Apparitions / Aberrations

I think most of the kids, most of them not yet nubile, just abruptly stop when their notebook's they are writing on nears the end of its pages. They get into a state of temporary soft shock. There is a pause, an interlude, and you can call it 'aberration' when kids are informed, and maybe call it 'apparition' in the case of creative ones. The next notebook then, or the next blog or the sketch is just better and maturer.

I hope all the kids will agree- We don' need no education! Apparitions / Aberrations are just as good.
 

The interlude.

Although I don't need it, it is not in my hands that I can avoid it; and, running away isn't an option because I will be returning back. The intermission you have in the movie halls is snappy, but I don't mind it then. Rather, I like it most of the times. It is interesting- a sudden yap of light is all around you, and you are taken by surprise that you were not the only one watching the movie. The chiliad strangers in their seats around you, emotioned pretty much like you, and unsuccessfully trying to stretch their bodies, are looking in random directions collectively; and, are going to watch some more of the movie along with you. A few of these have impatiently risen up from their seats and are hopping away for refreshments or refreshing or refresh. After some minutes, the hall is filled again with an aroma- of popcorns mostly. So, I must thank the interval. As much as it is not needed it is will anyways come by for a short visit.

Flats to the Hills- Shamless Travel broadcast- May and June 2015 - 07

Take it easy kid, my Papa's sis tells me,

your taxi's been arranged, so, no anxiety there, see.

Bua thinks anxiety is her own little child,

and should stay home all the time, with only her to mind.

So, I not dare any more opinion,

and straightaway head for oblivion,

seeking peace, raw greens of native home.

So, squeezed again, with my sisters and brethren,

the mountains deepen,

hills become lonelier, 

and hillier, and sunlight soft-lier .

The Gorges where sun is rare,

and the heat doesn't dare,

to mess with the noisy and frothy river,

sporadic waterfalls wett'n the land, so don't go near,

or you will get, 

wet, 

rather turn around,

see the grasslands bound,

village kids jumping galloping, 

with gay'r dogs, mostly black fur, hopping,

bopping, bouncing, little silhouettes they roam,

solitary taxi stuffed with Pahadis nearing home.

Flats to the Hills- Shamless Travel broadcast- May and June 2015 - 06

A few days now delayed,
staring north at the mountain's face,
Mini me kneeling on Himalaya's knees,
and so, I so feel so free,
soothed, calmed, spirited, entertained,
next is another drive of half a day,
which will easily take away a whole day another,
to a town called Pithora-garh.
A scattered hill town,
so beautiful deserves the Babel crown,
the quality of life pretty high,
check for yourself, talk to locals and get to know why,
an airport on its way in one of its dell,
excavators are in full swing then air tickets will soon sell,
just wait only a few years locals say,
under some spell their eyes look pretty gay,
they are not at all in hurry and are happy to wait.
Until then let the street vendor men,
from India's plains dominantly Northern,
are violently selling their vegetables and other production,
while they have been nicely told by the administration,
that if they shout  to sell they will be fined, even forbidden,
for to enjoy living in these mountains,
a common man needs quiet and calm brethren,
whose natures are needed dignified and gentle,
call it need for comfort or call it solace, or living simple.
Anyhow, the poor from mainland with their excuse,
get back to hagling and shouting as the law becomes a little loose,
reminding me this is an Indian city afterall,
people are many, and all need basic food.
Better look are free and furry street dogs,
Tibetan Mastiffs, Pomeranians, Chinese and a mixed lot,
of who not.
Most are lucky, have a choice to sleep in a warm home,
a slopey curvy town where alcohol and its bars are forlorn,
you will shun this spirit evenwhen you are alone,
as starry skies are all around at the eye's level,
chilly night town, looks semb'led pretty well.

Flats to the Hills- Shamless Travel broadcast- May and June 2015 - 05

The eyes get foliage and sunlight scatters,
curvy and twisty slopes we drive and turn into tatters,
while the greeny chromes turn into black and white,
wind gets cooler and soon I am with my kind.
I head solo to the dusky temple,
and see my people are going home,
in the land of Gods where I hear,
Mr. Bob and his friends have roamed.
So, I bow my head see the city lights,
from the top, from the famed Kasar Devi shrine,
Soon I am asking my own people, these stangers,
a hotel where I can drink and dine.
In no time I find a paid homely entrepreneurial stay,
strong and heavy beers have come walking too,
dine in the company of frugal travellers,
they ask you if you have your hiking shoe.
I say yes, and thank you, and so long,
you have a long stay, and a long way,
I am heading home, which is near,
bus is cheaper and expensive are taxi keeping hustlers.
There is no stopping with them,
like water flows, flows cream, Mcdowels and rum.
Another day has passed by,
new friends and old brothers show up and show,
and I can't be bothered why,
For, days are limited I know.
And, now I must head home,
but the shadows here, like silohuttes in Delhi, are attractive,
banana trees, other trees, their leaves and weed,
around are singing,
faith is the only friend,
rest are transcending.
And, I am to remind,
Wait, Dogs? Where are they?
Why didn' I talk to any testerday and today?
Why not even a hello or a bark on the way?
The brother hustler tells me,
here they all have become urbane,
remember Dajyu you have only reached until,
the knee of your mountains.

Flats to the Hills- Shamless Travel broadcast- May and June 2015 - 04

The song could have been pale,
the words flat,
Eye S Bee Tee, a beautiful name
with even a beautifuller stat,
Of travelling Indians mostly,
poor, rich, destitute, and lonely.
Even hawkers will eventually head home,
yet Eye S Bee Tee will stay like foam.

The bus engine roars,
old highway isn't empty anymore,
real bad food in an expensive halt,
only slumber can get rid of this fault.
A snap and dawn it seems has come,
Great Himalayas are in view, some,
an obvious sense of awesome.
Dream is it or has the bus stop come?
It doesn't matter, a much needed break it is,
I step out of the bus and see,
Paharees families in bunches squatting,
waiting to migrate for greener living,
town litter piled neatly by the side,
like a choir they are singing,
we will pick odd jobs or work as labourers.
And I can't understand why leave the land to its elders.
Brother asks to stay for a few days,
and I hesitate,
I say next time maybe,
hills this time are really calling and I am desperate.
Can you hear the mountain mastiffs roaming freely there are Howling,
Can you hear them brother? They are calling!
We both turn our heads and look at the misty mountains,
Silence sings about blue birds, wolves and its fountains,
This small town we wander quick and soon it is noon,
in the squeezed shared cab there is enough room.
 

Dear Farmer, You should live my way (The Progress)

A farmer, not a long time ago, had plenty of land to farm on. With this he also owned a shack, a family and cattle. He used large bodies of accumulated water and exploited rains; and so, fed himself and family. Sooner, number of family and friends grew, and he fed them all. Everyone, along with the farmer, pitched in with growing of the food. He cropped, and all helped, and farming got better with time.

Soon, some in the family and acquaintances who did not find much fun in farming and raising cattle started doing other interesting work, such as craft, pearl diving, travelling, making houses, bridges and so on. They needed food to eat, so they exchanged either money or goods with the farmer for the food he raised. Time went by and the world around the farmer got bigger, and a little more complicated. People evolved into many other types of livelihoods such as, gamblers, dacoits, cops, robbers and so on. The notion of family, which was a group of people living together changed into a small group of people living together.

All in all the society prospered, everybody prospered, and the categorizations prospered too. The farmer gave a part of his land for others to live and still had  plenty of land to farm on. The houses became better, man walked on the moon; the world progressed, and so did farming. Lesser area of farmland gave more crops. And, along with the farmer, his cattle, his acquaintances, friends and family prospered; only, with some lesser land.

Maha-Sankrant (Yesterday and Today)

Yesterday and Today were kind-of clairvoyant, otherwise known as Makar-Sankrant (pronounced Muckker - Sun-cra-ant). Most of the India peninsula is entangled in a kind of frenzy. Start of a new year and start of festivals, of which the spree and quantum will now end with Santa Claus’s B’dday. Every possible region or caste or group have to celebrate these two days in their own special way - ranging in from the mellow palm-joining-puja to the weirdest antics of kite-flying festival in Amdavad (colloquially – Uttar-raa-yun).

Panjabis of North celebrate on a night previous – called Lodi (Low-uh-duh-e) -which basically means family and friends gathered around fire with supplies of popcorns, peanuts, and every kind of fatty preparations India can cook as sweet snacks. Everything is allowed - condition being that it is should be digestible, either by the tummy or the fire in the center. Larger the group larger is the circle, therefore, higher the bon-fire.

Within this frenzy, somewhere comes my village’s own custom too - in which, everyone is supposed to feed animals one lives around with. I would regularly see some peaceful cows, pitiable dogs, and birds and crows around. The preparation for these guys is a three layer arrangement - of puri as base, vada as next layer, and the uppermost of sweet-yogurt spread’d on top. Deadlicious it could have been but nobody came - because, them the dogs and cows were just well fed, and crows were too intelligent to get trapped by millions random kite strings of Uttar-raa-yun. They weren't around, for I noted the leftovers still on the roof top in the evening. Glad, the Good-Samaritans helpline bikes came within five minutes as promised, and took away the injured pigeon from my hands, earlier fallen onto my roofs top.