NPM - Day 12

    The motivation for the NPM series is to celebrate April 2015 -- the National poetry month (hence NPM in the title), by sharing a favorite poem of mine every day of this month, starting April 13, 2015. 

 

    Who does not know about Jungle book -- the "magical" tale of  feral child Mowgli, his friends Baloo and Baghera and foes like Sher Khan. A tale of such luminous fun that only Rudyard Kipling could have written. Rudyard Kipling was an Anglo-Indian born in Bombay, during an era when the Indian subcontinent looked quite different from today, with fewer fractures along international borders and in hearts of its people.

    My first introduction to Kipling was of course the famous televised version of Jungle Book that used to air on Sunday mornings on Doordarshan -- some thing all of us, who had enjoyed the childhood of nineties in India (and probably adults too!), used to wait religiously for. I remember singing along the quirky lyrics of the famous title song by Gulzar [Remember" Jungle jungle baat chali hai pata chala hai, Chadddi pehan ke phool khila hai, phool khila hai! :)], and noticing the credits mentioning "Based on Jungle book by Rudyard Kipling". Fast forward a lot of years -- I rediscovered Kipling's writings, living here in US, when I received my first tablet Kindle Fire as a gift from my husband. His collection of short stories "Plain tales from the Hills" was one of my first Kindle "purchases" guided solely by my recognition of Kipling's name amidst the titles available for free [1]. Each story had the same engaging simplicity, as the Jungle Book, and read more like diary entry of a traveler through the hilly towns of Northern India. I was hooked again!

    Forward a few more years, and I discovered this poem by Kipling that I am sharing today. It is my tribute to all those works by him that have enamored me in myriad ways since my childhood. And to a writer who still amazes me by revealing a new facet of his writing, every time we cross paths!

[1] Since then, I have gone much more reckless with my finances when it comes to e-books! It doesn't help that you are always only "one-click" away from your favorite titles.

 If

-- Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,   

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;   

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,

Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;   

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;   

If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,   

And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,   

Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

NPM - Day 11

The motivation for the NPM series is to celebrate April 2015 -- the National poetry month (hence NPM in the title), by sharing a favorite poem of mine every day of this month, starting April 13, 2015. 

Today I am sharing a creation by Subhadra Kumari Chauhan, a famous Hindi author who penned the more well known Jhansi Ki Rani poem (JKR). I have special memories for JKR as my grandfather, who was fondly called "Daddy" by one and all including his grandchildren, called me "Chhabili" -- a nickname of Rani Lakshmibai (a.k.a JKR) :) -- and I remember wearing it proudly like a mantra which would make me as brave as her. I was so enamored of her story and her bravery, narrated multiple times to me by Daddy and depicted with unparalleled beauty by Chauhan in JKR, that I chose to recite it in the first ever poetry competition I participated in at school. After committing each stanza to my mind of this long poem I used to run and practice my newly-remembered lines in front of the mirror, complete with sword actions just like Rani Lakshmibai -- some thing I used to be convinced of at that time. 

 The poem which I am sharing today also formed an integral part of my childhood, in a much more sober way though :) One thing which sets Chauhan's poetry apart from other poets, for me, are the simple yet addictive rhythms she is able to infuse in her words -- which probably explains their long-lasting appeal and the reason I can still hum them effortlessly today, just like I used to do in front of that mirror more than 20 years ago! It also explains why it is even harder than usual to do them justice in translation, so I'll pass on that.

Yeh Kadamb ka Ped

-- Subhadra Kumari Chauhan


Yeh kadamb ka ped agar maa hota yamuna teere
Main bhi us par baith Kanhaiya banta dheerey dheere

Le deti yadi mujhe bansuri tum do paise waali
Kisi tarah neeche ho jaati yeh kadamb ki daali

Tumhe nahi kuchh kehta par main chupke chupke aata
Us neechee daali se amma unchee par chad jaata

Wahin baith fir bade maze se main bansuri bajata
amma amma keh bansi ke swar mein tumhe bulata

Sun meri bansi ko maa tum itni khush ho jaati
Mujhe dekhne ko tum baahar kaam chhod kar aati

Tumko aata dekh bansuri rakh mein chup ho jaata
Patton mein chhip kar fir dheere se bansuri bajaata

Bahut bulane par bhi maa jab nahi utar kar aata
Maa, tab maa ka hriday tumhara bahut vikal ho jaata 

Tum aanchal phaila kar amma wahin ped ke neeche
Iswar se kuchh binti karti baithi aankhein meeche

Tumhe dhyaan mein lagi dekh mein dheere dheere aata
Aur tumhaare phaile aanchal ke neeche chhip jaata

Tum ghabra kar aankh kholti par maa khush jo jaati
Jab apne munne raja ko godi mein hi paati

Is tarah kuchh khela karte hum-tum dheere dheere
Yeh kadamb ka ped agar maa hota yamuna teere.

NPM - Day 9

The motivation for the NPM series is to celebrate April 2015 -- the National poetry month (hence NPM in the title), by sharing a favorite poem of mine every day of this month, starting April 13, 2015.

Days 7 and 8 -- again slipped by amidst the frenzy of research. In a some what perverse way, defaulting on the NPM series is actually turning out to be an instructive way of gauging how tightly I am able to keep up with my daily schedule in general. Three defaults in 9 days!! -- not encouraging but I have not lost hope that things would get better from here (doing a PhD practically indoctrinates you with this mantra).

So, today continuing with native poets of Indian subcontinent, I am sharing one of the most well known patriotic pieces in Hindi. It is famous enough that almost 8 out of 10 years, this is solemnly recited by TV commentators covering the Independence day celebrations in New Delhi. A sign of the enduring quality of this verse!

Pushp ki Abhlasha

--- Makhanlal Chaturvedi

Chah Nahi Main SurBala Ke Gehano Mein Goontha Jaaun
Chaah Nahi Premi Mala Mein Bindh Pyaari Ko Lalchaaun.

Chaah Nahi Samraato Ke Shav Par He Hari Dala Jaaun
Chaah Nahi Dewon Ke Sar Par Chadhoon Bhagya Par Itraun.

Mujhe Tod Lena Banmali, Us Path Par Tum Dena Phaink
Matra Bhoomi Per Sheesh Chadhane,Jis Path Jaayen Veer Anek.

 
 I have included a translation below, but as is almost always the case, it is no where close to capturing the spirit of the original piece.

Desire of a Flower

I do not yearn to deck the tresses of a beautiful maiden

Nor to be in the garland binding two lovers

I do not desire to adorn the graves of great emperors

Or to take pride in honoring the gods themeselves

O beloved gardener, throw me on that path

Tread by the soldiers who renounce their lives for this motherland.

NPM - Day 5

The motivation for the NPM series is to celebrate April 2015 -- the National poetry month (hence NPM in the title), by sharing a favorite poem of mine every day of this month, starting April 13, 2015. 


Yes, so day 4 has gone by without me finding a few moments of solitude with my blog. The concerns of my research kept me busy but to make up for it I am giving a real treat this time and sharing a few of my favorite urdu couplets today. Hope we like it!

1. By Faiz Ahmad Faiz -- one of the absolute giants of Urdu poetry in the 20th century

Ek tarz-e-taghaful hai so woh un ko mubarak
ek arz-e-tamanna hai so woh hum karte rahenge

(They can continue to fancy the style of neglect
As for me, I will continue to keep alive my desire)

2.  By Ahmad Faraaz  --- the poet who wrote my most favorite ghazals of all time -- Ranjish hi Sahi, which was rendered immortal in the voice of Mehdi Hassan

Ab aur kya kisi se maraasim badaayein hum
Ye bhi bahut hai tujhko agar bhool jaayein hum

(Now why try and strike acquaintance with some one
It is already too much of an effort to forget you...)

3. By Gulzar, the famous poet and lyricist

Waqt rehta nahi kahin tik kar
Aadat uski bhi aadmi si hai

(Time does not stay still anywhere
It shares this habit with humans)

4. By Allama Iqbal --- Urdu poet, pilosopher whose wrote famous ghazals such as 'khudi ko kar buland itna', 'saare jahaan se achchha hindustaan hamaara', and is known for his similar motivating pieces

Tu shahiin hai parvaaz hai kaam tera
Tere saamne aasmaan aur bhi hain

(You are a bird with a duty to fly
In front of you there lie many skies..)

5. By Jan Nisaar Akhtar -- acclaimed poet and father of Javed Akhtar, the famous lyricist and poet in his own right

Quvvat-e-taamir thi kaisi khas-o-khashaak mein
Aandhiyaan chalti rahi aur aashiyaan banta gaya

(There was some strange power to create in the dry grass,
The wind kept roaring and the nest was conceived)

6. By Nida Fazli -- popular for modern Urdu poetry

Yaqeen chand pe suraj mein aetbaar bhi rakh
Magar nigaah mein thoda intezaar bhi rakh

(Have faith in the moon and trust your sun
But retain some patience in your eyes too)

7. By Firaq Gorakhpuri --- a prolific Urdu poet known for his subtle and romantic poetry

Bahut pehle se un qadmon ki aahat jaan lete hain
Tujhe ai zindagi hum duur se pehchaan lete hain

(Since long I know the tinkle of your feet
My life, I can recognize you from a great distance)

Lok Sabha Elections in India 2014

I have been closely following the extensive election coverage in electronic media -- I must say I find Indian Express's style of "Track your Leader/Heavyweights" very convenient (even though limited) as that makes it way easier to sift through the news pertaining to a particular political figure. This has become especially important because I personally believe that Indian elections are, for the first time, evolving into a  US-like Presidential contest where people identify with and would possibly vote for personalities and not political parties. The counter point of this view being true only in the cities and disregarding the India far and beyond the confines of city's intellectual elite does not seem to hold much water given the opinion polls done by news agencies (the largest was done by NDTV recently) which show consolidated mandates largely driven by the charismatic heavyweights of different parties. Sure, the feudal structure of Indian polity necessarily factors and fosters the role of state governments; nonetheless, I believe (and hope!) that this election highlights the issues relevant at the  federal level such as defence, foreign policy and economic policy. Not only are local issues such as roads, electricity, water, better addressed in state-wide legislative assembly elections, I think digressing or diluting the federal issues by warping them with state politics can be detrimental.

The three major players, who have emerged in 2014 presidential-like parliamentary contest, are:
1. BJP's Narendra Modi 
2. Congress's Rahul Gandhi
3. AAP's Arvind Kejriwal

Narendra Modi has the maximum political experience out of all three, with 12 years as the Chief Minister of Gujarat, preceded by years as a junior BJP worker and RSS member. The infamous 2002 Gujarat riots, that happened within months of his assuming office, have been a stubborn dent in his ability to project an inclusive image. Plus his hard-hitting style has contributed to this image of his being an aloof authoritarian. He can harness this image to his advantage, if he is voted in power, by pushing for administrative and economic reforms which have been stalled under the outgoing weak government of Dr. Manmohan Singh.

Rahul Gandhi's inexperience and lack of political acumen are a butt of constant jokes. It seems, however, this would not have been much of an issue if it were not for the severe anti-incumbency against the Congress-led UPA government. I base this opinion on the thumping 2/3rd majority his father Rajiv Gandhi won in the 1980s while he was still a reluctant novice pushed into the political world at the behest of his mother Indira.

Arvind Kejriwal and his Aam Aadmi Party have been quite some phenomena. He has covered the road from being a political activist to a political leader in no time and with no elan (unfortunately)! In addition to the debacle of AAP government in Delhi, formed with the support of the almost rooted Congress, he and his co-workers have served to make the electoral politics murkier (if that was possible) by their high-pitched little-substantiated shouting match with all and sundry. Kejriwal himself displays a constant disdain for politics and its practitioners without really offering a viable alternative --- not very surprising coming from a self-proclaimed anarchist. However, India has come a long way from being under colonial rule and Indians in 21st century should have little patience with being denied their due of a stable, able and honest government. A silver lining of the AAP phenomenon, however, is how it has catalyzed an unprecedented mobilization of usually disenchanted and cynical voters of India and nudged them into initiating a political dialogue outside the portals of power.

The hope is that the sanest voice prevails!

Food Security Bill: Links

The current debate in parliament over the food security bill is currently in a stalemate. A quick recap of the features of this bill which proposes food subsidies to two-thirds of India's population, a staggering 800 million people, can be found here.
(P.S. It gives a good handle on numbers, without any distractions of a logical debate which is anyways beyond the regime of reporting style of NDTV severely cramped by their congress-blind mypoic hogwash).


Why the proposed bill compounds the problem, instead of solving it, especially in the Indian set up is well-articulated by Vivek Dehejia, an economics professor at Carleton University in Canada in his recent article in business standard. He argues

"...no (such) defence exists for supporting an expansion of the provision of subsidised food through the inefficient and corruption-prone public distribution system (PDS). A widening food entitlement under the notoriously leaky PDS, rather than through direct cash transfers, is self-evidently a giant step backward in rationalising the provision of public goods and services to the poor and disadvantaged."

To god's own country

This new year I visited Kerala for the first time with my family - given what I had heard/seen/read about it, this was shamefully overdue. We took advantage of the very convenient invention of the travel gurus - aka 'package tours' which have completely invaded the tourism landscape in the past 10 years. They get you to enjoy all that is great about traveling minus the hassles, essentially all the non-fun stuff is transferred to the tour operator for a good compensation.

We left the cold confines of delhi weather the moment we entered the portals of the brand new IGI airport and then there was no looking back, at least for the coming 5 days. The flight on the spicejet airlines was quite smooth (even the overpriced coffee served in the aircraft was reasonable) except for the boring one hour 'inside-the plane' stopover at Mumbai's chhatrapati shivaji airport. But that's the charm of traveling with ma's- and-pa's - it never ceases to amaze me how much food the deceptively little bag carried by my mother can accommodate! I employed myself gainfully by eating all that I can for a substantial part of the hour long transit. For the remaining time on my flight, I fought hard to keep up with my reputation of a 'phoren-returned desi' and cover my almost rudimentary (non-existential might be more appropriate actually!) knowledge of angrezi songs in front of my highly informed brother who oblivious to the pleasures of food and my plight, kept asking me about rock bands which I had never ever heard of in my mortal life!

The next whiff of fresh air was at the Kochi International airport. It is a really small but functional place. The first glimpse of Kerala lifestyle was just there- `keep it simple' - and this way of living made itself evident to us in varied ways in the coming days. After getting our boria-bistar (Indians can't travel light!), we had a driver waiting for us with a car. He was a shy and soft-spoken guy named Joseph. As we drove to our first stop located in the Munnar hills, we discovered that he belongs to kochi itself and drives tourists like us around in peak seasons. Our drive through the coconut-trees lined roads was a very charming one. As we went up the hills, the coconut trees made way for shorter and thicker shrubs which were finally replaced with the beautiful and dense tea gardens. They are really a site - entire slopes of these hills are covered with carpets of tea leaves which were in full bloom then. The aroma could be felt even in the air and it had a quality of freshness which a delhite like me finds difficult to describe. Our resort was the topmost one on the hills and completely enlivened its name 'Misty Mountains'. From the hotel porch, we could actually see the clouds almost touching the lush green carpet of tea gardens underneath making the horizon one continuous fabric. A plaque in the reception area announced that the resort owed its exotic location to the tastes of British officers who frequented it during torrid summer months in South India. We had a fantastic pair of rooms to ourselves which were equipped with all the good saas-bahu channels besides a string of `Sun-TV', `Vijay TV', 'Surya-TV'...all showing south Indian songs. I settled for the latter kind just out of curiosity initially and was contemplating the natural resonance frequency of the jarring pelvic thrusts of dancers before my brother opened revolt and switched to sports...how unimaginative !

We shelved our plans to roam around the markets in the evening and instead decided to relax for the remaining part of the day. The only other thing which rivaled for attention with the beautiful locales surrounding the hotel was the brilliant food (I love south indian food anyways,!) . The dinner comprising a cocktail of chinese, north indian and south indian cuisines was great. The following morning an even better meal awaited us - I had a mouthful of the soft idlis and amazing chutneys and dived on the crisp dosas subduing all internal protests. After the delectable breakfast, we drove to the Eravikulam national sanctuary which is the only home to Nilgiri Tahr - a kind of horned deer. We left our car with Joseph and took the shuttle ride which ferries tourists to a point on the hilly route leading up to the reserve. This ride gave some breathtaking shots for our memories. Post this, we walked up the remaining distance to reach the park, where contrary to my expectations and their endangered status, Nilgiri Tahrs were not only easily visible but seemed pretty interested in getting photographed with the tourists. (I have been to N number of national parks doing crow watching and came back believing that the rare specimen I actually wanted to see was asleep around some corner!). Our rendezvous with the Niligiri tahr was followed by a drive to Mattupetty lake and dam, located 13kms from Munnar. It is a nice touristy site with lots of small shops and a beautiful view.

Following a drive through the markets, where my father stocked the specialties of the region (spices, tea, sandalwood, banana chips etc. etc.) for himself and at least 10 links down the family bloodline we came back to our rooms after a long and exhilarating day. The following morning, we started our drive towards our next stop - the town of Thekkadi. We almost felt a sense of surreal attachment with the nature's bounty around us while driving out of Munnar. Joseph informed us that Nilgiri range or the blue mountains (of which Munnar forms a part) are called so because of `Neelakurinji' - a kind of rare blue flower which blooms on these hills every 12 years. After a drive of around 4 hours we reached Silver Crest - our abode for the next 24 hrs in Thekkadi. It was on the opposite end of spectrum with respect to our experience in Munnar . Located in the busiest place of the city, buzzing with people, and different shades of life all there - together and disparate at the same time. It was quite a remarkable contrast and we thoroughly enjoyed it. Our hotel too contributed to this flavor of life - while the misty mountain resort had the kind of elegance of a resort of an erstwhile empire, the hotel at Thekkadi with different blocks of rooms sharing a common square courtyard felt more like a large family home in suburban India.

Our last and final stop was the village of Kumarakom, located in the world-famous backwaters. The resort where we stayed was called waterscapes - located on the banks of Vembanad lake inside the Kumarakom Bird Sanctuary, it draws migratory birds from as far away as Siberia. We did not spot any siberian intruders, but the resort was breathtaking - yes just the resort! For a government owned and managed resort, it was surprisingly well kept. The 'rooms' were actually independent huts which stood on stilts and gave the impression of tree houses amidst the surrounding mangrove vegetation. We had two neighboring huts booked in our name with conveniences to match the most elite hotels I have ever been to. Still, it never obscured the charming simplicity intricately woven into the Kerala lifestyle. After a short and amazing north indian lunch (both men in our family are ardent admirers and begin to show withdrawal symptoms from food if kept away from their staple diets), we went for a boat ride in the backwaters. It was a lazy ride in the almost still waters lined by local villages on each side. Looking at the simple villagers going around with their usual daily tasks, untouched by the fact that their haven of existence can be a tourist attraction to millions around the world and exchanging a smile with any face that cares to look upon them was the most unique experience. It was like seeing a live panorama of life at its simplest and probably the happiest too.

After pulling ourselves back up to the hotel (unwillingly), we enjoyed a very nice musical program organized by the local artists. They played some very famous old bollywood tunes on different kinds of flutes and mridangam which made them sound as melodious or more than the original. It is amazing how talent sprouts in most unassuming and unexpected places.

I had a very good sleep that night but was a bit grumpy to leave the next morning. Alas, time to say a goodbye to god's own country. I know I am definitely coming back though!

New Year Trip to Haridwar

Alright, I am back. I did not blog for over three months (my god!) and little did I hear from people that they missed me writing. So I felt that it's time to pack my books, take charge of the keyboard and knock my words down your throats once again ... hence here am I whizzing my cursor across the screen.

The past months have been quite eventful and it will need me to open anther account to pen all the reminiscences. I got busier with research - learned some scanning electron microscopy which is used to write structures as small as my patience with yet another 'bharatvasi' referring to avatar as ewat-(-as-in-tomato)-aar, cryogenics to keep the dilution refrigerators as cold as the feelings of Raj Thackeray towards the rest of India outside Mumbai, and some pulse engineering used to engineer microwave pulses as sharp and precise as shahrukh's comments regarding the current feud about non-inclusion of Pakistani players in IPL teams. What a list!

Amidst all this business I did something heavenly - traveled back home and visited Kerala for the first time besides revisiting our favorite family vacation spot Haridwar. I thought a good way to start my blog in this new year is to share these experiences with you.

So let's talk about haridwar first (Kerala trip deserves to be a separate blog). Our short but memorable trip began on a foggy Friday morning, with clouds racing against our car and emerging clear winners. On the pretext of waiting for the struggling sun to emerge, and in reality propelled by the mouth-watering billboards of roadside dhabas we stopped at a small little hotel for a break and breakfast. The walls scrawled with an assortment of ads about 'pepsi cola' in bright red blue and orange colors greeted us in the modest setting. We ordered a generous serving of various kind of stuffed paranthas with tea and coffee (didn't know that starbucks has arrived in the indian dhaba culture too). The results were exotic and everyone overate without exception. We topped our overstuffed bodies with black-forest cake which we were carrying as it was one of our friend's birthday.

We continued our journey with aching stomachs and smiling faces interspersed with a few leg stretching breaks for the welfare of 6 feet talls cribbing constantly on being crammed in a place half their length (dont give too much attention in case you encounter similar phenomena while traveling- in fact it is a useful tactic to keep people awake and hence keep the boredom away till you get hoarse singing antakshari songs/ threatened to be dropped off from the car by others with aching heads). Our next stop was for lunch in a much seedier shop where we feasted on dal roti and an assortment of indian vegetables.

It took us another two hours to reach the Jairam ashram in Haridwar which was our abode for the next two days. It is one of the oldest and the best in its league. I would strongly recommend staying at one of the beautiful ashrams lining the banks of ganga near har ki paudi as a must-have experience. And given the facilities they cost just as much as a hearty meal at McDonald's for a day, making them quite a deal! We booked four rooms for our contingent - each of which had an austere but functional furnishing with cold beds (dat made us request them for 8 extra blankets which were arranged promptly). After relaxing for a few hours we went down the ghats and strolled in the market with my mother buying a beautiful shawl for herself and wrapping herself right away to beat the cold - the chill there had taken us by surprise but the energy and the warmth typical of any indian religious destination remained undiluted. We had a reasonable dinner at the famous chotiwala's - there are so many of them these days each proclaiming themselves as the 'pracheen aur mashhoor' (meaning ancient and popular) chotiwala that it is impossible to tell one from the other. While coming back I saw many sweet shops with piles of laddoos, rabri and all those sinful indian delicacies one can never get enough of, and made a solemn promise to myself of coming back the next day.

I started my day early the next day, listening to the temple bells of morning prayers and the fantastic tea made by the chaiwala at the ashram. This was followed by a walk around the ashram which was spent appreciating the artistic murals adorning its various corners and depicting some or the other story from indian scriptures. Post this we energized (I did not want to use the word stuff for the third time) ourselves with more paranthas, makkhan and even more cups of chai accompanying them (on the last count I had at least 5 cups of that amazing tea that morning) at the ashram bhojnalaya and set off for our next destination - Rajaji National Park, famous for wild asian elephants. It is spread over an area of 820.42 sq. km and is a home to 23 species of mammals, along with 315 species of birds, like the Asian elephants, tigers, king Cobra, panther, bear, chital, sambar, wild boar, kakar, python, monitor Lizard etc. etc. So much from the website - we did spot a few of the above in the nondangerous variety and some sweet little birds but the jeep safari itself is too much fun even if you are like me and start scanning the ground when someone yells 'hey look at that bird!'. And if you do not spot an elephant which really depends on their mood (which I am sure will be tricky to guess), there is provision for elephant rides just outside the park where you can pretend that you really are sitting on a wild elephant just tamed into submission by your infinite bravery. I resisted the temptation as I was not entirely sure of the mood of even that tamed huge fellow.

After lunch we had a welcome card-playing break in which I was introduced to a new card game - I managed to make a respectable comeback after a torturous start. In the evening we went to the world-famous har ki pauri well ahead of time for ganga arti and hence were able to get vantage seats unlike the last evening. We stationed ourselves on the opposite bank from where the artiis are performed every evening. It is a breathtaking view really - if there is one thing you should not miss on traveling to India, this is it. The infinite number of colorful heads which dot the banks of ganges amidst the chants of 'har har gange' and the big flames which are swung rhythmically in a synchronous fashion by the priests is a rare spectacle. After this ethereal experience, we went ahead for fulfilling more mundane concerns like hunger and gulped down samosas and rabri in the adjoining bazaar. I also gave in to my poorly-concealed temptation and ended up buying a set of red and green bangles from one of the numerous glittering shops.

After shoving the elders in rickshaws the rest of us had a lazy walk back to the ashram, where we spent our last night of this amazing trip in the now-warm beds.

Wish some things never change...

P.S.: Promised: I am not sure if blogspot allows pics to be uploaded - if it does, I have some beautiful shots which will find their way in this article in not so distant future ! .. Delivered :)

Pen is Mightier than the sword *...

..* and SHOE IS MIGHTIER THAN THE PEN. The next time you step out of the house, have a closer look at your shoes. Apparently innocuous accessories for our feet have transformed into a new weapon in the hands of the media to deal with love-to-hate politicians.

This unusual trend, acting as the harbinger of dirty shoes in dirty politics, started when an angry Iraqi journalist became the pioneer of this novel mode of freedom of expression by throwing a shoe at U.S. President George Bush at a press conference in Baghdad. People who think that it was just a strange and maybe unacceptable way of expressing one's anger should take a chill pill and continue reading this piece by the end of which I will try to convince the cynics of the power of this new revolution. Besides giving some good practice to both Mr. Bush and Iraqi Prime minister Nouri Maliki in 'grenade-catching' (yes, he threw the second shoe too - of course it would have been useless anyways without its partner whose chances of recovery were..er.. slim!!), it also inspired some restless minds in search of a breakthrough in communication revolution -- at last they found their calling! The importance of the former advantage can not be undermined though, esp. given the usual games two countries have indulged in the past few years but that deserves to be a topic for a separate article. Let us concentrate on the mini-revolution of shoe hurling here.

As always, Indians are fast on catching up with the western trends, or at least in this case what happens to people out there. And for all his dropping popularity ratings, President Bush remains a westerner, that too reasonably well known. So fast forward to April 2009. The venue is again a press conference, though summoned by Indian Finance Minister P. Chidambram..and whalloa! Whoever said history repeats itself, forgot to add, very often!! A shoe again flew through the air and missed the target. The launchpad was again a journo, aggrieved by the pronouncements of a politician. Funny ..?? Outrageous... maybe!

But let us not forget the strategic issues which the above two incidents bring to light, in our haste to condemn them or be bemused. First and foremost, being a politician is no longer as safe as it used to be. The recent overhaul of military equipment for our security forces in the wake of Mumbai terror attacks is urgently required to cater to our politicians too. They should be provided with ballistic helmets and headgear before attending any press conference or public event. The helmets should, of course, be proven resistant to bullets, grenades and SHOES. Also all that paunchy fat won't do sir... remember that it was the agility of the target after all (at least in Baghdad case) which saved it from the surface-to-surface shoe missile. So any elected Member of Parliament should be elected on interim basis. The interns should then be required to run at least a mile every morning to keep in shape. In fact, they can use this opportunity to manage a look into their respective constituencies, a rare feat which they otherwise undertake only during elections. This may be followed by a training where the security personnel can throw shoes on them for 30 minutes to test their proficiency on dodging them. Only those who are able to maintain a high 'duck-rate', averaged over a period of month or so can qualify to take up the dangerous job of being a parliamentarian. (Have I given myself way - yes I am an experimentalist! 8-).

Besides this, to ensure the safety of our shoo-able political bosses, some measures are recommended at other end of spectrum too. All the public visitors should be profiled, at least their shoes most definitely, and anyone sporting footwear hevaier than a kilogram should be booked under S-POTA = Shoes on Politician Obstruction and Termination Act. As an added precaution, sale of such footwear can be banned altogether. Of course, this would halve the business of brands like Woodland.. but nothing is more important than national security! And ladies, heels are an absolute no-no. Try to find less hazardous and head-splitting avenues to display the woman-power.

Also, a legislation may be considered which requires that in rallies which are attended by a large number of people, all the attendees should come bare-footed (else imagine a single slip in the speech and what a zoo of shoes can end up being on the stage..... scary man). On second thoughts, it might have been sheer farsightedness on part of our leaders, to ensure that most of their humble subjects remain humble... deprived of food, shelter and shoes!

So while our media schools are busy including a shoe-hurling class in their curriculum and the scribes are honing their skills at shooting and targeting (I would keep a tab on all the shoe sales to journos if I was a M.P., seriously), let us continue to keep a watch on this amazing new trend in our politics. And all you budding journalists out there, stop blogging and go buy yourself a pair of shoes.... shoo shoo!

Landmarks in Poetry II

The following is a beautiful nazm by Kaifi Azmi
                 - another gem of Urdu poetry.

बस एक झिझक है यही हाल-ऐ-दिल सुनाने में
की तेरा ज़िक्र भी आयेगा इस फ़साने में

(The chagrin in narrating the truth of my love
lies in your allusion in the tale of my heart)

बरस पड़ी थी जो रुख से नकाब उठाने में
वो चाँदनी है अभी तक मेरे गरीब-खाने में

(The light of your beauty which filled my life
still endures in my humble abode)

इसी में इश्क की किस्मत बदल भी सकती थी
जो वक्त बीत गया मुझ को आजमाने में

(The sands of time which flew past
could have changed the destiny of my love alas)

ये कह के टूट पड़ा शाख-ऐ-गुल से आखिरी फूल
अब और देर है कितनी बहार आने में 

(The last blossom withered away
yearning for the spring of your love)

----------------------------------------------------------------------

The following poem is a very famous one by Makhanlal Chaturvedi. It probably one of the best and most heart-touching piece of poetry on nationalism which I have come across (without the awful rhetoric we all get used to ...)

चाह नहीं मैं सुरबाला के
गहनों में गूथा जाऊँ
चाह नहीं प्रेमी माला में
बिंध प्यारी को ललचाऊँ

चाह नहीं सम्राटों के
शव पर हे हरि डाला जाऊँ
चाह नहीं देवों के सिर पर
चढूँ भाग्य पर इतराऊँ

मुझे तोड़ लेना बनमाली
उस पथ पर तुम देना फेंक
मातृभूमि पर शीश चढ़ाने
जिस पथ जाएँ वीर अनेक