lines for a light blue monday :-)

looking at you across a sea of faces

it's just the beginning of the week

i see you're busy - i know i am busy

but i still cannot resist a glance...

 

it's just monday love, what do i do to make you and the weekend come closer? ;-)

If You Forget Me - Pablo Neruda

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.

- Pablo Neruda

Bushu

My sister and I often complain (albeit good naturedly) that Ma is so fond of Bushu, our dog, that she chooses to ignore us nowadays. The truth is I suppose that Bushu has cast his spell over us all and none of us are really immune to his doggy charm!

 

Even Baba, who is your average strict and stern patriarch is not above scratching Bushu's belly or feeding him tidbits! He even allows the dog to climb in under the covers in winter. Of course he pretends that he wasn't aware when the dog climbed in at night but then he makes no attempt whatsoever to move him away. Ma of course is the one who spoils him most. She sings to him and calls him a thousand pet names (er he is a pet! hahaha) and cuddles him. He doesn't eat from anyone else and reserves his most adoring looks for her. I think Ma likes the fact that he is completely dependent on her. She readily admits that after we grew up (and moved away) she didn't really have much to do. Having Bushu fulfilled a need in her. She likes fussing over him and he loves all the attention!

 

My sister and I, when we are not complaining about him that is, admit unabashedly our love for Bushu! He was the cutest puppy ever and he is the mildest mannered, most gentle creature we know.

 

Just today, someone said that it was nice having someone to come home to, of course by that he meant his wife... but like I love the fact I have Bushu to come home to! He'll wag his tail furiously and jump around as if saying "I am so excited to have you back home! Let's play!"

A Sunday Haircut

This photo is dedicated to all the bad haircuts we were given as kids!

I took this photo one bright Sunday as we were driving through Bauria, which is around 2 hrs away from Kolkata. I think the kid's woebegone expression says it all. This made me laugh and remember all the terrible haircuts I used to get as a kid!

My first e-post

Just a test to see if this works... really!

Alone but not lonely... remembering Delhi - 1

Miss Delhi winter mornings. When everything around you is shrouded with smoky mist - that gets into your nose, your mouth, your hair and that permeates every thought with a wistful sigh...
And the morning tea, best served at some roadside dhaba just as dawn breaks - to reach which paradise, you ride pillion on a Thunderbird no less... ah yes, life has its moments... and then you watch the planes land and take off but the deafening roar does not disturb your peace...
And then at CP, when walking upon the faint stripes of winter sunlight that somehow struggle to fall at your feet as you weave through the white columns to reach that quaint old bookshop, and you climb the narrow wooden stairs and reach the upper floor and settle down for a read in the sweet dead smell of old books...and then you revive your spirits with hot and tangy aloo chat at the corner right in front of a high end shoe shop! And of course, if you have come that far, then how can you not try on the lovely beige slippers in the window?
Then there's the bhuttawala in the evening... you scout him just as soon as the sun makes its descent down into the city skyline and the evening pulls on a dark cloak, to keep warm I think... each bite into the burnt and lemony corn leaves you strangely happy... the chill creeps up your legs and from your fingers and nose but nothing touches the warmth inside...

Splash

At the lovely pool at Vedic Village.

Rest in Pieces

My sweet potato plant died. :-(

Sweet Summer Goodness

Empty Evening Verse

the low hum of mechanical cooling
the flutter of paper and the scratching of a pen...
a glance around to see who else is stuck with you.

a lone monitor flickering in an almost deserted office...
a conference call and raised voices in foreign accents...
the tapping of computer keys...
a sip of the metallic coffee that you know is not good for you.

a restless city going home behind the windows...
a sigh...
minutes spend in thinking of things that were not...
back to the powerpoint and clicking on the formatting tool...
your presentation has to be in order, even if your life isn't.

A hero falls...

You, who walked away 

and crushed our hopes...

and left dead, destroyed dreams in your wake...

You, who showed such promise

and with your eyes, made us look forward

and with your words, helped us speak

And now, as you leave, we can only perceive a shift

just as your shadow creeps out

We understand you need your silence...

And anyway...it is too late to ask why you did what you did

and would you have done otherwise...had you known?

There's no answer, and we almost know why...

We will crawl back into our shells again, 

Turn off the lights and pull up the covers to our chins...

Cold hard brutal reality rampages outside

and without our champion, 

We are again back to our defenseless selves...

Another hero falls, 

his shining armour spirited away in secrecy

his broadsword broken

and shield already taken over by rust...

What can we do?
But wait, but not with much hope 

For yet another one?