Somehow, Siddapur tantamounts to ajja, and that's not no exaggeration.

My train of thoughts halts at 3 am. We are in Siddapur. At the gate. The silence of the night is engulfing. And what we see- shattering. My dearest grandfather, lays still. And ammmama deareast, bereft of Ajja's life force....

I couldn't contain myself, much as everybody else, all we could do was weep some and some more... the man who touched our lives with unique relationships and equally with his persona, had left with a void, that can never be filled again....

And I jotted these thoughts in (I)as we all sat before him till the dawn of 21st July....

(I)
How still he lay, he lay bold
Body so cold and old
A legend with him lay still.

A life lived so full
So full a life lived.

He lay still, yet so calm
Almost a smile that curves his gentle lip.
A man of word, a man of deed, lay still.

Noon to dusk he lay still.
Flowers all around him.
Tears, all for him.
Those of appreciation and gratitude
For all he did, for all he lived.

Where is he gone from here on… ?
The head-man of this herd, its tusker
… is gone.

Wake up just once
Let me speak to you just once
Let me make you laugh just once
I want to hear that gurgling laugh and hug you
... Just once

(We are all here, together, almost all of us
Wont you share a light moment
And bask in your basket of kids, grandkids and greatgrandkid?)

(II)
His body lay still
Rituals, ceremonies and rites are done unto him
We pour water over him, cold water on his already cold body
The last that I get to touch his feet
Get his blessings, even in death
(And tears wash us, flooding us with memories, his loss and his emptiness)


His body lay still
As he's upheaved on a wooden stretcher
His tonsured-head sons, brave it in white
Never did I see a tear in my father's eye
Now, I see, as his father moves on with life

Rituals, non-descript rituals
That do not tell any tale
They are seemingly embedded in some code
That drudge on the deathly ceremonies

He still, lay still
As his body is adorned, on a sandalwood pyre
Its all set to burn his body to ashes
Log after log, covers him up
Until we have that last and final glance of him
And a slow and steady fire that is flaming the end of an era

Time burns out moment after moment
Leaving us with raging memories in the mind's eye
and photographs for the eye...

(Time is death
It eats the world we make bite by bite
Until the one day when a world in us dies
Cos a loved one has left the world to fragments of memories and photographs...)

Just a dream, in the valley of flowers

Painted with a tint of glow
So many colours these flowers flood
Each flower calling out, with its unique stroke
A sense of being a colour that no other flower is.
That innate sense of being 'one-of-a kind'.

The cool wind wafts the scent of
this illusion
As I float with him
Over the river of colours

In this surreal dreamscape
There's more tranquility than colour
More reality than surrealism
More learning than teaching
All humbling me with the colorscape, prowess of his wisdom and love
The wafting cool winds bend me into an arc
Symbolising the unessential tiny being that's me

I float an ascending note of flight
It glides us, Him and me
(Dreamscape, so real, it makes me think its for real.)

WAKE UP DREAMING SOUL!

now

swirling in an illusory dance,
smiling to the sky,
cooling rain awakening the senses,
child's play,
happy songs,
memories coming alive,
long live the yesteryears,
dreams fire tomorrow,
for now- some tears,
numbing pain,
a colossal loss

he's no more...

in his felicitation ceremony few yrs ago, he said he had 13 grandchildren, i stood up to say (in that big crowd), ajja u got 14! (my cousins whispered 'he forgot you')).
he kept telling me last few months to come and see him.
and i never did go.
either it was work. or it was some personal chore.
and now he's no more.

i wish i did see him. just once. and now, i can never see him again.

Its time to stay grounded, on the battle-field.
:)

Wonders of India Foundation

It takes a UNESCO World Heritage for (most of us) to sit up and take notice of the historical, sculptural and cultural wonder that India was!

You know what's sad? It still is a wonder, if only all those monuments, temples that lay scattered across the country, unheeded and empty, were considered 'wonders'. In few such sites, there's nothing more than an ASI board (with paint all chipped off and gone) flagging the site as a 'Historical and Architectural Site'.

There's a leaf to draw from the Seven Wonders Foundation- to start a Wonders of India Foundation that takes charge or atleast, make this most neglected treasure of India a furore of/ for attention!

wars of life

its like nothing gets done and there is so much to do.
and yet you have done so much in one day.
fought egos. fought self. fought destiny.
fought the pit of one human against the other.
its a fight all along, isnt it?

the sun has set. has the battle come to a standstill?
no, the sun has moved on to another battlefield. and the battle is still on.

the flickering light of hope is dancing to the wind, a whip of the wind and the hopes are all lashed.

i either quit the fight or fight the quit. or better still, learn the art of war.
battles after battles, wars are to be won.
glorious wars against this world.

passing thoughts as the day comes to a close...

In this lifetime, another day, this day has come to a close.
With some hopes crashed, some that blossomed and others that lay still, lurking for faith.

With new lessons learned and some unlearned,
some forgotten and some taught- lessons of love, lessons of life

This day has come to its fag end-
With some bonds endeared, some distanced and most, paid no heed to

This day was survived.
This day was lived.

a bunch of kids, grassfarms and a sunday

a bunch of kids- throws up more emotions in me than anything.
they are a bundle of innocence, insight, deep observation.
they laugh openly, and when they cry, even when they dont want to show it, their eyes do.
they are a fountain of energy which must and should go into play!

and kids in an idyll, peaceful spot at the government school of grass farms cannot make it any better.

so this sunday, not very far from the mayhem of city walls, grass farms held a memorable waiting for this weary soul. a bunch of kids (on a photoshoot), a rare good being- senthil- the photographer who agreed to give his time, space, energy and expertise probono to photograph these children on their most natural self- my day is instilled with a soothing hum in my being.

post the shoot I just had to break free. I cycled with these kids... took them on doubles, played with a just-born 2 day old lamb, who had not yet been named....I christened her Lakshmi and the farmer, joyfully called her 'Lakchmi' :P , slept in a village bus stand on a stone slab with the canopies above me n cool breeze just soaring my spirits.

kiddoscope-

dilip- he just wudnt stop wheeling the tyre all around the place. he wanted to be everywhere and in every frame :) and he pretty much was.

jeevita-
a cycling expert, she taught me to make a garland out of the gulmohar's flower leaves. she learned to make it outside the school where plenty of these flower leaves generously drifted off the tree. I cant put it in words, what she said with so much pain which she had let go.... she said ' yesht hoova bidtittu akka, adre kadad bitru gidana'. Translated from Kannada to English ' It used to give so many flowers akka (elder sister) but they cut the tree). And she continued to teach me to make the garland, now that she'd found those flower beds this day.

dont go away...

dont go away
continue to cast ur magical spell
the present of the past
has become the magical spell of today.

you came victorious to your beckoning lot
calmed them with your all-pervading cool breeze and soft colors
you make it seem like its yesterday, magical.

its a sight and feeling i want to forever hold-
the trees swaying in the cool but forceful breeze
the birds in control of their flight, playfully spreading their wings in joy... flying
the palliating sky that beckons us all to do no more harm
i bask in you
somehow the churlish rickshawallah overtaking from the left, the vagrant bikes criss-crossing my way,
the mayhem of today
leaves me unaffected as i continue to bask in u

its a sight and feeling i want to keep for years to come
but i know, in few days you will be gone
though very generous, your mercy is conditional like everything else in the confines of this world

we will sweat and toil in shadow-less lanes, sans calm breeze
the birds will not play in the sky, they will hunt for trees to perch and a voice to chirp
the sky will rage its indignation
and we would have lost yesterday
get vanquished with the magic that vanished away

I just penned this on Bangalore. The last few days have cast a pleasant spell of weather, recreating the magic of yesterday's Bangalore. I hold on to yesterday...

broken silence

broken silence and the soundsurround me.

on the weekend that passed by-
the nesting bird-couple that coo (through the night they are having a family) .
siddhu on a debate on cricket controversies being aired on NDTV (from the neighbours')
the honks from the nearby main road.
a beep on my mobile (i got a message!)
winds. trees swaying. leaves dancing.
thunders. followed by rains.
drops of water falling outside my window.
thoughts, in my head. (they criss-cross from person to person, thought to thought... endless!).

on a monday morning-
alarm rings non-stop (i keep snoozing it)
reminders of meetings.
the nesting bird-couple that coo (through the night. they are having a family) .
some U2 and coldplay. Followed by Venkatesha Suprabahata or Brahma Samhita.
knocks on the door (the help's at the door).
in office- everybody's on the phone, pretty much yelling.
i hear the keyboard as I type (No i dont jarr my finger, its the way the keyboard is :) ).
my phone rings.
construction works.
people gossipping. Laughing.

the unwinding silence, long broken, long forgotten.

Heal

Feel the wind on ur face. Heal.
See the skies, stars that twiknle all night, some shoot and some forever shine. Heal.
Hear the wind, it makes the trees sway and dance. Hear the waters that trickle, drizzle and shower. Heal.
Touch the love, in the smile and in the eyes. Heal.
Time will heal, and you will feel my love. Heal.

an old saying- rephrased

it's a small world is 'the' most common phrase u say when u catch up with old friends in new lands or meet friends of common friends.

but that phrase is most appropriately going to be rephrased-

... from "its a small world" to... "its an orkut world!"