The vibrant Japan

A free literature ride,
took me to the land of Samurai,
my best black brother, I don't remember, maybe my yellow bhai,
happy and surprised asked me why,
why have you come here, why?
I said, to see heights of technology,
and humanity, if it has survived?

His eyes went round,
he liked my free style.
Then I asked where do you get manga?
He asked, cheap or mahanga?
I said, I don't care,
get me one.
So, he put his right hand on his side,
swoosh he took out his cell,
told me it works only in human hands,
with the heat that it felt.

I said that is fine,
ok get me a bookstore my man,
maybe some coffee, and some Sushi.
So, forty stories high we went for a beer,
he said, look this is Japan,
nothing here now to fear,
radioactive is already our blood,
see it in our great comics,
our baseball, telly games and saki,
where robots and human combine,
only to pass some time,
nuclear reactors are our babies,
of that is human endeavour that will always shine.

A free literature ride,
took me to the land of Samurai.

The Laari Rider

I didn’t succeed to define this livelihood, for it is easy; some say Shakhpbhaji wado, Pasti wado, some something else. They are good talkers and they own four wheelers, otherwise known as hand-carts, good for legs. Rs.6000 it costs to buy one and what it carries is something more valuable- a livelihood, most likely of a family, sometimes an entire village. I hear of their informal involvement in moving India’s economy- a large involvement - moving along.

Then I think, and perhaps accept or accept not, their sweaty feet which glide and run the country; roads not designed for these, they just happen to be, feel its roughness, its fatigue? I also sometimes go to the extent of blaming these Laaries anti-developmental, because they are not mechanised and run purely on sweaty-feet power.

But then I wonder, perhaps un-sub-consciously, are the four wheels of these Laaries symbolic of 'no-change'?  for the times they are a changing, or not-changing?

The folklore of flood

The people of villages in Bihar they live in harmony, most villages are situated closer by when compared to other parts of the world. There are people from almost all religion, caste, income-status, and so on. Evening Bhajans and folk songs are a routine at these fertile and feudal lands, which hasn’t seen much progress so far. Perhaps the rich fertile alluvial land, the perpetual supply of soil from Himalayan erosion and floods, gives strength to all the men to stick to their viewpoint. 

Bhola Rajak is a routine performer with his Harmonium and heartful cracksome vocals. Others would assist him with percussion instruments such as Tabla, making arrangements for dari, mike, fetching chairs for elderly, and so on. A loud-speaker masted as high as possible, which would be ten odd feet, or even higher, is a continuous invitation. Recently, most songs of Bhola and partner have been devotional songs, songs devoted to Gods, otherwise also known as Bhajans. They also play Folk songs which may sound similar to Bhajans to the uninformed ears, but hey, we know what Folk songs mean. They are truthful and unsophisticated but intelligent structures which portray the struggles of the times they are played in. Folklores attempt to transfer wisdom, mostly through a story. Unlike Bhajans, Folk songs usually do not take God that seriously. Bhola, to his own as well his audience’s demand has been keen on Bhajans, and on my inquiry if he has his own orginial Folk songs as well, more specific my question that if floods are so common to you you must have some flood songs under your belt. He could not refuse my friendly request and played one on floods for next ten minutes.

It is also quite likely that he made up the song just there right on spot. The song had kanyas- three of them, a bamboo raft on which they floated, a snake on top of the raft which they find later, and finally encountering robbers at the end down-stream where the flooded river slowed. Now, where should these three helpless women go? In front is a deep well, and now behind a valley. And, all of a sudden, the dangerous looking snake transmogrifies into Lord Krishna who then took good care of the robbers and the three helpless women too.

Oh my God…

***

Bhajan: (N.) Song devoted to God.

Dari: (N.) Floor rug

Harmonium: (N.) Portable Wind based instrument which has keys. Modern synthesizers/casios come from this.

Kanya: (N.) Female of the human species

Mike: (N.) An Indian alternative for sound amplification. Altertive to Mic./ Microphone.

Tabla: A Melodic percussion instrument which comes in pair.

Lack of ready food options for pets and owners in Ahmedabad

Bend recently was watching TV with Banjo, some foren channel, a programme called, ‘Heavy Petting’ in a channel called NDTV Good Times, and he discovered humans employed, to taste, to do something called pedigree quality testing. The same way he had heard of lipsticks tested on pigs lips before they are out in the market.

Either loners or busiest people on the earth keep dogs. They both do not live with their families mostly, so find two advantages in pedigreed food. One, complete nutrition; second, negligible effort required to feed the pet.

The numbers of loners or busy people increase in a city. Bend and Banjo live in comfort of Amul’s city, Ahmedabad, where half of the dogs are also vegetarians. Their owners insist and are quite convincing that a dog can eat whatever they would otherwise eat normally.

Banjo usually complains, by making a disgusted face, how pedigreed animal food tastes lame compared to the tastier options of cooked food or meat. Bend can’t help, for the local market cannot provide the variety. He barks back at Banjo because the latter wouldn’t care how human beings feel about eating the same cornflakes regularly, while watching TV.

Red and White

Photo courtesy: CEPT Website http://cept.ac.in

Or, ‘The Internet’- according to the wise men/women

There is a rumor at times that Santa dresses a combination of red and white because of Coke’s influence in the history. It is an American phenomenon, otherwise Santa used to be green and white. Ask one of my color challenged friend, who lives in America, and with whom I used to share the same green lawns, note green, and do idle nothing but gaze at the stars. This portion of South Lawns has a nice gentle slope to lay on one’s back. The lawn has a small, and only one inside the lawn, a small eight foot tree. Owl has big eyes, and when they gaze they really gaze. It was year 1998. We then felt, Christmas goes well with the soft chill of the city. This tree was frequently used as Christmas tree.

It was by sheer coincidence that I walked past the same lawns recently on the evening of 25^th December 2010. And, looking at the small area on the green lawns around the tree, it took me no time in recollecting a conversation I had a few days back, before christmas, with one of the cultural secretaries, a student of the place. He mentioned he is looking for a good Christmas party this year. He also has had ideas not only for a Santa but a Banta as well. Now, walking past the lawns I noted bursted remnants of red and white balloons suspended to the delicate branches of the delicate tree, and some remnants and discarded white paper plates around. The red and white combination was left to the next agency, the puens and the safaiwalas. In fact, in that distinguishable waste, I also saw a Classic Milds packet too, not an American product at all.  

It looked like the party went well with all jubiliancy.

“So this is Christmas…”,

John Lennon <http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HG7TZEaO6lI>

---

Puen = n. Handman

Safaiwala = n. Cleaner

Race to Liberty

India is a phunny country, some like to call it absurd too, I say the same too, sometimes. Its communal places, like hospitals and schools have alertness and educational messages, mostly on walls, and sometimes on desktop screens. These are one liners usually. Such as-

"Nobody will believe in you unless you believe in yourself"

- Liberace

Now, who the hell is Liberace?

Mahes?

Morning sun, dew and games for the handicapped

Morning orange sun feels nice on the face. The sun is not strong, and one can feel the morning dew. This is one of the common mornings in Bodakdev of Ahmedabad. Bend is happy to see kids being loaded into the back of a tempo. They are to be transported to the play grounds at Maninagar of Ahmedabad. He is told, recently made, the play facilities are well equipped world class. One staff tells these kids are being transported to prepare for the handicapped games. The P.T. teacher dressed in white pants and white shirt is ensuring each one is tightly fitted on the back of the three-wheeler. He wants to ensure their safety on the unsafe roads of Amdawad city.

In the same compound, Banjo and some left out kids are busy in their own world. They are happy having Banjo fetch the ball thrown long-distance every time, which the dog when he brings it back drops to pant his tongue out.

Bend doesn’t belongs to the happy lot, for he notes the dismal infrastructure, slowness, condition of the tempo, frowning teacher blowing whistle all the time. He sees a team that will perform yet underperform at another handicapped games arrangement that exist in a big nation; a country that houses one fifth of the world’s population. Inside the country the differently-abled will perform, internationally not to be seen.

Or, the reason for Bends disillusionment with this disabled arrangement could be something else. It could be his upbringing, living, and the way he perceives things presently. The sun and the dew are stronger, they sooth him- also, the panting dog.