Buntys Banter

Knock knock...you there?

2009-07-12T08:43:00.000-07:00

I know a little girl who wishes there was no Fathers day that would remind her of the emptiness she’s felt all her life। And I know a little boy who lost his dad a few moons ago under tragic circumstances. He wishes for this day to quickly pass so he can get on with his life pretending to be happy.

The two good hearts bond unknowingly, the common thread being the physical absence of a father’s love. They do not talk about it though. They joke and pretend and watch over one another. They share how lucky they are being best friends. They feel the confidence that exudes only with a sense of belonging to someone who cares and will be around under any circumstance.
Father’s are indeed special and hold the key to emotions that one realizes only when it’s gone or not there in the first place। They bring with their presence a special emanation that cannot be matched.

I’m always struck by the god like characteristics kids bestow on their fathers। How they proudly flaunt them around. The hero worship surprises me when an undeserving human is put on a pedestal by his child and bestowed qualities unknown to the man himself.

Most of the fathers struggle and succeed in maintaining the picture perfect image. And then there are others who are not equipped to be selfless as parents ought to be. They are not bad people. Just self absorbed! The aerodynamics of love that propels a father towards his child is just not there. This is a rare breed. But it is this percentage of fathers whose children are lost.
The waifs look for their dads everywhere and yet nowhere। And then they build on their imaginations. They live dreams of time spent together. Of laughter echoing in the vast expanse of meadows filled with flowers. Of sharing an adventure that belongs only to the two of them and will forever remain itched in their memories.

The hollowness is suppressed and life goes on। But somewhere this festering wound that is deeply imbedded keeps oozing. A trigger here and there can collapse the strong fortress like walls they build around their hearts and mind.

Perhaps even a stranger’s heart would bleed reading this. But there is nothing much one can do but feel compassion. No one can replace a father's love and this every father should know and instill in his sons mind. The role that nature allows a man to play does not end just with procreation. It is so much more than just holding a baby and being proud it has your features.

©BuntysBanter २००९

Disclaimer : Picture downloaded from the internet

The guardian angel who speaks Hindi!

2009-07-12T08:40:00.000-07:00

As I travel through life looking for a meaning in every purpose, I luckily come across people who move me enough to start believing in goodness in a different way। What makes them think this differently is beyond my understanding? Such people have shed what they were conditioned to believe in and cleared the wilderness of their jumbled thoughts with the hatchet of their own making। The hatchet that has sharpened with each grind of an experience felt deeply and cleared the path of Pavlovian behaviour। The strength of the paper thin edge shines above the regular blunts.

Such is this messiah of the downtrodden animals residing in the hills close to Mumbai। A foreigner who settled in India about 51 years ago and speaks fluent Hindi as she barks orders to the workers building her abode and coos proudly as her eye rests on her pet Ox. Handsome is what she calls him and indeed he is a comely example of his lot yet different in his dealings with people. Have you ever heard of the adage “as tolerant as a bull”? Well this one is!

Then there are the mongrels that she’s picked up from different situations। A road accident, an abandoned pet, puppies who lost their mum, sick dogs and flea ridden pariahs. And with a graceful wave of her kindly wand, she sprinkles gold dusts of eternal happiness on the destitute as she tends to a broken leg and another’s broken soul!

There are dogs that are miss fits। Scarred due to abuse and violent enough to not be allowed to mingle with the rest. She happily accommodates the restless and watches over them as a mother would be watchful of her challenged child.

Tall and slim, this blessing from the lord himself is a selfless human who shelters these animals on her property. The quarters are clean and the animals healthy and well looked after. She does not owe allegiance to any NGO nor accepts donations. She does not want to be featured nor photographed. In her own words, “I do this more for myself. The animals don’t need me as much as I need them. They have changed my life and made it beautiful!”

©BuntysBanter २००९
Disclaimer : Picture downloaded from the internet

Fickle Lover!

2009-07-12T08:38:00.001-07:00

The gold dust settles
Amongst the fragrant petals
Emerging in the dark
Is a heart that’s stark
But you don’t wanna do a thing
Coz fickle Lover….you just don’t know how to cling!

The sand on the beach
Is as clear as a peach
Little dunes moulding dreams
Caring hands patting themes
But you don’t wanna do a thing
Coz fickle lover…you just don’t know how to zing!

In the middle of the night
You get up restless and tight
You yearn for the touch
So very much
But you can’t seem to share your thoughts
Coz fickle lover…your ego’s up in knots

The summers we spent
With a romantic bent
Splashing in the lake
Nothing seemed fake
And then you made new friends
Your absence made amends
Of working hard in life
To manage an upkeep of a wife
But fickle lover….you forgot the rules of life!

And now that I’m gone
You sit and fawn
At our pictures together
Tickling desires with a feather
That which we had painstakingly built
And raised on a stilt
At the altar of cupid
Now sounds very stupid
You drove me away
Turning my heart into clay
Coz fickle lover….your love just went astray!

(This piece is inspired by a movie I recently saw on Hallmark).

©BuntysBanter 2009

Fickle Lover!

2009-07-12T08:38:00.000-07:00

What am I looking for?

2009-07-12T08:34:00.000-07:00

What am I looking for?

I look at the image staring back,
And marvel at this piece of carefully orchestrated man jack
The well manicured spheres in the brain
That refuses to drain
That which is logical
And makes sense
Out of nonsense!

Emotions in the heart
Flee and depart
As I compartmentalize
And assume it is wise
To be this way!

This feeling that has swept over me
And refuses any plea
Of sorting out the mess
Coz I do obsess
Over the mental picture
Of the unconquerable
That’s part of the fixture
Of my very being!

I breathe the silence
And smell the violence
The tragedy that befell
And has now cast a spell
That propels me to seek
A clique of acerbic delights!

So what am I looking for?
In the middle of a desert
And wish that the pert
Comes knocking at my door!
As I lay sprawled on the floor
Being the epicenter of a tornado
I hope sooner than later
It spills over to newer frontiers
Leaving me alone
To rebuild my Eden & throne।

©BuntysBanter २००९

Disclaimer : Picture downloaded from the internet

At the end of a rainbow!

2009-07-12T08:32:00.000-07:00

I’m tired and drag my feet
But the moment I see you,
My heart misses a beat
What is it about you?
that makes me stay
and be available every single day?
The tolerance that is generally rare
Is at its best when you’re there
I stare at a better me
And wonder how that could be
And then the trickle of a notion
That points at an emotion
That’s been there all along
And synchronizes with your song
You must have a heart of gold
Coz I’m frequently told
Of the glow that beams
At spangled dreams
Of exulted joys!
Transcending and mending
A beauty that I see thru your eyes
That comes as no surprise
Coz I’ve hit the pot of gold
At the end of a rainbow!

©BuntysBanter 2009

From Shakti to punching bag!

2009-07-12T08:21:00.001-07:00

Women – where are you in this fast evolving world of rapid changes? There have been discoveries, inventions, progress and most importantly from a social perspective - cultural changes.
As the pillar of the human race, you climbed the mountainous slopes of evolutional metamorphosis and the moment you reached a certain comfort zone, the downhill journey commenced। There have been so many positives around you and yet, you’ve allowed only a negligible part of the rays to reach the recesses of your mindset।

You dear reader might be wondering what this rant is about? Let me get straight to the point। I’ve been following this utterly disgusting case of the Chauhans from Mumbai who over the last 9 years have been involved in sexually abusing their daughters। The first reports suggested a Tantrik advising prosperity in business if the father slept with his 12 year old daughter. Both the Tantrik and the father took turns over the last decade to scrape the oozing wounds of this poor girl’s soul. It was only when the duo’s cross hair fixated on the younger daughter did the older girl break her silence and stunned the entire world with her ghastly story. Their maternal uncles helped the girls to lodge a police complaint and book the culprits.

Most of us read this news in the comforts of our homes, frowned at perverted mentalities and sipped on steaming cups of teas mentally multi-tasking about the various agendas that were lined up for the day।

The reports next day were gorier! The mother had abetted this unforgivable happening for years and she was witness to many a ruthless abuse.

But what got to me was the victim’s plea in the court of law। While they requested the strictest of punishment be granted to their father and the Tantrik, they sympathized with their mother. They wanted her no harm and acquitted from all charges quoting her helplessness before their domineering father. They were protecting a woman who herself had an affair and consensual sex with the Tantrik for years.

I have very rarely felt such revulsion for my own clan! We talk of woman empowerment, the epitome of Shakti and what not. And here are perfect examples of people who have been so perversely conditioned that they have lost all judgments of acceptable human behaviours.

We women are not helpless. What we lack is the courage to blaze our own path when we are wronged. What we lack is the strength to look at reality in the eye and not be afraid. And above all, what we lack is the belief in the inner strength that each one of us so possess that can move mountains and make history. But we cower in acceptance of any barbarity that is cast our way simply resigned to all things familiar. We want the easier path. We rather lead a banal life with sleazebags than wander into the harsh unknown territory.

We keep repeating clichés like “it’s a man’s world and his rules”. The question is why did we let them have their way? We may be physically weak but even the men admit that we are the stronger one when it comes to emotional resilience. Why did we not strategize and use our bargaining skills to get them to take the middle road? How did we come to a point whereby any behavior was acceptable?

Most of us are just panhandlers who haw and hum and carry on with our lives. There is not a single filament in our insipid bones that wants to bring in any attitudinal change. And if we the sufferers are so passive, how can we expect any ground moving changes from the men folk? I rest my case as I append a well know Durga stuti that sums what I said perfectly.

(In Sanskrit)
Ya devi sarvabhuteshu, Shaktirupenasamsthita, Namastastyai Namastastyai Namastastyai namo namaha.

Meaning –
To the Divine Goddess who resides in all existence in the form of energy
We bow to her, we bow to her, continually we bow to her

©BuntysBanter 2009

Govinda! Govinda!

2009-07-12T08:19:00.000-07:00

Today is Dad’s first death anniversary. And there will be many more to come. The void cannot be filled up and yet he talks to me through others. Last year definitely tested my resilience. And if it wasn’t for a few who held my hand as I faltered, it probably would have taken a bit longer accompanied by a few more crapulous seasons of despair.

Dad even in his absence has been instrumental in cementing our bonds as a family in more ways that one. He shines over each one of us sniffing the turmoil and whispering sapient solutions that strike out of the blue. Mum says he advises her about investment plans that has left her finances mostly unharmed when the entire world is reeling under a financial meltdown. He has brought a certain discerning gait in my brothers actions and as for me, I’m learning fast to be a fatherless child.

I miss my exasperated mood when his messages bombarded my personal space. I miss his antsy calls when I would be out late. I miss him whistling softly to get my attention as I crouched on my laptop in deep attentiveness in my room. And I’ll miss his loud unabashed voice as he sang “Happy Birthday to You…May God Bless you” in a few days from now.

He rarely visits me in my dreams and yet I feel his presence in the air around me. I’ve grown stronger!

I’m proud to belong to him and want to keep his presence alive for the rest in the family. So the Lord himself comes to my aid! Dad revered Lord Balaji (who is also known as Govinda) so much so that he uttered “Govinda! Govind! Goooovindaaaa” on any occasion whether it was an auspicious or inconsequential moment. So I’ve taken the baton and in all the auspicious occasions in our family, utter Govinda’s name on Dad’s behalf blessing the occasion and bringing Dad back amongst us.

Love you Papa and thank-you for all those moments that made me walk chin high!

Govindaaa! Govindaaa! Gooovindaaaa!

©BuntysBanter 2009

The Fugitive Love dance! (शोर्ट फिक्शन)

2009-07-12T08:17:00.000-07:00

He does not like to wait। And yet he waits. This streak with a combination of good looks is deadly. We met through common friends and never looked back. His passion is satisfying and yet his intensity is equally frightening.

Our parents were ecstatic since the long wait and endless arguments over marriage proposals had after all borne fruits।

Today is the engagement and my love wants to meet me in private before the ceremony। He loves living dangerously and I’m becoming a sucker to such streaks myself. Guilty by association I guess! :)

It's an ancient temple where we’re getting engaged। A crowded affair and the peril of sneaking a rendezvous seems like utter madness. And yet the longing is building up. The butterfly in my stomach seems to flutter quite wildly as I leave the company of my folks on the pretext of tiding my saree drapes along with my friend Maitri. She escorts me to the far end where he’s waiting looking tall and handsome in his traditional Lucknowi silk kurta with a slender box in his hand.

He quickly pulls me behind a pillar away from Maitree’s inquisitive eyes and wraps his arms around me looking mischievous like a kid with the stolen fruit। My protests of spoiling the neat drapes falls on deaf ears as the combination of his warm hands and something cold touches my hips. His lips have trapped me firmly and I’m feeling this juvenile flutter of mindless joy and the cold tingling sensation keeps tugging me back to my senses. As Maitree signals about someone approaching, he leaves me breathless dashing off blowing a kiss that makes me weak in my knees.

The cold feeling again! This time I look down and see a beautiful thin gold waist band clinging to my body possessively।

© Buntysbanter 2008

Wordless whispers!

2009-07-12T08:14:00.000-07:00

Wordless whispers that touches the heart
A gesture that caresses the mind
A feeling that frees me from my fears
Of a lonely tomorrow!

Wordless whispers that resonates
the wall of inner beauty
And travels through timeless space
To explore the fervid waters
Of a warming friendship!
Wordless whispers that promises to quench
And yet keeps you gasping for more
Heady in intensity
Just does not let you go!

Wordless whispers that floats around
In a lagoon of still moments
Moments that are stolen from the time zones
That fail to acknowledge
The grace of still quantum!
Wordless Whispers that touches the heart
And makes me celebrate this feeling
That grows bigger within me each day
And propels to find happiness
In little things that mean the world!

Wordless whispers that celebrates the presence
Of a will so strong that it fails to muffle
The emotions that can be felt only
If there is not a word spoken
and yet a thousand promises made!

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2008

The Child Saint!

2009-07-12T08:11:00.000-07:00

Phagun* had brought with itself a rich experience of germinating life all around Chittor। The pea fowl’s soulful calls floated across the expanse of lush green as Meera hurried to collect flowers for the morning puja of her Prabhu*. Her husband Prince Bhoj Raj could never fathom her intense devotion for Lord Krishna. A devotion that bordered insanity!

She was all of 17 and a blooming mystical poetess with such wisdom that her family had begun to feel restless। Her bhajan’s * celebrated a volley of emotions that stirred the listener and endeared them to her Vasudev*.

In another Kingdom, Tansen was an extraordinary vocalist and composer who occupied the significant position of one of the nine gems in Emperor Akbar’s court। His appreciation of Meerabai’s bhajans enamored Emperor Akbar to the poetess who was fast earning a saintly position amongst the devotee’s of Lord Krishna.

Akbar’s curiosity of the spiritual saint brought both, Tansen and him to Chittor to witness Meerabai’s devotional outpourings। Chittor was enemy territory and therefore they wandered about in disguise.

The sheer magic of Meera’s composition in Vraj Bhasha* was enough to enrapture their admiration for the young devotee। Her boundless love for Krishna who she perceived as husband, lover and master swayed Akbar’s evaluation of the celebration of love. As a token of appreciation, Akbar placed an exquisite necklace at Meerabai’s feet and left.

A restless calm spread all across Chittor as Bhoj Raj fumed at his arch rival meeting Meera in disguise। His jealousy blurred coherence and in a fit of rage, he commanded his wife to commit suicide by drowning herself in the river as repentance for encouraging his enemy.

Meera accepted her fate silently and carrying her journal of bhajans began the last journey of her mortal existence। Her face radiated the tranquility that one feels, rich with the knowledge that the atma* would finally meet with the parmatma*.

As she sang “Mere to Girdhar Gopal…dussaro na koi” the weeping pilgrims followed her to the river bank। The moment she crept into the enveloping inky waters, there was a burst of bright light as Prabhu himself spoke to Meera and guided her to not take her life as it was precious. He asked her to move to Vrindavan and be a guide to the troubled there, bereaving them from their worldly woes.

The Lords words had such cogency that she accepted this as her spiritual guidance and slipped into the darkness with a bunch of followers towards her new home in Brajbhomi*। As word of her bhakti *spread far and wide, Bhoj Raj realized his wife’s true calling and remorsefully approached Meera beseeching her to come back to Chittor.

Meera relented but when later Bhoj Raj was killed in battle with the Mugals, she returned to Vrindavan once again living a life of a hermit and celebrating Lord Krishna’s love in Brajbhomi. Her physical and spiritual union with the Lord had finally come to term.

Word count – 494

Glossary -
*Phagun – Monsoon
*bhajan’s – Devotional hymns
*Prabhu – God
* Vasudev – another name for Krishna
* Vraj Bhasha – Local dialect of Vrindavan
*atma – soul
* parmatma – Lord
* Brajbhomi – Krishna’s abode
* bhakti - devotionNOTE : Picture uploaded from the internet.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2008

The playmates! (flash fiction)

2009-07-12T08:10:00.000-07:00

The dusty squiggly written journal from the past was enough to get Pratik aka Purna nostalgic about his childhood। He was the fouth child of a toddy* gatherer. His father rose much before day break each morning and went about unloading the toddy collections in earthen pots that were tied to date trees. His palm climbing skills had earned him the name “Hanumanta” and people from the 40 odd hamlets preferred to engage him for their half yearly coconut plucking and preening to do away with dried fronds before monsoon set in.

Purna’s day started with his mother giving him the left-over rotis* from the previous night along with hot piping tea। He then had to run up and get a few ounces of milk from Bhola dada after which he was free to play with Pinti, the fawn that his father had found abandoned in the jungles on his way back home. Perhaps Pinti’s mother had ended as sustenance to another carnivore!

Pinti was a handful and in taking care of her, Purna had lost some of his own playfulness। He was constantly thinking of ways to provide milk for his infant pet. He stealth into his neighbor, Bhola Dada’s barn where Savitri the goat nursed a recent litter. Savitri had accepted Pinti as one of the claimants to her bulging teats. All was well in the barnyard as the oblivious Bhola dada went about adding water to the milk he sold to the villagers.

Purna and Pinti squeezed through the thorny hedge that separated the dwellings and would run hither thither in bridleless impulse to the sparse grassland that they had chanced upon. The secret pad cradled a few palm trees. The duo spent many a mornings watching the weaver birds build their nests and flaunt their brilliant yellow plumage in an attempt to attract the females.
Pinti had now grown two feet tall and wasn’t that pint sized anymore। She had a mind of her own and had charmed Purna to tow her line. Her appetite had improved much to Purna’s chagrin and had thus weighed down more responsibility on his little shoulders. They had now started on the reckless path of bold rampage of corn and cucumber fields.

The playmates would steal fruit and roughage from the orchards and fields। Then sneak into their secret hiding place and enjoy the booty resting on their backs against the palm trees. Once in a while, they ran into Ajgar the python who stared at them with emotionless eyes. Purna would quickly retrace his steps and find another place to play on such days.

It was the morning of Vijaya Dashami* and winter had brought in a few chills. Purna was surprised that Pinti had not come to wake him sniffing his ears and face. He pranced out to the courtyard calling out to her. She was nowhere around. His eyes then fell on Ajgar perched on the mango tree. She looked a bit pregnant he thought.

Word count – 498

Glossary -
*Toddy – An Alcoholic beverage made out of the sap of various species of palm trees.
* Hanumanta – Hanuman the monkey god
*Rotis – Indian bread
*Vijaya Dashami – Festival of Dussera which is celebrated to rejoice Lord Rama’s victory over Ravana।

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2008

Jihadi Genius! (Flash Fiction Entry)

2009-07-12T08:08:00.000-07:00

Phil squinted against the glaring sun as he tried to put his finger to what it was that he found familiar in the child standing on the opposite side of the dusty road. Weather beaten vehicles with passengers hanging out whizzed past with increasing regularity as the sun travelled westwards. It was exactly 4 years since he had last stepped on Pakistani soil to report the turbulence that was so synonymous with the region.

His Vulcan like ears picked up a mortar blast a mile away. It all sounded familiar as fresh adrenalin made his excited mind flick its tongue in the atmosphere to feel the tense current in the air.

A bag full of essentials to last several days, he was hunting for a guide who had his ear to the ground and accompany him to the most sensitive areas in the foothills of Safed Koh ranges wherein the Bugti tribesmen commanded the respect for being the fiercest and most barbaric.

The kid stared open mouthed for a few seconds before disappearing into the sparsely forested patch close by.

Phil trudged to the tea stall near by and ordered a Suleimani chai *that refreshed his raw senses. The prosaic life of the semi-rural suburb stared at his Caucasian looks that made him stand out like a silver oak amongst dry prickly cactus.

The kid this time was peeping from behind a pile of dried cow dung cakes that were stacked in neat heaps. Phil felt drawn to this curious fellow. He just looked so darn familiar!

As Ashfaq the driver brought a pair of skinny men dressed in local garb, Phil inquired if they were successful in tracing Ramzan Durrani the link to Masood who Phil aspired to interview for his latest assignment.

Masood had been topping the most dreaded terrorist list for a while and his fanatical anti-establishment messages had been floating in cyber space that threatened the fence sitters to get out of their cushioned cocoons and pretend to take the hardliners by the scruff of their collars. And this is what had made the present assignment fall into his journalistic lap that supported an illustrious war reporting experience.

Ramzan Bhai was supposed to pick Phil and take him blind-folded into the interiors. He sounded optimistic as he related how Masood had welcomed the idea of spreading his message of Jehad through Phil.

Dawn brought a kind of starkness that ripped any doubts of peace that Phil had toyed with in his mind before he fell into restless slumber.

Innocent villagers had been killed in a terror strike as a faction of the rebelling tribes from uphill had vacuously tried to establish their supremacy. As Phil filmed the sight of the massacre, his eyes fell on the inquisitive kid from the day before. His small lifeless toes were caked in blood. Phil realized the similarity that had eluded him a day before. The Vulcan ears and a much lighter skin tone! He then remembered Ruksana!

* Suleimani Chai – Lemon tea (hot).

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2008

Tantric Love

2009-07-12T08:05:00.000-07:00

Tantric Love!

You’re in my thoughts
Exploding right within
A rhythmic sense of pleasure
When the emotions set in!

You barely let me sleep
My tired senses bleat
A fable protest
Coz I wanna rest
And yet want all of you
That I missed all day!

The lingering coolness of a lick
That blazes on the skin with a flick
Completely forces me to surrender
To the ignited promise
Of a love in waiting!

You shake the reverie of content
Replacing it with the scent
Of things that delight the senses
And makes me drop all defenses

A dull craving to feel you
And need you even more
a strange sense of connection
that brings out a reaction
and rages in its depth
of a karmic union!

The whisper of a secret desire
Conveyed is a style I so admire
It transports me to a cortex
That builds up a vortex
Of insatiate orgasmic pleasures!

Oh come my love!
Let’s churn some thunder
And feel that wonder
Of entwining of throbbing bodies
The rise and ebb
Of a unity that’s steeped in sacred worship
Of Tantric love!

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2008

My dad’s “new” son!

2009-07-12T07:54:00.002-07:00

It has been a long time since I have been enveloped in a sea of remorseful mourning for my dear dad who we lost about 4 months ago.

As days progressed into months we miss him even more. No Birthday or anniversary’s complete without him. His booming voice used to wake us from our lazy reverie, transporting us into the realness of a loving family.

Papa was in my dreams last night! I was transported back to a few years.

I was a teenager back then and Papa a brand new father. He dotted over his “new son” with much pride and took his role as a parent quite seriously. And why not! He had all the emotional bearings of enjoying parenting this time around. The joyful experience he had missed out on when he was younger and too busy working to make the ends meet.

This “new son” had come at a time when Papa was in his early forties, doing reasonably well in life and able to enjoy the quite with his family every once in a while.

He would sing loudly to this new entrant into our family who would cock his ears and wonder what the loud man meant. Much to my amusement, the little brat was a face reader of sorts and knew exactly how to collate body language with stentorian utterances and would react appropriately.

The father-son duo bond grew stronger with each passing season. I jealously observed how understanding our dad was when it came to his “new son”. The rascal could get away with murder.

Dad would attend to him early mornings and wake the whole household in his bid to keep the young fellow humored. Despite the fact that jealousy kicked in every once in a while, the “new son” also had this knack of wiggling his way into each of our hearts, drilling huge gapping apertures that erupted warm blobs of contended delight.

Papa was consumed in his new found role to the point of absurdity. He would tag his little coddle at social functions where people silently disapproved. Papa’s selective observations would systematically snip off anyone who didn’t fall in his scheme of things.

Papa would however, willingly hand over the reigns of guardianship to us when the “new son” had to be immunized. The little fellow was a toughie but his dad still had delusions of inhuman atrocities as the needle would get prepared. He would suddenly switch from father to chicken and leave on some pretext of busy schedule.

My resentment towards my kid brother however melted as the following summer approached. It was the anvil of the promising mangoes season and the ones hanging to the tertiary branches looked healthier with each passing day. Our mouths had gotten used to the excessively mercurial salivating as we shamelessly ogled at the pregnantly laden tree right out of our window.

My kid brother was always on his toes and barked an alert the moment anyone as much as passed the modest mango tree. This greatly warmed him to me and initiated him into my world of tramping adventures.

From then on we went into the mango mangroves together looking for an unfortunate fruit that might have broken off due to the fast approaching monsoon winds. Our search greatly saved many a mango from getting lost into oblivion within the collected foliage of dried up leaves and twigs at the base of the tree.

And then it was my friend Dolly’s marriage ceremony. Dolly was a few summers senior with a kind heart. She allowed us teeny bloopers the pleasure of her restrained friendship. How proud we were of our associations with savvy Dolly and never lost the opportunity to flaunt it to the other lesser souls.

(Back to the scene in our household!)

My dad, the ever doting recent father was all prepared to take his little addition and initiate him to our rich traditions starting with Dolly’s reception party. I for one was not too sure that this idea had great potential. Marriages were places where toddlers would be a nuisance. No matter how hard we tried to reason out, dad managed to enervate all of us.

After all he was the prodigal father of an even more prodigal son!

We girls had insolently been gliding around in our gaudy outfits giggling in false excitement when a member of our group blurted “you know, there is an errantly eccentric guest amongst us”.

I instantly knew she was referring to Papa. You see…I’m gifted with a strange psychic ability in such situations.

She continued “He’s proudly carrying his dog around. Wierdo!”.

The wires in my heart malfunctioned as they threatened to cross-fire. I was consumed with illogical rage as my loyalty towards dad overtook the fun element that I was so enjoying that evening.

The wires that programmed the mind though were more balanced and reasoned that my dad had earned this “public ridicule”.

I quickly downgraded this friend to a few steps lower in my acquaintance and shared with her that the “weirdo” indeed was my very Dad leaving her mouth agape in embarrassment as I walked away।

Jackie was truly a successful son and tugged at dad’s heart strings with much determination। I actually learnt a thing or two from his enterprising nature that later helped me in my negotiating skills with dad in my growing up years.

Casting the first stone!

2009-07-12T07:54:00.001-07:00

We love to judge others. Prepare our special dyes and cast people in their respective and appropriate moulds. Any individual that does not subscribe to our dyes are perpetual offenders. And the sculptures that waver a bit from its original mould are branded warped.

An appropriate widow has to shun bright colours. Dance and music are for the young. Sex is a taboo. Displays of conjugal behaviours are disapproved. The old have past their age to have fun and the young have to be reigned in.

There is this immense scrambling to snuff out anything that spells fulfillment. We thrive in seeing people struggle.

Is being intelligent and having the power to think being suitably used? Isn’t the fungus that’s growing on our mind-set becoming deadlier?

When will we unlearn to cast the first stone? When will we accept people who are different with contrary ideas from ours? When will we acknowledge that someone else might be right? When will we stop calling people “freaks”?

Most importantly…when will non-english speakers intelligence not be judged? The snobbery that I see around me sometimes stifles!

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2008

A woman in love is a tormented soul!

2009-07-12T07:52:00.000-07:00

A woman in love is a tormented soul
She craves for the touch…
A feeling of entwining of the body & the soul
And embarking on journeys of rich ecstasy
That saps away the energies and yet leaves you feeling strong

A woman in love is a tormented soul
She craves for a consciousness that is steeped in togetherness
That brings in an immense aura of exploding galaxies
A bond that glows in thick character and faith
A connection that electrifies the very being
And brings a certain calm to the rapids fast flowing

A woman in love is a tormented soul
She craves the smells that promises his presence
She strings together the feats of selfless gestures
And cobbles up scattered dreams
Pleading with her fate to let them be

A woman in love is a tormented soul
Her world has suddenly shrunk
Accommodating only things that matter the most
Her life has a single goal
To bring a smile on the lips that make her come alive
And pump fire into her spirit

A woman in love is a tormented soul
She’s prepared to walk the path that tests
And brings to its knees great legends
A love so sublime that emits the rays
Of passion that cements forever!

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2008

Finding him in the most unexpected faces!

2009-07-12T07:50:00.000-07:00

I have looked for him & found him in the most unexpected faces.

It’s my graduation day. I see mum beaming proudly from her seat. And then there is a void. I do not see him next to her. I miss him!

I have missed him during the festivals, especially Diwali. The building kids would congregate in the compound with their dads & rake up a rukus. They were most kind to me. And yet I would be filled with rage at their kindness.

My birthdays! My school is an odd one. It had this customary thing about the dads dropping their kids on their birthdays. Like all the kids I would prance to school with my uncle and flaunt shamelessly. Of course, I automatically developed selective hearing towards questions about who had dropped me. Some secrets are good for the confidence.

The first rains were occasions of immense frolick! We kids would race up to the terrace & get drenched. We had this funny antiquated jig that brought us immense joy. My uncle joined us in this merry making & would hoist his kids on his shoulders to do a little bhangra. He seemed kind and once in a while I would get hoisted on his powerful shoulders too.

Then that one day when the rains brought havoc to our city. As everything came to a stand still and reports of people getting swept away poured in, I prayed to God more fervently to protect my mum the most and why not? There was no one to look out for her unlike the other mummies. I helplessly missed you then.

I have a creative mind and yet I struggled with the sketches in the art class. As the pressure built up with others submitting beautiful assignments, I began to withdraw into my protective cocoon. And then I saw you peeping out of my art teacher’s eyes. He gathered me to a quite corner & covered my apprehensive gait with his soothing words of encouragement. My pencil lost its stutter from then on.

If ever I was late being home, I saw you in my nanu’s wrath.

In my growing years I was sometimes relieved of your absence. At least my guy friends were not getting grilled unfairly by your possessiveness. On hindsight, I missed that too. Was it right to be let off with a stranger all alone just like that without any background checks etc?

And now graduation day! It’s a whole new chapter from here on. There are bridges to build & paths to thread. One might end-up at a fork with tough choices to make. It would have been easier having you around to help me place my winning bet.

I continue my journey knowing that I will once again see you peeping through some face that cares. There is no dearth of angels and yet I miss you…..

Glossary –

Bhangra – Punjabi folk dance.
Nanu – Maternal grandfather।

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2008

Tangy beckoning!

2009-07-12T07:41:00.001-07:00

This morning as I look out of the window
A bunch of young, raw mangoes beckon to me
To tug at them, drawing them close,
And taste life’s tangy tastes once again!

Oh when did the tree bear fruits?
I have been oblivious far too long
And missed out on some enchanting moments
Of pure, simple, unadulterated pleasures
That delights our senses
Seeing a pregnant laden tree!

The bulbul has returned
And hopping around in an endeavour
To build a love nest
Where the little ones would thrive
In luxuriant profundity

Our garden creeper too
Is not far behind
Has grown little tendrils
Of the exploring kinds!

Everyone seems to come to life
As summer approaches
With resplendence warmth
And I’m swept once again in its activity!

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2008

Immersing Dad’s ashes!

2009-07-12T07:37:00.000-07:00

I asked mum if she minded me immersing Dad’s ashes in the Godavari at Nasik.* She didn’t look surprised. Simply said of course you must! I’m sure this is what he would like from you. It is your dharma.*

The next morning we (Dad & me) bid the Mother Mary grotto next to our apartment farewell for the last time seeking her blessings and packed off to Nasik in two cars with dad sitting next to me in a small earthen pot wrapped in a crisp red cotton cloth।

Dad was the true-blue Patriarch as Patriarchs are meant to be. One who boomed commands! One whom everyone loved & consulted! One who brought two feuding relatives together! One who came to the rescue of his poor relatives. One who instilled in me the value of the human spirit & the significance of relationships!

His demise has made me seek answers from within. My mind wanders aimlessly into the busiest of streets & the narrowest of alleys. Being strong is getting a bit tiring. And yet one look at Ma makes the resolve stronger.

She’s been a toughie too. Forty-three years of togetherness has seen all seasons of life. Their relationship was like an estuary that accepts both, the river as well as the sea in its folds. She seeks him in his face towel. Whenever the dull ache becomes relentless….she pulls out the face towel from its hiding & wipes her face with it. His lingering smell is her comfort.

Adhesive sentiments are making us hold on to a smell….a letter….a book…a memory! Such is the immense love that we feel around us. It’s as if Dad has enveloped my brother & me in his wisdom of togetherness. We are suddenly closer looking out for each other. I wonder what makes people fight over money when they lose their loved ones. The priceless gets under valued perhaps.

* In the Hindu religion, rituals like lighting the funeral pyre & later immersing the departed soul’s ashes in the holy river is done by the husband, son or any other male member of the family. It is not customary for a female to participate in such rituals.

*Dharma – Duty.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2008

A tribute to Papa!

2009-07-12T07:35:00.000-07:00

It feels cold around the heart. The kind of dank coldness that one feels in gothic structures that’s empty. I have been so used to the glowing warmth that I took it for granted. And now every morning when I get up and I don’t see you about….its a struggle to focus on the regular.
Your glasses…your cell phone….your jacket…your slippers. I have hidden them away like treasures.

How I wish I could sit in a corner all by myself & cry. Grieve my loss!

But there are things to do. Look after the relatives that are pouring in by the dozen. Everyone has a tale to share about their association with you. A sentiment that stings the eye! A respect that makes me proud!

You were the nucleus of the family binding everyone with your rather mawkish emotions. You showered love & expected no less. I sometimes felt overwhelmed! You scorned at the concept of “personal space”. You just didn’t understand such intuited object of thought.

My maverick thoughts befuddled you. But I must give it to you that you tried to understand & relate to the things I cared about.

I remember your sulk last year about not writing about you more often. You were like a child who wanted constant attention. Here I am Papa….only you in my thoughts today!

I have been fortunate to be at your bedside when you breathed your last. I have been fortunate to hold that hand….talk to you….take your blessings!

I have been told to celebrate your life instead of mourning your loss. It makes sense coz you went like a king in power. I’m happy that we will remember you as the family leader and not a fallen hero.

I just want to know if you are happy wherever you are। Can you drop me a hint so I can rest assured?

My dad’s “new” son!

2008-05-25T05:17:00.000-07:00

It has been a long time since I have been enveloped in a sea of remorseful mourning for my dear dad who we lost about 4 months ago.

As days progressed into months we miss him even more. No Birthday or anniversary’s complete without him. His booming voice used to wake us from our lazy reverie, transporting us into the realness of a loving family.

Papa was in my dreams last night! I was transported back to a few years.

I was a teenager back then and Papa a brand new father. He dotted over his “new son” with much pride and took his role as a parent quite seriously. And why not! He had all the emotional bearings of enjoying parenting this time around. The joyful experience he had missed out on when he was younger and too busy working to make the ends meet.

This “new son” had come at a time when Papa was in his early forties, doing reasonably well in life and able to enjoy the quite with his family every once in a while.

He would sing loudly to this new entrant into our family who would cock his ears and wonder what the loud man meant. Much to my amusement, the little brat was a face reader of sorts and knew exactly how to collate body language with stentorian utterances and would react appropriately.

The father-son duo bond grew stronger with each passing season. I jealously observed how understanding our dad was when it came to his “new son”. The rascal could get away with murder.

Dad would attend to him early mornings and wake the whole household in his bid to keep the young fellow humored. Despite the fact that jealousy kicked in every once in a while, the “new son” also had this knack of wiggling his way into each of our hearts, drilling huge gapping apertures that erupted warm blobs of contended delight.

Papa was consumed in his new found role to the point of absurdity. He would tag his little coddle at social functions where people silently disapproved. Papa’s selective observations would systematically snip off anyone who didn’t fall in his scheme of things.

Papa would however, willingly hand over the reigns of guardianship to us when the “new son” had to be immunized. The little fellow was a toughie but his dad still had delusions of inhuman atrocities as the needle would get prepared. He would suddenly switch from father to chicken and leave on some pretext of busy schedule.

My resentment towards my kid brother however melted as the following summer approached. It was the anvil of the promising mangoes season and the ones hanging to the tertiary branches looked healthier with each passing day. Our mouths had gotten used to the excessively mercurial salivating as we shamelessly ogled at the pregnantly laden tree right out of our window.

My kid brother was always on his toes and barked an alert the moment anyone as much as passed the modest mango tree. This greatly warmed him to me and initiated him into my world of tramping adventures.

From then on we went into the mango mangroves together looking for an unfortunate fruit that might have broken off due to the fast approaching monsoon winds. Our search greatly saved many a mango from getting lost into oblivion within the collected foliage of dried up leaves and twigs at the base of the tree.

And then it was my friend Dolly’s marriage ceremony. Dolly was a few summers senior with a kind heart. She allowed us teeny bloopers the pleasure of her restrained friendship. How proud we were of our associations with savvy Dolly and never lost the opportunity to flaunt it to the other lesser souls.

(Back to the scene in our household!)

My dad, the ever doting recent father was all prepared to take his little addition and initiate him to our rich traditions starting with Dolly’s reception party. I for one was not too sure that this idea had great potential. Marriages were places where toddlers would be a nuisance. No matter how hard we tried to reason out, dad managed to enervate all of us.

After all he was the prodigal father of an even more prodigal son!

We girls had insolently been gliding around in our gaudy outfits giggling in false excitement when a member of our group blurted “you know, there is an errantly eccentric guest amongst us”.

I instantly knew she was referring to Papa. You see…I’m gifted with a strange psychic ability in such situations.

She continued “He’s proudly carrying his dog around. Wierdo!”.

The wires in my heart malfunctioned as they threatened to cross-fire. I was consumed with illogical rage as my loyalty towards dad overtook the fun element that I was so enjoying that evening.

The wires that programmed the mind though were more balanced and reasoned that my dad had earned this “public ridicule”.

I quickly downgraded this friend to a few steps lower in my acquaintance and shared with her that the “weirdo” indeed was my very Dad leaving her mouth agape in embarrassment as I walked away.

Jackie was truly a successful son and tugged at dad’s heart strings with much determination. I actually learnt a thing or two from his enterprising nature that later helped me in my negotiating skills with dad in my growing up years.

Copyright © BuntysBanter २००८

A woman in love is a tormented soul!

2008-04-20T10:42:00.000-07:00

Finding him in the most unexpected faces!

2008-04-20T10:41:00.000-07:00

I have looked for him & found him in the most unexpected faces.

It’s my graduation day. I see mum beaming proudly from her seat. And then there is a void. I do not see him next to her. I miss him!

I have missed him during the festivals, especially Diwali. The building kids would congregate in the compound with their dads & rake up a rukus. They were most kind to me. And yet I would be filled with rage at their kindness.

My birthdays! My school is an odd one. It had this customary thing about the dads dropping their kids on their birthdays. Like all the kids I would prance to school with my uncle and flaunt shamelessly. Of course, I automatically developed selective hearing towards questions about who had dropped me. Some secrets are good for the confidence.

The first rains were occasions of immense frolick! We kids would race up to the terrace & get drenched. We had this funny antiquated jig that brought us immense joy. My uncle joined us in this merry making & would hoist his kids on his shoulders to do a little bhangra. He seemed kind and once in a while I would get hoisted on his powerful shoulders too.

Then that one day when the rains brought havoc to our city. As everything came to a stand still and reports of people getting swept away poured in, I prayed to God more fervently to protect my mum the most and why not? There was no one to look out for her unlike the other mummies. I helplessly missed you then.

I have a creative mind and yet I struggled with the sketches in the art class. As the pressure built up with others submitting beautiful assignments, I began to withdraw into my protective cocoon. And then I saw you peeping out of my art teacher’s eyes. He gathered me to a quite corner & covered my apprehensive gait with his soothing words of encouragement. My pencil lost its stutter from then on.

If ever I was late being home, I saw you in my nanu’s wrath.

In my growing years I was sometimes relieved of your absence. At least my guy friends were not getting grilled unfairly by your possessiveness. On hindsight, I missed that too. Was it right to be let off with a stranger all alone just like that without any background checks etc?

And now graduation day! It’s a whole new chapter from here on. There are bridges to build & paths to thread. One might end-up at a fork with tough choices to make. It would have been easier having you around to help me place my winning bet.

I continue my journey knowing that I will once again see you peeping through some face that cares. There is no dearth of angels and yet I miss you…..

Glossary –
Bhangra – Punjabi folk dance.
Nanu – Maternal grandfather।

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2008

Tangy beckoning!

2008-04-20T10:39:00.000-07:00

बहुत अजीब है यह ज़िन्दगी

2008-04-20T10:33:00.000-07:00

बहुत अजीब है यह ज़िन्दगी
कब किस मोड पर आकर रुक जाती है बगैर
कोइ रुकावट की आगाह किये

लडखडाते...…सम्भल्ते अपने आप को समझाते
कि यह अनुभव भी हमे कुछ न कुछ तो निशचिन्त रुप सेसिखायेगाही
ह्रिदय को निचोडती है कुछ पल
जब खालिपन डट कर बैठ जाति हैशून्य को केन्द्र बानाये
मन हताश …कौन सम्झाये?

घडि के कांटो को जैसे किसि बलवानने
दाबोच लिया है अपने पूरी शक्ति से
ना छ्ठ रहे हैं उदासीनता के बादल
ना ठंडक मिल रही है ह्रिदय को सुबह कि ओस की ताज़गी से

ना उम्मीद झांक रहि है
खिलते पंखडीयों की तरह
ना बसन्त आस पास फटक रहि है जैसे की कोइ शिकवा हो

बस यही आसरा है कि
ऐसे दिनो की भी अन्त होती है
समय मरहम लगाती है
और एक दिन गेहेरी घाव भी
एक दाग बन कर रह जाती है ।

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2008

Immersing Dad’s ashes!

2008-04-20T10:26:00.000-07:00

A tribute to Papa!

2008-04-20T10:21:00.000-07:00

There was a time when you breathed life into my broken spirit. You held my hand as I faltered struggling with my circumstances. You made me believe in goodness. You believed in the greatness of my destiny as I struggled with my truncated happiness!

And now you are no more! I look for you in dark corners. They advise to keep the lights on while sleeping. I make the room completely dark just to get a glimpse of you dear Papa! Where are you? I don’t even see you in my dreams. It’s as if I have lost touch with you completely.

It feels cold around the heart। The kind of dank coldness that one feels in gothic structures that’s empty. I have been so used to the glowing warmth that I took it for granted. And now every morning when I get up and I don’t see you about….its a struggle to focus on the regular.

Your glasses…your cell phone….your jacket…your slippers. I have hidden them away like treasures.

How I wish I could sit in a corner all by myself & cry. Grieve my loss!

But there are things to do. Look after the relatives that are pouring in by the dozen. Everyone has a tale to share about their association with you. A sentiment that stings the eye! A respect that makes me proud!

You were the nucleus of the family binding everyone with your rather mawkish emotions. You showered love & expected no less. I sometimes felt overwhelmed! You scorned at the concept of “personal space”. You just didn’t understand such intuited object of thought.

My maverick thoughts befuddled you. But I must give it to you that you tried to understand & relate to the things I cared about.

I remember your sulk last year about not writing about you more often. You were like a child who wanted constant attention. Here I am Papa….only you in my thoughts today!

I have been fortunate to be at your bedside when you breathed your last. I have been fortunate to hold that hand….talk to you….take your blessings!

I have been told to celebrate your life instead of mourning your loss. It makes sense coz you went like a king in power. I’m happy that we will remember you as the family leader and not a fallen hero.

I just want to know if you are happy wherever you are। Can you drop me a hint so I can rest assured?

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2008

Welcome to the club!

2008-04-20T10:17:00.002-07:00

I sat staring at the back of Arjun’s head। It was bent. I noticed the precision of the hair line at the nape indicating a fresh hair cut. His shoulders seemed sagged. Almost defeated! Looking at his crestfallen profile, I could feel a certain rage build inside me. The insides of my eardrums felt hot with the blood gushing to my head as I braced myself to contain the mercurial emotions.

I had joined this school in the seventh grade। It was quite stressful in the initial weeks. The boys ogled most of the times & made fun of anything I said or did. They were a raucous bunch; pretty disorderly in their class-work & audacious when reprimanded by the teachers! I learnt quite a few cuss words attending class with them & enjoyed my mum’s wide eyed expression when I related my new diction to her each evening.

As the exams approached and all of us struggled together with the new course, we became a part of the same group that seemed terrorized by scalene & isosceles triangles। We were bonded by a common skirmish....trigonometry!

Arjun had been kinder than the others. He spoke only when all suggestive body language failed to convey the message. So it would be most appropriate to say that he used his vocal cords sparingly. When Sir Dubey actually paired us to sit together in class, I was most relieved.
Back to what had triggered the blood to flow like molten lava in my veins।

It was the math period & Ms Iyer our class teacher suddenly asked Arjun if his parents were separating। Silence suddenly descended in a fish market of a class. The uncomfortable hush could actually be sliced into thin strips & fed to the crocodiles. Arjun stood there meekly all flushed with an iron tongue. Ms Iyer probed deeper. “What is the reason for the divorce…. Arjun?” She preyed.

We all stared with gapping mouths at Ms Iyer। Had no one taught her any social etiquette? Where was human kindness that our principal talked about relentlessly each morning during the prayers? How could Ms Iyer deport herself like this?

Each one of us could comprehend Arjun’s defeated look except Ms Iyer!

As the class got over, I quickly slid to Arjun’s side & shaking his hand said “Welcome to the club; my parents are divorced too!”

I can bet my entire piggy bank that my smile salvaged Arjun’s shredded confidence to where it belonged। His eyes searched me to share more. And I did. Not because I love to talk about my parents separation. But I owed it to all the kids who are like me. Somebody needed to tell them that they were not alone.

I saw myself in Arjun when Sister Sangita had asked me similar questions three years ago।

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2008

Kaise samjhayen inhe! (hindi poem)

2008-04-20T10:10:00.000-07:00

जिनका पेशा है दिलों से खेलना
और अनेकों को नासूर घाव देना
वो केहेते हैं की ज़िन्दगी को इस तरह अपने ऊगलियों के बीच से फ़िसलने ना दो
मुझ पर ऐत्बार कर

हालात ने जिनको सिखाये हैं कुछ चन्द पाठ
उसे केहेते हैं की नज़र अन्दाज़ कर
ज़िन्दगि के मज़े लूट
मुझ से प्यार कर

कैसे सम्झायें इन्हे कि
मासूमियत पलट कर वपस नहीं आती
लाख करो उसे तलाश
प्रत्यक्श ना पाओगे उसे

दिल तोडना आपकी फ़ितरत है
मरहम लगाना आप क्या जाने
भावनाओं से गुथी हुई माला से तप करना आप क्या जाने
बस बेहेते चले जा रहे हैं
बिन किनारे प्रवाह की तरह
कभी सोचा है कितनी सांत्वना है गम्भीर्ता में?

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

Words fail me – Taare Zameen Par (An analysis)

2008-04-20T10:00:00.000-07:00

Words fail me। There is so much within that I want to express। How much I love you all. How much I strive harder each time I fail. And yet, every time I try hard….its all the more frustrating. My struggle to express is a secret that I keep buried deep within. I have started believing everyone around me when they call me a duffer!

There is so much more to learn & explore than just Ms loreto’s class. The fish that I find swimming in the shallow monsoon created pools. Where do they come from? And where do they go when its winter coz the pool dries up.

The ice-candy man! Who taught him to make such marvelous pieces of dripping art? And that liberation in using the coloured flavours. Wow! He’s given me an idea to paint his latest creation. The same one that is melting in my mouth right at this moment!

I hate Vicky and his bunch of goons. They beat me every time I miss to catch the ball. I didn’t do it on purpose. But who can relate to that big fat numbskull? And my teachers…I don’t know why they celebrate teachers day! I have yet to meet a kind one who believes me when I tell them that I didn’t goof up on purpose & neither am I lazy. Well…forget about the unpleasantness. I need to go…play with Tommy & his gang. They all love me like crazy & wait for me to come back from school every day. One look at me coming and their tails go wag waaag waaaag! *giggles*

Words fail me. There is so much within that I want to express. How much I love my boy. How much I strive hard each time he fails. And yet, the more effort I make…..the worse he fairs. My two boys! So different in their temperaments! It is so confusing. My confidence as a good parent is fast ebbing. I feel lost! I hardly make any efforts with my elder one & he excels. His father calls it genetic excellence. But my younger boy…the one that I fawn over the most! No matter how much I try, everything seems to be falling apart. He’s getting messier….falling back in his studies, throwing rage tantrums & what not! For once in my life….I’m not sure I can understand the rights & wrongs of my situation.

Words fail me! There is so much within that I want to express. My younger bro is a darling! He’s such a champ when it comes to expressing himself with colours. Why is he so slow with his home-work then? It hurts when my other school mates poke fun at him. I defend him when I’m around….which is not the case most of the times. But I believe in him & one day I know he will prove everyone wrong. Especially mummy-papa!

Words fail me! There is so much within that I want to express. My grueling schedule doesn’t allow much time for frivolities. It is a rat race out there & I’m the best they can get in my field. Success & I go hand in hand. I have been an achiever all through my life & did my parents proud. One has to have a killer’s instinct if one wants to be at the helm of things.

I feel I have done it all. An excellent job…a wonderful family…et all. Wait a minute. My younger one has been a cause to worry off late. His pathetic grades speak of a callous approach. I’m afraid his laziness will one day be a cause for his failure. With his kind of attitude, he needs discipline. An iron fist that can enforce him to fall in line & get serious with life!

Words fail me! There is so much within that I want to express. There is this student in my art class whose eyes wrench at my heart-strings! I see a certain pathos that’s most disturbing. I see him give up on life. I see me in him! I know his pain & will not let him suffer the way I did as a child.

He is a kid with an above average intelligence. But he doesn’t know that. I have to claw for his attention. But my determination is rock hard. It’s just a matter of peeling off the rough surface to reveal the softness within. He needs to be loved. He must get back his lost childhood. Someone must make him realize his potential. He’s born for greater purposes. It’s just that he does not know it yet.

Words fail me! There is so much within that I want to express. This is a movie with its heart in the right place. This is a movie that every adult, even if they are not parents should watch. This is a movie that every child should watch & become aware of the greatness that’s present inside each one of them. It just needs to be explored & its potential exposed.

I had a fair idea of what dyslexia was all about. And yet…this movie jolted me. It filled my knowledge with colours of emotions that I didn’t know existed. It brought a certain humanness in my outlook that was absent due to ignorance. It powered me as a parent to celebrate the presence of my child in my life. It motivated me to understand my kid’s potential & work on it. It made me realize that our kids are not here to fulfill our dreams. No parent has a right to push their kids in directions that exaggerate their weaknesses. We must learn to let them be! We must learn to love more, give more & expect nothing in return.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

एक सन्कल्प

2008-04-20T09:50:00.000-07:00

एक सन्कल्प

जिधर देखूं .....हर एक के दिल से तमन्ना झांकती नज़र आति है
कुछ दिल में गर्माहट् लाने वाली
और कुछ दिमाग को थन्ड कर्ने वाली
नया साल फिर से अपनी मूंह लप्-लपाते आयेगा
और हमसे ढेर सारी सन्कल्प ले जयेगा
कुछ हस्ते-हस्ते वादे होंगे
कुछ रुस्ठ भरे इरादे होंगे
कुछ दिन तडप-तडप के जियेंगे
फिर ताथैया नाच!

इन सब पर्वो का क्या मतलब है?
कोइ भोजन बरबाद करे
और कोई तडपे चन्द दानो को लेकर

मनही मन मुस्काती हूं मैं
जरूर इश्वर की प्यारी हूं मैं
भरि-पुरि परिवार की हूं मैं
पुरे जग से क्या है लेना
बस मुझे हताश ना करना
बस मुझे हताश ना करनाल

Copyright © BuntysBanter २००७

Intezar! (a poem in hindi)

2007-12-16T11:08:00.001-08:00

Har lamha jab tanha reheti hoonEk dhundli si tasveer nazar aati hai
Ek aahat….ek ahsas
Ek hal-chul besabra kar jati hai....
Yeh kaun hai jo gud-gudata hai
Mere armano ko…ek hasood ki tarah
Woh teevra nazar jiske takte hiPalak sharm se zhook jati thiAb nazar bachaya karte hain

Yeh kaun hai jo mujhe pukarta hai is kayanat ke us paar se?
Main kyon khichi chali jati hoon
Ek bawali ki tarah?

Kab chatega yeh kohora dil ki virani se
Kab milegi sukun
Jise humne talasha hai har disha main?

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

You cannot undignify my mind!

2007-12-16T11:03:00.000-08:00

Read an article recently where the writer pondered about how or rather who would give a fitting reply to the mindless acts of henious violence that men commit against women. He says….I went in search of a feminine identity; - who could give a fitting reply to the mindless acts of violence against human nature, especially against women....... and found Aphrodite as the most suitable contender.

Loved his noble views and yet I have a different philosophy that I shall try to explain in chunks of broken thoughts in this write-up.

Aphrodite was a goddess of love, beauty and fertility. With all due respects, she, in my opinion is not the correct choice in this case. She was this package of celestial beauty, the goddess of fecundity but extremely vain!

I have two related stories to validate my stance. The first one goes like this. Aphrodite couldn’t bear the thought of someone else displacing her beauty legends. And when she became aware of Psyche who others thought was more beautiful, she schemed against her. She asked her son Eros to strike her with an arrow that would make her want the ugliest man on earth. But fate had it otherwise. Eros got pricked by his own arrow & fell hopelessly in love with Psyche. Knowing this Aphrodite was enraged & went to great lengths to separate the two lovers.

Then there is another story wherein Aphrodite is enraged by the claim that Myrrhr, the princess of Cyprus is the most beautiful. She throws a spell on her to lust for her own father. Out of this union is born a baby boy called Adonis. Aphrodite is Adonis’s surrogate mother & eventually when he grows up….they are lovers!

Such instances show how Aphrodite was susceptible to her own vanity. And such a role model can be good for fantasy but not made the bearer of the torch in my opinion.

I would like to introduce to the reader a shlokha from the Sundar Kandh* episode in the Ramayana that my Nani ma taught me as a kid. Of course…I used it for all kinds of nefarious purposes to please Hanumaji at that point of time.

This Shloka is in the form of a plea by Jamwant the king of bears to Hanumanji who often forgot how powerful he truly was. It goes like this…..

Kahahi reech pati suno Hanumana
Ka chup sadhe rahehu balwana
Pawan tanay bal pawan samana
Budhi vivek vigyan nidhana
Kaun so kaz kathin jag mahi
Jo nahin hoi tat tum pahi

A rough interpretation is as under :

Jamwant, the king of bears is reminding Hanuman
Why are you so quiet, oh powerful one!
You are as powerful as the wind (Hanumanji was the son of Pawan God of wind)
You are intelligent, illustrious & an inventor
There is nothing in this world that’s too difficult for you
Whenever I’m stuck, you are the one who can help me.

I would like to put to use this philosophy in today’s time & age. The human mind has this vast capacity to attain anything they put their finger to. It’s our choice how we use it & what we do with this tool. The answer that one seeks around them in actuality is imbedded deep within us! We just need to understand & decipher that power.

It can either be self learning through experience or soaking any knowledge that can help our growth as individuals. It can also be people who evoke in us the confidence & strength we didn’t know existed. The unwavering faith that these people have in us to take charge & assert!

I don’t think there is a need to seek any particular God to deliver us from the evils festering in our society. The power to change the course of the tide is already there in us humans….especially the woman!

Fortunately for her…she’s given the baton to procreate. She is the ultimate Shakti.* She either drives generations to victory or is responsible for turning great era’s to dust.

The woman is the driving force behind how a man thinks & behaves. After all she’s the first person who nurtured him after birth. The basic fundamentals are painstakingly arranged into the young porous mind that credits her veracity with full faith. A mother pours her own beliefs into her child’s mind and thence starts the journey of life!

Just like everything else….the Shakti is also like a rough diamond. She needs the polishing & cut to shine her best. And when she finally does dazzle…she brings a certain brilliance that is path breaking. It’s as if she knows her strengths sometimes & at other times needs the ones around her to help mould her into the appropriate cast.

It is this powerful aura that needs to be nurtured if we want to change the direction of an aimlessly adrift society. Let our spiritualism flower by encouraging the female spore to germinate into strong healthy trees that give shade to the weary & the lost!* Shakti - power

Appendix –

The Ramayana is divided into seven episodes. They are :

1) Bal Kandh
2) Ayodhya Kandh
3) Aranya Kandh
4) Kinskindha Kandh
5) Sunder Kandh
6) Lanka Kandh
7) Uttar Kandh

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

No muchaad for me please!

2007-12-16T11:00:00.000-08:00

Ever since Rani was 14…she dreamed about her Raja in shining armour! He had to be tall…not too dark, powerfully built, well educated with a good job & family background & most importantly….no mustache! Absolutely no offending bristles that would inconvenience the resurgence of blossoming love.

As she turned twenty-one, her parents started beating the trail in the quest for the most suitable boy for their lovely princess. There was nothing mediocre about the whole affair. After all, she was the apple of their eyes.

Meanwhile Rani had prepared a list of things that her mum ought to seek with a fine comb when she went groom hunting. The jeans & shoes had to be branded material. Hair – oil free with a slick cut to gel with the fashionistas. A soothing after-shave would be most appealing with a clean look of general hygiene that omitted any existence of a mustache.

Rani’s mum armed with the endorsed list roamed heaven & earth with a magnifying glass & a fine tooth comb. But most of the eligible’s she encountered had a maximum of two counts of semblance from the list.

She was getting all hassled when one day their family friends walked in. They nursed a similar fret about not finding a suitable bride for their son. So momsi asks for the boy’s picture. One look was enough to bring a pleasurable gasp on her lips. It was as if the lad in the picture had dressed up as per Rani’s approbation. The only issue in the whole scheme of things was his proud dauntless mustache! Something that was a big “NO” in bolds in the list!

Mummy dear conspired to try & set things rolling despite this grave lapse. She called Rani & gave her pore by pore description of the charming lad eclipsing the fact about the mustache completely.

The day arrived when the two families met to perhaps unite the young souls. Raja came all suited-booted and did full justice to the goodies spread on the table. His deep focus on the food was second only to Arjuna’s concentration on the parrot’s eye at the behest of his Guru, Dronacharya’s instructions during a lesson in archery. Every little dish was appreciated & Rani was left wondering if this creepy mucchad* wanted to marry a cook or a charming girl such as herself. His moustache made her experience suicidal tendencies. She felt totally hopeless!

The next day, in a bid to impress & make-up for his past evening’s dismal performance…Raja went over to pick Rani from her work place. Seeing him astride a Bullet which agreeably qualifies as the worthy cousin of the Harley Davidson, Rani was suitably impressed. He looked dapper and very much the new aged knight in his checkered shirt and woodland shoes…. a few bulges thrown in at the right places.

Rani’s resolve to staunchly refuse Raja after the food binge began to diminish just a wee bit. Mum was right! The facial hair was indeed ones own farm & therefore one could either grow or harvest it at their own will….she thought rather encouragingly! She was also confident of her charming capabilities when the goal was a matter of a life & death situation such as this one. And if there was an iota of doubt lurking in Rani’s mind…it disappeared as she looked at Raja. His silly winsome grin touched his ear lobes assuring Rani of her convincing attributes.

In a fit of heady recklessness that comes knocking whenever Cupid aims at its unsuspecting victims….Rani agreed to the marriage proposal without much ado. She graciously accepted his suggestion of being dropped home after catching some coffee & the affectionate couple sped away into the sunset.

The next day came as a rude shock to Rani when she learned that the swanky Bullet that Raja had rode…the very same Bullet that had helped her resolve her dilemma in the moment of panic was in fact not his. Since Raja was philosophically related to the Raja Harishchandra* clan….he had to set a few records straight. He confided that the bike had been borrowed from his best friend. A shocked Rani inquired what machine he presided over to which he dolefully enlightened that it’s the ever reliable Vespa scooter.

Rani was inconsolable! How could she have been so careless? She quickly excuses herself to call her mum to calm her frayed nerves wondering simultaneously if the woodland shoes that he had worn were his. Mum pacifies stating that they could always buy a new bike in future. And since this individual was an epitome of human niceness, she should shed all inhibitions coz every story has a start-up problem.

Meanwhile the scary thick coarse bristles still gave her nightmares. She would dream of them piercing deep into her skin leaving ugly sting marks. A plan needed to be hatched quickly before the proximate D-day.

The very next day she called Raja draping her voice in the silkiest tone. The unsuspecting Raja had graduated these days from his machine tool designs to day dreaming about his dew fresh bride-in-waiting. One look at her name flashing on his cells screen makes him dive for the cell phone literally bringing about a mini earthquake similar to a 2.5 at the ritcher. A quick plan for a rendezvous & the call ends with tingling hopes on either side!

Raja felt completely silly. But perhaps, love did strange things to people. He reported at the coffee shop a trifle early to find Rani walking in from the opposite direction. Both laughed as they recognized a certain eagerness in each others eyes. Coffee was ordered & small talk made. Likes dislikes shared!

Rani asked if Raja loved trekking in the remotest of jungles where one had to make way cutting through the bush with ones hatchet. His eyes widened in amazement. How lucky to share the same passion with your life partner indeed!

He said yes! Yes! That’s a lovely past time & one that he always looked forward to. As he gushed about how nice it was to find her loving such adventures, she confided that she hated such outings but would nevertheless indulge….just for his sake!

She further asked if he loved watching the grand prix on ESPN?

Yes! Oh yes! I love it…he said.

Well…it was not her cup of tea but since Raja liked it, she would try & understand the nuances of the sport…just for his sake!

As the evening progressed, calibration regarding food took over. Kebabs & fish fry are my favourites, Raja shared. She was a vegetarian by choice but promised she would learn to cook all that…just for his sake!

Raja’s happiness knew no bounds. He was one darn lucky bloke to have met this dream girl who looked like a little goddess & nurtured like a mother. Her supportive disposition was making his heart swell with benevolence. He wanted to do anything to make her happy. After all, he was going to be her friend, philosopher & guide. Raja wanted to know if there was something that Rani wanted out of him.

Viola! This was her precious chance & she grabbed it with both hands. She whispered shyly if he could just do away with his soup strainer….it would make her extremely happy! As the truth of what Rani had asked dawned, he was already knee deep into quick sand. But one look at the love of his life made him pledge inwardly that it would be done away with sooner than tomorrow.

The rest of the evening stretched on with some lively chatter courtesy Rani & some gloomy sulks courtesy Raja. The snug warm feeling he felt in the upper lip area would be a thing of the past. The thought of how naked he would feel was depressing to say the least. But anything for meri jaan* he resolved!

Glossary –

* mucchad – a slang for a man with mustache
* Hraishchandra – A king known for being honest & truthful
* Meri Jaan – My beloved

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

Astride the dunkey….aping a munkey!

2007-11-21T03:49:00.000-08:00

Winter had started setting in and durga puja* was just around the corner. The eucalyptus trees shed its bark and bhaiya,* ladoo and I were given the task to accumulate the dried barks, stack them in a cane basket that would then be lugged and deposited to my mamiji.*

Come 4pm and mamiji would start the preparations of kindling the fire and getting the borsis* ready to be lit and placed below our charpoys* to keep us warm through the chilly nights.

The mornings would be misty and beauty-sleep most inviting. But the last few days…despite being snug under the warm blankets, we kids were wide awake by 7am itself. As the elders wondered about our inspiration to turn into new leaves….we would quickly finish our ablutions if time permitted coz the dunkies* would arrive by 8am.

Our nani ma* had expressed the need to add two extra rooms on the terrace. This entailed the service of construction workers and raw materials. The sand to be used to build had to be brought from the dried up river bed of the Phalgu river. Phalgu was a seasonal river so by the time it was winter; the only presence of water ever flowing across was in the form of a thin serpent like course that would sinew across the river bed.

The workers filled sand in huge gunny bags to be transported across town to our house on dunkey back. Once the sand was dumped, we kids would jump in glee holding on to the hairline on the dunkey’s back for dear life! There was no saddle or a reign that could give us the advantage to restrain. So there we would be at the dunkey’s mercy and let him decide how fast or slow he wanted to walk depending on his mood and the weight on his back.

The chaps would at times suddenly decide how pressured their bladders were and spray liquid-waste shamelessly right in the middle of the road with us kids astride. Then there would be times when they offloaded last evening’s meal all in full view with dead pan expressions! One moment we would be beautifully cantering and then the gait would change and whoever’s dunkey spilled the filth was wickedly ragged the whole morning by the fortunate lot.

Hence each morning I would run up to my makeshift puja ghar under the kadam tree fervently praying to the good lord to instill some sense in my dunkey for the day and refrain him from popping away to glory and maligning my honour.

I was all of 8 years….an aspiring sadhvi* that could chant mantras with the flair of similar sounding overtures. In any case, who cared about the nuances of Sanskrit as far as the tone was in tandem with the devotional utterances.

The mohalla* kids were in awe already of my brother and me. We were after all the cool beedi smoking Bombay kids who could walk, talk, eat and sleep…all in English! The kids that shared the city with Amitabh Bachan and Dharmendra and rubbed shoulders with the elite bollywood clan!

Our deliberate beedi smoking personalities invited the same reverence akin to the local deities. The area kids in a bid to solidify the fraternity with us taught us some socially adept audacious chants like….

Ramchander budhawa Bandar
Tohar chacha badka chuchundar

So off we went straddling on the dunkey, howling away our perforated vocal cords in between puffs of nani ma’s used up beedi butts leading a procession of the choicest of wild kids from the Muslim butchers community that lived a few furlongs away in modest dwellings.

And while I relate the precious moments….it might help to remind the reader that this was the tame era under the rule of my nefariously austere mamaji. Ladoo’s dad and Bakasura* incarnate! If there was a possibility of a contest of imperious moustaches, Mamaji would definitely put Verrappan* to shame.

So let’s appreciate the fact that there were fatal perils lurking in every corner of our surroundings and to take the bull by its horns and the bull not knowing about the exploits was an act of bravery deserving none other than the Param Vir Chakra*. Somewhere in the higher scheme of things though, the mirthful days was drawing to a closure.

To foresee the construction work, one day mamaji took a day off. We mutts had no clue of the lurking danger and as usual….ran outside our compound to jump on the empty dunkey backs. Hearing an unruly commotion, mamaji peered from the terrace and seeing us kids behaving in the most original primitive manner…. lost it! As he charged down the stairs to herd and spank the joy out of our little butts, we decamped from the scene in one flighty moment. He bellowed in utter exasperation as his undulating jet black moustache quivered under the wrath. And though we were tiny, our sagacious brains advised to stay absconded for a couple of days till the rubble settled.

A sense of utter gut revolting serenity descended on our bored lives. We dragged thru the rest of the puja holidays chortling under our breaths every once in a while reminiscing the exploits of the last few days. It was thus the curtains fell and an era of a different genre came to an end!

*durga puja – The festival of Dussera
*bhaiya – elder brother
*mamiji – maternal uncles wife
*mamaji – maternal uncle
*Borsi – an earthern wide mouthed pot with burning wood, charcoal & dried cowdung
cake used as fuel
*Charpoys – bed woven out of jute ropes
*Dunkies - donkies
*Nani ma – maternal grand mother
*sadhvi – a female ascetic
*mohalla – community neighbourhood
*beedi – Indian cigarettes made out of tobacco wrapped in kendu leaves.
*Bakasura – A cruel demon mentioned in the Mahabharata epic
*Verrappan – The late dreaded outlaw operating in the forests of Karnataka & Tamil
Nadu
*Param Vir Chakra – India’s highest military decoration awarded for the highest
degree of valor & sacrifice
*Ramchander budhawa Bandar – Ranchander the old monkey
*Tohar chacha badka chuchundar – your paternal uncle is a mole

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

The timeless jaunt!

2007-11-18T00:12:00.000-08:00

Sitting on the bough of the broken oak tree
With the river flowing at ease below
I contemplate & compile
An invisible diary
To log the gentle caress & the merciless clawing
That I have received in the past!

Oh there I was
Sitting below the kadam tree
Turning a stone into a deity
Adorning the quarried piece with flowers & kumkum
And breathing into it the power to bestow
A hundred odd blessings!

And then a couple of more years
And now I’m tramping in the mangroves
Stealing fruits….shooting pigeons
A heady feeling of transgression
That’s seeped through the toe!

And as I grow a little more
I blow off the whistle of the cooker
In the quest to be the chef
Of a deserted kitchen

Then comes the imprudent part
Accelerating with an incautious delight
I substantiate the recklessness
With adventurous abandon
Into the unknown perils of adulthood

And then a decision I make in naivety
My ingenious mind seeks a partnership
That was not written in heaven
By the lords blessed quill
In golden calligraphy

But there are hallowed moments too!
I’m gifted with an angel
Whose high pitched octaves
Shatter the serene calm
When hunger commands to suckle

And then the juggling between
A bemoaning partnership & a fledged motherhood
Somewhere along the lines
The real me gets cocooned
In a mirthless pouch of silken yarn

The soul feels asphyxied
Drained of all the optimistic reserves
A bag of hopeless nerves
That spooks at every gesture of good will

And then a hazy light
Comes trickling down the deathly darkness
That beckons with a promise
Of a path less traveled & a journey for the intrepid

I grab the opportunity
With an appetite of the disadvantaged
The till & toil begins in fervor
To win back the lost glory

I see myself growing invisible wings
That carry me far n wide
I learn & unlearn
Simple joys & failed despairs
And a pride that knows its worth

The million lessons taught by the known and the unknown
Has been a blessing in disguise
For it’s their perseverance
That has brought the appropriate disposition
Of a humble beginning & a deeper fulfillment!

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

Fear of the inevitable!

2007-11-02T01:36:00.000-07:00

One of dad’s close friends died today. He was the healthiest of the bunch and a pillar of emotional support to dad when he was diagnosed with an acute heart ailment. He fired up dads desire to alive…suggested a doctor who was competent to not only save his life but also bring a new perspective for the love of life that stayed with dad and helped him slowly claw back his strength.

The barking orders resurfaced, the bellowing melodies fell back in its place each morning especially if it was someone’s birthday or an anniversary reassuring us that the normative attitude was back in full throttle in our little paradise. Not be wished and blessed by dad (he’s the oldest in our family) for any piece of news or occasion is unheard of in this fast progressing Bihari family.

He keeps abreast of the latest. Whether it’s the harvesting of pulses in his maternal village, Ramdi or the ongoing property dispute in his paternal village Salempur! Whether it’s my brother’s office politics or my cousin’s husband’s ongoing project in Germany. He holds the record of maximum hits in the search engine of our clan and anyone who wants to update their outdated version of family affairs has to type his name in the search box.

I often contemplate that he would have done well as an arbitrator. There is one little catch though. The warring parties HAVE to tow the line of action that is advised. If not…apni lutiya uthao aur dafa ho jao.*

So back to this dull ache that I’m feeling within me today! As the trees shed and acquire a new look with the progress of each season.…I struggle to come to terms with death in all its entirety. The person that passes away but of course is alive in our memories. Their little conversations….their love…their caring and their hurt…all of it neatly filed in the recesses of our mind, stacked by page breakers that are either date or occasion specific. But the real person will be gone. We will never see them again…EVER! Never be able to hear them…talk to them…touch them and most importantly…have them around when only their presence would mean a stupendous assurance.

Along with our parents…a part of us will die. An era will be gone! The link to our roots and bits and bobs about our ancestors that they cobbled together to narrate the past shall be lost…forever! With all my sapience gathered over time…..I’m still terrified just thinking about the inevitable!

* apni lutiya uthao aur dafa ho jao – take your belongings and get the hell out of my sight!

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

Baba

2007-10-20T13:16:00.001-07:00

Trying to blink away her tears Devika stood staring into the vast expanse on the waterfront. She struggled to lacerate her love for Gaurav as reality stared cruelly at her. She was caught between the two people she loved dearly…her Baba & Gaurav!

Baba had been her support system from the time she could remember. All the tantrums that little kids harass their mothers with, was experimented on Baba. Ma had died on the operation table right after her birth. For a while, Baba was lost in his own world of intense grief. After all he had loved his wife more than anything he had owned or possessed.

Brinda had been his pillar of strength & his friend all his adolescent life. They were married when they were both 16 & had practically waltzed into adulthood together holding & supporting one another against any challenges life threw at them.

Baba was the first to graduate in his family & did his entire clan proud when he landed a Government job in Bijanour. His mother would proudly flaunt this piece of news to anyone who cared to listen.

Baba & Ma lived their simple uncomplicated lives & since they didn’t have children, their house was full of the four legged varieties. Sanghamitra, the cow who was a darling, Jwala the possessive goat who followed Brinda anywhere she went & Chuniya the cat who just sat near the kitchen door & purred all day. It was only when Baba & Ma were in their mid-thirties that they were blessed with a child.

I could somehow never forgive myself for being the reason for Ma’s death. The sincere love that brimmed in Baba’s eyes every time he talked about Ma was haunting & left me restless for days. Sukanya chachi seldom failed to remind me how misfortune had befallen on our entire clan after my birth.

My childhood was spent in Baba’s lap listening to the stories of great courage of Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose. I remember clearly when Netaji died….Baba didn’t eat for days walking around listlessly looking for a meaning in such happenings.

Our world was compact. Baba made sure I went to a good school. Education in his opinion was the most valuable possession anyone could have. It was a treasure that could pull you through any hardships…he said.

I graduated with an engineering degree & landed a job in Mumbai. This was a city that everyone loved to hate. The pace was sometimes baffling. Where was everyone running to? People had this unsettled expression on their faces at all times.

Baba had joined me after retirement & helped me set house. We would spend the weekends together, cooking & laughing reminiscing about incidents from my childhood. My friends loved visiting our place & getting a dose of Baba’s nurturing nature. They always seemed to be envious & mentioned how lucky I was to have him around.

Gaurav came into my life quite by chance. We had met at a conference dedicated to Asset Allocation & Arbitrage. Gaurav’s grasp over the subject & his presentation had impressed all. When he came over to my table & introduced himself, I had blushed trying to keep a straight face. We had exchanged cards & in no time we were dating.

Indeed…I was lucky! I had lived a fulfilling life & the presence of Gaurav brought a new meaning to relationships in my life. He was this rare gem who knew what was in my mind before I could spell it out. He excessively indulged & doted over me & made sure I always got what I wanted however trivial that might be.

And then Baba’s health started failing. He was in & out of hospitals & my life changed. Work seemed demanding & whatever energy was left got sapped by the many rounds to see heart specialists & take their opinions. Life became monotonous with never ending bills & hospital visits. The relatives who usually kept in touch asking favours suddenly vanished.

Gaurav was my link to sanity on days when I would be too overwhelmed to even eat. He would bring home packed food & force me to take care of myself for his sake. But I could see the increasing restlessness in his demeanour. He missed our outings & the closeness that we shared. By the end of the second month….he concluded that he felt terribly unloved.

Baba asked me daily why Gaurav didn’t visit him in the hospital. I was getting tired of cooking up stories about his outstation travels & assignments. And then one day Gaurav called & in a gelid tone said he was fed up of the whole situation. The old man had ruined both our lives. That Baba is like a thorn in our love life & I shall have to make a choice. Send Baba back to where he belongs with my other relations in the village.

Gaurav talked about the love nest that we would make together. Of how his overflowing love for me would finally see the light of day once Baba’s sent away. He expressed how he dreamed of going to exotic places. Lead a happy carefree life. And all could be possible only if I made a choice. He sounded so happy. As if he was living those dreams as he visualized naughtily how he would satiate his urges.

At the other end though, Gaurav’s voice is fading. Devika has already made her decision. She can see the future. There will be loneliness and regret of what might have been, but there will also be the satisfaction of having stood by her principle. She thinks of the sacrifices Baba had made to give her a good education & mould her into the confident individual that she is. The dreams Baba had for his beloved daughter. This brings unbidden tears to her eyes. The future that she can see plainly now doesn’t have Gaurav in it. A future that has a foundation based on principles. A life that will make her proud! A loneliness that may sometimes tug at her heart & make her miserable! But a wisdom that would blaze her path with goodness!

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

Feast of love – A review

2007-10-07T12:00:00.000-07:00

Directed by : Robert Benton
Screenplay : Allison Burnett
Genre : Drama
Certification : R - For strong sexual content, nudity & language.

This movie is based on the novel “ Feast of love” by Charles Baxter. Directed by academy award winner Robert Benton (Kramer Vs Kramer), the whole structure of the story line is built using metal frame work that is as strong as real love, bricks that were treated in the kiln of sensitivity & the concrete that is a composite combination of bonding & belonging.

This movie is best compared to a shallot. It unfolds in different layers & each layer has a message about life & its complexities. It’s like the dilemma that each one of us face at different stages of life. The love & betrayal, defeat & acceptance, attraction & therefore blindness, again… love & its sacredness & at the end….the sense of belonging is all portrayed is such delicate flavors that it tickles the viewers taste buds.

It’s basically a story about three different couples, their joys & their struggles. The message that stands out in this story is absolving the one you loved & the greatness of true love.

Morgan Freeman has done a wonderful job as the aging professor who’s very perceptive about peoples actions & gives sound advice when consulted. And yet, as a father, he fails to notice anything amiss in his doctor son who he loses to a drug overdose. It struck me how the wisest of folks don’t notice the warning signals in their own lives.

Alexa Davalos is a beauty & an actor to watch out for. Jane Alexander as Freeman’s wise & pretty anchor of a wife has played the part with absolute perfection getting under the skin of the character. Greg Kinnear plays the lost puppy falling in love at the drop of a hat. Others like Radha Mitchel, Toby Hemmingway, Billy Burke & Sema Blair all seem to fit beautifully in the melting pot called “Feast of love”. It was indeed a sumptuous spread for a quite evening.

Plus Points: Sensitive & a feel good movie.

Minus Points: Greg Kinnear's character which is a hopeless case of cupids casualty was a bit unreal.

Movie Rating: Good

Music Rating: Fair

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

The heady hearty conversations!

2007-09-29T11:14:00.000-07:00

The heart tells the head
I don’t seem to hear you these days
I miss your lecture
And the reprimanding you used to give me
Have I not erred off late?

The head just sighs!
And looks at the heart with a benevolent smile
Says…I admire your resilience! The fortitude with which you move up & about
Oh dear heart! Would you not teach me how to feel things?
Please teach me to feel the richness of the emotions within?

The heart is too shocked to react!
What have we here?
My mentor wants to learn from me?
How can I? An insignificant greenhorn
Illumine the sage of worldly wisdom?

But the head is persistent
In his search to quench his thirst
Of knowing how it feels to lose
And yet be happy for the winner
What makes the heart so forgiving?
How can she smile while hurting?

It’s simple if you try she says
To understand the nuances of my ways
I don’t have the capacity to sit in judgment
Of the rights & the wrongs!
I love to run in the sunny meadows
With the breeze licking at my tresses
I love to stop by & smell the flower that’s beckoning with its fragrance
Without worrying if it's an ambush!

Life is too precious to while away just thinking & mulling over what if….
And yet I could not have done without you.....dear head!
It’s your bosom that gives me the solace when I’m heartbroken
Or feeling let down at times
It’s you who showers upon me your wisdom
And plods me to go and cry a bucket
The tears that wash away the settled dust
And makes me all new again
To go and find another nook
That has a brook flowing
And birds chirping all the way
The whole scene aglowing.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

Because I said so – movie review

2007-09-22T07:44:00.000-07:00

Directed by Michael Lehmann
Writers : Karen Leigh Hopkins (written by) & Jessie Nelson (written by)
Genre : Comedy / Romance
Certification : U/A

God made mothers coz he could not be everywhere at the same time.

The above is so extensively used by Hallmark cards that the contents have probably got bleached by now. And yet, every mother shall nod happily at the mention of these very words. It’s like an acknowledgement of all those sleepless nights. All the poops & puke issues. All the dark circles that threaten to spill over the cheeks. The bulges that happen due to changing the mantra from “the body is a temple…worship it” to the “body is a dustbin….pack in the left over’s from your kids plate”.

I’m a mother at the crossroads of her motherhood. A mother who was used to be consulted about what colour should the umbrella in the picture be, or which shoe shall go with which dress. The word mommy could have easily passed as the most used word of the day. As usual…I was there for my dotty most of the times if not in person…then definitely at the end of the phone trying to allocate the order of importance to her call over the conference call with the regional heads.

Now this omnipresence is ever so welcome to the kids when they are little babies holding on to your apron strings to puff the chest of confidence! But once they start growing those little wings of maturity….they wanna fly! Soar high up there with not an iota of care in the world!

And being the doting mother that most of us are….seeing your fledgling unsteady on its new found feet, fluttering pompously its wings trying to prepare for its very first flight is a bit scary. You want the best for your child & for her to be eternally happy! No Sir…no heartbreaks for your baby!

So here I am….my baby’s been growing those tiny little wings of independence for sometime now. She wants her space….she has opted to sleep alone & suggests the exact word I should use when I want to scold her. Now this gets my goat! My child’s actually teaching me the method of approach towards discipline? I wouldn’t be raving this way if it was not for the 5th time that I was repeating my request in the first place!

So the best thing to do is enlighten yourself in “how to handle your independent child”. It’s a weekend & I opt to check out this movie…..Because I said so, to learn the mantra.

Diane Keaton has always been an inspiration. I loved her in “Somethings gotta give” & she’s back in this movie with the same vivaciousness. She exudes this crazy effervescence that’s totally contagious.

I gathered the movie was about a mum dealing with her grown up daughters & thought of picking up a trick or two since it deals with the same trade I belong to. Well…it did proffer a message alright! This movie was all about the right things that we think of doing in our endeavor to being great parents & how we goof it all up for our kids in the bargain.

Daphne Wilder (Diane Keaton) is a single mother of three beautiful daughters. Her other two daughters are settled professionally as well as in their personal lives. But the youngest, Milly (Mandy Moore) has never had a serious relationship in her entire life. So the “euphemism for God” takes the mantle of finding the Mr Right for her.

Daphne enlists on an internet dating site to find the probable “man of substance” (do we have such a terminology?). She interviews all sorts of characters & zero’s down on Jason (Tom Scott ) an architect by profession. In the mean while the musician, Johnny (Gabriel Machet) playing in the same restaurant who’s been noticing the whole drama thinks she’s interviewing all these guys for herself.
Milly in the meanwhile unknowingly is caught between two promising guys & is surprised at her luck….when it rains…it pours! This movie has lots of moments when one cracks up.

Above all what touched me in this movie was the character Daphne Wilder. There is this scene when she’s gone to live with Milly since she’s (Daphne) sick with her vocal cords going on a temporary strike. The mother / daughter duo’s watching a love story together when Daphne writes on the writing pad….“define orgasm”. It’s a hilarious scene with Milly trying to define the unrestrained physical & emotional excitement that one feels & then stops in her track. Now wait a minute….haven’t you ever experienced one before? She asks shocked! As Milly looks at her mum, lost for words….Daphne writes again “Don’t tell your two sisters I asked”.

Daphne’s wisdom coupled with ambivalence made her build a fortress that kept little things that gave her joy far away. A bundle of hyperactive mind with so much common sense packed in….that it hurts. This movie is not just about a mother/daughter relationship. It’s about all the things we do in life chasing righteous attitude & somewhere down the lane….we forget to let down our hair & have some plain innocent fun ourselves.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

Plus Points: great movie especially for parents of growing up kids

Minus Points: The character of Joe who Daphne finally marries should have been more fleshed out. He just comes across as a brilliant grand-dad.

Movie Rating: ****

Music Rating: ***

Season of memories!

2007-09-22T07:41:00.000-07:00

Noor Jahan sat under the magnificent Silver Maple tree as the garden filled with dry leaves shed from the Royal Paulownia in the corner of the garden surrounding the ornate bungalow. Time seemed to fly by her. Spring had turned to summer, summer to the monsoon & now autumn approached galloping in full glory. The Red Mulberry tree had shamelessly shed its lobed, unevenly balanced leaves leaving behind bare branches. Everything looked stark cementing the misery she felt from within.

The two things’ she loved about this season though were the flock of migratory birds that perched on the rickety grim colored bare branches & the wind that blew from the northern direction. Noor loved to feel the breeze in her hair as she sat reminiscing about her life in her beloved Kashmir. How she recklessly ran around the house her grand father, Sheikh Abdul Ghani had built in the early part of the twenty-first century. Kashmir had been her soul. A place where she was born. A place that was like no other. A place who’s people exuded the warmth which was so alien in New York.

Noor’s father, Sheikh Rafik Abdullah Ghani was the emerging face in the state political circles. Noor was his only child & the apple of his eyes. Noor's mother had died of hemorrhage during childbirth & Sheikh Saab had raised Noor with the help of Rabia bi.

Noor accompanied her father on his political trips of the province. Her celestial looks made her stand out in the crowd. It had been one of those relentless trips in the interiors during a political campaign. The cavalcade of motors snaked through pristine forested areas when a bomb exploded ripping the bridge they were crossing.

In between screams of agony at the unexpected assault flew smoke & splinter, wasting everything in its path like a tornado. Within seconds, what was once a majestic procession turned to upturned smoke bellowing wreckage. Sheikh Saab never traveled in the same car with Noor. He was perhaps wary of the jingoistic spirits of the jihadis fighting for an independent Kashmir.

Noor’s car was thrown into the river below dismantling the car’s outer body & flinging her about 10 feet away where she landed with a rude thud on jagged rocks. Sheikh Saab’s car miraculously escaped the brunt of the attack. Receiving minor cuts & bruises, he scrambled to the banks of the river shouting out to Noor Jahan worried sick about her well being.

Noor was brought back to safety by the rapid military forces that swung into action. She suffered grave injury all over her body. Her spine was broken & body scalded. Within a few hours, she was flown to Srinagar & after administering first aid to Delhi for life saving treatment. The various test reports were grim. It was as if the carpet had been pulled from below Sheikh Saab’s feet. He worried & suffered but due to his public image, maintained gravity.

The press hounded the attack episode & all the victims involved in it. The video clippings were all over the national & international channels. The world grieved at Noor’s misfortune. Hundreds of miles away, Noor’s best friend Piyu was watching the news & was horrified at seeing her friends limp figure as she was being transported from Srinagar to Delhi. She was heart broken. Noor & she had studied together in a public school in Mussorie. They had been inseparable as school mates.

When Noor came to, she realized that she had lost all sensation hips down. Being a medical student didn’t help much. She realized the gravity of the situation & started spiraling down the abyss embracing depression in spurts. Too much knowledge had made Noor pessimistic. The hospital counselors realized that along with her body, they had to concentrate on her mental disposition as well.

After the initial surgery & recovery, Sheikh Saab flew Noor to New York to meet Dr Shepherd who was an authority on spinal injuries. Dr Shepherd was a realist & talked to Noor directly without veiling the truth. Only her attitude could save her, he said.

Meanwhile, Piyu had been in touch with Noor & the pathos in the once bubbly Noor’s voice had saddened her immensely. She cried tears of helplessness & despair wondering how she could help her friend when she needed her the most.

It had been raining that morning & the birds had taken shelter soaked to their skins. A woebegone looking Myna sat perched near her window, fluttering its wings at odd intervals to shake off the rain droplets that had mercilessly permeated to her bones. The sight of the Myna took Piyu back to their school days in class 9th.

Noor & She had not been particularly faring well in their lessons. They had been fascinated by a lame Myna. This bird was born with just one leg which was wretchedly crooked with its claws grotesquely pointing upwards. The Myna could just hop a little & then would sit down spent on its belly. But she was one feisty little girl! She would extricate energy reserves from all corners of her little body to get up and hop on to the boundary wall which was her favorite position to hold court with the other’s from her clan chirping animatedly in the morning sun.

Noor & Piyu could never get enough of their favorite Myna. They had named her Polly the folly! They brought back bread crumbs & biscuits from the breakfast table for Polly & in the time to come, Polly adopted the two girls allowing them to trespass in her personal space.

Piyu had a few pictures of Polly that was very close to her heart. Whenever she felt discouraged, she would open her childhood album & out would spring Polly to wipe her tears of despair. And now Noor was far away in a strange land lost & broken. The idea to resurrect Polly sprung suddenly in Piyu’s mind. She quickly sat down to write Noor an email with Polly’s picture. Piyu’s words flowed right from her heart as she brought to life the misty memories of yester years. She penned a little poem in commemoration of Ms Polly.

I’m Ms Polly the dauntless
The one legged spirit of life
I don’t shake or tremble
Nor cower in pain…a reputation

I don’t wave the flag of despondency
Nary a cry of humble inadequacy
Battle on I will,
Even when the dignity is under strain
Coz I’m Ms Polly
The one legged spirit of life

I crenellate hope
And push away any scope
Of pulling down the essence of life
I’m Ms Polly the dauntless
The one legged spirit of life

Thousands of miles across seamless oceans, Noor received a message from Piyu to check her email. Noor’s abba jaan* had made sure that she remained connected to all the people who mattered to her. She hopped on to her wheel chair & thrust herself towards the computer table. As the email unfolded, tears of joy ran down her cheeks recollecting the careless abandon with which they squandered their lesson time fooling the dunderhead dormitory in charge into thinking they were researching a project in astronomy. It never occurred to the dunce supervisor to question the connection between the garden boundary wall & the stars & planets.

Noor read Ms Polly’s poem with brimming eyes & a straight back. The email was like balm to her ravaged spirits. She summoned the nurse & asked her to get her an appointment with the physio-therapist. Everyone was surprised at the sudden resurgence in Noor’s attitude. The faltering disposition was replaced by a renewed strength & belief in locking horns with her nemesis.

The journey towards complete recovery was prolix fraught with set backs. But the resolve was undeterred & therefore the siege to emerge victorious inevitable. One therapy that Noor particularly looked forward to was her swims with the dolphins. She strained no matter what to not let the beloved creatures down who swam alongside her, gently nudging her to stay afloat.

As weeks stretched to months & autumn to winter & then spring….Noor’s limbs started gaining strength. The vigor returned slowly. It was for the first time that she was ecstatic to feel the pain in her legs. Even the physical pain was welcome in comparison to manifesting numbness.

By late May Noor was finally discharged from the Hospital. The staff had grown so fond of this resilient Indian girl, that they hosted a farewell party in her honour.

The door bell kept ringing continuously and an annoyed Piyu groggily lumbered to the door to check who it was at this godly hour. The door opened to a blast of energy that hugged her tight & Noor chuckled looking at Piyu’s stumped face.

They hugged & laughed at the same time, tears of redemption chipping away the remorse that had filled both their lives the last few months. As the two friends sat sipping steaming hot tea on the balcony, the first rays of sun hit the greenhouse roof & life around them began to come alive.

The birds started singing their tunes, hopping on the rain washed branches. The milkman hurried to deliver everyone’s quota on time. The paper boy cycled around dropping neat bundles of news that carried reports of the mayhem around. The readers read the news along with their morning breakfast & went about doing what they did without a passing thought. But the people who were affected by such meaningless tragedy…they were changed forever.

"You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, 'I have lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along.'"
-- Eleanor Roosevelt

*Abba Jaan - Father

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

Latitudes of the past!

2007-08-15T19:30:00.000-07:00

The islands looked like tiny diamonds strewn in the backdrop of the clear blue waters. Kalindi peeped out of the aircraft window gloating at the richness of this conglomerate of tiny land masses called the Andaman & Nicobar Islands….so far away from main land India & yet so much a part of her.

The Andamans held a special place in her heart. She had come here accompanied by her husband to look for history. A history which had a personal connection with her family’s past & the events that unfolded thereafter.

Kalindi’s maternal grand dad had served time in the cellular jail here as a freedom fighter. She had come looking for that part of her ancestor’s life that no one from her immediate family had witnessed. She had grown up hearing how her nanaji* had participated in the freedom struggle. He adored Gandhi but had pretty much leftist views.

The freedom fighters in his group were young men between the age of 18 to 25 who braved physical hardships to swim across the Padma river to reach Bangladesh which was a part of India in those days. They brought back formulas to make crude bombs to blow-up British contingents.

In the year 1933, Keshav Prasad was finally arrested by the British. They had burnt to death a ruthless British officer & had gone underground due to the intensive search organized by the British Raj. As he hid in the underground cell in his home, the police had hookwinked a child in the family into telling them where Keshav was hiding. Keshav & his friends were never found guilty of homicide but since a substantial amount of gun powder & fire arms were confiscated from their respective houses, they were booked & sentenced to 7 years rigorous imprisonment in the cellular jail in the Andamans.

The cellular jail is situated at the Atlanta Point, on the eastern side of Port Blair in south Andamans. Port Blair is the capital of these untouched islands and was named thus after Lieutenant Archibald Blair who had first surveyed these islands to establish a penal settlement in 1788. The construction of the cellular jail started almost a century later.

The most feared freedom fighters were banished to this place. It was infamous as Kal Pani. Kal meaning death & Pani in hindi means water. The island was infested with Anopheles Mosquitos that cause malaria, centipedes & snakes. The chance of anyone coming back from this place alive was remote.

The freedom fighters would be tortured mercilessly by whipping them till they fainted only to be later tortured again by rubbing salt into their open wounds. Any Swatantrata Sainiks* who chanted the Vande Mataram would be tied to the ice slabs specially designed to crush the enthusiastic freedom fighters spirits. Dr Keshav would more often than ever irk the jail officials, even if it meant sleeping on the ice slabs till he turned blue with cold & lost consciousness. The prisoners went without proper food, clothing & medical treatment that left them terribly sick & malnutritioned.

The tough convicts were tied together in one chain & were required to work & sleep with the common chain tied to their iron fetters. Coconut trees were abundant on the island & each prisoner was tied like cattle to extract oil, pound coir, make ropes & cane items.

After settling down in Hotel Sinclair, Kalindi & her husband visited the cellular jail the next day. The stark history written on each brick made her heart bleed thinking of the hardships her grand dad had suffered fighting for his country. The same grand dad under whose favouritism she had basked teasing her other four brothers.

As dusk approached, Kalindi witnessed the light & sound program that conceptualized the torturous experiences of the prisoners so graphically that it left the viewers stunned. The political prisoners had gone on a fast unto death strike to protest against the inhuman treatment meted out to them as “C” grade convicts. The force feeding of the prisoners wherein an inmate losses his life as he chokes on food while shouting “vande mataram”* has been so realistically visualized in the program that Kalindi broke down…sobbing broken heartedly, lamenting the past. Her husband sat teary eyed himself unable to comprehend the drive these hero’s must posses to assimilate such tortures.

She felt pride knowing how both her grand parents were a solid team. Where her grand dad was a freedom fighter, his wife was a pillar of strength whose unstinted support pumped him with herculean convictions to carry on the struggle. They sent messages of encouragement to one another in a language they had invented so as to not give away what was being conveyed.

Keshav was repatriated from Kal Pani in 1937. He was thirty-one then. Within two years he lost his wife to child birth. This was a major blow to him personally. He didn’t marry again as he felt there was no room for another in his heart. He carried on the freedom struggle till India achieved its freedom in the year 1947.

Kalindi reminiscences about the score of events on the eve of 15th August, 1947. She was just 5 years old then but remembers vividly how her nanaji had heard Pandit Nehru announce independence on the all India radio. Nanaji ran ecstatically into each room of their palatial house yelling on top of his voice that Bharat Mata* was at last free from her bondage.

Everyone was shouting in excitement till their eyes filled with tears of deliverance & solace. The whole family wore their best outfits & headed towards the Gandhi Maidan where the entire ground was lit with a million diya’s* in celebration of the new found azadi.* Strangers were hugging one another & crying in disbelief of the end of a servitude that stretched for almost 2 centuries & left India raped & plundered.

The task of uniting everyone under one banner was formidable. Pandit Nehru worked relentlessly towards balancing the freshly germinated democracy with Sardar Vallabh Bhai Patel arm twisting the princely states to come under the common flagship of free India.

Back to the Andamans….Kalindi is at last at peace getting to know a new facet about her grandfather that had been hear say until now. As she mentioned to one of the officials at the cellular jail about being a relative of one of the prisoners & behold! everyone who was present there looked at her in awe. They asked her questions in a hurry to know more about a an unsung hero who had suffered unrelentingly for us to breathe in free India.

To know more visit…..

http://www.andamancellularjail.org/Default.htm

http://www.andamancellularjail.org/ListOfRevolutionaries.htm

FEEDOM FIGHTERS INCARCERATED IN (CELLUALR JAIL 1932-1938)

1 Shri Biswanath Mathur Bihar

2 Shri Chandrika Singh Bihar

3 Shri Gouri Shankar Dubey Bihar

4 Shri Gulab Chand Gupta Bihar

5 Shri Jogendra Shukul Bihar

6 Shri Kamal Nath Tiwari Bihar

7 Shri Kanhaiya Lal Misir Bihar

8 Shri Kedarmoni Shukul Bihar

9 Shri Keshav Prasad Bihar

10 Shri Mihabir Misir Bihar

11 Shri Malay Bramachari Bihar

12 Shri Mohit Adhikari Bihar

13 Shri Nanku Singh Bihar

14 Shri Pramatha Nath Ghosh Bihar

15 Shri Ram Pratap Singh Bihar

16 Shri Shyam Krishna Agarwal Bihar

17 Shri Shyama Charan Bharatwar Bihar

18 Shri Shyamdeo Narayan Bihar alias Ram Singh

19 Shri Suraj Nath Chaure Bihar

http://www.andamancellularjail.org/P1.htm

Keshav Prasad Gaya Conspiracy Case
Born in Gaya, Bihar, participated in Civil disobedience movement. Joined Hindusthan Socialist republican Army. Arrested in gaya in connection wuth Explosives and Arms Seizure incidence. Sentenced to prison term of 7 years in 1933. and deported to the Andamans. Took part in second hunger strike. Repatriated in 1937 and released in 1938. In early seventies he became a sanyasi and took an ashram life in Vrindavan.

Note : Details downloaded from the cellular jail site

* Swatantrata Sainiks – Freedom fighters

* vande mataram – Salutations to my mother land

* Bharat Mata – India

* Nanaji – Maternal Grand Father

* Diya’s – oil lamps

* Azadi - Freedom

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

And miles to go before I sleep!

2007-08-14T05:37:00.000-07:00

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there's some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

- Robert Frost

The mist had enveloped the entire hill top & rain played hide & seek. Just for a few magpie robbins hopping about to catch the early worms (in this case a dragon fly) & the sweeping of the verandah by the bunglow keeper, everyone else seemed to be tucked up in bed enjoying the bliss of morning sleep.

I tip toe to not disturb anyone. Quickly wear my wind cheater & sneakers & armed with my binoc’s & camera, am off to breathe this heavenly place that I keep returning to every once in a while to recharge my batteries.

The whispering trees are swaying as the wind teases them first from one direction & when they are bent in sublime subservience, tickle them from another direction. These tall trees ever so gracefully try to keep up with the rogue winds naughty tactics.

It feels long that I have traversed this beautiful landscape. Have not had much time to introspect off-late either. Always surrounded by someone or the other, the connection with myself had slowly taken a back seat.

I walk the mature pathways changing routes to suit my sensibilities. In the distance I hear a logger chopping away in the middle of a beautiful misty morning. The rhetoric dull sound of the axe striking the wood is disturbing.

Why do people end things that give life? Why is life not celebrated? And then the turn gives me a direct view of the fallen tree. This majestic tree was home to so many species of birds & insects. It was the crowning glory of the bunglow that stood right next to it.

The heavy rains of last night had clawed the tree from its roots. As I had been snug under my sheets, this tree had finally breathed its last. It resisted & fought to survive. But there’s nothing that one can do against the forces of nature. Change is imperative.

It saddens me to see this lovely tree this way. Defeated & uprooted. I wonder why things get messed up when the moment is at its peak. One moment we are galloping in beautiful terrain & enjoying the ride & the next moment the topography changes to jagged & harsh surroundings throwing us off guard. Your horse bucks, throwing you to the ground & you collect yourself, muddied & befuddled at what hit you.

The woodcutter was not the enemy that I had thought him to be. He was in fact the solicitor of change. He was helping to clear-up the mess that had befallen. He chopped away at the tree to re-organise the next chapter of life. Make way to help the new saplings that were fighting for space after germination. Life must go on….

I wave to the old man guilty of my perceptions of him & his intentions. As I walk further into the unused paths that had seen feet in rare occasions, I come across a hamlet. The hut on the extreme side of the small group of houses has a tiny courtyard that is neatly layered with soft clay mixed with cow dung. A boy probably ten years old is chasing a hen & almost succeeds in getting hold of his object of affection.

I stand transfixed seeing him prance about in an awkward gait. He’s polio stricken. I find him the epitome of strength, as he, oblivious of my prying eyes, goes about cantering awkwardly with the breeze in his hair & unbridled spirit in his eyes.

I marvel at the gem I had tumbled upon. There is always a message in little things around us. It just needs to be noticed by throwing open the window of our whimsical outlook & embracing vicissitude. And then the poem by Robert Frost rings in my ear….

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

The curse of Satyabhama!

2007-08-07T08:59:00.000-07:00

“I didn't dare look over my shoulder. I knew if I did, it would all be over…”

The curse of Satyabhama was such. She had given Shobha darshan* in her dreams & asked her to visit her temple to pay homage. The gramdevi* temple was situated under the banyan tree in the medow with tall grass glades. The temple & its surroundings were always deserted due to the fear of inviting Satyabhama’s ire.

It all began in the year 1952. Satya was the third amongst the five children. Her father Vilas Rao was a farmer who made ends meet by tilling the small patch of land that he had inherited after his fathers death.

Satya was a playful child & trouble attracted her like metal to magnet. Always getting thrashed either by her mother or elder sisters, she was soon turning into a rebel.

They married her at the age of 14. Her husband was a jawan* in the army. Their entire village was proud to flaunt him as the village’s son-in-law. Bhimrao’s posting always took him to far flung & obscure places. Being an ordinary jawan, he could never take his wife along. She sobbed uncontrollably every time he left to return after 2 years.

In his last visit, he had consummated his marriage & they had been happy stealing time away from prying eyes, sometimes hiding behind the hay stacks & at other times in the caves that were situated on the outskirts of the village where no one ventured due to the huge bee hives hanging from the rocks protruding out of the cliff walls.

The three weeks of sanctioned leave got over in a jiffy & it was time for Bhimarao to report to his head quarters at Maholi. Poor Satya was heart broken & he promised to leave her at her parents place for a few days to make her feel better.

As the days passed, Satya would miss Bhimarao immeasurably & her melancholia was noticed by Shyam Babu. Shyam was a libertine rake with a nose for vulnerable, passionate lassies. He started lauding her beauty & grace & found the nubile Satya responsive.

It was the festival of Shivratri*. Satya was coming back from the village temple after offering milk to lord Shiva. Shyam Babu accosted her as she was crossing the medows to reach her parent’s modest house. He presented her with a jasmine gajra* & as she jumped in glee, embraced her. Before she could realize what was happening…they were locked in a passionate embrace.

Satya had never known such sensual gratifications. She basked at each touch & moaned in their pursuit of pleasure. Little did she know that this was a one way ticket to doom.

The next month she skipped her menstrual cycle & ignorant that she was…didn’t bother much. The morning sickness & she became increasingly concerned as she realized that she was pregnant.

Fear made her hide the truth from her parents & by the time they realized the situation, she was 26 weeks pregnant. Her parents feared public ridicule & decided to somehow abort the baby. They fed her poisonous herbs & the baby died in the womb.

Satya was in immense pain, the dead baby was spreading the gangrene, as she lay wailing loudly in pain. The villagers had started inquiring about Satya’s loud pitched cries & he parents decided that they had to save face.

Satya’s cousin brother was taken into confidence. Vilas Rao & the cousin dragged her deep into the forest on the foot hills of the Sahyadri’s & killed her, burying her body in a natural furrow in the river bed camouflaging the area with the dead foliage of the massive deciduous trees around.

It had been exactly 13 days since Satya’s killing. Poorna, the village headmaster’s daughter-in-law was filing water when she suddenly lifted the earthern pot & flung it on the ground. The pot disintegrated into a thousand pieces as she loosened her hair & started laughing in an eerie manner. When she spoke….it was in a different voice. Her eyes rolled in their sockets & she flung her head in circular motions as if in a satanic trance!

It was difficult to subdue Poorna even with the help of 4 young studs from the village akhada.* As the village priest prepared to perform a particular puja*, the spirit that had permeated into her body left her as suddenly as it had encroached it. As Poorna fell on the ground in a heap, her body burned in fever & kept her bed ridden for days.

In the coming days….nothing was the same again. Every house feared for its young female occupant’s safety. The incensed spirit raged havoc as it took each victim & reduced her to a sickly invalid.

Ram Bau was a kindred soul & respected by every one in the village. It was one such incident of ravaged insanity when Ram Bau calmly sat next to the victim & with folded hands, asked in humble respect the spirit’s identity & what it wanted.

I’m Satyabhama, Vilas Rao’s daughter…screamed the victim tearing her own hair. There was a shocked hushed coz everyone thought Satya had returned to her husband’s village. Ram Bau pressed further what she wanted.

I want revenge! I want to teach all of you a lesson! She raged. Vilas Rao was confronted & he confessed to killing his own daughter. He was brought before the victim & he gently palavered urging his daughter Satya to forget & forgive & leave everyone alone. He cried in repentance & impelled her to take his life if that would make her happier.

Vilas Rao’s despair acted as balm on Satya’s choler. She calmed down & announced that she would not trouble anyone who appeased her. The villagers would have to give her prominence in the gramdevi temple. She would come in people’s dreams & they would have to offer her prasad* & a saree* & return without looking over their shoulders or else….

* darshan – to appear

* gramdevi – the local female diety

*Jawan - Private

* Shivratri – A festival in celebration of Lord Shiva’s marriage to Parvati.

*Gajra – flowers strung in a short garland to adorn the hair.

* akhada – A place where the wrestlers practice.

*Puja – worship or religious ritual

*Prasad – edible offerings

*Saree – A nine yard long cloth used to wrap around the body in a particular style
commonly worn by the ladies in India.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

Friendship of a different kind!

2007-07-30T23:04:00.000-07:00

When we talk of friendships, what comes to mind are people who we met & connected with? People whom we accept as a package deal….essence & flaws et al. People who we love unconditionally & who can take us for granted. Though not without some protest…but in the general scheme of things, people who we love & care about which allows them the leverage to stifle us with attention even when the last thing we want at that time is company.

But there is another kind of friendship that I want to talk about today. A friendship that didn't happen by choice. Some thing that we would have preferred to avoid and yet, its there to stay!

There are times in life that one has to rise above the general pettiness which is the culmination of a bad relationship. The atmosphere is electrified with negative vibes. It’s difficult to focus on any thing good. And yet there is something that becomes a catalyst & forces us to behave. It can be a child you share, old time sake or just the general niceness in us.

In my case it was my daughter. She craved for the father that she didn’t have on a day to day basis. She struggled why her parents had parted ways. She missed her dad!

So a voice whispered in my ear that it was time for friendship. A friendship for the sake of love! Love for your child.

It’s been a few years now that my ex & I are friends. We are cordial, we talk sometimes & yes…he doesn’t forget to send his blessings on festivals. It’s kinda cute!

I sent him a message a few weeks ago wishing him on his birthday at around 10pm. He messaged back….”yours was the only message I waited all day long. Thanks! God bless!” Sigh!

We met & smiled a lot
For no rhyme or reason
Focused on each other
Without any care

And then time changed the direction of the wind
The lashing words, contorted faces
The shattered dreams
The painful nights
The agony from within

So we move to different planes of destiny & succor
And become good people again
The scars run deep but a forced smile
To accommodate a friendship to celebrate the bygones!

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

Unconditional love!

2007-07-14T01:32:00.001-07:00

The mercurial thoughts
A moment of ecstasy
And the plunge to the remotest depths of absurdity.

Then unexpectedly….a soulful face
With busy dancing eyes
And an inquiring mind
Get’s all the rationality back!

The child is the father of the man
And so it is in more ways than one,
She’s made me feel special & loved
And unlike the known strangers
Accepts & loves even more.

Motherhood changes you
Makes you all the opposites of what you were before
The calm get hyper & the hyper get more patient
Expressions that were buried
Are exhibited with exuberant abundance.

The physical pain & the suffering
To bring her into this world,
Is forgotten with this one perfect smile & a yawn
And makes us forget all the pressures of the beyond.

Oh yes! Motherhood changes you,
Distracts you from the torment,
Makes you want to do it,
All over again!

To fall in love with a pretty face
And an unfocused stare,
To look at a face and feel contended
That it belongs to you.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

I wanna rewind the clock!

2007-07-11T09:52:00.000-07:00

Somewhere deep down she knew she would never heal. The wound had been oozing for years. A careless moment of rage & blurting that she wouldn’t care less if he were dead!

He had looked lost! Helpless, pitted against her uncontrollable anger. His resigned form had faded away in the morning rush hour crowd on the footpath.

There was this chaotic crowd outside her office as everyone settled with their morning beverages. She could not comprehend what the commotion outside their office was all about.

As she pushes forward in the surging crowd, she has a sickening feeling as if her guts are going to spill over the chiseled pathway. She could see the more than familiar shirt that she had gifted him along with a few other things in a moment of absolute indulgence.

He laid there still….in a contorted posture blood splattered mercilessly on his handsome face & the newly tarred road. The police were hovering around summing up the last details of the latest underworld shoot-out.

She could even today feel his rough stubbled face rubbing unsympathetically as he reveled in plain teasing her. Stop it Surya! She screams! And then suddenly realizes her mistake.

Her love had been cruelly snatched away in a case of mistaken identity. The killers had an outdated picture of Raja Thakur they say.

Her tears never cease to dry-up thinking …..Did she will this to happen? She had cursed him the last time they had met. She wanted to make up this one last time! She could give up her life to be with him.

She closes the window as night falls & remorse breezes thru the window like most evenings. They had become perfect partners. She & solitude!

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

Catastrophical bane!

2007-07-03T09:47:00.000-07:00

Was watching with predetermined concern this news broadcast about the Amarnath temple. The lingam* of Amarnath in the western Himalayas forms every winter from ice dripping on the floor of a cave and freezing like a stalagmite.The report said the entire lingam had melted away leaving the devotees that visit the famous pilgrimage each year in utter despair. There was this hush as everyone watched abated hanging to every word that was spelling disaster.

There were a few people….authorities in meteorology & disaster management who spoke about global warming & its effects in different places. How much time we had on hand to rectify the damage done coz the change in global climate is being described as the greatest current threat to humanity.

The fierce debate over how we should meet that threat is constantly stoked by researchers' efforts to understand more about how our climate works, and how exactly we are altering it. Attention is now turning to the developing world, where those least equipped to handle it will bear the brunt of global warming. The people most vulnerable will be those who live at or near sea level, often crowded into cities along the coast. As drought, disease and extreme weather events become more frequent around the world, threatening the lives and livelihoods of countless more. No one will escape the impacts of a warming planet.

What's more, many of the effects of climate change are already evident in physical and biological systems. Regional climate changes are affecting natural systems on every continent, with the Arctic, sub-Saharan Africa, and Asian mega-deltas among the worst affected. Incidentally the cost of fighting global warming may not be as high as feared by many nations.

So much has been talked about species getting extinct, the un-denying change in season & temperatures & its effects. Let’s try & understand why we are in this situation in the first place.

As man started exploring his intelligence & inventing new things using science as the base of all knowledge & reasoning, he started looking for answers regarding climatic conditions, the behaviour of the stars & related explanations that predicted certain happenings in nature.

With knowledge came power & the need to establish ones territory coz don’t forget…deep down we are all endemic individuals camouflaged in sleek clothing. This era has been the most devastating of all in my opinion fundamentally wise. By this time most of the important discoveries were made (within a couple of centuries) & we were all busy enjoying the fruits of these inventions.

Every action has a resultant reaction & this one has huge complications.The last 70 years have been a time of unknowingly saturating & abusing most of the resources we had so dotingly built & prided ourselves over. The ozone layer stands damaged in varying degrees in different parts of the stratosphere with the maximum damage reported above the Antarctica. This would mean a direct assault from the sun’s ultraviolet rays that would be much harsher & therefore bring about uncanny natural calamities with it. It’s like a time bomb ticking away!

The Arctic ice thickness has decreased 40 percent since the 1960s increasing at a deathly speed every year. The average polar ices are melting at 9% a year. The current pace of sea-level rise is three times the historical rate and appears to be accelerating. This is unleashing unwarranted fury in places that never saw such calamitous situations ever before. The number of Category 4 and 5 hurricanes has almost doubled in the last 30 years.

The changing weather is in turn having an adverse effect in the whole biota of the place that is not used to such extreme exposures which is leading to extinction of quite a few species of plant & animals. Some of which we are aware of & are making conscious efforts to preserve. Entire populations of fish are at a risk of getting extinct due to the rise in water temperatures which affects their procreation cycle.

There are other species yet to be discovered in the remotest of caves & tropical forests that might be fast disappearing without our knowledge. In terms of health, vector-borne diseases such as tick-borne encephalitis and dengue fever are expected to increase as insects mutate & expand their range.

Carbon dioxide levels today are nearly 30 percent higher than they were prior to the start of the Industrial Revolution. The global carbon assessments have suggested that the mid-latitude forests are the primary places where carbon sequestration has been enhanced because of increasing anthropogenic Nitrogen deposition. Aerosols in the atmosphere from natural sources like volcanoes, natural fires & dust storms is contributing to pollution making the air murkier.

The change in use of land is the dominant component of global change in terms of its impact on the terrestrial ecosystem. The conversion of native land (forested) to agriculture profoundly alters land cover biota & biogeochemical cycles. Plant production & microbial activity at high altitudes that enjoy low temperatures are getting affected the most due to the rise in temperature.

Human activity increases the greenhouse effect primarily through release of carbon dioxide, but human influences on other greenhouse gases can also be important. Some of the main sources of greenhouse gases due to human activity include burning of fossil fuels like coal & petroleum and deforestation leading to higher carbon dioxide concentrations. Livestock and agricultural activities, including the use of fertilizers also lead to higher nitrous oxide concentrations. Wetland changes, pipeline losses, and covered vented landfill emissions leading to higher methane atmospheric concentrations.

Many of the newer style fully vented septic systems that enhance and target the fermentation process also are major sources of atmospheric methane. Use of chlorofluorocarbons (CFCs) in refrigeration systems, and use of CFCs and halons in the fire suppression systems and manufacturing processes are contributing factors. Greenhouse gas emissions from industry, transportation and agriculture are very likely the main cause of recently observed global warming.

Until now we have been talking about unknowingly assisting abuse of nature. Adaptation is the key to the next few decades. Even if no more carbon is put into the atmosphere, average warming of 0.6 °C can still be expected over the rest of the century. However, as we extend to the longer term — the next ten or fifteen decades — the only solution for that is to do mitigation now. If we fail to adhere we will suffer. We need to cut fossil fuel use in the developed world by 90% to stop dangerous climate change.

I wind shop leaving the big question of what is our contribution to setting the record straight. Knowingly or unknowingly the damage has been done which needs to be rectified by willingness to change our lifestyles.

* Lingam – The lingam is the most prevalent icon of lord Shiva that the Hindu’s worship.

A few points in this article has been subscribed from http://www.nature.com/

GreenPeace India

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

Ego of the heart!

2007-06-27T20:04:00.000-07:00

Love seems to be a lonely word
In this densely populated place,
Love seems like a dried-up riverbed
That’s seen better seasons,
Love seems to be an over rated word
Is what wisdom pontificates?
Coz Love seems to have been taken over by the ego of the heart!

I have been wronged, ignored & left behind
Is the mantra that we chant,
So used to complaining & releasing pent-up hurt,
But have we ever stopped & wondered…. why me all alone?
Coz Love seems to have been taken over by the ego of the heart!

The teasing & relenting
The hunger to give more
The thought of living for the beloved
Just isn’t anymore.
I gather all the riches & goodness from far & wide,
I think I’m the epitome of love personified,
But when the time to deliver comes knocking at my door,
I feel vulnerable & scared of what’s in store,
I just can’t do this…I have a reputation to defend
Coz Love seems to have been taken over by the ego of the heart!

What use is this ego…that can’t bring me joy
of owning & belonging.
What use is this ego that’s killed the chances
of any affectionate germination?
I rather do away with thy and come off clean
In order to spring new leaves of predilection
I shall have to shed your company.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

Pass me the beedi!

2007-06-03T12:17:00.000-07:00

Nani ma was this sweet 4 feet10 inches lady with a religious bent of mind. Though she died a suhagan* she preferred to always be in a crisp white cotton saree with a thin colourful border. A feisty lady at the helm of the family affairs, she was my savior & my guide.

Now what did an old lady & an 8 year old have in common, you might ask. Loads! We seemed to be a part of the same cell n therefore connected at every level. Be it savoring chai* at a drop of a hat, chanting mantras*, picking flowers for the daily puja* or plain having a smoke.

When Nani had been in her prime…she suffered from gastric inconveniences. Someone suggested the hukka!* So hukka it was!

Every morning’s conversation thus started with the same note to her man servant Baiju.

Baijua….where the hell is my hukka?
Baiju : Maiji*…coming in a jiffy. The damn coals are wet from last night & just not ready for combustion.
Haven’t I told you so many times to keep the coal in the store room?
Baiju : The store rooms so far away on the other side of the earth Maiji. There’s so much to do in the mornings.
You good for nothing! Stop arguing & get the work done for once!

Nani’s world orbited round the hukka. Her moods were inversely proportionate to the glowing charcoal that sizzled as she puffed mouthfuls of tobacco that passed thru a compartment filled with water making gurgling noises before reaching the puffer.

She carried on like this for a couple of years & as the Baijus & Parmesars left for greener pastures she was sometimes left to fend for her hukka all by herself. Then in one of those rare enlightening fits, Nani decided that she had enough of the hukka. She needed to trash it & take up the beedi!*

Thus started a romance with the beedi that lasted for the next 3 decades. Others came n went but Nani & her beedi stuck a long standing partnership till the very end of her mortal existence.

My earliest recollection of Nani is when I was crying for something & she said if I stopped crying…she would let me have a puff. Now that must have been a real incentive coz I did stop crying & she did pass me the beedi.

It was our own lil secret & became her impugned weapon to charm me out of straining my vocal cords. Everyone would applaud her on her baby sitting skills as we would indulgently exchange knowing looks.

It was in the summer of 1977 that I stumbled upon a secret of immense betrayal. Nani had been sharing the reverent beedi not only with me but Bhaiya* & my younger cousin as well. I was shattered by the knowledge that I was not the chosen one.

I sulked on this for days. But because I had a compromising bent of mind, I dissuaded myself to understand the pressure of responsibility on Nani to keep all her grand twits in good humour.

Deep within me knew who the favorite actually was. After all, she did allow me to touch her puja utensils & shared the morning chai with me. It was another story altogether that the two dimwits (Bahia n the younger clown) were fast asleep when the chai was served.

The numbskulls aka boys would get up around the time our shadows were the shortest n the birds were roosting sleepily on the kadam* branches overcome by the external energy that made the temperature rise.

Most of the days, Nani’s match stick reserves would deplete & she would invariably ask one of us to run n light the beedi from the burning fire in the bhansaghar*. And then the jostling to be the chosen one to light the beedi would start. Might is right would take over & many a fight unto death would erupt only to end in a simmering time-please for our dear Nani’s sake!

The duds were physically strong but that’s where it ended. The art of inhaling smoke from the mouth & exhaling it through the nostrils was patented by yours truly. This won me the respect that I legitimately deserved.

I held seminars clubbed with live demo’s to pass on the wisdom that I had so naturally acquired. But the chaps had to live up to their names…NUMB SKULLS!!!

The summer ended & so did our vacation. Back to the grind…school…manners….discipline…yada yada round the clock!

As we grew up….the natural instincts to embrace the beedi got superseded with righteousness. Our parents were responsible for muddling up our brains with all things nice.

As for Nani ma….she remained the smoking Joe right till her demise in the year 1986. I remember her funeral rites. The Hindu’s offer the stuff that is dear to the departed soul to the Brahmin who’s presiding over the rituals. The beedi was right on top of that list.

*Beedi – tobacco wrapped in leaf from the kendu plant. It’s the indian version of a
cigarette & habituated by the rural folks.

*Nani Ma – maternal grand mother

*Saree - a nine yard long cloth that is wrapped around the body in different styles depending on the region one belongs to.

*Suhagan - A married women. The married ladies always wore colorful clothes leaving the whites to be donned by the widows.

*Chai – Tea

*Mantras – Hindu prayers generally in Sanskrit

*Hukka - a water pipe widely used decades ago by the upper class. The tobacco is
burnt by charcoal. The produced smoke passes through water at the base of the
hukka and a long tube before it is inhaled.

* Maiji – A respectful term to address the lady head of the family.

*Bhaiya – elder brother

*Puja – Religious rituals by the Hindu’s

*Kadam – a type of tall thick foliaged tree bearing sweet n sour kadam fruits that have
a tender prickly skin & turns orange when ripe.

*Bhansaghar – kitchen

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

Murphy’s Law!

2007-06-02T06:35:00.000-07:00

It seems like this most of the times in life. We aspire for cake but get served salad. If the need of the hour is salad be sure you’re getting pizza. The mumbo jumbo of our respective karmas* is quite baffling.
Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007
They say…what you are & get is a combination of your past life’s karmas, your present life’s karmas & the direction that you further choose as the course of your actions. Now this in my opinion is pure unfair. E.g. If there has been a past bad karma, it shall finally catch up with you in this life & would pull you away from performing some good karmas in the present coz the past life actions were negative in nature.
Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007
And if you’re still able to fight all that negative energy n strive to be a better person…the chances of being rewarded in this life looks slim coz a part of the good deed you do shall get transferred into a future account to be rewarded in your next birth. Now I understand from what context the coining of the phrase…karma karo…phul ki chinta chod do* has been derived.
Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007
So what does one do with such a life? Since the heart is pumping n the lungs flexing anyways…why not enjoy the disparage of life? And if one has to enjoy what we call disparage…why not have a little fun on the way?
Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007
Fun for different people is rather spelt differently. There’s appropriate fun, freaky fun, adventurous fun, dangerous fun, conniving fun, healthy fun, stupefaction fun, racy fun and many more that’s escaped the flow of thoughts but shall come rushing back after I have posted this article.
Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007
To give some appropriation to my fun terminologies….let me touch each one of them individually.

Appropriate fun : When one enjoys a certain thing or feeling only the way they are supposed to.

Freaky fun : The fun that cannot be made public to escape a referendum of complete banishment.

Adventurous Fun : When you want to question god’s decision for keeping you live & kicking.

Dangerous fun : When the experimentation with forbidden fruits is uppermost on your mind.

Conniving fun : You gang up with Mr. A to poke fun at Mr. Z coz Mr. Z is cute n popular with everyone right from Mr. B to Mr. Y.

Healthy fun : When you enjoy tomato juice for all its natural inherent properties & go about coercing other people into nursing similar habits.

Stupefaction fun : When you enjoy tomato juice for the added intoxicatingly invigorating properties & go about coercing people to nurse similar habits.

Racy fun : Owning a moped armed with the piquant ambition to beat a Harley.

We have digressed to the yonder here. Lets stir back to the main street of thoughts….Murphy’s Law! Whatever can go wrong will go wrong!

There are times when we want something real bad not becoz we need it but becoz we can’t have it. Such was the case with this acquaintance. He had gotten used to winning hands down & popularly prevailed over the attention he got from the opposite sex. And then he meets this women. She just wouldn’t get impressed! Her bizarre rejection pulled out all the feathers in his cap he had so painstakingly put together over the years.
Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007
I have never been rebuffed….he shared. The ego’s been somersaulting with such speed that the mind is driven. So the favorite victim, rationality is chucked out of the window. In the middle of all this another glitch is this guys supposed to be married. So what’s making him stray this way? Boredom perhaps with the added spice of forbidden fruit tasting best! The wife’s a stunner….but the grass on the other side looks strangely more succulent with a pleasing coloration of tender quality.
Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007
Murphy’s Law is playing havoc here! A seemingly decent marriage is getting compromised with the thought that there can never be a story with “and they lived happily ever after”.
Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007
Now the woman who’s getting chased is a friend. So let’s look at her story. She’s single & smart but a bit impractical who’s still looking for true love. Does she know what that love is? I mean what indeed is true love? It can mean different things for different people. She seems to be a bag of jumbled thoughts but one things clear…she does not believe in stealing love or borrowing it from unsuspecting people.
Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007
So what she gets is not what she wants. And what’s not there is what she strives for looking for this elusive emotional perception at places that are quite out of her reach. Murphy’s Law at play again!
Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007
Speaking of missing the bus reminds me of my own mum. She had a cute son & modest circumstances had brought forth the resolve to not have any more babies. Her friend on the other hand had a rich husband & the couple was looking forward to some lovely additions in their family in the near future.
Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007
As luck would have it, both the ladies felt sick on the same day. Karma I guess! After all they were best friends. The Lord has his ways & they might be quite strange sometimes.
Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007
My mum complained of gas & her friend suspected pregnancy. They visit the doctor & both come out with crestfallen faces. Murphy’s Law was working overtime. Mum was reproved by the doc for not understanding that she was 22 weeks pregnant & her imaginary pregnant friend was let off with some digestive pills. Both got what they had not bargained for.
Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007
And then there was this friend who was in love with the idea of being in love. She choose a good looking love, experienced love & realized later that it was a poseur in its wiliest form. She later got what she didn’t want in the guise of a “oh so average looking goose” who was a mine of gems. Such an epitome of honour, expelling a jewel ever so often that finally molded my friend’s perception of how she loved what she had vehemently not wanted not very long ago.
Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007
Summing up the stray thoughts here…. Murphy’s Law does work! If it does not…it’s probably got overshadowed by a combo of karma’s! There is hope!
Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007
*Karma - the good or bad emanations felt to be generated by someone

* karma karo…phul ki chinta chod do - Do good deeds without worrying about the rewards.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

Ma!

2007-05-12T03:59:00.000-07:00

Dear Ma,

It’s the eve of mother’s day & have sat down to pen my thoughts to you….about you! The very fact that there’s so much to cover overwhelms me. Where do I start?

I am coz you are. It’s not just the biological thread that binds us. It’s your whole persona that intrigues me. Makes me feel proud & other times angry. The sacrifices you made in life. Was it worth it? The compromises you made with all? Was it ever recognized? The strength you exude from within. Does it ever get noticed?

We are a strong & loving family. There is a very strong invisible thread that binds us all. But if one looks closely…you are the fibre that is the very existence of that thread.

Ma…if one has to learn loyalty & acceptance towards family…one doesn’t have to look too far. You are the epitome of all things nice. You are the foundation that built my dad’s life. You are that individual who forgive him in his mid-life crisis. You built a strongly bonded family & gave us kids the values that we so respect.

You patiently sorted our teenage tantrums. If we ever got rebuked…it was behind closed doors. Not a whiff to the other sibling. And your way of demolishing egos... Wow! Your approach is so non-threatening that it makes the aggressor listen.

I marvel at your reactions to serious situations. There is a certain calm that automatically balances the surrounding around you. I remember how I hurt you & Papa by marrying the man of my choice. It probably made you question your role in my upbringing. You forgave & accepted. Things went horribly wrong with my naïve decision…you accepted that as well.

You have been a great Ma in more ways than one. Supportive of all my eccentricities. This morning I think we had a beautiful conversation reminiscing the past.

You were a budding writer. Why did you give it up? You were a trained teacher. What happened to your career? You have a healthy appreciation for literature. Where are the books?

Ma…I wonder sometimes about us as two individual women. You are proud of me you say. You fondly talk about my strengths. You love the way I live my life. So why haven’t you lived it that way? Why haven’t you loved yourself more? Why didn’t you have your own friends?

I’m happy my daughter accepts me this way. Though she sometimes advises me to be more patient like you. A good advise! Must work on it.

Lastly, I’m so proud of you Ma! All our (the family’s) achievements are actually yours. There is not an iota of doubt about that in our minds.

I for one am truly blessed to have you around to keep me grounded. Happy mothers day to both of us! I pray to God to be biased towards you when he is in a blessing spree!

Bunty.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

Childhood journeys – The joy ride

2007-05-09T00:23:00.000-07:00

Summer vacations bring back earthy memories of childhood. The fun n frolic, simple lives that we lead many moons ago. I traverse through the memory lanes & wham! A kaleidoscope of colorful playfulness encompasses my mind. Those were the carefree days of uninhabited innocence!

It was the beginning of yet another beautifully humid summer vacation. A time to chill- out in the horridly intense summer heat. A time to slink away from home in the middle of the sweltering afternoon to feed the resident canine who had just littered, some milk robbed from my mothers kitchen. It was an art in its own right to get back the receded milk level in the vessel by adding generous proportions of the most important natural solvent.

Summer turned us well-mannered kids into sun-tanned tramps. The day was time tabled into slots of considerably significant businesses that needed our undivided attention. We would be up by no later than half past seven in the morning & wolf down whatever was being served. We would then run like crazy to the Kanhaiya lal cycle shop to rent bicycles to ride around. The mind would be busy plotting schemes to be the first to capture the most ostentatious bicycle on display.

I often wondered about Kanhaiya lal. He was an emaciated, tall man probably born in a lungi* & vest sporting the thinnest n longest moustache I had seen in my entire life of eight long years.
Kanhaiya lal was a shrewd cookie. The meanest of them crooks. The arms of his clock definitely had more vigor. Despite all efforts of enjoying the rides on one hand & keeping an eagle eye on the watch, we often than ever reached his shop five minutes late. He would then deviously bully us kids to churn out extra payments & thus sat on a huge pile of black money. He definitely could use the services of a nag devata* to guard his riches!

We argued with him like virtuous zealots. But our circuitous meanderings would fall on deaf ears & wisdom would prevail as the quote “If you wanna live in the water, befriend the crocodile” filtered into our enlightened beings.

Despite all the pent-up resentment that we kids harbored for Kanhaiya lal….there was one thing I would be eternally grateful about. It was one of his rented bicycles that I took my first riding lessons on.

Lets tweak the clock a bit & go back a few weeks. It was the first day of summer vacations. A carefree bird like me had been confined to the books in preparation of the final exams for so long that I had begun to hallucinate about toppling the poor top ranker of the class. The delusions of being the top brass had got me all puffed up & aspire for higher ambitions. The most important one on the horizon was biking.

Now biking was child’s play in my humble opinion & something that I could easily perfect. If Gunna & Omy could do it…so could I.

So I select the bike befitting my size & marvel at its beauty! Boy! This chap was a mini torpedo! Such swanky looks! I just needed to park my rear & enjoy the ride.

So I trudge the bike uphill, sit on it & let go. Weeee! Yoo-hoo….Gunna, look at meeee! I’m going faster than you.

Gunna : Yeah I know. It’s amazing but you need to slow down a bit.

Slow down? Now how does one do that?

Gunna : Use the brakes.

Brakes? What are they?

Gunna : Whaaaat???? You’re not aware of the brakes? You should always know the dynamics of the beauty you are riding! Bah! Gurls!!!! You can never do anything right in life if you don’t know such basics.

Gunnaaaa….where are the damn brakes???? Arvind’s garden wall is rushing towards me.

Gunna : The brakes are present on the…..CRASH!

Gunna : Bunts! You okie? *Eyes wide with concern*

You moron….fish me out of this thorny bush will ya. Ouch! This hurts! OMG…what will Kanhaiya lal say when he sees his pricey bike in scratches. *More tears*
I must have been the luckiest kid in the whole wide world that day coz Kanhaiya Lal was having his breakfast in his shanty & therefore not around. His helper Ramu, a worthless lout in making was my triumph card. He didn’t notice anything amiss as I quietly parked the cycle in their shop & skulked away from the scene as quickly as my hurting feet could take me.

*Lungi - A colourful cotton cloth worn by men, tied at the waist.
*nag devata - snake god from the hindu mythology that guards treasures.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

Guruvayur - The most revered temple of Kerala!

2007-05-06T10:53:00.000-07:00

The temple of Guruvayur is the most profoundly venerated shrine in the state of Kerala. Legend says that the idol worshipped here is more than 5000 years old. The idol of the Guruvayur temple is unique as it is carved out of Pathalanjana Sila,* and is considered extremely sacred.

Legend says that this idol was worshiped by Lord Vishnu, Brahma (who handed it over to King Suthapas & his wife, Prsni), Kasyapa, Vasudeva, Sree Krishna and finally at the time of Krishna's ascension to Vaikunta,* he instructed Udhava to entrust Brahaspathi (the Guru of Devas*). A deluge had closed in on Dwaraka*, but Guru salvaged the idol with the help of his prime disciple, Vayu. Guru and Vayu went around the world in search of an ideal place. They met Parasurama who lead them to a lush green spot with a beautiful lotus tank.

Vishwakarma, the divine architect was requested to build the temple, which he designed in such a way that on the day of Vishu (Summer equinox…its on 15th april), the sun’s first rays shall fall straight on the Lord's feet.

The rituals & practices followed in this holy temple is based on Sree Adi Sankaracharya’s instance. The Chennas Namboodiris are the hereditary Tantri* of Guruvayur temple.

For the believer, the ten day Utsavam* that generally is celebrated between February – March every year is something to look forward to. All ten days, the place wears a festive look, streets dressed up with arches & festoons. Every house is freshly thatched and painted. The shrines are tastefully decorated with lights, plantain trunks, bunches of coconut and arecanut trees. The lamps & deepasthambams* are all lightened at this time of the year.

So here I was dressed in an Indian garb to visit the famous temple that was disposed to preserve the existing norms eyeing any change with prudish constraints. The hindu male devotee has to wear a dhoti* with the upper body being bare & the women should be in either a saree or the dhavani / pawadai*

Now this women was wearing a chudidar kurta* & therefore she needed to go rent the necessary clothes. Discomfited about rental clothes & yet determined to have the Lords darshan,* I rent a long flowing silken dhawani that I tie round my waist (on top of the original clothes) & the dupatta* doubles up to make a not so perfect half-saree.

I leave the mobile & camera behind since these are strictly not allowed inside the temple. Looking n feeling quite ridiculous, I enter the temple from a side entrance specifically for the ladies. I queue up in the ladies line & wait for my chance to enter the sacred temple along with many other ardent devotees.

The place is thick with devotee’s everywhere & in all the chaos, people suddenly start giving way to something at ground level. There is this young man who’s rolling on the ground doing a pradakshina* to realize his pledge to Sree Krishna. There are many who keep such pledges to appease the reverent deity.

The dhoopam’s * smoke emanating from the various temple exhausts blows right over our heads & a toddler who’s brought by his family to receive the blessing from the lord himself starts bawling so hard that I can see invisible vocal cords hanging precariously from both his ears. An unknown women offers a soothing drink that the child obligingly gulps only to start a fresh round of ragas, hard rock style.

Everyone’s chanting Hare Rama…Hare Krishna… Krishna Krishna…Hare Hare! We move ahead nudging & pushing one another with the inertia from behind that’s propelling us forward towards the good Lord! One moment I’m in front of god’s idol & as I try mentally talking to him, am shoved aside to allow the next devotee to take the darshan.

It’s unfair but then there are so many awaiting in the serpentine lines that move rather sluggishly coz everyone wants to have a personal tête-à-tête with their bhagwan*. After taking the darshan of the other gods (Ganesh, Vishnu & Lakshmi, Sree Krishna, Anjanai swami aka Hanuman) outside the main temple, I sit down to mentally say a prayer in peace.

The main temple looks rather plain with its outer walls a pale yellow with small delicate hand paintings depicting bal gopal’s* childhood days & his various leela’s*. Other tales of bhakt* Prahlad & Lord Naramsimha, a few stories from the Ramanayana & Mahabharata* are also represented on the temple walls. Fierce looking yakshasis* support the temple roof.

The temples outer courtyard has great characters from the ancient hindu mythology as well as a few saints. Few of the ones standing attendance are Subramanian, Kurooramma, Vyas, Narada (first idol I have seen sporting a moustache. Narada is always depicted in most tales clean shaven), Poonthanam, Vilwamangalam, Balaram, Shiva, Vishnu & Sree Krishna (in kathakali* clothes).

After purchasing some prasad* from the temple counter’s (got completely lost there coz all directions are in Malayalam*), I headed to drive down to visit the temple’s elephants. The camp is situated about 3 kms away from the main temple. This camp-site houses sixty-three elephants (current count) who are used during the temple festivals n processions.

The pachyderms looked healthy n well tended & for the first time I also saw some healthy looking mahouts* with rounded paunches protruding over their dhotis. Until now, the mahouts I had encountered were all emaciated little chaps. So by the looks of things, the Guruvayur devasthanam does take good care of its wards.

All in all…it was a wonderful darshan & experience with Lord Krishna on his home turf.

* Pathalanjana Sila – sacred stone
* Vaikunta - heavenly abode
* Devas – Heavenly gods
* Dwarka – Krishna’s kingdom
* Tantri - priests
* Utsavam - festival
* deepasthambams – a tall multi-storeyed lamp
* Dhoti – Ankle length cloth wrapped around the waist & is generally white or a light shade of yellow.
* pradakshina - circling the holy temple
* dhoopam – incense
* dhavani / pawadai - half saree
* Chudidar Kurta – Indian outfit
* Dupatta – an almost 2 mt long cloth used to compliment the chudidar kurta
* Darshan – look reverentially
* bhagwan - god
* Bal Gopal – sree Krishna as a child
* leela – extraordinary powers
*Bhakt - devotee
* Ramanayana & Mahabharata – great epics of the hindus
* Yakshasis – female devils
* kathakali – dance form belonging to Kerala
* Prasad – a blessed eatable in the form of bananas, payasam (sweet concoction made of wheat n milk), curd-rice etc depending on the time of the day
* Malayalam - the local language of the state

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

Tia's dream's (micro fiction - 100 words story)

2007-05-06T10:52:00.000-07:00

Tia was shaking in her new shoes. There were so many battles to win. Her parents had been protective….but a young lady has got to pave her own path. The nerves kept her busy without realizing that she had arrived at her destination.
As she peeked at the huge ornate building, she wondered what future had in store for her. Ms Lily greeted her warmly & assured her that she indeed was a bright individual & would go places.
There were some other interesting faces too…but that’s later. We all started the day singing Ba ba black sheep…have you any wooool?

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

Badhai ho badhai….

2007-04-07T10:03:00.000-07:00

Ever since last October, I noticed a pair of black kites hovering around our building, scrutinizing the palm trees that are their favorite haunts in the place I live. Then one November morning was pleasantly surprised to see one right outside my window at close quarters. She was checking out each branch ever so delicately as if every little leaf mattered in her decision to build that haven where she would mate, conceive, lay & propagate.

Just like one has those initial hiccups before tying the knot….so did she perhaps! Coz in between building the nest midway, she was gone! Despite the regular vigil…couldn’t place her from Adam. I worried if the close proximity of our building to the tree had frightened her away. Or had she given up on the idea to sit whole days for months incubating her egg shelving the enriching experience that she so enjoyed soaring the heights.

Return she did in a couple of days. Back to collecting twigs, bits of paper, plastic et all that the big bad polluted city had to offer from its labyrinth. Both the partners went about industriously fetching & building bit by bit their love nest.
It was a welcome change indeed to see the lady who once sang “ Main albeli, ghoomoon akeli…koi paheli hoon main” singing a different tune as in “dil main tumhe bitha ke…main band kar loon ankhen…puja karongi teri…hoke rahongi teri”

The building of nest itself was a huge project. It took them almost 2 months to build their secure refuge. And then came the pregnancy that probably spilled the hormones as usual all around the palm tree.

Suddenly this very regal seldom-reacting bird became nasty n petty & could not tolerate anyone at our window. Fortunately for us…there are many more windows in other directions of the apartment that saved us from fatal suffocation.

No one was spared. The resident crows that were the original tenants scampered hurriedly as she protested noisily signaling a befitting warning that came dripping with dangerous overtones. Talking about warnings n signals, I wonder why people call a nitwit “pigeon brains”! These fellows are ingeniously foresighted & kept a safe distance that allowed cushion time to vamoose lest our future mommy got a little too pugnacious.

There was one particular common crow though, that I recollect had suicidal tendencies. He would hide n perch right below the expecting mother. If that was his idea of adventurous roosting…it was one swell way to become a pearly gate entrant in haste!

After much ado about every damn thing, our fertile bird in question finally lays her egg. Yup….she’s a bird of modern times n she does not believe in tribes.*

The egg turned out to be her most precious possession that she fiercely guarded & the only living thing that she allowed close to her was Mr. Black Kite himself. The fine gentleman that he was, he patiently helped out in sharing the parental duties.

So after many noisy cacophonic fortnights, I noticed one morning that her behaviour from being ill tempered had escalated to our very own Durga devi!

This needs some serious investigation dear Watson (I ponder in careful consideration). So one carefully peeps through a curtain camouflaging any existence of life in this side of the drapes. Mrs. Kite has this 6th sense that makes her look directly at the curtain despite me behaving like a log of wood.

And behold! There was this son-of-a- gun cutie peeping from under his mommy’s belly! He would try getting curious about his bearings to only be smothered by protective maternity. Poor guy! I hope he doesn’t end up being a bourn vita drinking, thumb sucking….mamma’s boy!

* The black kite generally lays 2 or 4 eggs.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

The humane touch!

2007-03-30T20:58:00.000-07:00

The humane & human touch! Have often wondered about this aspect applying to different situations. Both are such important components to make or break relationships. Be it parent /child, siblings, friends or lovers. Every one needs a generous dose of this magic potion to keep them going!

So when one comes across a few little souls that have been born n abandoned, trapped in obscurity awaiting deliverance, one struggles with such disparities. Why is God partial to a few n less to others?

The ground floor of the nursery of St Teresa Orphanage houses infants. Adorable babies who smile in their sleep as if in conversation with God. Move their mouths in sleep searching for an invisible breast to cling on to. Squirm in their cribs in search of a particular soft warm snuggle….tiny feet lifted up pressing against their little stomachs looking lost without their mommies.

As a baby cries…one wants to comfort it by holding it close to the heart. But the sister-in-charge says “don’t lift the babies please”! A human touch is very infectious. Even an infant learns to demand it & we are heavily short staffed. You shall go back after spending some time here. Do we have that many hands to lift each baby & cuddle it when it cries for attention? Pl maam…I request you to just rock her crib. She’s used to this & shall slowly stop crying & lull back to sleep.

As the kids find their feet & start standing in their cribs, they are transported to the first floor nursery that has steep steps. The kids who can walk are allowed to descend on their own every day around 3.30pm to play in the little garden below.

Looking at the kids descend in unsteady steps precariously getting down the stairs immediately brings out the maternal instinct as your heart is in your mouth. What if one kid topples…there will be a heap of them badly injured. But the nanny restrains…says they learn to be independent this way. Don’t pamper….they have to find their own footing. It feels harsh! Reality is thus!

It’s around 3.45pm. I’m helping a nun who doubles up as a nurse to sick kids. There’s this baby born with no opening at the lower end of the alimentary canal. She has to undergo a few operations for the doctor to design an anus to allow normal evacuation. But for now, she has this opening in the side of her abdomen through which a pipe sticks out. This aperture needs to be cleaned at regular intervals to keep it infection free.

Suddenly there is terrified screaming in the garden outside. A few kids running amuck screaming, displaying extreme anxiety. One little boy is screaming the loudest. There is this huge Doberman (belongs to the orphanage & probably let lose at that hour by mistake) that’s bounding playfully behind the kids who run helter-skelter petrified of the dog.

As I run out to shoo the dog away from the kids, the marathon screamer runs across the courtyard & desperately hugs me shrieking to be lifted. All words of solace fails him as he sobs uncontrollably into my bosom. The dormitory nun comes out by now & chides the kids for making a racket out of nothing. As the kids surround her like lost puppies…she’s overwhelmed for a moment. Says something kind & then back to barking orders to maintain decorum.
The freaky shrieky kid has adopted me by now & follows me around as if he’s found his mama. A feeling of guilt overwhelms as I leave for home with him staring fixatedly with a stoic expression. He looks confused! Why is he being left behind when a while ago he was hugged so warmly? His tiny mind doesn’t understand why the humane touch is hurriedly closing the doors of the orphanage behind her.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

Thou shall not deliver!

2007-03-10T09:14:00.000-08:00

The delivery date had shot past by 10 days & the body showed no signs of evacuating the baby. The uterus is tightly clamped…said the gynecologist & she was worried!

Since I had been unsuccessful in putting on significant amount of fat packs at prominent junctures of the body, she said “Bunts…the baby shall be severely under-weight”

So there I was….gobbling every bit of protein that the stomach grudgingly allowed from the list provided by the clinic to have a healthy baby. Result? The weighing scale tipped a wee bit after downing a few kilo’s of sprouts as advised. Now she was worried some more! Said the baby would be weak during birth.

The baby actually was HUGE & listening in annoyance from its pouch. It sure was pissed at being under-rated this way. And now this new dramatic turn of events! It just was too annoying for the baby with all this hulla bulla* & it decided to take the situation’s reigns into its hands.

Thou shall not get delivered! Thou shall sleep some more inside this warm cosy pocket & let them know who the boss actually is.

The gynecologist had different plans. She said we couldn’t waste time with the amniotic fluid drying up due to the baby’s size & full term. She worried about the baby’s bowels doing an unwanted expulsion in the uterus. Something like…jis thali main khate hain…ushi thali main ched karna!*

So it was decided to administer drugs to start the contractions. The gynecologist & the baby had started on a wrong footing right from day one. Whatever she said…the baby did otherwise. So here was this jail-bird* that didn’t want to come out & the thanedar* that wanted to release it. A difference of opinion! The sufferer? The host-body* that mutely endures both.

It had been twelve hours & four bottles of fluid. The bladder was bursting at the seams but the urethra was in full control. The nurse advises to use a bed-pan to avoid unhooking the fluid bottle. Ok says the host-body. So the bed-pan is strategically placed. Tick…tick…tick…wait…wait some more…command the urethra to open up. Cajole the urethra to open up. Request the urethra to open up. Plead the urethra to open up.

The nurse suggests squatting over it on the bed. Ok says the host-body once again. Tick…tick…tick…wait…wait some more…command the urethra to open up. Cajole the urethra to open up. Request the urethra to open up. Plead the urethra to open up.

The bed-pan is deriding the host-body by now. It’s scornful mirth is beginning to psychologically affect the host-body’s confidence. Some more pressure is exerted. Nay says the duct! The passage is on strike!

After every position & angle is deluded from the anals of medical succor…its truce time! A joint resolution of disconnecting the fluid pipes is taken. The host-body is paraded to the rest room where she rests & rests & rests!

After a million seconds…its back to enjoying the torturous moments of excruciating motherhood!

*hulla bulla – much ado
*jis thali main khate hain…ushi main ched karna! – to be disloyal to the one that helps.
* thanedar – law enforcer
* jail-bird – baby in the womb
* host-body – mother (in this case…me…moi…ma-self)

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

Love notes from my nymphet doodle!

2007-03-09T10:07:00.000-08:00

As I stretched n huffed n puffed…could hear a slight rustling sound from the other side of the door. No matter how hard I concentrated, the murmurous brook outside my bedroom kept disquieting my power-packed workout.

It’s tough to be a mum sometimes! Oh yeah…have heard this like a billion times! And my nymphet was a pro in grabbing all the attention when I wanted least company. There is an unwritten rule or something about this whole equation between kids n their mommies.

The moment you sit to calm down a ravenous hunger pang, even if you kid was asleep, the unknown iniquitous powers would connive & nudge her awake to cry her loudest cry to be lifted.

You have bathed & are purity personified on your way to say a quick prayer & stop! Your kid needs its mum right then! She’s soiled her nappy & needs a change….read my lips…IMMEDIATELY! No if’s…no but’s…you sure drive me nuts!

And then slowly your social circle starts dwindling. The friend calls & as you exchange pleasantries…your kids broken the necklace & stuck the bead up her nose all in 3 seconds flat! What a genius! She sure shall beat them meerkats in her endevour to discover life’s greatness.

The friend in the meantime is all apologetic & holds herself responsible for being accountable for my child’s actions. The counter reaction? The only tiny ray of a friend I had disappears behind a haze of forgotten friendships.

So this mornings prevarications getting me this close to losing it. In a swift motion a little folded page is thrust from below the door accompanied by much giggling. Hmmm…now I’m curious. What could that little imp be up to this time?

Reading the most lovely n innocent note from my 7-year ole leaves me soaking in love. The exasperation of motherhood is replaced by this need to give her the tightest hug!

Row Row Row your boat,
Gently down the street,
Merrily…merrily…merrily…merrily…
Life is but a dream!

She says....Dont ever die mommy & if you have to....please go only when I have my own babies & I'm too busy to cry!

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

Meri Mehbooba!

2007-03-09T10:02:00.000-08:00

The valley reverberated with sporadic grenade explosions sending black morbid fumes up in the clear air. Fear written-writ on everyone’s face the anxiety of losing a loved one made the women huddle together comforting one another in the confines of their homes.

Kashmir…once a supernal place & engraved in gold in the history of the Mugal raj* by the famous Mugal Emperor Jahangir who said…

gar firdaus bar ru-e-zameeN ast
hamiasto, hamiasto, hamiast

If there is heaven on earth,
It’s here! it’s here! it’s here alone!

Shafiq was quite a sought after tourist guide. After all he was the only one who knew a little english & could thus take the gore nawabs* around who descended on Srinagar to catch the pristine beauty of the mountainous terrain & the valley beyond.

Off late, the jihadis had started propagating about Azad Kashmir. The need for a separate state. A state that would thrive under Islam disjoining itself from the kashmiri pundits* that were equally a part of the state & its culture. There was confusion in every mussalman’s* mind as they listened to the haughty speeches that spread its tentacles around gullible listeners.

Sunaina was Shafiq’s neighbour. An orphan who lived with her aunt, Mehrunisa, two boats away from Shafiq’s shikara*. Ever since kids…they had been inseparable. Shafiq had been the protective friend who shielded her in the street fights with other kids when there game would turn sour. Shafiq was that omnipresent shoulder that she leaned on whenever distressed. Her pillar of strength! Her confidence!

The terrorist’s kidnapping of the three foreigners who were in Shafiq’s group left all numb with fear. As news spread, Sunaina felt faint with anxiety. She rushed to the nearby dargah* to appease her saint to blanket Shafiq from any misfortune.

The group had been heading towards Pehelgaon when the terrorists had struck from the near-by forest. Everyone was taken hostage. Shafiq was the only one spared since he was fittest & the best bet to trek down to Srinagar with the terrorist’s message for the Indian Government.

When the situation had been grave, the only thought that crossed Shafiq’s mind was Sunaina. As he trekked back to Srinagar, he pondered about this sudden longing to see her as soon as possible. What was this feeling? Crap! How could he feel like a softie? But the truth was that he felt all those emotions that he looked down upon in the much-in-love couples who enjoyed the shikara rides in the Dal lake every evening.

Sunaina was going crazy with trepidation about the worst & the moment she saw him standing at the door-way, gasping to catch his breath from all the running he had done….she ran into his arms weeping in relief. They held on to each other for a long time & finally Shafiq asked Sunaina why she was crying. She asked him the same question which made him turn a beetroot red with embarrassment. He had never felt this weak all his life. His mehbooba* had made a poet out of him. He could now understand the nuances of poetry that he had sniggered upon in the past.

Mehrunisa bi was startled seeing the lovebirds snuggling & clearing her throat to announce her presence said….its time to bid you farewell bete jaan*. We shall have the nikah* this coming jumma* & until then your future shauhar* has to keep to his side of the shikara.

*raj – reign
*gore nawabs – white gentlemen
* pundits – hindu brahmins
*mussalman – muslim
*Shikara – house-boat
*dargah – tomb of a muslim saint where worshippers pledge devotion in kind or prayers if their supplication is heard by the holy saint.
*mehbooba – female lover
* bete jaan – loving daughter
*nikah – muslim wedding ceremony
*jumma – Friday
*Shauhar - husband

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

I wonder sometimes! (poem)

2007-03-09T09:59:00.000-08:00

I wonder sometimes about things as I thought they were…were they?
I wonder sometimes about that look of warmth,
The tear that wrenched its way down your sapience face…were they?
The things we shared of hurt n joy,
The remorse of broken relationships & their aftermath,
The divinity & pains of parenthood,
Was it for real or just pantomimes of what I wanted to see?

I wonder sometimes about the past,
Some of which were good, some bad & few others…weird!
A potpourri of jumbled thoughts,
A rigmarole of lost souls.

Life goes on no matter what,
No one stops …no matter what,
The relative worth of someone who cared
Is lost in the resounding insinuations.

We scream for deliverance,
Fight for perseverance,
But when felicity stares at us,
We question it’s integrity.

As wisdom catches up & innocence lost,
There’s so much we have learnt…but at what cost?
A simple smile is met by mistrust,
A benevolent gesture is thought to be lust,
How do I get those simple feelings back?
Life is but in the fast lane,
What a shame…what a shame!

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

The monster that killed humanity!

2007-03-09T09:54:00.000-08:00

The frenzied crowd poured into the main street from the different by-lanes with blood curdling slogans of Jai Maharastra! Har Har Mahadev! The residents of Charkop colony were dumb stuck, caught unawares by the onslaught of such hostile behaviour. No one could fathom this ugly turn of events.

Shazia stayed with her husband, Avinash on the fourth floor of Hidayat Manzil. They had eloped & got married much against their parent’s will since they belonged to different religions. It had been a tumultuous year with trying to humour sorrowful parents, struggling to survive without any support from either of their families. A few close friends had helped them solemnize the nuptials but other than that, both had precious little as support.

It was the month after Ramadan when Shazia missed her periods. A visit to the gynaecologist a couple of weeks later confirmed the good news. Even the dysphoric parents came around on hearing of the pregnancy & made efforts to patch things up between them.

It was 6th of Jan, 1993. Being jumma most of the muslims had congregated to offer prayers at their respective mosques. Trouble had been brewing for sometime since the Babri Masjid demolition & sporadic incidents of rioting had been reported. But Mumbai was known for its religious harmony & tolerance in such matters.

The parishad had been plotting this for a while now after the retaliation they had received in various parts of the country by the enraged lot. Systematic attacks in all areas where the minorities lived had been planned with deft expertise by the saffron clad. The message this time would be loud n clear.

Rishi the 5 year ole bundle of mischief ran to Shazia aunty’s house the moment he opened his eyes each morning. This was like any other mornings for Rishi & as Shazia aunty prepared tea to soak the musk in for him to eat, he peeped from the parapet of the small balcony in glee. It was time for some festival again he thought.

A bewildered Shazia looked out as well & hearing the blood curdling death calls quickly closed the balcony door trembling in fear. She felt a dull pain in the pit of her stomach at the fear of being alone at home. The apprehension of Avinash’s well-being gnawed at her with each war cry!

It all happened so fast it took everyone living in Hidayat Manzil by surprise. A crowd of 30 odd rioters barged into the building breaking doors claiming lives with demonic frenzy thwarting all attempts of escape.

Shazia’s door collapsed with the efficacy of brute force. She hid Rishi under a pile of clothes in the far corner of the room. As the men raged in, she cried in desperation to spare her and her unborn child but her pitiful wailings drowned in the barbarian cries of the cruelly rapacious lot. The hands thirstily approached her from all around ripping, tugging, pining her down.
Her cries for mercy was answered with savage cruelty as they ravaged her one by one. Each thrust of human insult made her cry out loud for her ammi jaan. That was enough for the blood thirsty gang to inflict more violence.

Rishi trembled like a frightened leaf below the heap of clothes. He couldn’t bare to see his beloved aunty being tortured by strangers. He saw them carving her flesh with their knives & by the time they left her for dead, he had lost his voice in a state of shock. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t call out to his aunty to ascertain if she was still alive.

Shazia was in a delirious state slipping in & out of consciousness. Her insides hurt beyond comprehension. The vagina that had gasped with pleasure at the touch of a loved one was wailing, trying to comprise its fault. The heartbeat of the unborn that had started to beat relentlessly had been abridged abruptly.

Hearing her moan in pain made Rishi bolt in search of his family to bring help. No one was around as he looked desperately for his family. As he looked for his mother, he came across Raju dada his nineteen yr ole cousin brother who had hid in the loft. Sensing urgency in Rishi’s frantic gestures he followed him & was shocked to see a bloodied Shazia lying naked with her left breast cut open.

Wrapping Shazia in a bed sheet, Raju lifted the shallowly breathing Shazia & broke into a trot jumping stairs to reach medical help as soon as possible. The rioters were everywhere on the streets. He would not be able to pass through the milling crowd that had lost all sense of modesty.

It was then that Rishi did something that pronounced loss of innocence in this crazy genocide dance. He ran up to a corpse that had a shawl with the hindu god names wrapped around its neck. He unwound the shawl & ran to Raju wrapping the same around his thin body. Raju n Rishi plodded through the thick stupor of insanity in an attempt to reach the ESIC hospital that was close by.

In the meantime, Avinash had been in a daze. The diamond-polishing workshop where he worked as a supervisor was in a Muslim dominated area. Everywhere he looked, he could see smoke snaking its way towards the morbid sky, flames licking away at every possible flammable unit in the gully. Men shouting Allah-O-Akbar & other jihadi war calls, that combusted the atmosphere to nervous proportions.

The workshop owners’ wife, Imrana hid Avinash in their quarters & asked him to emerge only at sun down. When Avinash finally came out of his concealment he stealthily headed straight towards his home fearing the worst. On seeing his building blackened with smoke n flames, he rushed to the near by hospitals looking for his beloved Shazia. He searched in the casualty wards of the three hospitals near by. Not finding his wife, crestfallen he started looking for her in the mortuaries. And then he met Ravi who related the horrific incident of the day & guided him to a limp Shazia fighting for life between precious gasps of erratic breath. Avinash wept like a child looking at his beautiful wife tattered & torn, struggling for survival.

Ravi & Rishi went looking for Rishi’s mother Arti. His father had died just last year succumbing to alcoholism. Arti made ends meet by working as a nanny to a rich mans twins. The growing mob violence had made her nervous about the two boys at home & she had set out for home despite the ensuing violence.

Being a widow, she dressed in light coloured sarees, her forehead devoid of the conventional bindi, that every married hindu women adorned. As she picked her way hiding in the by lanes between buildings, she was cornered by a group who erroneously classified her as a muslim, bathed her with gasoline & burnt her alive a few meters away from her building. As Rishi stood dumb stuck a neighbour pacified the boys. He was struggling to grasp the unfortunate happenings & its consequences.

Tired & hungry, he yearned the warmth of his mothers lap where he snuggled every night his ear close to her bosom. The rhythmic beat of her heart lulled little Rishi to sleep every night. But this night was different. His mother’s charred body lay in the middle of the corridor of their building awaiting daybreak to be sent to dust.

The Army was brought in after two days of intensive rioting & strewn decomposed bodies picked up from the surrounding areas of Charkop. Arti’s body was also claimed by the jawans to be included in the mass funeral organized in the near by cremation grounds.

Ravi n Rishi like directionless waifs walked around till they reached the ESIC hospital. Shazia aunty was there…one last hope! Rishi ran through the chaotic passage way dodging injured victims lying on the floors of the grimy hospital. At last he found Avinash uncle squatting next to his semi-dead wife staring listlessly at the ceiling with vacant eyes.

Seeing a familiar face was too overwhelming for Rishi who jumped into Avinash’s outstretched arms weeping loudly, his voice back after almost 36 hours of the ordeal. He tugged at Shazia aunty’s arm in an attempt to revive her, crying loudly pleading her not to leave him alone.

Shazia had been travelling in a dark tunnel aimlessly floating thru timelessness. She could hear Rishi’s voice in the distance. Why was the child crying? As her gaze fixed onto his frail sobbing body she squeezed the tiny hands that held hers. Seeing her back to consciousness made Rishi wail all the more, relating his mum’s violent death.

Don’t die Shazia aunty. Who shall take care of me if you too go away to God?

The innocent plea tugged at Shazia & emboldened her to fight back. She could not give up now. Avinash & Rishi needed her.

It took Shazia many weeks of medical care & physio-therapy to get back on her feet. She was lucky to be spotted by a social worker who enrolled her for the riot victims counselling program. Meeting others & sharing their tragedies helped heal the invisible wounds inflicted on her soul.

Shazia is back with her family now. They have changed residence & lives with Avinash, Rishi & Ravi in a chawl. The struggle to get back to normalcy is not over. Trying to erase that black Friday’s memories is not easy….taking each day as it comes. But even today, a small incident like watching tandori chicken get roasted gets Rishi all agitated transporting him back to that fateful day.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

The Message! (flash fiction - 300 words)

2007-03-09T09:53:00.000-08:00

Word spread like wild fire in the Vindhyacal ranges. The tiny hamlets that peppered the horizontally stretching hills had no communication facilities. The only way to spread the news was by word of mouth.

A villager would stand on top of a hillock, beat his drums & yell loudly his message to be passed on to the next village. The receiver of this message in turn would beat his drums & convey loudly the message to the next village & in no time, using this rudimentary skill, the entire range would be agog with the news of the day.

It was the 5th of February, the morning chill still in the air when Banwari started beating his drums. Banwari was the best messenger in the village & known for his drumming & decibel prowess. The village girls adored him peeping shyly from under their veils.

Back to the story….Banwari conveys his message to his awaiting recipient who’s taken aback by the news. But he has no time to ponder over the details. Time is scarce & a lot needs to be done. He has to immediately route the message to his neighboring village Deolia. There is a call to all the twenty-seven villages to congregate at Pachim Kawariya which is centrally located.

The folks of Deolia are surprised at the news as well & after passing the message across to Muli, the village elders start getting ready to make their journey to Pachim Kawariya. Everyone had to meet there sharp at 6pm to take stock of the next phase of the mass gathering.

By 5pm, everyone started pouring into Pachim Kawariya & once all the Sarpanch’s of the twenty-seven villages assembled, they went up to their Guru Sri Ram Bhagat Sarkar singing “Happy Birthday to you”

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

The young lovers!

2007-02-11T08:00:00.000-08:00

Jack was in a hurry. His lady love, Nelly had been sending intrepid messages of longing since morning & her signals could not be ignored. Jack had been in n out of love many times over but Nelly was special.

There was a hitch though. Nelly’s folks were a conservative lot. Didn’t encourage the young bulls around their property & Jack was sure off limits.

It had been a while since the last time they met & the yearning was making Jack lose perspective. This is what happens to people when they are in love & lusting to be together.

So he sneaks stealthily in the cover of darkness & shedding any fears of reprimand, sets off to see Nelly. He wonders though how he would send her the signal to meet him behind the shed next to their quarters. That’s when Rintu sees him. Rintu was a confidant & had helped Nelly in the past to leave unnoticed for their intimate rendezvous together.

One look at Jack’s pleading eyes & Rintu was wheedled to be a part of the esoteric group. As usual, Nelly slinked out for her clandestine meeting with Rinku’s help. The young lovers were unbridled in their fervour to make the most of the time spent together.

In the mean time Nelly was missed by Sonja who was the youngest daughter of the house. There was a frenzied search organized. After all she was in estrus & they didn’t want any unwanted babies. Rintu the avian confidante was pulled up & as she spilled her guts it was late.

The lovers were found entwined in their moment of passion & three months later a lovely litter of 5 cute genetically Jack look alike roamed the Saldanah household.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

Nitti ke dohe...by Sant Kabir (english translation)

2007-02-03T09:53:00.000-08:00

This poem is in Awadhi language written by Sant Kabir. The double line poetry is called doha in Hindi. Have translated the meaning of each doha in English.

Kabir sangati sadhu ki, begi karijai jai,
Durmati duri gawaisi, desi sumati batai,

Always be in the company of people having good thoughts,
This way we can do away with the evil & attain purity of soul,

Nindak niyare rakhiye, Angan kuti chawai,
bin pani sabun bina, nirmal kare subhaiy (my favourite line)

Keep your critiques close to you, let their hut be in your courtyard,
That way you don’t need soap n water to cleanse your nature,

Aisi vani boliye, man ka aapa khoi,
apna tan shital kare, auran ko sukh hoi,

Be soft spoken, do away with your ego,
This shall keep you in a good mood & others shall be happy too,

Kasturi kundali base, mrug dhonde ban mahi,
Aise ghati ghati Ram hain, duniya dekha nahin,

The musk is imbedded in the navel, yet the deer looks for the source of the fragrance all thru the forest,
Same way Ram(God) is present in each one of us, But no one notices him,

Kabira garab na kijiye, Kaal gahe kar kes,
Na jano kit marihai, kya ghar kya pardes,

Never be conceited, fate always has a hold of your locks (hair),
You never know where or when it shall prevail over,

Tinka kabahu na nindiye, Jo payan tar hoy,
Kabahunk Udi ankhin pare, pir ghaneri hoi.

Never look down upon anything small, even if it is under your feet,
The particle can get into your eye & cause great pain.

by Sant Kabir

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

The whispering trees!

2007-01-30T09:38:00.000-08:00

Has it ever crossed your mind how similar people are to trees? The tree needs to be nurtured as a sapling. It depends on its environment to grow in strength. As it blooms into its prime, there are newer branches, leaves & flowers. Then come the fruits & the tree is happy & content. In the meanwhile it’s doing it’s job too. Helping to attract rains, bring down pollution & helping the fauna to thrive under its folds.

A few unfortunate ones get impugned in a very subtle way. They don’t even realize that they have been afflicted by termite’s that’s gnawing away at their very existence. By the time the tree realizes it’s stricken, the damage is intense. But all’s not lost. The giant ant-eater (family & friends) is around with huge claws & a long sticky tongue. It claws away at the bark & slowly but skillfully devours the silent killers & helps the unfortunate tree a chance to live again.

Just as there are individuals with different personality traits so are trees. The magnificent Oak tree is an epitome of strength & magnitude. A refuge to the existing fauna & insect life, this tree spells dependability. It has deep roots & a strong foundation. But as this tree grows older...it develops a tiered root system with feeder & sinker roots that permeate at different layers of the soil. On occasions these feeder n sinker roots are damaged due to the unfortunate forces of nature. The rock hard tree that the world thinks is majestic starts withering away. Everyone around looks at the grand tree & envy’s its strength but in reality, its lastingness is numbered.

Then there is the Semul tree. Tall, sparse with thorns adorning every aspect of it’s body. One is repulsed with the abominable & bristling thorns but if one looks closely, along with giving refuge to a number of dwindling species, it’s rich in medicinal properties & in the labyrinth of its innards, stores a treasure of cures for the weak. It’s like a teacher that’s austere but intrinsic to learn the ropes of life.

The palm tree…this sure reminds me of all mothers. Every part of this tree is a precious storehouse. It stands tall & yet flexible, bending to the whims of the breeze. But hey! Just because it accommodates the velocity of the wind does not spell its weakness.

Lastly… the omnipresent parasites! The beef steak fungi & the Mistletoe are two harmless looking individuals on the surface. But one good hold of the trees primary system & slowly it claws away at the trees nutrients with invisible tentacles. It deceives the tree into thinking that it’s the master & merely giving refuge to the infirm. In reality it gnaws away stealthily & deceivingly until its powerful enough to reign in the host tree’s very growth.

It’s all a matter of how we look at life. No ones indefectible & we do need others to help us in our life’s journey. The harmony lies in the crescendo of good karmic forces, humility & the ability to live unpretentious lives. We do need the oak to draw strength from it, the semul to indoctrinate life’s lessons, the palm to soak in the profound predilection to warmth & emotional regard & the parasites that compel us to walk the rugged terrain & make us wise. Each one of these trees is important in our personal growth to becoming individuals with substance!

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

A gasp of precious breath!

2007-01-16T22:05:00.000-08:00

I struggle as I gasp for precious breath
Broken due to this unhealth,
Nothing interests me as I sit
in depression playing symphony,

Dont stress I'm told
It shall worsen if your bold,
Your body's crying for some hold
of that elusive leisure time.

I read, I watch, I hear, I pray
for all the madness of the day,
Innocent angels bearing the brunt
of perverted minds,

Someones looted, some killed,
Death defying orgy thrilled,
With so much grief doing the round,
How dare I grief my temporary bound,

My remorse is nothing I comprehend,
To that of a grieving father,
Who's lost his wonderful paradise,
his offsprings prancing precipice...of unending glee.

I shall regain my strength & bounce back,
what of him for there's no come back,
From a depressing worldof childless fatherhood.

Oh dear God! How could you not
Help those angels on fire,
Didn't it burn a hole in your heart
to see them burn on a pyre.

(penned while the author was remorseful for not keeping good health & realised how vain she had been in comparision to the Nithari mayhem where scores of innocent children were abused & killed to quench two sick mens perversion)

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

Born Fighters!

2007-01-13T09:18:00.000-08:00

Today’s plan was to walk-up to the man made Bandra pond (talao) where I had noticed Little Cormorants soaking in the sun on the small island in the middle of the pond & take a few pictures of these interesting birds.

As I walk the narrow by lanes of Bandra, there’s something that catches the eye. College going kids standing outside a tutorial class, back slapping one another surrounding this young man on his Kinetic Honda scooter. The young man is in his element. He’s narrating some anecdote to his friends clapping his hands etc with everyone guffawing away. There’s nothing amiss in all this right? Well…Reagan is physically challenged.

This though does not stop him from going about his life in the same way as most of us. He’s smart & articulate & fun to know. Reagan is a fighter & how it shows! But what I found gratifying is his peers. The complete acceptance showed as no one seemed to notice or care.

This brought to mind the school my daughter goes to. This institution has its mind in the right place. It knows that education does not start & end with books. The students are made to mingle with the kids from the spastic society of India founded by Dr Mithu Alur & is situated in the Bandra reclamation area every week.

Here I want to deviate & journey back to my childhood. I grew up thinking kids affected by downs syndrome were mentally imbalanced. I was 12 when I met my classmate’s mama (maternal uncle) Madan who was 41 yrs then but had the trappings of a 5 year ole. Madan mama loved to play with us & especially loved my company. He would call me Bati & cry for hours if I missed going over even for a day. The moment he would spot me on the road…he would bound & engulf me in his arms. While his beard & mature looks frightened me, his behavior baffled. Though my friend counseled, it was difficult to accept Madan Mama as a kid. My mum was equally naïve as she advised me to be careful.

Back to the present & this year’s annual school function that was celebrated a few weeks ago. There was this fusion dance wherein an extremely enthusiastic kid missed all his steps but not his fervor. He looked happy and at ease doing his own thing. The parents were enjoying this goof-up and as I laughed too, I realized something was different here. I was looking at a downs syndrome kid. As I tried to capture him in my lens the vision blurred. That was my tear telling me how proud I was of this kid, his parents & most importantly of the school that did not discriminate.

Going to school with differently abled kids has brought a certain inoculation to the other supposedly “normal” kid’s attitude towards life. My daughter looks quizzically when I mention this as if to understand what this whole drama is all about. When I say I’m mighty proud of her school mate…she says …so? What about him? He’s one naughty fellow & never listens to anyone if he’s not in the mood to.

See what I mean? Kids like my daughter have just accepted the fact that there are a few kids in school who are a bit slow & that it’s alright!

Back to Reagan, our collegiate. I retrace my steps uncertainly introducing myself to the group. As I talk about wanting to write about spirited people like him, he beams & without much ado gives permission to take a pic of him with his group. Was relieved after seeing their acceptance of my request coz was scared of scrapping feelings here. As I explained my intention, the group smiled & was more than happy to relent. One of the individuals wearing an orange T-shirt in the mug shot is a product of the same school I mention above.

This is how I want my India to flower into. A place where everyone is accepted without questions asked. A place where the kids are taught the language of life!

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

Tales from a juvenile boarder!

2006-12-23T10:25:00.000-08:00

6th June, 2003

Dear Diary,
I’m so tired of acting brave & strong. Mom saw me off yesterday evening & seeing tears in her eyes, I had to crush the urge to bawl openly coz my weeping would have distressed mom all the more. So I put a brave face & consoled her instead. After all it’s only a matter of 45 days. FORTY-FIVE DAYS! Will I be able to survive in this new school that long? FORTY-FIVE DAYS! My eyes sting at the thought of mom’s embrace. I love the fragrance that she exudes when I hug her. I love hugging mom!

7th June 2003

Dear Diary,
Everyone’s kind to me here at the boarding. The weather is a bit cooler than Bombay. There are birds perched on the branch of the tree outside the window closest to my bed that I have never seen before. I’m fighting hard to not cry. Did not eat the bun they gave me for breakfast. Have never ever eaten one before & yes…they expect me to eat apples…can you believe it? Just like how the monkeys eat them…biting straight into the fruit! My mama gives me all the fruits in a milk shake or juice. FORTY-FOUR days more to go. Can’t wait to see mum. I miss her sooooo very much!

10th June 2003

Dear Diary,
I have made a few friends here now. Nikita, April, Sanjana, Alka, Blanche, Sakshi & Silvin. I have managed to solve my “bun” problem too. Silvin eats anything I give her. She’s forever hungry. I miss mum in the night. FORTY more days to go before I meet her.

14th June 2003

Dear Diary,
I’m sure you missed me. Was down with a bad bout of cold & fever. You see, we were wandering in the rain & with the chill here, Sakshi & me, both called sick. Silvin wanted to show us how to catch frogs. Ugghs! I wonder what kind of girl Silvin is….catching frogs! Wonder who will marry her when she grows up.

You know, I missed mum so much when I was down with fever. Though she generally doesn’t pamper, I love the way she hovers around me when I’m sick. Such attention! I love getting sick back home. I like it here since I get to play with so many kids here. Little girlie’s fight a lot too.

18th June 2003

Dear Diary,
I hate Sr Sangeeta. She’s a beast & we all call her sangu! She’s in charge of the infirmary. She yelled at me when I wouldn’t take the bitter medicines. She force fed me & asked me not to be a sissy! She’s cruel & I hate her with the bottom of my heart! My mum would have never allowed anyone to be rude to me. I miss her….THIRTY-TWO days more to go….

23rd June 2003

Dear Diary,
I have been a bit naughty today. Alka, Silvin & me slipped out after supper this evening to watch the fireflies. They were there everywhere. In the flowerbeds, the bushes, the trees, the grass…twinkle…twinkle all the way! We plan to look for an empty bottle & catch a few of them. Just like how we are our mama’s pet…they can be our pets! Yahooo…

26th June 2003

Dear Diary,
Can you imagine…it took two days for us to sneak into the junior dorm kitchen & look for the empty spice bottles. Silvin’s bottle is HUGE compared to my chotu bottle. We plan to slink away in the evening, before study hour & hope to catch a few fireflies. Can’t wait for the sun to go down. Err…Diary…what would mum say if she knew what I was upto?

30th June 2003

Oh Diary!
Sorry…sorry…sorry for not writing to you earlier. You see... I have been very busy ever since Appu’s presence. I can feel your head creasing wondering who the hell is Appu? Well…he’s my little cutie pie firefly. I call him Appu coz he’s the chubbiest amongst all the fireflies we caught between Alka, Silveen & me. My bottle being small can accommodate only Appu. Have placed some leaves & a pinch of mud so that he doesn’t feel lonely when I go to attend my classes.

2nd July 2003

Dear Diary,
Appu is sure a handful! I hope you do not resent him for keeping me away from you. Can you believe it…he made me forget mum! Well…such is life! We forget our mums when we become mums ourselves. Appu is great fun& I secretly carry him wherever I go these days.

4th July 2003

Dear Diary,
Have been crying since morning today. My stomach feels knotted & food looks repulsive! Appu is dead! Saw him lying limp in the bottle & no amount of dabbing him in water could revive him. I wanna go home…I miss my mum!

7th July 2003

Dear Diary,
Did you know I could act? No? Well...Neither did I. Yesterday Sr Teresa forced me to take the part of Joseph, Jesus’ dad. I wanted to play Mary in my heart but sister said she wanted a fair skinned girl & also that Mary could not be taller than Joseph. So Joseph it is! Though the fun part is Jesus calling me dad & I get to discipline the one before who the entire world bows.

12th July 2003

Dear Diary,
I’m so tired juggling drama practice & daily lessons. I sleep off during the study hour in the morning. And yes…I had a fight with Silvine today. She expects to eat my bun every morning. Not fair…is it? A child needs to eat her bun every once in a while!

16th July 2003

Dear Diary,
Our drama costumes are ready. Sometimes I wonder if I could swap my part with one of the three kings. It just doesn’t seem to be fair. I’m Jesus’ father & they get to wear the good clothes & crown. Next week…mum, nanu & nani will be here to see me….yipeee! I’m so happy!

20th July 2003

I’m so tired but needed to tell you about our big day today. All the parents came to see us kids perform & after that they could take us out on our weekend exit*. My eyes were at the gate since morning awaiting mum. All the mummies & daddies stood at the gate eagerly to be let in.

I was sad coz my mum was nowhere around. It was then that Alka came running with the news that mum was actually the first to arrive & the lady wearing the blue saree at the gate was in fact my mum. Oh dear! How on earth does mum expect me to recognise her in a silly saree. She looks better in pants.

Anyways…mum was so proud of me. She clapped the loudest & I’m snuggled with her in bed writing to you. She promised not to peep. After all what we share is OUR secret…right?

*Weekend Exits – There are specific weekends wherein the parents of the boarders are allowed to take their wards & spend the weekned them. The exit gets over on a Sunday evening 5pm when the boarder has to be deposited back to the school.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2006

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2006

Mangalore calling!

2006-12-16T04:23:00.000-08:00

As the train chugged sluggishly into Mangalore station in the wee hours of a November morning, my much-anticipated spirit couldn’t hold me to my seat. Meeting my guru yet again was something I had been looking forward to for the last 2 months.

Jump, charansparsh (touch feet in reverence)…hug & ready for the ride home!

Had once asked him to autograph my book on Indian birds by Dr Salim Ali. He wrote…

The wise old owl sat on an oak,
The more he saw, the less he spoke,
The less he spoke, the more he heard,
Wouldn’t it be great were we more like this bird!

Just hanging around him is a learning experience coz he is a walking / talking encyclopedia. Birding, wildlife, art, science, sports, history, religion, social customs…just about anything could be the topic & he can talk for hours non-stop. It's wise to be silent around him.

But then we do get into bouts of productive discussion as I call it & idle argument in his opinion. His high decibel strain’s the eardrums. Says can’t help it…blame my teaching profession. When secondary smoking gives me a dull headache…he suggests a metacin! But what is life without a few imperfections! I say chaps….perfect could be boring.

Day one –

Lakshmi, Doc’s caretaker is beaming as the car enters the gate, the dogs barking excitedly to be let lose to douse me with their slobby, jumpy, smothering wet welcome. I’m sure this entire racket drives the birds in the vicinity to migrate to the other side of the ghat for a day!

That evening Dr Harish, a product of doc’s medical academy joins us to hang around the Ullal – Nethravathi Bridge that attracts a wide variety of migrating water birds. The Brahiminy kite rules this place with its majestic expanse outstretched in a glide. The setting sun as the backdrop with the train rushing across the Ullal Bridge, flowering reeds on either sides of the pathway, night herons, little egrets, black winged kites & palm swifts dot the fading flame-red skyline. A medium sized vine snake slithers in the bushes as I try to press closer to get a shot but the fellow is a smarty pant as he disappears even before I open my cams shutters.

Day two-

We plan to inhabit the Deralakatte & Konaje area the next morning. The temple at Konaje along side the pond looks serene but with a huge difference. The picture perfect shrine has some overtly enthusiastic devotees & screeching slokhas drive home the “sight contradicts sound” theorem.

A pair of snow geese & mallard (introduced species) swim elegantly close by. A red-wattled lapwing along with a large pied-wagtail sit on the rocks at the water edge bathing in the misty morning dew laden rays. As we walk along Deralakatte, doc points out more birds with twisted names till my head’s spiraling, struggling to remember the names so as to not invite the wrath of our committed teacher. The rest of the day is spent recording/photographing more birds that perched around doc’s bunglow.

Day three –

Today we head for the Western Ghats. Dr Harish collects us & we head for Moodbidri to hook up with another teammate, Dr Krishna Mohan who runs his own hospital there. Dr Krishi is told was probably the youngest individual to graduate in the Indian medical history. He started scaling the Himalayas at the young age of 16 & is an enthusiastic & committed wild lifer & environmentalist. He also loves eating live termites & caterpillars while trekking in the deep forest & encouraged us to try the nutritious diet.

After collecting Dr Krishi, stuffing our selves with idlis, rava masala dosa, tomato uttapam & goli bhajji flushing it with scalding aromatic coffee, we head for the Western Ghats where Dr Krishi owns a patch of undisturbed forestland. This place is close to Bisale, Subramanya the famous snake god temple where cricketer Sachin Tendulkar had recently paid homage. The diverse biota of the Western Ghats is striking with deciduous forest that are cleared in some areas along the habitable belt to make way for rubber plantations.

The drive up the ghats is seldom steep. Doc informs that the roads were years old elephant pathways that the British raj had converted to roads to bridge the unapproachable areas to the rest of south India.

The drive from Moodbidri to the ghats is a good 100 kms & we reach our destination around mid-afternoon. Dr Krishi narrates a tale about jungle bandits ambushing & looting the pilgrims & other wayfarers off their belongings. Pointing to a huge rock on his property he says, the dacoits roosted there. So we make a pradikshina (circle) as homage to the louts & secretly wonder about Dr Krishi’s intentions of recounting this tale. At this point, our hardened travelers, doc & Dr Harish (who are wearing sandal’s roaming the snake & leech infested ghats like robin hoods) get latched on by one respective leech each!

As they bleed, doc mumbles incoherently something to the effect of “tumhare liye ek budhe admi ne khoon bahawaya hai” (an old man has bled for you). How am I responsible in them walking with half naked feet in knee length grass, I wonder. *Barf*

At the top of Bisale we enjoy the amazing sequence of a Shikra (bird of prey) hunting… diving to catch his prey. Though a bright day, the wind is strong. We hang around for a while & then head for some tea, biscuits & chitchat at small hamlet in the middle of nowhere. By this time its 4pm & time to head back to civilization. We reach home by 10.30pm weary but satisfied & thanks Dr Harish for safely depositing us back. Seriously! His driving skills get full marks…driving us nuts I mean!

Day four –

Is spent generally recuperating from the prior days commitments & a 30km drive to Pilikula Nisarga Dhama, a place that houses a variety of jungle cats (of all variety), reptiles & birds.

Day five –

Today we go to Puttur, in South Canara, which is about 80kms from Mangalore. Our destination is Dr Ravindranath Aithal’s clinic. Better known as the snake doctor, he claims to cure snake bites inflicted by the deadliest of serpents inhabiting the Western Ghats & its surroundings.

He has a decent snake collection of around 24 species of venomous & non-venomous snakes. A rare forest cane turtle is also one of the temporary occupants there. But my interest is the King Cobra pair that he houses from the past 15 years. A number of King Cobra releases are to his credit in the Western Ghats.

The King commands great respect with his thinking gaze. His stare is steady & deadlock looking at your movements with acute concentration. His eyesight is better than most snakes & can see clearly up to 100mtrs. The one I photographed is about 17 feet long & it is capable of raising one thirds of its body. So by this standard, the King can stare in the eye a man six foot tall. His main diet is his own ilk & hence is also know as the “cannibal”.

Photographing him was an experience of a lifetime! His partner was in the skin shedding phase & hence quite immobile. Most of the adult snakes shed their skin every three months.

My favourite amongst the collection was a cute little vine snake & though my hands itched to touch him, Dr Harish reminded me of our promise to Doc. You see, Doc had warned both of us not to handle any snakes even if it was of a non-venomous variety. Though having prior experience of handling a few constrictors (boas & pythons) & despite my pout, nothing could deter him to give in. *sigh*

The day is wrapped perfectly as we get to photograph a very rare & cryptic bird, the blue-faced malkoha right on doc’s doorsteps.

Day Six –

My friend Al, a coffee planter from Coorg (doc’s family friend), takes me around Mangalore. We visit his grandmother & uncle who has a lovely collection of vintage cars, antique collection of sewing machines (had never heard of a sewing machine collector before), ancient coins, cameras & many more. In fact his house looked like a museum with the ceiling painted & beautiful & ancient things propped up on pedestals etc

After a lovely lunch of chicken biryani, we head for the St Aloysius College & church, a bookstore & then after tea at the famous Taj Mahal (doc’s favourite haunt), we head for the Panambur beach, which is next to the Mangalore port. The sun disappearing into the sea, waves washing down the pristine beach, miles of undisturbed waves plunges me into a melancholic mood. We collect a few shells for my daughter & then head home.

Day seven –

This is my last day at Mangalore. Since Doc had mentioned his meeting schedule with the deans of other medical college’s, I get up by 5.30am to bid him farewell & manage to persuade him to skip the meeting. But as lady luck would have it, a sudden emergency at the medical hospital takes him away. I head to catch my train back to Mumbai in the afternoon accompanied by Doc’s driver Srinivas & his wife Geetha, Laxmi & her husband Ravi. Sensing my somber mood, Laxmi tries to cheer me into some conversation.

As I bid adieu to Mangalore this time…I know I shall come back. After all it’s my second home.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2006

Have men lost their propensity to love?

2006-11-20T04:19:00.000-08:00

It’s been sometime now that the mind’s harboring a few restless ruminations that seeks searching answers. These questions have been piling up within the innards of the soul for a long time now.

It was a chance conversation with a web developer friend who doubles up as a sex educator that brings the dormant subject to the forefront of the medulla oblongata.

Does a man fall in love with his women the same way, as the women love’s her man?

My enlightened friend informs…there’s nothing called “love” in a man’s dictionary. If a man says he loves you...he’s lying! What a women interprets as love is a man’s sexual desire to mate with her that drives him to play the mating game of wooing, emoting, sharing & caring.

*Crash* that was my heart breaking into a thousand pieces! This piece of gyan is not very flattering to a women’s already fragile nerves. I sulk about wasting precious time in my search for something that was never there.

Remorse hits me with a suitably high degree of contriteness. The man of my dreams doesn’t exist? *Sheds a few tears* with an in between *sigh* of defeat!

Further searching questions about what’s important to a man & a women in terms of relationships plop up to rub in more misery.

The women juggles her various roles in the capacity of a wife, a lover and a mother. She’s committed to each one of these roles with equal dedication, love & commitment. Her intensity in loving her man & her child equally, does not dwindle.

So she’s given due recognition as a more evolved species. That’s it? Is this enough? Just to put them on a pedestal & announce that they are better equipped to handle nature’s complexities?

The relationship between a child & its mother is a complex one with the intertwining of their bodies & soul. The culmination of life inside her is nature’s generous gift to a woman. It brings out in her an embodiment of personified traits bordering between tenderness & love. Yet when it comes to loving, she would give equal or sometimes more importance to her husband over her child.

Does the man feel the same way? Most men don’t. A close writer friend points out that a man is not capable of loving his women the way he loves his kids. The selfless love for a woman is a figment of our romantic imagination. It’s just not possible to love women the same way.

The kids are more important coz they are an extension of his very own self. A man is a proud individual & he takes pride in his capacity to produce his own offspring. He feels a sense of responsibility towards his kids & with that comes a bonding that he can never experience with his women. *More sulks*

By this time confusion is blocking the tiniest ray of hope that there is HOPE! So I press on & ask a few more men on their opinions about who is more important to them in their lives…their wife or their kids. The response is 50/50.

I must mention here that I do have a bag full of wonderful intelligent single men friends & took pride a while ago in the way these great individuals exhibited strength in character by showing their responsibility towards their kids. Such display of genuine integrity was very endearing indeed.

But over the years what I notice is a very unhealthy trend of over indulgence. So to get a deeper perspective, I segregate the driven, self-obsessed fathers from there lesser counterparts. What is different in their lifestyles that make some excessively preoccupied in their fatherhood status & others manage a more healthy balance in comparison. How are they different than the regular dad’s who love their kids from the bottom of their hearts & yet don’t look completely possessed in doing so?

Magnify the situation & one notices that these men/dad’s are those who are not in a steady loving relationship with there spouses / partners. The emotional bonding present within a family has been long lost or was never there.

In the absence of such a relationship, the feeling of void is replaced with an intense connection with their children & therefore hold on to that part of connection quite niggardly. Nothing is more important! Period!

So what about those men who are in happy marriages & stable relationships? Are they less loving fathers? Most of the men in this category choose their wife over the kids. In fact, my bro didn’t waste a breath before answering the question & reacts incredulously that “the man who chooses his kid over his wife is a myopic b*****d”. In a normal situation, I would shun such profanity & yet this is like balm today! So all is not lost! phew!

As I look for more comforting answers, another matured individual who’s experienced life along with a huge dollop of drama with its three dimensional effects, points out that a man is capable of loving a women deeply. This it seems is a proven fact in the medical journals too. Why else, when faced with a life/death situation during childbirth does a husband favor to save his wife instead of the child in 99% of the cases.

The disturbing thoughts persist nevertheless. As a woman, I feel cheated when I come across men who have such a self-centered approach to life. Our kids are important to us. There is never a passing moment when I do not think of my child’s well being. But being a mother has not made me loose perspective of my other relationships & wants.

Life is not just about raising kids, being a mother & over-looking the other important components that lead to a salubrious & purposeful existence. I’m capable of loving my child & yet would not water down my love for my partner who would be equally important to me.

In comparison to this…the men I come across are completely lost individuals. They ache for love & caring from their female interests but are not open to build-up the same emotions themselves. It’s tiresome to see men with such great potential lose perspective of life. As if the malaise has set in with no effective remedial treatment in sight. How does one deal with such maladjustment? Have the men lost their propensity to love?

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2006

The sting of the black widow!

2006-10-06T10:03:00.000-07:00

Ramtari is very close now…informed one palanquin bearer to another. They were transporting the newest bride of Ramtari, Sukanya, to her new home. Sukanya was married to Ramvilas Singh, the youngest & favourite son of Brijbhushan Singh who was the zamindar of the village. After her vivah, she had stayed back since she was only eight then.

It was only when she attained puberty & was as tall as the wheat crops that her father, Pandit Ramdayal Pandey pondered about her gauna. Gauna was a custom when the nubile bride was officially sent to her sasural for the first time. It was a grand affair & despite Panditji’s meager teacher’s income, he had left no stone unturned where his dearest Sukanya’s gauna was concerned.

The best pochampalli’s, tussar’s & banarasi’s were acquired from hither & thither. The preparation of basket loads of khaja, gaja, maath & bundia, to be sent with the bride was specifically supervised by Sukanya’s brother, Shiv Ranjan. The mood was festive as well as sober. The life of the pandey pariwar was going to leave them finally.

Ramtari is situated at the banks of the Koyel River that snakes through the valley passing Neterhat. Situated at a high altitude, the weather is pleasant most of the year. The valley area is formed of massive felspathic granite & laterite with sal & bamboo groves stretching as far as the eyes could reach.

Sukanya peeped thru the veils of her palanquin at her new basti & marveled at the sheer beauty of the place. The fields at either side had huge trees at the seams & cattle grazing up yonder. Looking at the sheer beauty of the place filled her heart with happiness. Ramvilas, her new husband would peep at her every once in a while to make sure she was ok. His love gestures made Sukanya flush shyly as she fidgeted & adjusted her ghunghat.

Ramvilas was a potent young man who couldn’t wait to meet his bride in private. As he entered his room, he was amused to find his bride sitting on the large bed, legs dangling in mid-air chewing paan. The juices in her stuffed mouth threatened to overflow from the corners as she looked startled at his entry. Her innocuous offer of paan from the paan-batta won his heart over.

Aren’t you supposed to offer me milk or something instead of paan? It was then that Sukanya remembered the ever giggling Chanda didi had brought the kesari doodh & had tutored that it was supposed to be offered to her husband first thing when he arrives. Tapping her temple, tongue sticking out, she hastened to bring the kesari doodh to win her husband’s approval.

Ram was so bowled over by his new bride that he lost no opportunity to see her during day time, stealthily hiding behind the drums in the storage room that was opposite the kitchen. He would creep from behind & lift Sukanya, the moment she entered the store room to take away rice to be cooked for lunch.

Though Sukanya yearned for his touch, she would shy away, afraid of being caught by the family members. Couples’ meeting during the day was a taboo in the pandey household.

It was the month of October, Durga Puja being wrapped up a day before. The Bauhinia & Cassia trees in the courtyard had blossomed exploding the surroundings with a riot of pinks & reds tickling the olfactory senses due to the strong pungent fragrance emanating from the dark barks of the Cassia.

Ram had left for Ranchi to tide over the family business of food grains promising his sobbing wife the most beautiful lac bangles decorated with tiny glass chips that dazzled every time it captured the rays of light. She had finally relented promising to control the saline fluids building up at the very reference of his journey.

It had been seventeen longs days & Sukanya was getting restless. Ram had said he would be back in a fortnight.

Hriday baba from the neighboring village hastily arrived by noon with some grave news. The boat ferrying Ram & a few others across the Koyel had capsized. Frantic rescue efforts on the part of the onlookers had been futile. One by one, the bodies were surfacing along the bank of the river. Ram’s body had been found this morning & was being brought on a tractor by baba’s son.

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It was as if the world around Sukanya had caved in, disintegrating into tiny irrelevant bits. Misery had suddenly made its permanent abode inside Sukanya. In the anguish & gloom that followed Ram’s death, the women of the household huddled around Sukanya customarily breaking her glass bangles & wiping her sindoor adorned forehead. A few accompanied her to the well where she was given a bath & handed over the stark colourless saree that would be her only garment for life now.

Her wedding finery & other ornamental articles were confiscated & her bed shifted to another room. A rough bamboo matt with a coarse bed-sheet completed Sukanya’s stark room. Her wedding, the love she had received from her husband, the joy of togetherness, the bonding, and the feeling of total completeness had been so ephemeral.

She felt numb, her eyes vacant. All the tears that she had once shed for the simplest of reasons when with Ram had suddenly desiccated leaving the eyes unglazed. The family members avoided her presence & she was instructed to take her bath by the well at dawn when everyone else was snugly comfortable in their beds. The meals were supposed to be cooked with Shantima who was a widow too.

Shantima had been despotic towards Sukanya from the very beginning. She was extremely unforgiving, finding faults in the noblest of gestures. She had been widowed at nineteen when Brijbhushan Singh’s younger brother, Shambu had succumbed to cholera.

All her life, she had lived a squalor existence, living at the mercy of the family patriarchs.

Shantima most of the times taunted Sukanya for being clumsy & bungling-up in the kitchen. Her contempt made Sukanya dread her even more & in her nervousness she always managed to invite more ire in her direction.

But Sukanya’s widowhood had brought a difference in Shantima’s attitude towards her. She had suddenly become more tolerant & forgiving. Sukanya’s new social status had made her cross over & join Shantima’s. They bathed, cooked & slept together.

Winter had set in & it was an ordeal to bathe in ice cold water that chilled the bones. Shantima had to act real stern to plod Sukanya to the well in the dark of dawn. As Sukanya shivered in her wet saree, she felt someone watching her from the corner windows of the main house which was Chanda Di’s room. As she pondered who it could be…she suddenly saw Gopal Bhaiya, her late husband’s eldest brother staring at her with an expression that she couldn’t comprehend.

She hastily clambers back to her quarters quite jittered. That morning as she prepares the chulha stuffing it with dried wood & coal, waiting for a decent kindle to prepare the morning tea, she sees Gopal Bhaiya once again with the same look. As she serves tea to everyone, he accepts his cup with a slight caress to her wrist.

Sukanya’s mind’s confused. Is she reading too much into Gopal Bhaiya’s act? She doesn’t have to wait long enough to find out his true intentions.

As she was working on the grass cutter to prepare fodder for the cows, she’s suddenly seized from behind. As she struggles, she realizes its Gopal Bhaiya. She’s bewildered at his actions as he muffles her scream & pins her down.

Shantima’s impatience at having to wait too long for the little imp to share the morning tea makes her go looking for Sukanya. As she calls out to her, she hears a muffled scream & runs in the direction of the cow shed.

The sight of Gopal on top of Sukanya fills her with rage as well as revulsion. She screams. Gopal flee’s the scene being caught off guard. The hapless Sukanya with her hair disheveled & clothes torn clings to Shantima sobbing like a pitiful child.

Shantima’s trembling too. She’s felt such disgust coupled with anger in a very long time. The honorable family was in actuality a cesspool. She pledges not to let this child face the same fate that she had experienced a few decades ago at the hands of her brother-in-law. This time she would fight these satanic vultures.

But the question was how? She had to scheme in such a way so as to silently kill the snake without breaking the stick.

That evening Bhola delivered the dried wood a bit late. As she scolded him for his slackness, he apologized saying he was late since he had to turn in their neighbour’s rowdy bull that had wandered off to the other side of the fields after breaking away from its tether. Bhola’s guts & helpful nature plants the first seed of hope in Shantima’s plan.

Bhola was a birjias by nativity. He belonged to a nomadic tribe that had settled around Ramtari, cultivating different vocations to earn their livelihood. Bhola used to cut wood from the jungles & sell it to the villagers of Ramtari.

Shantima asks Bhola to meet her the next afternoon at an hour when everyone in the family retired for their siesta. Sensing her urgency, Bhola arrives on time & is troubled to hear about the obscene prurience of the supposed cultured first family of the village.

After hearing out Shantima, he inquired how he could help her. Shantima laid bare her impeccable plan & they decided to act on it the very next day.

That day Gopal ventured out after a sumptuous breakfast to supervise the fields & go downs. As he walked briskly towards the river, he was bushwhacked at a secluded stretch. A woolen blanket was thrown on him so that he couldn’t recognize his perpetrators.

The thick bamboo sticks mercilessly beat him to pulp. Once Bhola was finished with Gopal, he growled menacingly in a threatening voice that Sukanya was now the daughter of the entire village & anyone harboring vile intentions towards her would be dealt with brute force. As for Gopal, he would be beheaded silently if he ever dared behave iniquitously towards Sukanya.

A whimpering Gopal was left to recover, limping back shamefaced. As he knocks at the huge main door, Shantima opens the gate & seeing his state, exclaims in horror. She hovers around him fussing, inquiring how he had hurt himself.

Gopal grimaces & replies that he had been in an accident trying to save a kid. Chanda Didi's mighty proud of her husband & decides to visit the village Hanumanji’s temple offering 2.25kgs of motichur laddoos for looking after her brave husband.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2006

Tryst with destiny!

2006-09-14T03:30:00.000-07:00

Kabir had been flipping thru a few interesting books at the bookstore when his eyes fell on a familiar figure. Maya, the women he loved dearly all these years was standing right across the aisle of the book shelf, scanning the non-fiction collection intently.

It had been years since he had set eyes on her. She looked as pretty as ever but her eyes. They seemed to tell a different story. The girlish exuberance that they once held had been replaced by a wise melancholic look.

Kabir felt stirred from within as he saw the same expression that was so familiar to him : she always wore a pout & chewed on her lips when she was concentrating on something.

Hi Maya! Remember me?

As she turned & looked at Kabir, her face betrayed a tinge of shocked surprise. This was the man she had fallen hopelessly in love with in her youth.

Kabir was her neighbour, Shalini aunty’s younger brother. He had come to town to pursue his doctorate. He was a serious young man always wearing a composed look. His face seldom betrayed any existence of emotions.

He was a levelheaded individual & yet when it came to religion. His views were pretty pragmatic.

The Durga puja festivities had brought them together. The late night wanderings covered as many Durga Ma darshans as possible to participate in the religiously fervent artis. It was nine days of utter madness that surrounded all as they let down their hair & revelled in the festivities that the season had brought along. This was the time of the year when the proverbial shackle was done away with replaced by much harum-scarum.

Kabir had surprised Maya one evening as she came to deliver some malpua’s that her mum had made. He asked her to meet him around 7pm that evening at the chowk in Gariahat. Maya had experienced a kind of nervous thrill ...a sense of elation & a freedom from the mundane.

Seperating from the regular group they had gone to Victoria Memorial where the various thellas sold a potpourri of chaats. Maya loved the phuchkas & the aloo tikkis & Kabir loved to see the girlish delight on her face as she gulped mouthfuls of the huge phuchkas dangerously pregnant with aloo, moong dal, imli & khajoor chatni & drowning in loads of delightful imli pani.

Kabir & Maya were like two souls caught in a timeless zone in their own euphoric world. They began stealing time away walking hand in hand on the banks of the Hoogly eating roasted pea nuts out of paper cones, witnessing the slowly sinking golden orb with the breeze licking their content faces. Once in a while they would even go to the movies. The first time Kabir had fleetingly tasted Maya’s lips was while watching Rajnigandha.

Kabir made a possessive lover who couldn’t bear the thought of anyone even remotely glancing towards Maya. Maya felt smug at his display of affections & possessiveness & knew in her heart that one day they would marry.

As Maya completed college the next practical step was marriage. Maya’s mamaji was already on the job & she once heard her parents talking about a wonderful proposal from Jamshedpur that Pranoy mama had brought.

Maya’s heart sank in despair & she couldn’t wait for the evening to approach to tell Kabir who she felt would address the problem straightaway & meet her parents to ask her hand in marriage.

Kabir was tensed on hearing the latest developments. He didn’t want to lose Maya but there was so much to do before he even thought of tying the knot. But since the situation demanded him to rise above all things, he promised Maya that he would meet her parents the very next day.

Nothing like that happened though & when Maya confronted Kabir the next evening he was brusque as he pointed out that though he loved her…they were not meant to be together. He soon left for Kanpur, his hometown. Maya was left heartbroken.

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How have you been Maya? Kabir’s question jolted her back to the present. Kabir had aged a bit, looked pleasantly plump with a dash of silver that brought character to his face.

Hello Kabir! It’s been a very long time. Maya smiled feigning her melancholia. What brings you to Delhi?

Well…I have recently come here on secondment. How about grabbing some coffee as we catch up with each other’s lives?

As they sat in the cosy confines of the coffee shop…Maya is lost in her thoughts again.

Do you live in Delhi with your family Maya?

Yes…and you?

Well…my family is in Mumbai. Have two lovely kids. Kuber is pursuing medicine & Revati is into theatre.

How about your wife? Has she not joined you here?

She is not going to join me Maya. It’s sad but we were never meant to be.

Kabir…haven’t I heard this one before? Maya inquires looking hurt.

Maya…I’m sorry about the way we split & me leaving town without any explanations. You see, I had to leave, as I could not bear seeing you married off to another person in front of me.

By this time Maya was in a flying rage. How dare he? He was the one to reject her & now he was talking about love & despair?

Looking at her aggrieved expression, Kabir tried to explain. He had wanted all along to marry her. Since they were from different communities, he had referred his case to a local astrologer to ask for guidance about their future. The astrologer went thru their kundli’s based on the dates of births given by Kabir. He had predicted they had great compatibility but a union through marriage just did not seem to be a possibility. A crestfallen Kabir had resigned to the fact that it was pointless to pursue something that didn’t promise any joy.

Maya looked astounded at what she had just heard. Her official DOB which Kabir has supplied to the astrologer was wrong! Maya was brought into this world by a dai ma. The doctor who had prepared her birth certificate later had goofed up the dates.

But even if the DOB had been right…Kabir had played with both their lives. He had in his own typical way arrived at the premise of what was right for both of them. An emblematic Kabir wani!

Maya had been distraught & heart broken for a long time. She had refused to settle down with anyone despite some very eligible squire’s suggested by Pranoy mama. No amount of cajoling had made her spell out the atom of grief that was gnawing at her very existence.

She looked a far cry from her usual resplendent self. Her love for life was slipping away in small doses. Nothing interested her anymore. The impish Maya was replaced by a boring sedate replica.

Biswajeet chachu who lived in Delhi suggested that Maya apply to the Delhi University to teach there. This came as a welcome change, obliterating the unhappiness that seemed to make its permanent abode around Maya.

Delhi was so different from Calcutta. It helped Maya fuse into its welcoming labyrinth giving her space to pick up the pieces again without questioning her existence.

Understanding human behaviour was Maya’s vocation. She was a clinical psychologist & yet she sometimes pondered how much of herself she understood at times.

The exchange program to teach in the University of California opened new doors for her. She was privy to new concepts & theories…meeting people from different school of thoughts that tickled at her perceptions of the human mind.

One day, as she stood at the crossing waiting for the traffic lights to allow the pedestrians to cross over, she sees Bappi standing on the other side. The very same, Bappi, who was her nemesis during school days. He pulled at her pigtails, banged into her bicycle head-on, robbed her tiffin & had one day put her life to danger while plucking jamuns at the Begumbadi when he had alerted the watchman to tease her.

Bappi had left Calcutta for the US of A to pursue greener pastures. He visited his family in India every once in a while. They had lost touch when Maya had shifted base to Delhi.

The pure joy on Bappi’s face to have finally met someone from the past who reminded him of his puerile days was evident as he ran across the zebra crossing & met Maya midway collecting her into his arms in a bear embrace.

Maya…tumi ki korche aikhane? I cannot believe this man! You look so beautiful & elegant. Bappi was breathless with eager ebullience. He just couldn’t contain himself as he animatedly asked about this n that & finally feel silent looking at Maya’s amused expression.

This Maya…the nut case that he knew was so different now. She had flowered into this graceful individual who looked so composed that she made him feel like a school boy!

He felt ridiculous as he realized right from the raging hormone days, how he had pursued pleasure without getting entangled into the snare of responsibilities. He had conquered & ruled. Professionally he was going great guns which attracted the nymphets who were forever looking for a great catch.

He bundled Maya into his car despite all protests of an impending lecture & headed to the first coffee shop round the corner. He realized as he drove that Maya was the women he had been looking for all his life. There was so much to catch-up about each others lives though.

Every time that he met Maya…he realized how different she was from the others & how amalgamated their thoughts were. She was the terminal junction where his search ended. She had to be his. There were no dubieties about that. But he could not spook her with his ferventia. This was one instance where he had to thread very patiently.

Maya on the other hand didn’t feel that home sick any more. Bappi didn’t allow her mind to wander anywhere close to despondency. Actually, he just didn’t give her time to think! He was either on the phone planning the evening together or sending her an sms moaning about the food that sucked in his cafeteria or sending her an email about some childhood memory that had suddenly wandered into his already overflowing but retentive memory. At other times he would bully her into grabing a quick bite together during lunch despite the fact that they were meeting the same evening for dinner.

Life had never been so content for both of them. Maya would have these fleeting unhappy memories of Kabir that would get outshined by Bappi’s loving concern. The exchange program was finally coming to a conclusion. Both dreaded to talk about the imminent & preferred to side track it with insane frivolities.

Bappi looked terribly mawkish sporting a seventy-two hour stubble as he helped Maya with her baggage at the airport. He was withdrawn & silent. This was totally uncharacteristic of him. Maya felt a funny tug at her heart as well. She had been looking forward to going back to India right from the second week of her stay in the US & now she fervently hoped that the flight would get cancelled or some technical snag occur to allow her some borrowed time with Bappi.

The long flight back added to her miseries that she couldn’t recognize. She felt confused, a bitter knot in her stomach that refrained her from eating or sleeping during the flight.

Maya had come back to a felicitous welcome by her department colleagues & settled back into her daily routine. And then she had met Kabir in the book store & all the latent memories had flooded back.

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What’s your story Maya? Tell me more about your family & life. Did you miss me after I was gone?

The bile was building inside Maya by now. Funnily until now…Kabir had always been up there on the pedestal in her love shrine. But something had made the foundations of the pedestal quiver.

I’m not married Kabir. Ma is with me after baba’s death.

Kabir looks as if he has stuck gold. The glint in his eyes betrays the fact that he’s enraptured with this piece of information. He quickly makes his move. Holding Maya’s hand, he feigns sorrow at her long standing ordeal all these years.

Maya is stiff with repulsion which surprises her. This was the moment she had waited all her life. But something was making her revulsion for Kabir very strong.

Just then, her cell rings. It’s Bappi. They had not spoken from the time she had come back which was all of thirty-three days now. His mere voice made Maya skip a beat as a radiant smile beginning at the corner of her mouth threatened to spill her joy to the gaping Kabir.

Bappi was fumbling with words about how he was alright & everything was fine. Maya was assuring him that she was well too & had settled back into her usual routine.

Do I cross your mind ever…Maya?

Bappi waited with bated breath for the answer that would make or break his life. After a long silence…an emotionally trembling voice asks…when did you ever leave my thoughts? Can you give me some space to do other things in life?

My sweet sunshine! your days are numbered. I’m calling you from the airport. See you in a few hours from now.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2006

My initiation to the exciting world of animals by Steve Irwin

2006-09-05T00:22:00.000-07:00

My mornings started with a rather heavy heart. Steve, the man who initiated many a viewers like me (a more passive animal lover) to such fascinating encounters with the most intriguing facts about the animal kingdom is no more.

He died in a freak accident while filming a series on “Oceans deadliest” on Monday, 04th Sept 2006. He was stung in the chest by the barb of a stingray (a fish) that penetrated & punctured his heart.

Steve was a doyen in reptilian behaviour & study. He galvanized causes to fight against extinction of dwindling species in the reptilian world. He was a champion of animal rights & instrumental in rousing my love for animals to heights I didn’t know existed.

The voracious enthusiasm with which he presented an animal & its behaviour to the viewer was amazing. He motivated the viewer to love life around them. Respect the fauna.

Steve had cheated death on a regular basis as his love for the gators & other reptiles made him overtly enthusiastic in their company.

My first erudition with regards to spiting cobras originates from watching one of his segments covering the most deadly snakes in central Africa. The chance that he took to get that perfect exhilarating shot was mind-boggling.

At one point despite wearing shades, the venom happened to seep thru & his eyes stung like crazy as he tried washing them with goats milk borrowed from the Masai tribe whose village was situated at the periphery of the jungle where they were filming.

I often wonder why these animal presenters take pot shots at life moving sickeningly close to the deadliest of creatures & stretching their luck. I guess, the voyeuristic attitude of the viewers & channel directors are to be blamed for pushing these great men to such callous dangers.

There was this one particular program about him mingling with the Asian elephants. Mind you…his first love was the reptilian world…but there was this moment with him playing with this baby elephant that was stricken with some fatal disease. As death drew the baby elephant closer…it still waddled in a drunken stupor to play with Steve. An overwhelmed Steve broke down & cried like a baby still playing & goofing around with this little fella that was enjoying every moment despite being on its last leg of life.

It was very moving to see this strong & macho individual exhibiting such tender love & care for the animal world.

Steve was a man brimming with life. He lived a full life & the most endearing part is that he was truly lucky to be able to merge his passion & career together.

Devoted viewers like myself shall miss his over-zealous presentation style the most. My salutations to this great human who taught the world thru his actions…how to love!

As we mourn his untimely demise…I’m sure there must be a huge reception by the animal kingdom at the pearly gates for this unforgettable & lovable soul.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2006

Gloom & his fancy!

2006-08-27T16:47:00.000-07:00

He seems to take a fancy for me these days,

I try to give him the slip as I soldier on squelching my hurt with a brave smile,

But he’s possessed.

He lurks at every corner whose path I traverse,

possessed with a determination to snuff out my soul & make it his.

Gloom…he wants to be me but I fight him.

It’s all a matter of statistics perhaps…

He might have won the first round,

and seems to be holding the reins now,

but now is not forever….dear Gloom!

You shall have to leave one day

To stroke the luck of victim-hood elsewhere.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2006

The calling from Stuart Little!

2006-07-22T10:24:00.000-07:00

The phone rang & startled me from the report I had been concentrating on. The quarterly managers meet was around the corner & my reports were yet to culminate into a productive chart for the presentation.

My seven year old daughter was at the other end. In a small quivering voice she reminded that I had forgotten my promise.

Oh shoot! That puny guinea pig…Little Stuart was the cause of grief for all the parents’ n children in town. He beckoned invitingly to every kid from every TV channel & Sonia being a reasonably normal child was eating, sleeping, breathing, talking, and dreaming Little Stuart.

She counted days, hours, minutes & seconds to meet her buddy & pleaded her mum with all kinds of false promises of literary progress.

So here I was…my presentation was looming threateningly on my horizon & my conscience was riding high on a guilt trip.

With Sonia’s arrival, I had quit work & opted to stay home. Four years of being away from the rat race had brought my mental abilities into a cardiac arrest.

My friends had traveled a long way up the corporate ladder which had left me struggling like the tortoise from the famous “mother of all races”. And then it was also my Bihari blood’s honour that was at stake.

Back to Stuart…my immediate atom of grief. He kept making silent entries at the top-right corner of my computer screen at regular intervals waving friendly reminding me of my duties as a female parent.

When the saccrined dose of extra niceness was too much to handle...I decided to down the shutters at work. The mind was in any case, floating dangerously in the area where the multiplex was situated. Every harried parent was getting sucked into the theatre’s orbit creating a massive traffic occlude.

The plan was to head home, get Sonia organized into a respectable kid of an estimably respectable mother & hurry to catch the evening show of Little Stuart.

So I get out of the lift…hollering to make my presence felt & get Sonia to fall in line from her hiding place in the remotest corner of the house where our regular roaches’ n spiders resided. Incidentally, the lizards didn’t give them company coz it was hibernation time for them at that time of the year.

Once Sonia is wiped clean n powdered, we gallop to catch the first rickshaw that could transport us to the movie hall at break neck speed.

The traffic is plugged from all sides & by the time we reach the hall…the booking counter has shut shop. My pleading eyes do not move the meanie at the counter as he announces that it’s a house full show & with a wave of his hand unceremoniously dismisses us.

Sonia is crestfallen & her lips shape into a pouty crescent, eyes threatening to spill the sorrow that was bleeding her heart. Her gait pulled at the cockles of my heart & I fervently prayed for a miracle that would bring a smile back to my child’s face.

The meanie, in the mean time was absorbing all this & something pulled at his shriveled heart strings. So he beckoned to me & said…how many tickets did you say you wanted? I have two kept aside for a customer that I can give you.

MIRACLE! GOD…where are you? Ahem! Are you staring at me through this meanie’s face?

I could have kissed the gravelly stubble of this sweaty…swarthy man for being such an angel. Sonia shrieked in rejoice breaking into the latest foxtrot that she had been practicing at home.

Holding hands we run up the stairs like steroid administered athletes. Hearts pounding & a triumphant grin in tow, we enter the already dark theatre. Our seats are approximately nine feet away from the screen. Sonia’s delight knows no bounds as she points out that she’s the closest to Stuart Little.

As we settle into the story & get transported into a different world, I’m startled by a touch. Someone’s probing in the dark! And then I feel a squeeze n a wet kiss on the back of my hand from this little devil that had brought her mum down on her knees to meet her sassy friend…this Little Stuart!

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2006

I wanna vent about the faux pas…any takers?

2006-07-13T04:33:00.000-07:00

11th July, 2006 shall be itched as the black Tuesday in the Indian history. Seven bomb blasts ravaged the local trains of Mumbai at the peak hour that took many a lives leaving behind orphaned homes & families.

The ruptured dismembered bodies of victims along with the blood-spattered gore were overwhelming to those who experienced this incident first-hand. The scene at the railway stations was that of personified pandemonium. Everyone was in a state of limbo.

Abatement from the assault came in the form of shopkeepers & squatters who sell/roam along the railway tracks. Everyone helped everyone else in a monotonic demeanour.

As minutes ticked away…frustrations knew no bounds. The police & the local authorities were blamed. But the fact of the matter is that when there is a catastrophe of such magnitude it is utter chaos. There is a vacuum of anything between 10 to 30mins before proper response is received from the concerned authorities. So the blame game was actually unwarranted here.

The reason for venting today is the aftermath of this disaster. The police, the fire brigade & municipal authorities doubled-up to brace with the situation. To add to this, they had to deal with the political leaders who came for a “dekho” of the situation & deliver a galvanized rhetoric statement that never condenses or fructifies. Not a penny see the light of day nor a widow or orphan reinstated or employed.

The minister has got yet another chance to be at the forefront of a situation & gain some cheap mileage. Impose his/her party’s propaganda more than the issue on hand. One yatra by a “Z” security neta measures to bolstered security, roadblocks & re-direction of traffic.

So last Tuesday… we have a bomb blast, hundreds of injured individuals, harassed hospital authorities & workers, police officers & there likes. And then a call from Nai Dilli to announce the arrival of maam & mantriji’s.

Quick...quick… drop the petty salvage issues of saving lives. There are more important things to do. Organize a squad for our very special dignitaries. Seal off the main artery of the road traffic segment. We do not want Soniaji, lalooji, R R Patilji & Shindeji to undergo any discomfort due to the fact that the city has plunged into a wasted abyss. The ambulances, equipments & human help can wait or take another route.

Will we ever experience redemption from hollow acts of kindness & get down to ground level realities? Could the honourable ministers not monitor the situation from their respective establishments leaving the uncouth task of dealing with the aftermath to the professionals? Could we not have saved time, energy & money along with precious man resources that was the need of the hour?

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2006

My first tryst with love…stunted!

2006-07-01T02:22:00.000-07:00

Our college had closed down for the diwali vacations. Vacation meant all kinds of hullabaloo…picnics…parties…maza…masti! My friend Sana invites me to join her friends to a picnic at a hotspot on the outskirts of Mumbai. It’s a one-hour trek to the temple on the hills with lovely wooded surroundings.

We congregate at the designated railway station & then saunter to the intended destination. Tiny cosy hamlets spring out at short intervals as we walk on. Sana introduces me to all her friends who had brought along some more friends from other colleges.

This was the first time I was going to a picnic without being escorted by a parent or teacher. We were seventeen & bursting with bubbly energy. The presence of boys made our hearts beat an extra skip as we headily walked in small groups.

Then I get introduced to Ajay Malhotra. He was an engineering student, about nineteen, 6ft 3” (about 187.5cms), looked like the Jedi of love (of course…my opinion has changed gears now when I think about it).

As we revel in the pristine nature walk, Ajay joins in & whispers ever so softly if I would like to be his friend. I looked puzzled coz I thought we already were friends. He gives me a look that’s probably not flattering my faculty of thought and reason. That does the trick and makes me understand the meaning of “ being friends”.

Though I’m effervescent with the adulation coming my way, I have a different perception of love Jedi Ajay’s intelligence stemming from the fact that I had still not shed my famous healthy drumstick look. And here he was…gawking with just the right tinge of interest to make me feel a bit proud of my hidden beauties. Even my underdeveloped jujubes (bor) were not going to make me feel awkward now.

And then there were the other girls who would have loved to be with him. So obviously he was good for me. But I still needed to consult my auxiliary support. So I inform Mr Jedi that I shall have a reply for him in the coming days.

I get the opportunity the very next day. Mum was cleaning fish focusing all concentration on not leaving a single scale behind. The opportunity was right & I had to take my chance now!

So the conversation starts about how she’s a genius with the fish curry, the frangipanis in the garden have blossomed in such abundance & could I say yes to a potential boyfriend…tick…tick…tick…silence!

She inquires about his ancestral bearings & gives me a nod. I’m perplexed at her reaction. I’m dismayed for not getting the opportunity to use the fireproof apparel that I was wearing to stick it out in case of any combustible situation arising from the information I was providing her.

She gently convinces me to meet him only in a group. She philosophizes that if he loves you…he shall wait! WAIT? Why wait?…..Ah ha….wait! I know all about….WAIT!

Thus starts my first love affair. Ajay conscientious comes to my college sacrificing his lectures to peep at me from across the coffee table at our college canteen & is ecstatic when I say yes.

After the initial euphoria of accomplishment, Ajay starts yeaning for private getaways. In the meanwhile I have been busy too. My Eros incarnate (greek god of love) has been placed on an exaggeratedly high pedestal to be worshipped, oblivious of his languishing desires.

As weeks zipped by…Ajay turned from a sweet ever caring boyfriend into a resentful yokelish individual. The huge mound of pride on which I stood was fast eroding. My blemishes were personified & being mentally obtuse was not much help to decipher the reason behind this unrest in our sanctum of love.

One day Ajay’s raging hormones gets the better of him & in a disjointed state he dissertated that his folks had found out about his supposed liaison with me & he could therefore no longer continue to see me.

All hell broke lose. I realized with painful surprise that I was capable of producing hundreds of gallons of saline liquids for days, all the time sympathizing with my dear Ajay & his predicament.

My auxiliary advisor wore a mask on learning of my busted fate. She sympathized & mumbled something like…there is a silver lining behind every broken heart.

Me : Maa…that’s supposed to be behind every cloud..not heart.

Maa : Oh! whatever!

Well…there was no silver lining in this case. I was branded & predicted to die a spinster’s death.

No guy wanted to be within a 100mt radius of me. And the ones who strayed were people who wanted my help to date my other girlfriends.

Redemption prevailed at last when I joined the Naval wing of the NCC (National Cadet Corp) where due to severe imbalance in the sex ratio; the saturating numbers did the trick. My confidence in my hidden beauty returned as I once again stood on the mound of self-pride.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2006

Accidental musings from my blasted life!

2006-06-20T23:45:00.000-07:00

The day was rather bright & sunny. The rain gods had finally called truce & everyone trooped out of their respective houses to get a thousand chores done.

So it’s my mum & me. Walking hand in hand. Every lil thing caught my interest then. After all, I was a bursting bubbling seven year old. I see something glint in between the grasses on the roadside & anticipating it to be a sad coin that was lonely in the thick grass, I decided to give it company by making it my own.

I forgo my mum’s genitive hold & without looking hither or thither bound towards the elusive unhappy coin.

A young speeding lad coming from yonder on his bicycle is taken by surprise by my zippy decision. He brakes at the nth moment…I’m faced by this life threatening decision to save myself from the approaching disaster…my long umbrella turns into a saber as I remember young Prithviraj Chauhan’s fencing skills from the Amar Chtra Kath. In one sweeping graceful movement…I thrust my bayonet styled umbrella in between the spikes on the wheels of the cycle. There is a long screech & a thud as the wheels buckle & overthrows the rider. A resilient me, watches with pride & then horror at the hapless boy bruised & bleeding wondering what hit him.

My mum’s aghast at the turn of events & wonders whose fault it was after all?

Here I need to share a secret. My mum to this day doesn’t know about the sad little coin beckoning me from the lush greens. She didn’t care much about lonely animals, lonely flowers, lonely stones & sticks. Deep wisdom expounded that this lil lonely coin shall not be accepted into the folds of our clan too so no point sharing my bearings with her.

-----

I’m sweet sixteen now, absurdly pleased with life’s digressive ramblings. I look like a long healthy drumstick. Not an ounce more, nor an ounce less. Nothing girlie interests me. We are visiting my maternal grand dad. His double barrel gun genuinely fascinates me. So I broach the subject with Nanaji expressing the desire to dismantle & oil the antiquated gun. After giving me an unanticipated look, he lets me, smug that the bullets are carefully locked away.

I take the gun to the patio & start dismantling it slowly. By the way, I forgot to mention that the bungalow was in the process of getting white washed. Several painters sat, hung on their swings sloshing away lime on the outer walls of the ancient structure.

One young chappie resembling a bombay duck (is a fish for those who are oblivious of its existence) sans its fluid contents sits on a swing nearby. He’s probably not seen a double barrel gun or a sweet sixteen-year ole drumstick or perhaps a sweet sixteen-year ole drumstick dismantling a double barrel gun. He bends at an angle too adventurous & the next moment I see him sprawled on the ground wearing his can of paint upside down on his head like a chef. He gives me a spiteful look as I try to decide which look suits him more….the painter or the chef?

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The heady feeling of being eighteen was too much for me & I had to set things in perspective. I had to do the things that a fully grown mature organism does, who’s attained adulthood. So I decide that its time to take the reigns of our car in my hands. I join a motor driving school.

My emaciated teacher, looking at me pumping the accelerator estimates my adrenalinaemia & philosophizes that “a good driver is seldom a fast driver”. Tsk tsk…the gutless wimp!

My teacher picks me early one morning. We decide to go to a stretch where it’s less populous. By mumbai standards, it means somewhere close to marshy lands where the road is a dead end. There is this huge ditch on either sides of the road to lay telephone cables. A gentleman is squatted on the mud mound on the side of the ditch; to answer his natures urgings which gently falls into the ever-welcoming abyss wiping all traces of repugnance.

He’s enthralled by a female on the wheels (there weren’t too many female drivers those days in the area). As he shifts to have a better look…behold! The man disappears into the Grand Canyon. Seeing the man take his dive takes a toll on me. I head towards the other other side of the road, which had a ditch of its own. In my hurry to save the offloading gentleman…I had panicked. I stop on the huge mound at the nick of time, marveling at my reflex action.

And then I look at my teacher. What was wrong with him? He’s doing two things; trembling & sweating with his entire weight on the brakes on his side of the controls(for the benefit of those who have not gone to driving school…there are 2 brakes in the vehicle that’s used to teach the young turks). This teacher sure had his reflexes disjointed! I give him a sympathetic look. My adult status needed me to act like one & be compassionate to people around me.

----

Now I’m twenty-one. Have sobered down a bit. The needle on my speedometer just about touches a boring, humble 80kms per hour these days. Mum asks me to drive her to the market, which has the narrowest of lanes with vegetable & fruit sellers on either side ready to jump at the approaching customers.

I marvel at their persuasiveness as one seller sells oranges to a man looking for bottle gourds. Another sells lemons in a discount offer to a women who actually has ginger on her mind.

We snake…no…snail… slowly towards the end of the lane to park the car. The lane is choke-a-block with swarming vendees. A well-endowed women standing 1.6 inches away from our stationary car decides to bend & inspect the bananas that a vendor sporting a thick moustache is packing for her. As she bends over, her rear, rears towards the side of the car’s body which in turn pushes her frontal assets towards the intensely despo Verrapan kin. The Verrappan look alike in a clear swoop holds the ill-fated women in one lucky crushing embrace.

I notice a sudden turbulence in the atmosphere, which makes me innocently peep through the left side window. I discover a daring embrace in full public view.

I search for an answer wondering what romance was doing, sitting in a uneven, unfinished cane basket filled with bananas hugging a demon whose moustache can be used to swing from one perch to another? My face is a typical Mr Bean expression of amazement & wonder.

The humble lady still sitting hugging her dandy helps me chance upon a few gujarati words in reference to some domestic animals in gushy overtones.

Mum commands a quick retreat from the lane abandoning our plan to buy out half the market. Mum’s hoarse with mirth filled utterances on the way back as I still wear the Mr Bean expression of….now what?

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2006

Meeting my Guru

2006-06-01T00:41:00.000-07:00

Meeting the person I had looked upon, as my “Guru” was something I had looked forward to for quite sometime now. There was a unique coherent connection I felt towards him. I had come across his profile by chance on Sulekha.

He is a prolific writer on many sites & one just needs to google him & get aplenty links with information citing the various research papers he has submitted in varied fields ranging from pediatric conditions, anatomy, dermatology, urology, environment, ornithology, art, social norms & practices & many more that I have lost count of.

Dr Arunachalam Kumar better known as Ixedoc on Sulekha is an enigma to many. The feeling of an unknown connection was so strong that it made me contact him. Something, that’s totally uncharacteristic of me on a virtual site.

He came across as a very simple, warm & highly informed individual. It perplexed me that his own had abandoned a man of his stature. The reasons were bizarre but my instinct signaled that he had been wronged for no fault of his.

I finally got the opportunity to meet him on 20th May, 2006. His long hair & beard made me instantly recognize him. He had come to pick me along with Ravi, his man friday & driver & Laxmi’s husband. After the initial respectful greetings, we were on our way to his home where Laxmi & Krishnamma his caretakers & now family awaited us.

The moment the car approached, the four hounds… Jaws, Claws, Chin Chin & Jo Jip went berserk with excitement & they had to be closeted with Doc for a while to release the adrenalin & settle them before they finally got to meet us.

The dogs were a delight & we got along naturally in no time. The Rajapalayam & Mudhol hounds are known to be a ferocious lot. And here they were, smothering me with more attention than I could handle. After a while, exhausted, I just sat there, being manhandled by the lovable rowdies to their hearts content.

Laxmi & Krishnamma welcomed us with a kind of flair earned from previous experiences of playing host. I pondered. We seemed like one happy family. Just that no one was connected to the other by blood.

Doc had the day planned & after some tittle-tattle over coffee we headed for Kasturba Medical College to check out the anatomy department. I had indicated an interest to know more about Doc’s profession as a professor of Anatomy & he had been gracious enough to relent.

Doc had worked at KMC for more than three decades & had recently joined K S Hegde Medical Academy as Vice Dean. This was his first visit to his alma mater as well as ex-work place after his resignation.

The moment he stepped out of his car, ex-colleagues from all backgrounds surrounded him. The liftman, lab assistants, the Head of Dept of Anatomy, lecturers & students all seemed to be genuinely happy to see him & most of them greeted him with their palm touching the left side of their chest in a heart felt gesture, shaking hands with him.

I felt stirred from within witnessing the small pan & tea stall owners come forward to greet him with the purest of affections. This was definitely a man of the masses.

The anatomy dept, like expected had students bending / probing over different human body parts. A right arm, a left leg, kidneys, heart, liver, lungs, small intestines, uterus along with ovaries & the ureter, testes, skull etc

There were five cadaver’s preserved in formalin in a septic tank for students to study, learn & help heal.

A bold message displayed on the sidewall read, “LET LAUGHTER CEASE & COMFORTS FLEE, THIS IS A PLACE WHERE DEATH ENLIGHTENS TO EDUCATE THE LIVING”.

A cadaver was brought out for me to get a better understanding of the harrows the young medical students have to go through on the road to becoming a doctor.

Looking at the cadaver lying on the dissection table made me reflect about the dead man & how death had stripped him of his dignity, as he lay naked for people to probe his insides. Where was his family & why had they abandoned him? Did they know he was dead? Was this dead man so poor that his family couldn’t afford to give him a decent funeral & left the body unclaimed? Question, questions & more questions answers to which I shall never know.

After this sobering experience, we headed to Doc’s by now famous on Sulekha coffee joint, The Taj Mahal. The owner was surprised to see him at that part of the day. In all probability he didn’t recognize him since Doc looked different than what he looks at 5am every morning. After some strong coffee by Mumbai standards, we headed home.

On our way, as we passed a Govt hospital Doc informs pointing at the tall building that as a student leader, he was instrumental in closing down the establishment for four days. He reminisced how he had been rusticated three times during his student life for fighting for the medical students cause only to be re-instated after winning the legal battles each time against the medical college.

Wow! This was one part from the past that I didn’t quite digest about my Guru. But I reasoned…what the heck! It’s been a long time ago.

Later that evening, Garvit one of Doc’s favourite student joined us for dinner at the Royal Durbar. Meeting people connected to Doc from various walks of life gave me an understanding of this multi faceted person who has bravely beaten all odds & walks chin up. I sure am mighty proud of him.

The next day I headed to Madikeri in Coorg & came back again on 26th May to spend half a day with him before hitting the road to home.

During my short stay at Mangalore, Doc initiated me to the world of ornithology. The first bird he identified for me was the purple sunbird that flitted from one branch to another in his back yard. Doc is a pro where birds are concerned. He was selected for the post of director at BNHS - Bombay Natural History society after Dr Salim Ali’s death. He has an awesome collection of bird books & can recognize an abundance of birds from their calls.

By afternoon, the mood was sullen. Time to say au revoir had finally come. The parting was emotional & heart wrenching.

I often wonder about the bonding that we develop for people in our lives. People who are not related to us by blood & yet there is this immense attachment. Doc is my extended family & there to stay for life.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2006

The Great Pachyderms of Dubare

2006-05-30T00:20:00.000-07:00

I wake up to the melodious call of the whistling thrush. This medium sized black bird seems to be an enigma to bird lovers. As it’s call glides through the dense foliage, one is struck by the living embodiment of un-spoilt nature at its best. Listening to this elusive bird is soothing to the soul & echoes across the dense canopy of the deciduous forest.

Our bedroom window stares directly at the thick impenetrable branches of the fruit bearing berry trees. There’s a cacophony of birdcalls in the early morning hours.

As the first rays gently touch the fringes of the tall perennial trees, the roosting avians restlessly converge into a combination of tones contextually conflicting with one another.

The coppersmith is unfazed by the others & relentlessly continues with its staccato call. I get fleeting glimpses of barbets, jungle babblers, flycatchers, parakeets, flower peckers & robins. The gentle breeze lulls the spirit & I sit mesmerized in the balcony trying to figure out one bird from the other. This is a heaven for bird watchers & I sip my morning cuppa happily trying to recognise the various birds.

On today’s itinerary is the Dubare elephant camp in the first half of the day. An opportunity of a lifetime awaits me : mingling with the great asian pachyderms & a chance to give them a good scrub as they enjoy their morning bath.

The Dubare elephant camp is situated about 45kms from Madikeri in Karnataka where I have my base camp. Madikeri is in the Coorg district & a more populous place than the other towns in the Coorg region. I had gone to Mangalore & hence took a cab from there to cover the 132 kms distance to Madikeri.

Across from the river Cauvery in Kodagu in the Coorg District, the Dubare Elephant camp is accessible either by a ferry or a walk through the river from the shallow segment of the water body.

My adrenalin begins to flow on seeing the elephants waddle in the river water & I head straight towards a matriarch called Malathi. She’s forty & amongst the mature occupants of the camp. There are about 14 elephants in all including 2 adolescents & one baby elephant called Parshuram.

Parshu is a naughty darling & nonchalantly ignores commands given by his mahout in his playfulness. He’s extremely intelligent too coz he recognizes his mahout’s moods judging his authoritative decibels & yields to being utterly subservient when confronted.

Malathi is another story. She appears an epitome of patience & wisdom. She stares at me as I flip her large flapped ears & reach out & scrub behind them. She seems to respond delightfully as she adjusts positions to give me access to the most comfortable part that needs a good scrub. This gentle giant intently listens as I softly speak to her as I scrub, splash, squish, splosh, slosh & again scrub. Her luminous long lashed beautifully emotive eyes seem to understand that I mean well.

I keep reminding myself that these are wild animals & yet there is this connection with Malathi. She seems to tolerate my presence with such ease that I feel blessed.

After the bath, the pachyderm’s head to the feeding corner & the Homo Sapiens are herded to witness the feeding. A concoction of barley & other cereals is molded into large chunks & the elephants are fed a couple of these huge pinkish edible balls.

I had befriended Malathi’s mahout, Ananda a scraggy underweight man with rough unkempt curly hair. He immoderately exceeds the appropriate bounds & spells out our friendships monetary value, which I shamelessly relent to. After all, he’s my ticket to being close to Malathi.
He stealthily brings two pieces of jaggery when the others have moved away & places them in my palm to feed the two mammoth’s who are eagerly sniffing the air as they smell their favourite snack. In two neat swipes, the jaggery disappears into the abyss that is capable of tucking in non-stop.

The feeding over, we are again herded towards a naturalist from the forest department who has a patiently standing elephant in tow. He explains the various aspects of elephant ecology & history. The average life span of an elephant is 70 years & the matriarchs & their calves live & wander together in herds.

The elephant is one of the few species in the animal kingdom where the male has to be in mast & female in heat to copulate. When in mast, the male secretes a foul smelling substance from a gland between its eyes & ears. This smell announces to the female elephants in the vicinity of the male tusker’s condition.

After some weird FAQ’s by some over enthusiastic tourists, the by now bored naturalist excused himself & leaves us with two options. Go for an elephant ride or twiddle our thumbs for the next one hour counting the number of datura shrubs growing in the nearby environs.

I opt to count the thorn apple shrubs from the back of an elephant & head towards the elevated platform which is used to climb on to the elephant backs reducing any chances of unceremonious happenings.

One gets the feel of a Maharaja..err…Maharani, riding these elephants. It’s slow gait sways the occupants on its back like a slow moving pendulum. The ride over, its time to say good-bye to these great lovable beasts. I choose to traverse the Cauvery on my way back on foot through the sparsely flowing route.

After our activity manager is satisfied doing the head count we head back to Madikeri to our resort to spend the later half of the day luxuriating in man made comforts.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2006

Toiling to make those extra bucks!

2006-05-13T04:30:00.000-07:00

Looks like you need a back rub….Maaa. Your shoulder muscles look tense.

My daughter could see me stretch my limbs (something I do to ease the lesion that I had developed being on the comp for long hours). Is this a picture of divine concern or a way to earn a few extra bucks? I ponder.

Me : What’s the damage’s if I allow you to give me one? (one needs to know if the said proposition is affordable in the first place).

She : Well…not much. After all it’s my mum I’m catering to. I shall indeed have to give you a discount (she reasons philosophically). Rs 10/- if you want to experience total contentment & bliss.

I muse. This young lady is definitely improving her business skills. The damn shoulder is crying to be nursed as well…so I give in. Like a true professional, she interrogates about the exact position where it hurts the most & goes about rubbing lotion in circular motions. Nimble fingers soothe the conjugated muscles & she leaves the bedroom with a triumphant Rs10/- muttering something like …I’m off for my next assignment.

In a couple of minutes, I notice her polishing my dad’s leather bag that’s being readied for his impending trip. She happily looks up, a tiny black smudge on her right cheek, proudly pronouncing that she’s going to earn another tenner from this task.

I wonder what’s up with this kid? The computer games & cartoons have taken a back seat. She’s on an enterprising trip to getting rich quickly. Strange!

These days every chore has a price tag attached.

A trip to the bank – Rs 5/-
Chop/peel the veggies – Rs 5/-
Polish shoes – Rs 5/-
Feet rub – again bifurcation . Rs 5/- for 15 mins & Rs10/- for 20 mins( bewildered I try to reason that she should charge Rs 10/- for half hour abiding by the math I have learnt at school). She sticks to her gun…20 mins it shall be. It’s your loss if you do not accept this proposition.
Neat bedroom – Rs 5/-
Books arranged in their rightful shelves – Rs 5/-
Trip to the grocery – Rs 5/-

I mention to my mum about this engagement with commerce tide that has swept over my daughter. Gone are the good ole days I reminisce when we did the same chores for pittance. Mum points out that we didn’t carry the burden to buy our mum a gift on mother’s day those days as well.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2006

Kya tanhai kabhi kaat-ti hai apko?

2006-05-07T12:58:00.000-07:00

These days I’m attending a Radio & TV Workshop & mingling with people of different chronological age. Most of them are a few summers younger than me. We interact as a group, rehearse our scripts & pass opinions in an endeavor to help each other better our respective performances. There exists a camaraderie that diminishes the divide of age/gender/ethnic background, religion, class etc

As we get to know one another, my mates were pleasantly surprised that I had a daughter. Pratt came the question from a member…what does your husband do?

Well…. I don’t have one…said me.
Huh? What does that mean…said she.
I’m a divorcee, so technically I’m single…but do have a lovely daughter.
Oh! That’s sad…Kya tanhai kaat-ti hai apko kabhi?
I answer her question with another quirky one & let it go….but it’s at the back of my mind this evening.

It’s been long…very long since I have traversed that path. Have preferred to bury the past in some deep crevice of my brain & unconsciously wiped off the happy memories that connected my ex-husband & me. I draw a blank when I try to remember the most ecstatic moment that we had together….I’m sure there were quite a few.

Coming back to the afternoon’s question…does the loneliness get under your skin? I ponder. What is loneliness? Why do we associate a widow or divorcee to sadness…frustration…desperation...unhappiness?

Yes, I was lonely. Terribly lonely. A long time ago in the prime of my youth. There I was…married & representing a picture happy portrait of a blessed family life. But the truth was that I was alone. The loneliness started gradually as his drinking escalated.

We went to silent dinners. I remember this incident when the man sitting diagonally opposite to us was suddenly beaten up mercilessly by my ex because he was getting a little too interested in me (is my ex’s version of the story). It pained me that he was sensitive enough to observe who was taking a shine for me…but didn’t see the emptiness that stared back at him across the table. That is loneliness.

We had a fight over his drinking binges. The next day our phone rang the entire day. Calls from our relatives & friends wishing & blessing me on my birthday. I would talk loudly in my immature attempt to draw his attention to this occasion so he could wish me. Both of us adamant not to give in. Me justifying my stance reasoning it’s my day & his prerogative to wish me. Well…that didn’t happen. Another silent dinner & our backs facing one another as we slept that night. That is loneliness.

The trips to the gynaecologist for the routine pregnancy check-ups were most of the times either with my mother or my mother-in-law. That is loneliness.

The pregnancy spilled the hormones all over the place & made me terribly weepy. Pregnant for the first time, I looked for love & affection with a lot of pampering from my husband as I dreamt would happen. Most of the nights, a full-blown pregnant me, would stand all night at the window anxiously awaiting his return. Every little sound the lift made descending & ascending in the quite of the night made me run to the door to look though the peep hole anticipating his return. That is loneliness.

The labour pains lasted a grueling 18 hours. It’s god gift that one forgets the intensity of the pain as time passes. What I do remember is that it made me feel that I might die. I had never experienced something of this intensity & magnitude before. The entire family (his & mine put together) stayed put anxiously at the hospital the entire day & night. My eye’s searched for him. He came at regular intervals to check on the developments fully sozzeled. It infuriated me to see the lack of concern & disconnect. Looking back I realize…probably it was his weakness. He was too weak to face a situation without a boost from a drink. That was loneliness.

The last holiday we had together. He was trying hard to stay sober. Said the right things at the right moments. We were having a wonderful time, which made me believe in the tiny ray of hope that I could see emanating through the dark unrelenting wall that had come in between us. He suddenly disappears & comes back after a few hours drunk & apologetic. That is loneliness.

Trying times had left their cruel mark on me. I was angry at the slightest provocation, sulking & trying to find fault in anything that spelt happiness.

The turning point was some talk show I was watching that discussed the importance of loving oneself. Putting your own self first & how when one feels happy & content with themselves…the rest automatically falls in place. THAT…was as eye opener. I realized how I used to read my ex’s star sign before reading mine, saving up all the prawn pieces in my plate since he loved it. Hearing the music he liked…socializing with friends who he felt comfortable with. Dressing the way he liked. All those little things that we do not pay attention to in a normal situation.

Precious time had been lost. But all was not over. After all, I had a wonderful support system in my family & friends, guiding / plodding me at every stage when my belief dwindled.

It’s been one helluva journey & experience. Divorce has made me a better person. It’s made me more sensitive towards people I care about. Strive harder & with small achievements along the journey, a confidence & happiness that was not there when everyone thought… it was.

I’m single & definitely not lonely. Have met men who I found interesting initially only to realize that we didn’t compliment one another to be in a relationship forever. There’s no agenda. No plans for the future. Just live the present day with gusto & enthusiasm.

This is probably not what people expect from a divorcee. The picture of hopelessness & defeat is what they want. Blood & gore is in. How can she be enthusiastic after all this? It puzzles them. She’s not fit for our sympathy. Look how she’s enjoying her freedom. She’s probably demented.

Well…what the heck! who cares!

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2006

The man-eater of Betla

2006-04-12T19:21:00.000-07:00

It was the year1954 & Tun (Kalindi) had just turned 12. She was awaiting her cousins from the holy city of Gaya to arrive to usher in the festival of Holi together. Her cousins, Viju(Vinay) & Niru(Niranjan), a few summers older than her were sprightly robust kids, ever eager to experience the forest environs.

Chipadohar, where Tun lived with her family, was in the Palamu district, in the state of Bihar. Her father, Mr Prasad was a forest ranger posted in Betla, the nearest range head quarter from Chipadohar. This region was heavily forested, with Chipadohar situated at a middle altitude having thick deciduous forest. The higher altitudes in Palamu boasted of alpine forests & thick grasslands followed the serpentine rivulets in the lower planes.

Lumbering was the main occupation in the region. A few british settlers had stayed back after the british raj was over in the Palamu region. Mr Stuart was one such settler living with his mum, Beatrice. His bungalow was about half a mile away from Tun’s house. Viju & Niru would cajole Tun to take them to visit the Stuarts. The trio would land up at the Stuart house at 4pm sharp to watch the Stuart’s eight bloodhounds lapping up their evening snack of tea & biscuits.

Stuart was a contractor dealing in timber, kendu (leaf used to make bidis) & katha (catechu, an ingredient in paan). He owned a vast expanse of land around Chipadohar and had married a local good-looking tribal girl. His favourite past time was hunting big game.

Palamu had a generous collection of wild life. It was also a tiger reserve divided into three zones: the core zone (heavy forestation where most of the big game was available), the buffer zone (where there was wild life with an occasional wandering of the big cats) & the tourist zone (the area on the fringes of the reserve). Chipadohar was situated in the buffer zone & further divided into east & west range under the Project Tiger division.

Tun & her two cousins would wander into the nearby forests to pick mushrooms that had sprung up on the forest floor or an occasional catch of wild fowl or baters (quail) that they would hunt laying traps, to bring home for consumption. One afternoon, they reached a dried up riverbed & found shreds of blood-stained cloth in the nearby shrubbery. They didn’t make much of their findings until the next day.

Phoolmatiya, the vegetable seller & messenger of the latest gossip doing the rounds, had some bad news to share that day with Tun’s mother. Chamra’s three-year-old daughter had been snatched away from their hut in the thick of the night by a tiger. Intensive search parties could only locate her bloodied clothes & a wisp of baby hair. The adivasis had been eagerly awaiting the rangpanchami festival to revel in the mandar dance. But the gloom of death cast a spell & the mournful despondency was only too apparent with the entire village coming together at Chamra’s place to mourn the death of his child.

This was tiger country & incidents like these had been happening occasionally off late. There had been other news about a tiger turning to human settlements in far-flung Mundu & Betla. Little did the locals realize that it was their own doings.

The eco-system of Palamu was being badly abused by the local contractors, with lumbering reducing part of the forested areas to bare flat lands, dwindling the herbivorous population like the chinkara, wild boar, barking deer, sambar & gaur. The Koel, Auranga & Amanat, tributaries of the Ganges snaked through the heart of the tiger reserve. But Betla & Chipadohar, being in the northern tip of the Palamu reserve had to make do with tiny rivulets & seasonal rivers that had dry beds percolating the water that collected in sparse water holes. This made water scarce & there were select places where the animals could congregate to quench their thirst.

The second blow to the people of Chipadohar came within a week. Budhua was a quiet fourteen-year-old who used to deliver milk at the Prasad’s & the Stuart’s. Everyday, he would come at 6am sharp & deliver milk without fail. But one day he surprised everyone with his absence. It was only when he failed to come the next day also that Tun’s mother was alarmed & sent an orderly, Bisnu to inquire at Budhua’s place.

Bisnu brought back the most horrific news. When Budhua had failed to return by mid afternoon the day before, his father & brothers had gone in search of him . They found his upturned pail of milk by the narrow dirt road that he took everyday to reach the Prasad household. The mud was caked where the milk had spilled & seeped into the ground. An itched ground showed signs of a violent struggle. Intense search yielded Budhua’s bloodied clothes in the thicket nearby.

There was a massive search arranged with most of the men folk joining in with drums & mashals as the sun set on that dark day. There was no sign of Budhua anywhere & the despondent crowd returned to a wailing mother. The next day a local tracker from the forest department found a femur bone with odd bits of Budhua’s clothes. He was given a mournful cremation with people from the neighbouring villages in attendance.

A chilling fear descended on Chipadohar. No children were allowed to play in the open in fear of the “Budha Bagh” as the tiger earned its name in the region due to its chronological maturity. The peasants went to work in the paddy fields in groups as more disappearances were linked to Budha Bagh. The forest department was pressured by the public to put down the marauding tiger. Mr Stuart was contacted by the department to step in & take charge in felling the predatory animal.

Betty, Stuart’s mother always accompanied him on shikar’s as she was a sharp shooter & had earned a few big game trophies herself. They studied the moving patterns of Budha Bagh, which afforded no clues to decide their game plan. The aging feline was quick-witted & unpredictable. Even his visits to the watering holes had no set pattern. The tiger was getting bolder & widening his horizons as the summer progressed.

Stuart trudged deep into the jungle bordering the core & buffer zones. He realized that Budha Bagh never spent too much time in one particular area. He had to take his chance & follow his gut instincts. In consultation with the forest department, he proposed to build a machan high up on a sal tree in the heart of the Betla forest. A goat was tethered to a tree-trunk nearby placing the bait at such an angle as to allow a perfect shot.

The mother-son duo spent their first night up the tree in anticipation of Budha Bagh’s arrival which proved futile. The oppressive hot weather & three more slow & uneventful nights made their enthusiasm dip. On the fifth day of their vigil, at around 2.15am they discerned a shadowy outline approaching the bait. The goat’s agitated bleating set off the papiha that started a beseeching chatter alerting the hunters of the tiger’s presence.

The tiger slowly approached the stupefied animal. The long wait had taken a toll on Stuart’s patience. Without waiting for a perfect angle, Stuart took aim & pulled the trigger. This reckless demeanor cost the Stuarts their five days of penance. He missed & Budha Bagh disappeared into obscurity.

It was as if Budha Bagh sensed their moves now & was always a step ahead of them from then on. The entire summer, they played a cat and mouse game, frustrating the shikaris. Time was running out since the months between November & June was the time when a chance of hunting an animal of such acute senses was possible. The shrubs were scanty during that period, making visibility easier on a moonlit night & the fast drying riverbeds constrained the animals to concentrate on a few water-depleting holes.

Stuart devised many ways to apprehend Budha Bagh but he would always manage to give him the slip leaving Stuart feeling sheepish. It was mid-May when Stuart decided to switch his hunting ground from the Betla forests to the area between Chipadohar & Barwadih. The sun’s bright yellow orb beating down the forest was getting merciless & Barwadih being in the coal belt, the mercury shot higher during peak summer with unbearably hot winds blowing over the hill slopes.

The forest trackers & guards helped the Stuarts construct another machan on one of the trees with a thick trunk, which had good height & stood in a place from where the view was prominent. A goat was again tethered to a nearby tree & the back-up team left the mother-son duo wishing them luck. It was a full moon night & the absence of breeze was a welcome sign. That way they were sure that their scent would not give away their presence. It would also assure that they didn’t fall off to sleep.

The air was filled with the pungent smell of the fallen red palash flowers that were in full bloom during the summer. The night animals started raising an alarm, a lark here, a papiha there…a few chinkara’s nervous calls. Stuart was ready for the confrontation but he knew better than to trust the chinkara’s. They were nervous little beings, easily spooked. But then there were alarmed sambar calls that made Stuart vigilant. Suddenly, the goat started bleating in terror & its desperate movements made Stuart & Betty a picture of complete concentration, guns aimed & ready to be fired the moment the tiger would lunge for the kill.

They could sense the tiger in the vicinity. The hair on the back of their necks stood up as they nervously waited for the attack from the west side where the goat seemed to concentrate. But there was no movement in the thickets to give away Budha Bagh’s presence. In a few minutes the first rays of sunlight spilt over the restless night spoiling the anticipated bushwhack.

The next few nights passed pathetically replacing the initial vigour with emaciated surliness. It was as if they were at the tiger’s mercy now. The moon started waning & as visibility grew feeble, Stuart started worrying if they would ever succeed in their endeavor.

It was not as if Budha Bagh had been lying low. He had made kills in the nearby areas & the pressure was rising on the forest officials as well as the shikaris due to public outcry.

It was the sixth day at Barwadih; the night was sultry due to the torrid weather. As usual, the bait was planted below the tree to lure the tiger. The entire night the barking deers making a ruckus in punctuated intervals, but nothing to alert the hunters of anything unusual.

It was 3.50am. Suddenly, the monkeys in the neighbouring trees started chattering animatedly. The sambar calls sounded genuine too. The nervous goat started to bleat & before Stuart could react, a mammoth tiger appeared from nowhere & lunged straight for the goat’s jugular. The goat writhed under the fatal attack & within minutes, lay limp on the ground, its neck still caught in a steely grip in the tiger’s jaw.

Both the hunters knew this was their only chance: one slip & they might not get another chance to hunt down this feline since the overcast skies were threatening a fast approaching monsoon. Taking careful aim, Stuart pulled the trigger that hit the tiger on its right shoulder. As the bullet pierced & wounded the beast, it flew into an uncontrollable rage. In one concentrated precise aim, Betty shot the tiger in the head & it fell abruptly to the ground. The end had come swiftly & the hunters were in a daze.

The duo wondered if the infamous tiger that had reigned unchallenged the past few months had really gone down? The two carcasses (the tiger’s & the goat’s) lay still, but the hunters knew better than to get off their safe perch at that hour.

They impatiently waited for dawn to set in. As the welcome rays brought clearer resolution to the surroundings, the hunters gazed at the proud beast in disbelief. He was the most beautiful strapping specimen they had ever seen.

It was a day of celebration for the folk living in the surrounding region. A large group comprising the forest officials & villagers gingerly approached Stuarts’ machan & after poking the tiger to ascertain that it had indeed perished, danced in glee beating the drums in a repetitive animated pitch. As Stuart & his mum descended from their perch, the villagers fell at their feet in absolute reverence, thanking the two hunters.

The deceased tiger’s limbs were tied together & a sturdy bamboo inserted in between the tied up limbs to be lifted & the body brought back to the ranger, Mr Prasad’s bungalow.

It was around 9am when the hunters & the hunted arrived at Chipadohar. A sleepy Tun, ran out to check out the commotion outside her house & was awe stuck at the majestic beast that was lying lifeless outside. Budha Bagh was 2.7 meters from head to tail & weighed around 220kgs. Children danced in glee at the end of this noble creature’s era, as it was the beginning of their freedom to play in the open once again.

A sad end to a chapter that was being celebrated by all. The ultimate predator had finally been felled.

(The character Tun in the story is the author’s mother)

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2006

Love found & lost!

2006-04-03T02:30:00.000-07:00

It was the year 1950. Chipadohar, an obscure village in Palamu district of Bihar (now Jharkhand), surrounded by thick deciduous forest, famous mainly for teak, sal & kendu (the leaves of which are used in the manufacture of bidi’s).

Tun (Kalindi), an eight year old, arrived at Chipadohar in spring, along with her other siblings & parents. Her dad, Mr Prasad, was a forest officer. Tun was closest to her older sister Kun (Geeta) who was her best friend & confidante.

Both the sisters were completely unlike in nature & appearance. Tun was thinner, with a small frame, mischievous & a rebel. Though only 11 months separated the two, Kun was much taller, mature & calm, speaking with gravity only when required.

The love shared between them set them apart from other children. Parents all around the hamlet would quote them as exemplary examples of harmonious compatibility. Kun would cover-up all of Tun’s misdeeds, be it breaking the earthen slender urn like pot that was used to chill drinking water in the summer or loiter in the summer heat in the afternoons with the village boys to play gullie danda & kancha. She used to slip on her brother’s shorts under her clownishly long frilly ankle length frock so that she could fill her pants pockets with marbles, berries, raw mangoes & sometimes amla.

Chipadohar was imbedded in the remotest of the forested region with a very tiny single-platform railway station, which was situated below the ground level on both the sides.

The girls would steal away when their mother was catching forty winks in the lazy humid mid-afternoon, to buy ice-candies from the vendors operating in the passenger trains that would stop at Chipadohar for a few minutes. Both would relish the moment when the ice-candy melted in their mouths & a feeling of total bliss would fill them. The problem was that since the trains didn’t ply daily on this route, the craving was so strong it would often be hard to satisfy.

There were other important agendas to attend to as well. Tuesdays were a busy affair in their idyllic lives: the Tuesday haat that would attract sellers of all varieties. Cattle, vegetables & fruits, jaggery candies, wild fowls, eggs & spices were among the goods sold in these haats. One of the orderly, Somra, would accompany the girls to these mini melas where they would spend money on coloured glass bangles, ribbons & whatever tit-bits they fancied.

On other days the sisters would wander around the entire day picking fruits from the forest near by. Guava, mango, jamun, figs, berries & Chiraunji (a thick shrub with small fruits having hard nuts that have the most delectable seeds encased inside them) were in abundance & the children would decide which part of the forest was to be raided on that particular day.

Then there were times when Kun cajoled Tun into exploring the neighborhood cremation ground. Both would watch the bodies being sent to dust with curiosity filled eyes.

There was no school in the vicinity & 6 kids (Tun was the second in the head count of 6 siblings, 2 sisters & 4 brothers who were born after the sisters) to be taught. So a schoolmaster was employed full time who would stay with the family & teach the kids during the day.

…

17th January 1954. Kun would turn 12 the next day & a big feast for the entire hamlet was proposed. The cooks had been busy, cooking sweetmeats & other snacks.

The biting cold made Kun seek warmth from the kitchen fire that was still burning long after everyone had retired. A bloodcurdling scream suddenly woke the entire household. Tun, who was snuggled in her bed, deep in slumber, woke up with a start. As she rushed to the inner courtyard, she saw her beloved Kun, ablaze, running around screaming in agony, crying for help.

The enormity of the situation didn’t strike the sleepy Tun, until the fire was doused & a severely burnt Kun, was sobbing uncontrollably between throes of agonizing pain. Her clothes & skin had peeled off & were falling from her body. The local quack was summoned & the helpless look on his face worried the family even more.

He administered a shot of morphine to reduce the excruciating pain that she felt. This reduced her repeated moans. Another shot was administered after two hours & she fell into deep slumber.

Tun stayed vigilant all night, delicately applying the burnol that the doctor had given her & was happy that her dear sister was finally at ease.

It was around 8am the next morning, when everyone tried to awake Kun to wish her well. However, when she failed to respond to repeated attempts to rouse her, an alarmed household sent for the nearest doctor. The doctor pronounced her dead on arrival.

Tun was too numb to grasp what had just happened. It was as if a part of her died with Kun. She felt suffocated & being a child herself, didn’t know how to react to the deep pain she felt within. She was at a complete loss. The vacuum was unbearable. She felt alone & stifled in her large bed that she had shared with Kun. The late night banter was replaced with stark unceasingly long, silent dreary nights. Everything looked bleak without Kun. This was probably a bad dream…she thought.

As hours stretched to days…slowly the reality sunk in. Kun di, as she fondly called her elder sister was gone forever. Then she remembered, how during one of their cremation ground escapades, Kun di had mentioned rather seriously, that when she died, she would dwell on their favourite guava tree in the kitchen garden.

Tun started spending hours below the guava tree, calling out softly to her beloved Kun di, who she believed would respond one day. Tun’s playfulness was gone… Instead, there was this little lost girl who ached to see her playmate one more time.

The whole family wilted under the unremitting sorrow at Kun’s loss. They wished to move to another place, to get over the tragedy. Every little thing at Chipadohar reminded them of Kun.

Tun on the other hand, fought tooth n nail at the very mention of shifting place. Her Kun di lived in that house…in every little thing they did together.

One day, as usual Tun was under the Guava tree trying to look for signs of her sister’s presence. Frustration was setting in & she started brooding that her sister didn’t love her that much after all. Couldn’t she (Kun) see how she was hurting? As she spoke aloud in anger, a little guava flower dropped on her head from the tree branch.

Hey! In her misery, she had not noticed that this year the guava tree had flowered before time. There were tiny guava’s dangling happily from the flower-laden branches. Looking at the blooming tree, Tun felt a sense of happiness. Was this Kun di’s way of telling her that she was fine & at peace? She pondered.

Tun started tending the guava tree everyday, ferociously guarding it from the fruit eating parrots & mynah’s that would raid it on fruition. Looking at Tun’s unhealthy possessiveness for the guava tree, her mother one day joined her under the tree. They talked about Kun’s presence on it. Tun’s mum persuasively reasoned with Tun that her older sister had been a giving person. She loved to share her things with everyone around her. If Kun lived on the guava tree…she would definitely like to share the fruits of the tree with the birds & animals (monkeys) around. Pratt fell a fruit in response to the discussion going on. This action to Tun, was Kun’s way of saying that their mum was right.

Tun’s conviction of Kun di up there amongst the branches grew stronger. Whenever she felt lonely, she would walk up to her beloved tree & pour her heart to the outstretched branches that reminded her of her sisters open arms welcoming her into its folds.

Kun’s demise, took its toll by turning Tun into a grave & serious child. Her naughty pranks were replaced with babysitting her younger brothers & helping her mum around. Just like what Kun di did. Everyone around talked of how Kun had bestowed her wisdom on Tun when she left for her heavenly abode.

( “Tun” the main character in the story is the author’s mother).

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2006

Running against time...

2006-04-01T09:19:00.000-08:00

Have just received a letter from my 10 yr ole. Since her birthday was unortunately between her school exams, we were not able to visit her at the boarding school. She writes "looking forward to seeing you all & my
decorated house" err..did she write "decorated"?

For those of you who do not know, this is her majesty's ways of conveying the list of "things to do" before she arrives for a short 10 day visit for Diwali.

It's 23rd October, have such a lot to finish at work & yet I fleetingly fret in small intervals about her "decorated house wish"...I'm running against time.

As I hurriedly approach my car, am disgusted at the numerous bird droppings decorating the car's windscreen. Agghh...I cannot drive around with this filth staring at my face & yet I do nothing about it as she's on her way, on the outskirts of the city...I'm running against time.

I speed off screechingly, leaving behind a trail of bewildered & angry drivers. I zig zag, breaking all rules of sanity, driven by the thought...gawd...I'm running against time.

The traffic signals...this is torture personified. She calls "maaa...have you reached home yet? I want you to welcome me when I arrive". I mumble about being there in a minute.

Driving recklessly, I spot the hot hunk, the newest addition in Bollywood..wow ! he looks dishy ! I want to oogle but hey !!! I'm running against time.

I race up the driveway, fumbling for my keys, trying to get a hundred things done at once coz...I'm running out of time.

I jump, I hang, I stretch, I climb, I slip in a frenzy to decorate the house as she wished in her letter. Everything in place at the nth hour, I quickly decend from my apartment feigning a composed look, looking for the car to
appear from around the corner.

There they come, honking noisily, she looks in anticipation & has a smug grin sure that her mum has done it all...she alights & hugs me...ouch..my back hurts...but hey..who cares.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2006

Being Cyrus – A Review

2006-03-27T03:37:00.000-08:00

Directed by the debutant director Homi Adajania, the story’s written by Kersi Khambatta. This is Saif Ali Khan's first English feature film. The movie seems to be garnering a lot of attention and some very gushing reviews, which, to my mind, demonstrate the fickle nature of the viewer & the reviewer.

Being a catostomidae for creative movies that have a touch of finesse, I jumped at the first opportunity to see this film. Have never been more wrong in my choice & judgment.

This is a "select" film for a "select" crowd. It’s a starkly natural film with extreme close-ups of the pigsty existence of the Sethna family. We have sadly started relating to films synonymous to bare reality as being arty & classy. Being Cyrus is a dark comedy based on the Parsi community in general.

The story revolves round the Sethnas. I admit there are some brilliant performances by Naseeruddin Shah (Dinshaw Sethna), Boman Irani (Farokh Sethna), Dimple Kapadia (Katy Sethna) & Honey Chayya (Fardounjee Sethna). Despite boasting such talents, the development of the storyline is sluggish. Most of the viewers cling on hoping that the next scene would perhaps bring them the much needed redemption from stagnating boredom. But nay…no such luck here!

Being Cyrus has been hyped as a movie at par with others like Iqbal and Mr & Mrs, which were, creatively made films with tight controlled performances and an effortless flow to the story line. Being Cyrus on the other hand has abrupt picturization of certain information that Adjania tries to feed the audience in punctuated but abrupt rushes that leaves one baffled. This movie’s supposedly a thriller that fails to thrill.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2006