Falsa (Grewia asiatica) - The Summer Superfruit

Falsa(s) fruit, served chilled with slight sprinkle of salt or spices - photo clicked by Author

    Summer months, particularly May and June but also April, provide us with refreshing purple berries known as Falsa or Phalsa. They form part of childhood memories for many children and elderlies alike. The sour-sweet and tangy taste has a lasting impression. These seasonal berries are native to South Asia, particularly grown in India and Pakistan.  

    Scientifically named as Grewia asiatica, these berries are grown primarily in Indian subcontinent. These bushes or small trees are grown in India and Pakistan at large scale particularly in Uttar Pradesh, Rajasthan, Punjab, Haryana, Madhya Pradesh, Maharashtra, Gujarat, West Bengal and in Himalayan foothills.

Corpus - The Rupee Tumble and Financial Stability

Photo by micheile henderson on Unsplash

"Beware of little expenses; a small leak will sink a great ship." - Benjamin Franklin 

 

      A year back, I was pondering a good bank balance - a good corpus to maintain in case one wants to retire early or be financially free to make major career changes. This was indeed a personal growth quest.

    A tweet/post by a New York City based girl helped me set initial compass or say benchmark. She had set a target of $200,000 before leaving her regular job and building her own venture. I found it a reasonable and ambitious goal, especially considering I am earning in Rupee and at that time one USD equalled about INR 87. And therefore, the $200,000 target translated into about  ₹17,400,000 at the time of beginning. If I started saving amount equivalent to my entire monthly salary at that time it would mean regular investment for well over a decade and a half (actually some bit longer).

Serenity

Photo by Javardh on Unsplash

“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing
and rightdoing there is a field.
I'll meet you there.

When the soul lies down in that grass
the world is too full to talk about.”
― Rumi

    The fight is within. The fight is in accepting that everything is not in one's control. Neither I have to be blamed for everything nor I have to be absolved. Some say intention matters, if that's the case mine was never impure. I need not submit to any single philosophy, logic, idea fully but sometime the way forward is to lean onto any idea that just reduces the chaos and brings about peace. It may not be the most constructive or romantic way, but might be suitable in practical reality.

 

Deviance?

Red Rose by Masaaki Komori

 “It is an absolute human certainty that no one can know his own beauty or perceive a sense of his own worth until it has been reflected back to him in the mirror of another loving, caring human being.”
― John Joseph Powell, The Secret of Staying in Love

    Aberrations or deviant behaviour, as they call it, are not easily accepted. But, as humans, we naturally seek bonds beyond conventions. It is our basic desire to connect with people at deep levels, to grow together, share ideas, thoughts and plans. We all seek people to fallback on, to rely upon in our weak times. We aspire to achieve together as well as to feed our souls. As a normal human being, we seek multi-dimensional growth. Material well being is to be supplemented by expanding and expressing our inner worlds for best of life. And somewhere, we desire to be prioritized and cared for without judgements.. We do not wish to feel lonely.

 

Doldrums

A post shared by Manik Doomra (@manikdoomra) on Oct 26, 2017 at 9:47am PDT

Sunsets are proof that endings can often be beautiful too. - Beau Taplin

There are patches when you are not vocal, you wilfully refuse to speak out. Often it is the period you are not sure/aware of your own feelings. The pangs are recurring and you are bewildered. If you don't understand yourself, what to expect from several others. Silence appears really golden in these times, at least ab initio. The longer the lull, distant you tend to travel from humanity. As someone would pronounce "solitude would engulf you" and the path back is not some meditated one, it just happens as in a spurt. Some sort of a reflex.

During such doldrums, while you traverse equators of mind amidst lack of guiding winds and gusts, you have that silent time to revisit the basics. The need to talk, to yourself, openly and free of several biases that social living shall bring about. You have this opportunity to recollect and re-examine your own moorings, the anchors that you devised to stick to in this otherwise sandbox world. The infinite directions often blind you to some constructs that you planned for yourself in the start. You realize you are missing the goals.

Besides, these depressions in psychic oceans are welcome rewinds to numerous mates and situations which have shaped you over the time. Some you might never meet again, some you are desperate to revisit, but at the same time you are 'losing' several for reasons perfectly naive but trade-markedly 'you'. But as it has been observed on a regular basis, this calm and silence is very vulnerable and therefore requires tremendous safeguard from noises and aberrations omnipresent. Potential of this calm can be achieved if it is ensured a plateau and finally resolution.

Currently listening - Knights Of Cydonia (Muse)

32nd Milestone

Tropicana by Jeremy Bishop

There is no charm equal to tenderness of heart. - Jane Austen

 Amidst the lofty high-rises and mundane offices is the offing. A simple retreat, missed a number of times for no reasons of particular merits. It is the unfinished business and it lingers on. The itch that persists past its usual date. And they say you rid the itch by satisfying it.

The ideas of ridding the itch bring you that little gleam. But the key to it stands lost in sands of times. Another layer is burying it down every passing second and thus is becoming remote - the idea of finishing the long standing business.

Often the venue is half the detail, the true worth being much more intangible. Just picture that winter sunshine, mild breeze, that mug of coffee or the wet sand on the beach, a nightly ghost story and certainly that silky bed sheet on a cold morning... You crave not the 32nd milestone, but the golden-black locks that blow in your face, certain sea of calm to paraphrase...

Old Kent Road

Leisure Weekends! #games #fun #design #colours #monopoly #home

A post shared by Manik Doomra (@manikdoomra) on May 3, 2015 at 12:29am PDT

Do you know the difference between a beautiful woman and a charming one? A beauty is a woman you notice, a charmer is one who notices you.
Read more at: https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/a/adlaieste114102.html?src=t_beautiful

Do you know the difference between a beautiful woman and a charming one? A beauty is a woman you notice, a charmer is one who notices you.
Read more at: https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/a/adlaieste114102.html?src=t_beautiful

If the path be beautiful, let us not ask where it leads. - Anatole France

The cheapest property on a standard Monopoly board is incidentally the most practical one. It often is available for free and it yields good returns. It is an easy and workable investment, low-maintenance and promises good and safe growth. It might very well enrich your pockets.

The life lesson it gives is that while the high price and desire for Mayfair and Park Lane are attractive and charming, being over-invested in these lofty goals beyond reasonable risks is not worth the pursuit. The chase is addictive and might turn tumultuous, irrational as most passions.

Measuring pros and cons is very business-like; unemotional. But, so is most modern life. It is but bland and high ideals are often butt of jokes. You seek and chase the big dreams, often ignoring numerous small and benign opportunities.

Old Kent Road is the escape you seek and the bargain is, often, not bad, but essentially heart-breaking. The beginnings are often humble. And the high prizes come in due course... So is the never-dying hope for Mayfair...

With Love To The Monopoly Board (metaphorical and philosophical one)...

Lahore

Tangible Intangible #spiritual #Delhi #diwali

A photo posted by Manik Doomra (@manikdoomra) on Nov 25, 2016 at 10:34am PST

Old man pours him milk, breadcrumbs dipped in it. Early morning pedigree.. 7:20 am north-bound mail just departed 15 minutes ago. Peeling oranges, he instructs Chotu to arrange bread on display and sprinkle water to settle the dust on the street. A red Coca-Cola truck parks in front, laden with bottles - black, orange, green and white. Marigolds plucked fresh being sewn into garlands...

An hour later, sun has risen up in the sky. Old wrinkly hands carefully oil his young body, working oil deep in his skin. Sun has started burning their skin, but towering old figure commands him to finish the exercises. Flesh of his young bony figure yearns for touch of water. Burnished he sweats hard - the regular Sunday routine. It is now that he doesn't mind those silent moments of being drowned into water, mornings that he would wake up underwater. The magic touch of water comes in due course, followed religiously by buttered Paranthas.

By afternoon, the old man is dwelling on a bed, clad in his trademark white attire - a shirt and a lungi. His moustache glorious and charming. Turban sitting pretty on his perennially bald head. Young lad adores the crisp touch of his white shirt and bony body, looking forward to the stories from eternity. Stories of Mughals, Marathas, Rajputs, but mostly stories from Lahore, stories from lost Punjab and stories of adoring English masters.

He would hear of classrooms full of Musalmans and Sikhs, reading Urdu and Sanskrit, together. Sikh villages surrounded by Muslim populations and vice-versa. Memories of a rickety truck distributing ice in Lahore and 20 miles around, leaving dust trails along the Grand Trunk Road. He would tell him, "Musalman aurataan dudh vargiyan chittiya si" (Muslim women were white as milk). Long tales of his pursuits and how he managed to please Maulwis (teachers in Madrasa) with intellect unusual of a Jatt. The boy was particularly amazed to hear of Mughal lineage, stories of Harems and how Aurangzeb taxed Hindus and imprisoned his own father, viciously with a clear view of Taj. These were not stories from text books, these were oral stories generations told each other.

Out of curiosity, he would ask him to write "Delhi" in Urdu. The result was pure art, a calligraphic imprint. Sifar, he learnt, was how zero is called in Urdu. So much more seductive than any pronunciation in any other language. Amazingly, he didn't hear much negative about English, people or language, from old man's Punjabi mouth. Cheerful mentions of English madam wishing to take him to England and tears she had when India was being left behind. Little guy had often wondered how England would have been... While English dream was never fulfilled, Fortunes and toils left behind in the land of Five Waters. But, little could anyone complain, it was but shared fate of everyone they knew.

Delhi to begin was a refugee camp. Societies having little choice, but to flourish. Coming together in honeycombs spread across city, the beginnings were needy and benign. Fortunes were founded on qualities of perseverance, collaboration, spirit and vigour. We could say it was a Phoenix...

First Jury

A customized version of Jenga, being played in an architecture studio session.

Clad in formals, they come in a variety of sizes. Small, Medium, Large and XL. A particularly tiny one seems perplexed and serious. A gentle smile relaxes the kid and those eyes appear appreciative of the support. Another variety of support is 'Moral'. Which is nothing but presence, an active presence! Over cups of coffee and clatters of portfolios, the knitty-gritties flourish. Like everytime social butterflies, story-tellers, shy chipmunks, rational thinkers, budding rebels, lazy sloths, fresh couples and all formed the pack. Talks, discussions, motivations and a general energetic flow form order of the day. Marking is done, shop is now officially closed. In the afterhours, the extra class begins. The semester ends with general talks and discussions with students livid and enthusiastic... while the sun sets and a cold winter night takes over for some peace. Some new stories have started shaping up, amidst preparations of further routines.

Beef Over Beef

Farmers at work in Myanmar

The politicians in India are debating diet of nation, some of them with quite loose tongues (Sangeet Som, Manohar Lal Khattar, Assasuddin Owaisi, Mohammad Azam to name a few). Meanwhile, the filth elected by popular mandate has forgot that alternative to beef is pulses, with regards to protein content and as a staple component of Indian diet and at Rs 200/kg those are now costlier than beef. So, while beef is a politically ill-advised diet, pulses are no longer pocket friendly.

This brings us to focus of government in last 1 year and 6 months. Mr. Modi has been on a world tour attracting investment in Indian manufacturing sector, the Make In India programme and his passion for providing Facebook to every Indian is world famous. The effort has attracted investments, albeit it seems directed wrongly. The country needs to focus on infrastructure, but politicians (including Mr.Arun Jaitley) have forgotten the infrastructure is not only railways and roadways (Mr. Gadkari might, dreamily, relay whole Indian highway network and go gung-ho about it). It also includes support and networks for an agrarian economy, alternative energy schemes, housing schemes which are affordable. Clean India campaign is very praise-worthy and some impact is visible now-a-days. Yoga politics is a personal choice with little or no implication outside RSS shakhas.

The current vision and policy seems to be short-sighted and should, probably, be revised to focus on modernizing the farms of India. And modernization is not to be confused with mechanization. The entrepreneurs in India today are well placed to help develop alternative crop collection, storage, sorting and distribution systems and also market them. Replacing red-tape ridden food programmes of governments. With large, educated workforce, a big part of which are engineers, doctors, managers, agriculturists the focus ought to be on incensing them to work in creative endeavours like rural economy and not jumping into urban rat-race or chasing an unreal American dream, loaned by corporations.

There have been reports and observations of a collapsed real-estate sector. The reason for which are misplaced focus on developing luxury housing, ignoring the sustained demands for low-cost housing. An unsold inventory of nearly a million apartments indicates stagnation in demand of such projects and a bad case of hollow urbanization of a truly rural nation, such 'development' is resulting in loss of prime agricultural lands in Doab regions of Ganga and Yamuna and pressurising resources in other parts of India.

Ideas in this post might sound socialist, but are truthfully capitalist and rightist on any economic parameter and if India's right wing fails to steer it forward in those directions, that would be the true failure of the Indian mandate and the Modi government. The beef would be then with the rightist hope and missed opportunity of a global scale.

Half-Baked Federalism

A ribbon produced in support of Federation of Australia in 1899.

 India is a federation of states. A federation heavily biased towards central government. The idea of an extremely strong centre might have been historically important, but with growing economic and social integration of states within the federation, the nation should think of granting more autonomy to states, primarily within the constitutional provision and sometime even amending those provisions.

The autonomy of Jammu & Kashmir has been a question of debate. In retrospect, it seems, many are against it because it is available to that state only. Given similar autonomy to Maharashtra or Bihar or Punjab, they will hurriedly leap at it.

About 70 years into independence, the nation should essentially look into concepts like dual citizenship (domicile requirements in colleges are doing it indirectly). The federation should be strengthened by transferring more rights to states. And inhibiting abrogation of elected state governments (aka The President rule) other than in extreme situations.

Per my perspective, dual citizenship can help deal issues of large scale in-migration (and thus infrastructure mismanagement), child labour, labour abuse, human trafficking etc. States should be given authority to admit or deny citizenship on the basis of parameters like education, skill and may be patronage(in cases like that of Teesta Seetalwad, where she feels at risk in Gujarat - I don't buy into her arguments though).  Right to live, work anywhere should be subject to conditions. Essentially, citizenships should be looked into as something to be earned (an incentive of good education can be citizenship of Karnataka or for that matter Bangalore and so on). This will also make local electorate to force their representatives to develop infrastructure in their places rather seeking asylum in other states in squatter settlements in sub-human conditions (read slums of Delhi and Mumbai).

The states should also be strengthened monetarily and pseudo-states like Delhi should be avoided. The monetary strengthening requirement can be seen in begging and sanctioning of grants like the package Bihar got in a recent poll rally, in what can be seen as one of the filthiest display expected of a prime minister (will never achieve unbeatable Rajiv Gandhi, "jab bade ped girte hain..."). Revision of revenue share of states from 32% to 42% is one such step and essentially needs to be incorporated into policy and should not be dependent on mercy of a central government. We can't be sure if our next prime minister will come with experience of being a state chief minister (probably that should be made into an eligibility criteria for the post of PM) and thus would be as understanding of such federalist policies or not.

With limited knowledge of mine, I am able to highlight some of the goods that some of state reforms can bring about. Essentially there are more goods that can be achieved and there must be some flaws in suggestions I have mentioned, these should be ironed out and a better federation should be evolved.

Protocols

This republic day, 2 protocols were not followed for goodness. In the first case, the tradition of inviting ex-CMs of Delhi to republic day parades was broken by not extending invitation to Mr. Arvind Kejriwal. In the second, the prime minister of India himself received US President at airport. The latter is not unprecedented, Manmohan Singh has done it before. The publicity and mania surrounding the visit was unprecedented though.

I, for one, feel relished at Kejriwal being uninvited. The very person who last year was shouting against republic day parade, carrying out bazooka rallies; while being the CM of the state - 4 seats short of majority but never shy of enjoying the pleasures of office and using 49 days to do publicity (it didn't matter how much was mandated by public, only 40% of Delhi's seats were his) for his future ambitions to become PM of India. The goons he promoted as ministers in his cabinet were carrying out raids without warrants and the rallies to get full statehood were suspended with dismissal of 2 police officers. The protocol was 'broken', but that's still not unlawful as protocols are guidelines and are only moral obligations. The shunning of a protocol for it is being used by someone for propaganda is a positive step forward.

The latter protocol is that ministers and not the chief of state receives the guests, even premiers of other nations, at airports on arrival. This was overlooked in favour of an image building exercise, sending out a visual vibe to the world. The gesture could capture world media's attention towards growing stature of the nation is a positive development. Reciprocity shown by Mr. Barrack Obama is heartening and, if implemented word to word, shall bring about good of the two states.

Below I highlight a recent status update on my FB profile, the post was evoked by disenchantment towards rogue behaviour of a supposedly 'well-wishing' Mr. Kejriwal. The degree of intrusion these elements can bring to the state of Delhi by socialist mindset, uncaring of the concepts like feasibility, economics and several other factors...

That's exactly what you expect from AAP, intrusion in your life. They can call you, you never registered with them, and ask you to vote for them in "aane wale vidhansabha chunav". 

Your unwanted calls are reason enough to mark you SPAM. Last year you were entering houses without warrants, now you are calling without reason. A leaflet describing your aims could do better, but you believe in entering houses. 

And thy subsidy promises will be funded by our taxes. We surely don't want to spend our taxes on your publicity stunts. Enjoy, while you dream of taking oath on Feb 15. Rudeness is your culture, since systems you don't understand.

Saddening that the freebies are able to lure so many people that you actually might score big numbers. The city is already in shambles at many fronts, and your kind of politics is no help. Its very much being an Ostrich, "burying thy neck while the problems approach". 

Never call me again. I believe in humanism and your semi-leftist approaches have been of no use. Opportunism is first tenant of your policy. 

To Arvind Kejriwal, to persist is important. Because if you stand for nothing, you will fall for anything. That's perfectly your case.

Happy Voting on February 07' 2015.

The Detroit Red

Malcolm X in March 1964

"There is no better than adversity. Every defeat, every heartbreak, every loss, contains its own seed, its own lesson on how to improve your performance next time." — Malcolm X

While anger is something we are taught to contain, it certainly is one of the purest emotions. An angry person is a spontaneous person, the best he can be. What an angry person says is not fabricated, it is simply the truth from his perspective. But, historically very few have been able to articulate their anger creatively. Most have simply gone destructive. 

    To this end Malcolm X, the personification of anger, is a figure to look up to. One prime figure of American Black Rights Movement, he embodied a personality that was magnetic as well as one that could inspire fear. He was rightfully angry for the basics he was denied as a citizen of a nation, but more so as a human. His championship for rights of people, he considered brothers has been fierce and unabashed and essentially not concealed by garb of nonviolence.

The Throne Is Vacant

Full bloom in Delhi, mid-March.

The object of my worship lies beyond perception's reach; For men who see, the Kaába is a compass, nothing more. - Mirza Ghalib

He was already 74 when I was born. His most famous book was in its 50s when I read it. And while am still exploring him, he is a dead man at 99. He lived far more than life expectancy in his homeland, India.

The grand old man of Indian literature possessed a writing style which is ageless and timeless. The blunt, upfront and somewhat crude signature of Khushwant Singh was magnetic to people like me, who look for detail but need it to be simple and lucid. Besides his association with legends of bygone era and the experience he accumulated over an illustrious career can't be compensated.

The way he unravels the plots of Train To Pakistan and Delhi : A Novel indicate his skill of observation and ability to describe in an unabashed and unrestrained way. A career which would be envy of anyone interested in literature and people, Khushwant Singh made the best of it.

Born to contractor of Delhi Sardar Sobha Singh, Khushwant had every condition necessary for making of a brat. But he also possessed talent and wit to use his prizes, alongside the formidable challenge of outshining his father, who according to the legend commanded half the land of the city while British were creating New Delhi.

Half decade as resident of New Delhi, he epitomises the most fantastic aspirations one can imagine as well as the complex character of this refugee city. Reaching the upper echelons while maintaining an integrity of absolute order. Earning the luxuries and then consuming them to eloquence are some of the ways to summarise the grand and regal personality that thrived amongst the elite of all types in a central Delhi citadel.

Glad that the newly independent nation had such open minds to document its young years while it saw tremendous turmoils and tasks of building legacies that the future can look up to and care to uphold. While he proved to be a capable heir of legends like Mirza's Ghalib, the standards to meet and uphold have been defined for generations to come. The throne at Delhi is vacant and up for contest...

Saffron Perspective of Green Terrorism

An Indian National Congress rally in Mumbai.
Courtesy: Al Jazeera English  on Flickr | License: CC BY-SA 2.0

Since, in India, the right wing political activism has been painted the colour Saffron, often without giving much thought and insight to its ideologue, I would like to term my views of ex-environment minister, Jayanthi Natrajan's criminal adventurism in office for as long as 3 years - Saffron Perspective of Green Terrorism.

This when Natrajan had no more than ludicrous reasons like "can't recall why final approval was delayed" in view of a project having clearances regarding Coastal Regulation Zone (CRZ) or "I wanted a holistic (probably doing a Manish Tewari) study of river basin" in case of a project cleared by Forest Advisory Committee (FAC) and hundreds of such projects.

Last month whenmuch dreaded Gujarat CM went ballistic over her policies by terming them a "Jayanthi Tax", little did populace know that his state alone suffered more than 1/3 of Rs. 3 lakh crore investment menace attributed to this one woman, who was at the helm of affairs in Pariyavaran Bhawan in New Delhi.

Her unilateral environmental vigilantism proved death-blow in an economic scenario where maverick troika of Manmohan Singh, P. Chidamabaram and Montek Singh Ahluwalia toyed with policies to bring about an annual inflation of over 7 percent (in industrial parlance), resulting in candid slaps to the tune of Rs 2,100 crores under not-so-savvy tag of 'cost escalation' in major infrastructure projects entailing investments similar to Rs 30,000 crore. The gravity of these economic crimes is more evident and further manifests itself a social trouble when these resulted in holding back of power generation projects in a country which suffered a peak electricity shortage  of 4881 MW in September 2013 (it is another thing that Indian government is very active in pursuing electricity sales to neighbouring countries like Pakistan, failing in delivery at domestic front).

In her own admission, Jayanthi told Parliament that 330 projects were stuck in her ministry's office in August 2013. The whole disaster no longer surprises a disillusioned electorate which has suffered the, arguably, most corrupt government in independent India's history. This is no wonder under puppet leadership of a Sardar mired in  Coal Block allocation scam, while his 'high-command' goes on a bizarre dole drive with national treasury at her disposal.

Much to a self-respecting citizen's chagrin, it yet again took a rap, a thumb-up and probably tearing up of some 'confidential' under table deals by dynasty's scion, most probably in an image-building PR drive, to figure out Natrajan's maladies and force her resignation on the eve of prince/heir's FICCI adventure in late December 2013.

Reference: India Today - Jan 27'2014 edition, Special Report.

Gap

A bus travelling through vast fields.
Courtesy: World Bank Photo Collection on Flickr | License: CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

Late winter , air was still cold and dry. One would shiver given the harsh environment. They had begun gathering and load luggage in the bus. Meeting and greeting every new-comer. There are smiles and chatter all around but his is an anxious soul. He has made some plans for the trip but he could hardly include his fancies. As the night grows deeper, people start boarding the bus and taking up seats.

He is early to board and blocks two seats. As she enters the bus, he can do little to stop himself from wishing her to sit beside him. But as she takes a seat two rows away from him, not even recognizing his presence, he becomes a bit more sullen and decides to go to a lonely corner window seat in the back of the bus. He unconsciously wishes no one to be aside him and spontaneously, in his brain, decides to keep everyone away.

As the front seats in bus are no longer available, this damsel thin and clad quite candidly takes the seat beside him. Without being asked he tells her, "I am not closing the window, even when the bus is at full speed." She simply nodes and shrugs her shoulders and leans back in the seat while talking to a figure in bus's corridor. He keeps silence. Bus jostles and makes slow movement on city streets. The wind is hurting him, but he is adamant. He can still bear it as the city is still warm and his jacket is thick.

He is deep in thought. By now the bus is on city outskirts and moving swiftly as traffic has now dwindled down. The winds are coarse and blunt. He braves them in the face, keeping his pride intact. His back towards his co-passenger, he is not aware of the discomfort being caused to her. Suddenly, he feels a hand on his shoulder. He is suddenly mild and no more rigid, she whispers, "Please, close the window". Making no arguement, he just closes the window silently trying to plug the gaps that might leak wind to her. He is careful, yet aware not to let it be evident. Through the night he gazes at her, making just mild talk. His brittle surface giving into a warm interior.

By the day break, bus has reached its destination. The party is supposed to move to the train for their journey onwards. The hustle-bustle is back again. The night's silence lost. And the companions having moved as swiftly as they had come together just for a journey amongst hundreds of days. Train honks as the orange-red sun begins to warm the Earth on South-Eastern horizon...

Same Place... Same Time...

A simple facade.
Courtesy: Alexandre Dulaunoy on Flickr | License: CC BY-SA 2.0

(originally posted on Facebook) 

Red Stripes: Duh, ugly face sits in front of me, checking me out sheepishly :$ :$ :$..

Blue Tee: *not caring, checks her out* : Huh! Another one out of school, (needy) tags a guy, flaunting her ladies...*turns around, looks on the other side* Black cat is grace, big lively eyes dancing... capture her, hold the stance and she goes... ah.. livid, elegant, mesmerizing...

Red Stripes: Vulture, uncouth... learn to dress and sit, (you) shit-face, eating mouthful!...

Blue Tee: *defiantly...*: Jealous? Robbing the guy of his pocket money... I still prefer the lady ;) She is my new crush, for next 2 years (may be)... You notwithstanding!!! *laughs illiterate*

Red Stripes: *downs a glass of water, distances from his guy, visibly fuming*: Asshole, u hoe! U r a nobody…

Blue Tee: *loses interest, falls in love*: Flowing hair, shapely curves, enthusiastic smile…
Living a virgin? Sure…
Ain’t got no gf? No…
It’s plain, nobody loves you... Right, me too searching for “nobody”…
*snaps… those pink lips*

Black Cat: *batters eyes, throws hands in air*: I know you looking at me… I don’t mind, but keep your distance please

Blue Tee: *acknowledging*: I understand, just be serene…

Black Cat: *leans into Curly Hairs, The guy won’t learn…* : Stalking?

Blue Tee: *guessing…*: Umm… No, just trying… Romantic?

Black Cat: *been there, done that*: I am serious business, not romantic!

Blue Tee: *smells the food, yummy! Worth a lick…*: I see. Want to ask… When will you girls loose the mommy feeling? Such a big crowd surrounds you like barbed fences…

Red Stripes: *taking interest*: This seems interesting…

Black Cat: *smiling inwardly*: Big prizes are never easy… Upgrade, be a human… Before the animal stint…

Blue Tee: *slight serious, yet not losing it, recovers… smiles*: I understand. I appreciate. But madness (love) can be a solo trip… *turns back, checks Red Stripes* she still beats you, any day…

Red Stripes: *calm and relaxed, more composed than ever*: It’s OK… Go on…

Black Cat: *stands up, to leave. Turns around, tying her hair, greetings…*: Time to leave… Nice time… You will learn

Blue Tee: *not blinking his eyes, continues to stare. Silence ensues…*

Black Cat: *walks beside Blue Tee… No words… Look nice… The last glance probably*

Curly Hair: *jumps into the air, loud to the crowd…*: Bye! Bye! See you tomorrow…

Blue Tee: *wide eyed… amazed…*: Same place??? Same Time???

Red Stripes: *on looking, laughing…*: Cheap!!! Are you for real?

*Silence follows… Fan’s noise… Fun continues… Hopefully!*

Jawahar Kala Kendra, Jaipur

8PM, 21/08/2012, Tuesday

Underdog

A Bungalow on Barakhamba Road, New Delhi.
Courtesy : linuskendall on Flickr.

Sunlight filters into the first floor balcony of this building of colonial standing. It somewhat perturbs but nonetheless is fun to get some tan on a winter noon. As he and his friend walk through an array of oil paintings, done meticulously on canvas, they are increasingly appreciative of artists' talents, craftsmanship and imagination.

At once she catches his attention. In black stilettos she stands tall, wrapped in her skin tight jeans, her long hair falling over her slender shoulders. He is reluctant to look away, though repeatedly being told how mean it is to stare. He is adamant and continues to gaze as she continues with her task, detailing potential buyers about the paintings, cost and stuff. She mesmerizes walking through the stacks, her heels clicking against the wooden floor. As his friend continues to be increasingly engrossed in details of artwork, he is more and more lost.

As he is not to relent, she now acknowledges his gaze - having caught him looking on numerous times. He is also able to catch her stealing glances and occasionally fixes her with his eyes. He is not to advance, as he enjoys this tranquil conversation. Though sure he will not be rebuffed, given the scenario and his intuition, he refrains from making talk; for he probably prefers being an underdog, away from luxuries and limelight while fancying them in every second of his thoughts...

Unresolved!

A bridge and a frozen river!
Courtesy: Irmeli Aro on Flickr | License: CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

Dear Diary (sorry for the typos, happens frequently at this hour, humane!)

Four yellow-green lights blink in front of him, the only sounds being very infrequent taps on computer keyboard and constant humming of the ceiling fan. Yet its noisy in his head, even a hectic and corrosive day is unable to put him to sleep. He aches and several parts of his body pant for mercy, but the thoughts won't go. Bloodshot eyes pool tears, blurring vision. Still he evades sleep, for he fears the thoughts, the feelings that dwell deep within. On the surface he portrays normalcy, camouflaging the turmoils and conquests beneath the colourful mask. He sometimes hates himself for harbouring emotions, at others he fuels himself by the same. Having lost already, he wishes not to accept the fate. Adamant he fights, aimless, unguided and unresolved. He wishes not to perish, but he knows few ways to pursue. No adventure helps him much, his appetite for martyrdom betrays him thousand times a day. He wishes for a refuge, a certain cave; away from the haphazard, hidden from all the disdain...

Birds...

Beautiful Red Cherries
Courtesy: Colin on Flicker | License: CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

...as a 4 or 5 something she stands out! A sunflower yellow frock falls down her waist creating a bizarre contrast against her pale and freckled skin. Face glows crowned with black hair that vanish around her slender neck, which seems to jab out of floral shirt concealing her rather lanky figure. He goes on his knees to be level with her, trying to look into her big black eyes. It's enchanting when her pink lips part to utter a frank hello and he cherishes the divine. A strip of glass panels lets sunshine in, wind ferrying the curtains on its wings. He stands up, carrying her in his arms - a peck on her cherry cheeks. Walks across the room to plop on the large couch that's the only piece of furniture in the large room overlooking the large garden that sprawls just a bit short of the infinity. Noon fades into a gloomy red and grey, but electric evening. His eyes transfixed to the Brownian motion that this darling exhibits as he continues to recline in the synthetic satin, (suddenly) to his amazement a pearl rolls down his bony cheek, (at once) to lose its shiny existence to the cushion underneath...