tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29087719397869590902024-02-24T01:13:06.382-08:00Just saying...Shivani Singhhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08693724458955705943noreply@blogger.comBlogger232125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2908771939786959090.post-47187332940540710892020-08-08T02:25:00.005-07:002021-09-05T01:02:05.443-07:00About Nestlings and Fledglings<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsKxS6ZWMkdbQ297ODos4VFYTasbB9GSr5xQCkhNUrWKDaiPiH02D4ev1pykDXAtfwpesnwnxxRvahD5I-hDWDPnVctZn4s3MIuCtLswwJFKmhOAe4Ubf32QvIkmSuD0k4BvL5a71IGsw/s640/IMG_9574.jpg" style="background-color: white; display: inline; font-family: inherit; padding: 1em 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="385" data-original-width="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsKxS6ZWMkdbQ297ODos4VFYTasbB9GSr5xQCkhNUrWKDaiPiH02D4ev1pykDXAtfwpesnwnxxRvahD5I-hDWDPnVctZn4s3MIuCtLswwJFKmhOAe4Ubf32QvIkmSuD0k4BvL5a71IGsw/s0/IMG_9574.jpg" /></a></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"What we know is a drop, what we don’t know is an ocean" – Isaac Newton.</span></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> My </span>knowledge on birds<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span>minuscule<span style="font-family: inherit;"> indeed despite owning the </span>field<span style="font-family: inherit;"> guides. And this instance reeling under the false knowledge of all times i really didn't know what to do. <b>The fact that if i touch the poor creature and provide some comfort it will be abandoned by it's own parents and banished from the community. All of them could smell me on it and considering it alien might peck it to death</b>. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The poor creature which i knew to be a baby had fallen down, perhaps from it's attempt at flying or could've accidentally fallen out of it's hole nest in a tree. i wouldn't know. All i knew that it was lying below the pomegranate tree, seeming quite helpless and afraid. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Torn between the dilemma that arose because of the ill baked knowledge and also the fact that i should not interfere with nature i kept guarding the poor thing from being a meal of cats/dogs. But how long could i do that. My presence there might perhaps be making rescue by parents difficult too.</span></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">i realized then how nothing i know about what to do when i find a baby bird that looks abandoned or lost. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">For starters i held the baby. Tried to comfort it through affectionate human gestures. Soft caresses and gentle sounds.Trying to convey that it was safe and would not be harmed in any way. Then tried feeding some water by opening its beak gently and squeezing drops of water out of a moist cotton ball. Later placed it in a bed of a hanging basket of money plant so that it could feel that it is in a familiar setting and then sat down to think what i should do next. </span></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As i stood in the balcony i couldn't help but notice a flash of green rushing past and disappearing into the dense foliage of mango tree visible from the balcony. Perhaps it was the mother searching for her baby.</span></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">i decided to take the baby and put it back safely among the branches of the pomegranate tree. i followed my instinct and did just that. It was below this tree on the ground i had found the bird.</span></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="background-color: white;">The baby perched and sat there as i stood for a while making sure that it is still there when once again i noticed another green with a long beak fly past and before i could see who it could be it got merged in the oblong shiny foliage of the nearby child life tree aka <i>Putranjiva</i>. </span></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="background-color: white;">It was time for me to move away and let nature take it's course. </span></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="background-color: white;">Sitting in my balcony i had my anxiety though. i wondered if the mother was able to find her baby. i wondered about many things because we have legs and hands and can do a lot while they have their beaks and their wings and have limits to what they can do.</span></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="background-color: white;">After finishing my daily chores i decided to google and find out if i did right or was my handling of the situation a non caring or halfhearted one. i ought to know better.</span></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="background-color: white;">Found this not only helpful but also received some sound learning/knowledge which also dispelled the myths i had about baby birds. </span><a href="https://www.allaboutbirds.org/news/i-found-a-baby-bird-what-do-i-do/">https://www.allaboutbirds.org/news/i-found-a-baby-bird-what-do-i-do/</a><span style="background-color: white;"> </span></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO5ynngYQYttaVPBLrRwFpOv72Fi7ObW7QmP2qVJt8askjXfbW-Mpf2XovWXw9l7lTbkU4Za_VyHYmgoy9_gcGFU-ZrbIG7k7WWrcCU87XkXvSswmB0T8IqbqxeDArEZ3L7iFQlhqWGOY/s855/PHOTO-2020-08-08-14-18-17.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="847" data-original-width="855" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO5ynngYQYttaVPBLrRwFpOv72Fi7ObW7QmP2qVJt8askjXfbW-Mpf2XovWXw9l7lTbkU4Za_VyHYmgoy9_gcGFU-ZrbIG7k7WWrcCU87XkXvSswmB0T8IqbqxeDArEZ3L7iFQlhqWGOY/s640/PHOTO-2020-08-08-14-18-17.jpg" width="640" /></a></div></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="background-color: white;">It was not difficult or bothersome when once again i found a 'nestling' of the Indian Robin aka <i>Bulbul</i> bird that had perhaps fallen out of it nest. As mentioned in the internet site about what to do i made the baby safe from predators and later searched for the nest. It was not a long search and i could locate the nest in the Rangoon creeper aka <i>Madhumalti</i>. Not without some flurry of activity happening around me. A couple of <i>Bulbuls </i>chirping loudly were hovering around me and it seemed that they were panicking. Nearby perched on to the thin branches of the Indian lilac aka the <i>Neem</i> tree which was swaying in the breeze another </span><span style="background-color: white;"><i>Red Vented Bulbul </i> kept calling continuously. It sounded more like a war cry/ alarm call than just the usual chirp. </span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="background-color: white;">i quickly put the nestling in it's nest and scooted from there as fast as i could hoping that the shrieking birds should sense my intent. That i was only trying to help.</span></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="background-color: white;">i can only hope that my intrusion was purposeful and that the baby grew up to be another <i>Red Vented Bulbul</i> and is chirping around living it's life. So do i imagine about the <i>Basanta</i> aka Brown Headed Barbet i had placed on the pomegranate tree. </span></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="background-color: white;">i too feel like how Karen Blixen felt in the story 'Out of Africa' by Isak Dinesen. </span></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="background-color: white;">Do they remember me ?!</span></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="background-color: white;">Just how i remember them and have a memory of them do they too have one of me ?!</span></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><h1 class="quoteText" style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: merriweather, georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; padding: 0px;">“<i>If I know a song of Africa, of the giraffe and the African new moon lying on her back, of the plows in the fields and the sweaty faces of the coffee pickers, does Africa know a song of me? Will the air over the plain quiver with a color that I have had on, or the children invent a game in which my name is, or the full moon throw a shadow over the gravel of the drive that was like me, or will the eagles of the Ngong Hills look out for me</i>?” ― <span class="authorOrTitle" face="lato, "helvetica neue", helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: #333333; font-weight: bold;">Isak Dinesen</span></h1><div><span class="authorOrTitle" style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit; font-weight: bold;"><span face="" style="color: black; font-weight: 400;">Wednesdays i generally wear green. Not that i am a devout Hindu who wears colors as specified in the Hindu astrological almanac for each day but for saving time have i decided to follow it. i have too many clothes. Much more than i actually need.</span><br style="color: black; font-weight: 400;" /><a href="https://www.color-meanings.com/color-wear-day-colors-week/" style="font-weight: 400;">https://www.color-meanings.com/color-wear-day-colors-week/</a><span face="" style="color: black; font-weight: 400;"> </span><br style="color: black; font-weight: 400;" /><span face="" style="color: black; font-weight: 400;">But is is not the color of clothes i had wanted to talk about. It is basically about another who wears green. Not on Wednesdays only but always. Not commonly seen as one would see a crow or a common starling (Myna) but generally heard. '' </span><i style="color: black; font-weight: 400;">Call it a monotonous kutroo, kutroo, kutroo or kutruk, kutruk, kutruk uttered throughout the day. Very noisy in hot weather, often calling in chorus</i><span face="" style="color: black; font-weight: 400;">.'' ( Birds of the Indian Subcontinent by Richard Grimmett, Carol Inskipp & Tim Inskipp). </span></span></div><div><span class="authorOrTitle" style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit; font-weight: bold;"><span face="" style="color: black; font-weight: 400;">They remain very near to us and sighted sometimes but mostly remain camouflaged in the foliage of the trees.</span><br style="color: black; font-weight: 400;" /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
Shivani Singhhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08693724458955705943noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2908771939786959090.post-43933378942893870872020-08-04T10:57:00.361-07:002020-08-07T22:07:02.125-07:00 Maama From Singheeyaa <div>A friend noticing my penchant for pickles called me <i>chatori</i> and i lolled at the funniness of it all, the word and how she put it across just to pull my leg like all bum chums normally do. </div><div>It is hard to give one word in English that can explain the word completely. i can definitely say that it is a word generally used to describe anyone who likes spicy food. Most harmlessly use it to tease a person who is passionate about eating. So <i>Chatori</i> for a She and <i>Chatora</i> for a He.</div><div> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0R4Mlldo59qKBKY2OstC-59aTV6E5lnqlUnjMql93f3py4zEgbdl1bErKSqHoq5K5VE8sxywqYUbXLcBDZAwFPIYny9ukiZQnB10X2CGmB-XEOW6Vrf9rNCi4O_CBl41K8jDJvzRnRrA/s640/IMG_0042.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0R4Mlldo59qKBKY2OstC-59aTV6E5lnqlUnjMql93f3py4zEgbdl1bErKSqHoq5K5VE8sxywqYUbXLcBDZAwFPIYny9ukiZQnB10X2CGmB-XEOW6Vrf9rNCi4O_CBl41K8jDJvzRnRrA/s0/IMG_0042.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuetg2hM9-Y4VuWmHmkQagrTxt77Kak8Me03bgx46O2uOrta1bzm_KcsTppfimQ2K6JC3HhkELU3xtkEg5iYF4xVHPhhyphenhyphencxBfPku7n3d1FZfSFB_pqdl5U3Zs2u4nZR4VMDThkICWyDLQ/s640/IMG_0043.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuetg2hM9-Y4VuWmHmkQagrTxt77Kak8Me03bgx46O2uOrta1bzm_KcsTppfimQ2K6JC3HhkELU3xtkEg5iYF4xVHPhhyphenhyphencxBfPku7n3d1FZfSFB_pqdl5U3Zs2u4nZR4VMDThkICWyDLQ/s0/IMG_0043.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Not all is bad about the pandemic. From what i see that there was a lot of talent erupting from here there and everywhere and the monsoon season brings this analogy to mind almost immediately. Just like the rain brings the earthworm out of their comfort zone into the open the talent is wriggling out one by one in the cell phone driven world.<div><br /><div>i have been following many food preparations and some i try as soon as can while some i reserve for later. Watching so many pictures and food videos creates in me the desire to share my own stuff too.</div><div>i really want to for anyone who cares to understand that we are not only a sum of our experiences but we are also a sum of what we lack. What we do or don't do is governed by both. </div><div> </div><div>i see him clearly as i recollect, a <i>Maama</i> (Mother's brother) having quite a funny face visiting us once in a year perhaps carrying a big earthen pot of Mango pickle fastened with coir rope. This memory invokes in me sadness and some sort of a longing which i can't explain. He was blind in his affection towards my elder brother whose birth he was a testimony to as being nothing short of a miracle. This <i>Maama</i> and a pet-parrot in a cage had provided my mother with companionship/succor for the nine months that my mom stayed in confinement at a rented clinic room eating food without salt till my elder brother could be delivered safe and sound but not without a precarious Cesarean operation. i was told he even cooked and cajoled her to eat her tasteless food on time distracting her mind from the nourishment which lacked a major flavoring agent all the while narrating her tales of siblings at home and many other stories, successfully cajoling her to eat something. Before this elder brother my Ma had lost her two sons as she had a medical condition which rejected the fully formed fetus. First time during her seven months of pregnancy and second time even earlier. This after some years of hopelessly trying to start a family and get her own child. The trauma that my parents went through has been narrated by many family members and family friends who also were privy to not only my mother's medical condition but also of my Dad's pain/ worry on two accounts. First on account of she and her child she was carrying being in danger and later of having to remain childless or perhaps even wife less and a widower, God forbid!. </div><div>Dad recounts that troublesome period sometimes and still remembers the name of the Doctor who delivered my elder brother and all the precautions that were taken to keep him alive even after he was born because he had some kind of lactose intolerance and hence had to be given a formula as advised by that Doctor which was imported in those days from abroad. All through infancy my elder brother remained quite a sickness prone very thin, unhealthy baby. </div><div><br /></div><div><i>Maama</i> maintained a strange distance with me which i'm sure was unintentional and perhaps sans biases and yet as a child i felt ignored/unworthy. i wondered about all the tricks he would show my elder brother or how it would feel to piggy ride his back. i yearned for that and also to sit on his lap as my brother would when Maama animatedly narrated so many fascinating stories. His mimicry for fictional creatures, animals and those witches who resided in the Peepal (<i>Ficus religiosa</i> ) tree, i wanted to feel and also interact with sitting snug and comfortable just like my brother did. If and when i was around i would see and hear it but from a distance. Something didn't feel right even when i did and i would walk away sulking. </div><div>During meal time i would wait for the cook to give me a small piece of the pickle that he used to bring in the <i>Ghaila</i> as folks in Bihar call the earthen pot. <i>Ghaila</i> or <i>Matka</i> one and the same thing.</div><div>i remember the taste and the aroma so distinctly as it was a typical one. </div><div>Today i wish he were there and i could tell him how unique and how rare that pickle was which was almost dry but so piquant and delicious that i have not yet found any pickle to match the aroma or the flavor of that '<i>Sookha Achaar</i>' (Dry pickle). Maybe ask his help if he could beget of the recipe in writing. The exact proportion of spices to mix and the exact amount of oil to get that mix. </div><div>And i would've pestered him to teach me those knots made from the rough-to-touch basic coir rope that made it so convenient for him to carry the <i>ghaila</i> all the way from his village called 'Singheeyaa', somewhere in the Bhagalpur district of Bihar to Patna. Some distance covered in train but most of it traversed on foot. </div><div>His nonchalance for me although i also remember very well will not be questioned not at all. Even when perchance he appears in my dreams. </div><div><br /></div><div>Someone just recently gave me a long lecture on how bad pickle is for health. i could get that resentful vibe of all the condescension even over the phone. </div><div>i might've not heard all the cautions thrown at me barring those two features about pickles that i already knew. Too much oil and excessive salt. </div><div><br /></div><div>Whoever claims to know much and who think that they can control how things pan out in the long run are in for a major surprise i would say.</div><div>There is a lot many things people obsess about and they must all be having substantial reasons to do so. </div><div>For me too the reasons are real and only i can put a finger and point to some if not all. Because what gets submerged and what erupts years later from the human brain is yet another mystery.</div><div><br /></div><div>At the moment it should suffice to say that my Ma never cooked, what to talk of her making pickles or drying potato chips like the others aunties in the colony did. We also never had affectionate home made gifts reaching us from our village which all elders still keep reminding us of as our 'Roots'. </div><div>Roots mean the villages where our agrarian grandparents and the rest of the kin resided. The gifts generally referred to as <i>Saugaat </i>arrived from the roots in the form of assorted pickles of all kinds, <i>aampaapad /</i> <i>amoth</i> (sun dried ripe mango pulp candy), <i>Badis</i>, <i>Adauris</i>, <i>Tillauris</i>, <i>Paapad</i>, home grown/processed aromatic rice or even aromatic beaten rice called <i>Chura</i> or home prepared puffed rice called <i>Murdhee, </i>and last but not the very least the ubiquitous <i>Sattu, </i>the much celebrated roasted chickpeas flour. </div><div>Badis, Adauris, Tillauris are all sun dried dumplings, some smaller than a marble and some large, slightly larger than a lemon made out of lentils, grains, vegetables and seeds. Paapad is also a sun dried cracker which can be deep fried or dry roasted.</div><div><br /></div><div>Some of my friends in the colony/school would receive whatever their mothers couldn't make from their roots. All forms of <i>saugaat </i> sometimes even cooked. Special greens of the season that were cooked on slow fire (wood) the entire night. <i>Chana ka saag</i>, <i>Khesari ka saag</i> as they were called. Pickles of all sorts and flavors. Some sweet some sour and some a mix of sweet and sour.</div><div>Affections reaching from <i>Nani</i>, <i>Dadi</i> , <i>Bua</i>, <i>Chachi</i>, and even <i>Maami</i>...</div><div>Most of my friends' mothers cooked too. And these friends had delicious looking food in their <i>tiffins </i>(lunch- lunch box). Some of the yummy looking edible stuff i didn't even know their names. For all of us who went to school in my family <i>tiffin</i> meant one and one thing only. The shaped like a triangle <i>Paratha </i>and <i>aloo kee bhujiya</i>. Paratha is a kind of shallow fried in clarified butter or cooking oil of Indian bread and can be shaped like a triangle, circle or square. Whereas aloo ke bhujiya is a dry vegetable preparation made mainly of potatoes sometimes with seasoning spices and sometimes without.</div><div><br /></div><div>In my Dad's place at Patna only this <i>Maama</i> with a funny face, twinkling eye and hairs that grew out of his ear like a cat's whiskers would get us this pickle in the <i>ghaila</i>. Once he had even got us the very famous <i>Chana ka saag</i> slow cooked and infused with all kinds of herbs and spices. Something up for the grabs by the adults in family. But the undeveloped childhood palate which knew sweet from sour and had a penchant for sour did not understand the rare ness or the times taking cumbersome preparation what to talk of the great health benefit of it all hence along with the piquant dark looking mango pickle, the slow cooked tender leaves and stems of chickpeas plant remained somewhere in the brain only to emerge years later. Like now.</div><div><br /></div><div>Now everything seems important to me. The simple knots, which are functional, environment friendly and so cheap that i suppose even the poor can afford. </div><div>The recipe of the dry mango pickle which although needed mustard oil to mix and fix the spices and hold them together caused no lily pool of oil on the plate nor any greasy slick on the fingers as we chewed on to the <i>goothlee </i>( mango kernels). And this pickle like old wine aged adding not only more flavor but also had a very long shelf life. No synthetic vinegar or any chemical preservative were added to it but just the home grown spices each having great health benefits too and perhaps having their own preserving characteristics. If you picked out a piece from the jar it was amazing to see how the delicious spices sat very well in the depressions of the mango kernels. Looking at it one would be tempted to describe it as stuffed-with-spices cooked raw mango slices. </div><div>i remember scooping out the spices and spreading it on my <i>chapati </i>( traditional Indian bread)<i> </i>then making a roll of the <i>chapati/ roti </i> relishing each morsel and forgetting the dull and quite unappealing vegetables on the plate. Later when all would be over slowly enjoying the sourness of the mango piece and chewing the kernel till it was reduced to a shrunken mass which looked part fiber part wood before throwing it away. The chewing of the <i>goothlee</i> was the ultimate pleasure derived from this pickle or i should say any mango pickle with kernel for that matter. </div><div> </div><div>The pandemic made me aware that all those things made in the villages were survival foods. In times of excess (harvests) lentils, grains, vegetables like potatoes were ground, made a paste of, mixed with aromatic spices and dried in the sun. To be used just in case one ran short of fresh supplies. The shortage could be seasonal or even otherwise. The purpose not only related to satisfying the palate but also making effective use and thereby reducing wastage of food. </div><div>Sometimes to be used as a special side dish to the rice and lentils if and when special guests arrived. Special dishes were then always deep fried in oil. Not the very least was that these stored away dried items painstakingly prepared from excess were also food reserved for the rainy days. </div><div>The dried dumplings/ crackers<i> </i>provided extra flavor when mixed with curries or eaten like a side dish with the simple meal.</div><div>Almost all vegetables could be pickled, stored and used whenever to enthuse a special zing to the daily standard meal of cooked rice called <i>Bhaat </i>and cooked lentils called <i>daal </i>and perhaps fresh vegetable that one could avail fresh from the kitchen garden. </div><div>i will not go on to rant about the zero wastage functioning of our agrarian system because that's not the real reason why i wanted to write this blog.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>The act alone as to why we do things has some reasons which only the heart knows</b>.</div><div>Some times it is peer pressure, sometimes it is a genuine whim no matter how fickle/ transitory it could be, to learn a new thing.</div><div>Other times it could be need based like how the lock down made many of us creative and innovative chefs who make do with whatever is available to create a new dish ...</div><div><br /></div><div>There could be more reasons. Reasons viewed by any on the other side as being rather shallow or even profound. It depends which side you are standing on.</div><div>i don't know what to call mine but i certainly felt a lack of certain things in my life which has always propelled me to do what i do. </div><div>Sometimes i want to compensate other times i want to hold on to my roots. Maybe it's also in the genes to crave for a certain aroma of a certain spice mix which tied to the roots emerges from the deep recesses of the walnut like brain and seizes the heart to go on an endless search. </div><div>It also could be an urge to hold on to what feels like slipping out swiftly and hence of panic to realize that some recipes, skills will soon be obliterated if not forcefully but eventually. For those who knew about it were just too plain or too simple to have realized the importance of their knowing something specific belonging to that specific region to pass it on what to talk of recording it somewhere.</div><div>Or is it that the pandemic made me more aware of 'surviving minimally ' and so i feel the strong need to know and try out more. Be it the specific kinds of knots or ways and means to preserve food, why! even train the self to seek simple and remind the palate that less is more than enough. </div><div><br /></div><div>It could be all of these and yet one dominant childhood memory also remains etched like a scar on my passionate-about-eating foodie soul. My school lunch box made by some careless cook always had ugly looking dark <i>parathas</i> having burn spots and <i>aloo kee bhujiya </i>each day which no friends wanted to share when i was in primary school and i used to eat alone feeling a bit ostracized and a bit alienated. Sometimes i felt too embarrassed to open the <i>tiffin</i> box lest the familiar/ boring aroma startled the rest who would happily be digging into each other's boxes and sharing the goodies that their Ma had put in for the day. </div><div>And i also never had any unique candy or pickle to share.</div><div>One which <i>Nani </i>( Maternal grandmother), <i>Dadi </i>(Paternal grandmother) , <i>Chachi </i>( Wife of father's brother), <i>Bua</i> ( Father's sister) or <i>Maami </i>( Wife of mother's brother) had brought or sent.</div><div>Also no one even bothered to ask me at home why the lunch box had returned unopened/untouched. </div><div>One of the collateral damages perhaps of being born bonny having the bonny ness despite the absence of care or fuss that usually is created when the child has not partaken his/her food. </div><div>No one at home was aware even explain to me that why food should be respected no matter what is as a blessing and not wasted. Definitely i was also never reprimanded for not eating. </div><div><br /></div><div>Strange as it may sound now i want to know who made that pickle/ chickpeas greens which Singheeyaa <i>waaley</i> (from) <i>Maama</i> used to bring. If he had a wife who painstakingly prepared it then why didn't this particular <i>Maami </i>ever visit us like the other <i>Maama </i>and <i>Maamis </i>who always did. i remember Dad telling me that he was my Ma's cousin brother and was not so well off, rather his living was barely subsistence level as he owned a very small fragmented piece of land. How did he then have the largest heart when the rest of the very flourishing own brothers of my Ma only indulged, at all that my Dad's money/ position could provide. And why didn't this man who always walked miles with his <i>saugaat </i>before catching a train and then again walking all the way from the Patna Junction (station) to our home didn't. </div><div><br /></div><div>About the picture of the jars in my blog. Well ! i learnt how to make a loop and then a knot seeking help from the internet. Of course with all online deliveries suspended during the first phase of lock down and shops remaining closed i could not get the specific chord mentioned to make those knots. i made use of the <i>naada </i>(drawing strings)<i> </i>to learn the bottle knot which made carrying the jars to the terrace for sun cooking the mango pickle so much easier and stress free. </div><div><br /></div><div>True it is what they say about absence making the heart grow fonder. And lack of anything perhaps getting you obsessed. If i do about the food that belonged to my roots it could be anything. My desire to survive, learn or to hold on to what matters the most.</div><div>Suffering is a catalyst to teaching too. i felt eager to learn to cook even when i could not reach the stove table. Dad would make me stand on the footstool, tie a local towel called <i>gamcha </i>(traditional checkered towel) around my frock and teach me how to cook. It was a gradual process starting with the peeling and cutting of onions using both a <i>hansua/ boti/ pirdai </i>( Indian traditional knife that involves sitting down and cutting) first and later the knife. Class six onward class friends started including me in their <i>tiffin </i>(lunch) sharing and no one squirmed or called my <i>tiffin </i>boring anymore and rest is my own cooking food history. Compliments come but i owe it all to my Dad, his innovations/ improvisations and his emphasis on the the color and aroma of the food which proclaims the entire truth about the hands that cooked. </div><div><br /></div><div>All through mid school and high school and college i prepared my own lunch box. Nothing very outstanding or out of the ordinary. If at all it can even be considered as a feat then i guess i am way behind the many little girls who start to cook even earlier. Specially if we go to our roots meaning our villages then even today we will find very small girls cooking and feeding the entire family before heading out to their respective schools if at all the village has a school.</div><div>Why then have i been fussing over the lunch box, be it my husbands' or my sons', or why do i want to learn the four way knot with a rough coir rope, and last but not the very least my frustration at the Angika (dialect) speaking folks of my native Bhagalpur who are busy Tik Tock ing making silly videos and taking selfies and not uploading recipes when the rest of the regions all over the country are sharing/ uploading all kinds of recipes using plants, and other edible species endemic to their region.</div><div>i hope someone realizes it soon enough and uploads that which might be on it's way to extinction. The <i>sookha aam ka achaar</i> in an earthen pot called <i>ghaila </i>with the rope tied in a four way knot making it not only easy to carry outside for slow cooking in the sun but also to hang comfortably somewhere away from the reach of <i>chatori</i> kids like me who might perhaps finish a years ration supposedly kept for special occasions or reserved for a rainy day, in less than a maybe a couple of months. </div><div><br /></div><div>Perhaps my intense desire to learn a simple bottle knot was my way of remembering Singheeyaa waaley Maama Jee who was poor yet never made any visit to our home empty handed. Enduring a long hard journey, making compromises, perhaps even sacrificing a lot of his meagre income to bring this <i>saugaat</i> (rare gift generally given on special occasions) for all of us to enjoy.</div><div>All done so quietly without banging a single drum of self righteousness/ praise and being blissfully unawares of the great abundance in his heart. To share whatever he could and make all of us feel like it cost him nothing at all... </div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div><br /></div></div>Shivani Singhhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08693724458955705943noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2908771939786959090.post-68104788466136813242020-07-29T06:41:00.000-07:002020-07-29T06:41:36.059-07:00First Love<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The last time something left me wanting to know more of it was when i had spotted it. A flower/plant i had never come across. Not even in any of the many readings i do what to talk of my conversations with people about exotic plants and trees.<br />
<a href="https://shivanidiwani64.blogspot.com/2014/04/glory-be-to-this-pea.html">https://shivanidiwani64.blogspot.com/2014/04/glory-be-to-this-pea.html</a><br />
As if this knowledge was not enough i lapped up the local story behind the flower and had out poured my excitement in the following post.<br />
<a href="https://shivanidiwani64.blogspot.com/2014/04/flower-of-blood.html">https://shivanidiwani64.blogspot.com/2014/04/flower-of-blood.html</a><br />
i really love stories related to plants and trees. Ever since i was maybe a teenager and Papa had gifted me that book written or rather co-written by Maneka Gandhi and Yasmin Singh. ' Brahma's Hair'.<br />
Tree tales fascinate me. Something which perhaps was sowed long before i could even read and Ma used to tell the bedtime story of the king and his three queens. The youngest of whom the king was so fond of and who gave him twins...<br />
Believing or disbelieving is another thing because sometimes i'm also a logical person having my own share of skepticism about tales/ stories. But let's just say the tales feed me enough. Like stories that feeds a child's curious hunger to lap up something fantastic, mystical and magical.<br />
i wish all trees had a tale associated with it. And this i believe that they do. Someone should be there to tell.<br />
Only thing i have not yet found the story about this one which again is a native of the land "Down Under".<br />
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This time again i have something before me of which there is an intense desire to know more.<br />
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Risking chances of infection donning a face mask and carrying a pocket sized sanitizer bottle just a day before the first phase of lock-down i had visited a local plant nursery far away from where i reside looking for an Ixora plant and saplings of other summer seasonal flowers. Not that Ixora is my favorite plant but because i also love to see the visitors that frequent the bright blooms of Ixora. The birds, bees, insects and definitely the butterflies.<br />
Now i don't claim that i am an avid gardener but i would say i enjoy the act of planting. Then whatever follows quenches my thirst for more. Slowly things are revealed .<br />
As it takes root, i notice the crispness, feel encouraged to see it acclimatize to my garden soil and surroundings and finally feel rather blessed when the plant stabilizing itself starts springing forth new leaves. i feel like it has acknowledged my intent which is a major catalyst to perseverance. Then on i am in a la la land of my own quite content with whatever is revealed to me through observation and practice .<br />
Some people are avid gardeners, some love to add beauty to their homes by including plants, some are more of collectors and yet some love to garden simply for the fact that the flowers will attract butterflies, birds and bees to their garden. But i find the act of planting, nurturing and even preserving very compelling. It fulfills me and keeps me satisfied even though i fail in getting a grasp of what went wrong. All i can say is what happens during and after is a bonus that i derive. Love for planting takes one to very interesting places. Hence the pleasure/ advantages derived cannot be summed up in one sentence or two but i can say that i am all of what i just listed and yet none at all. Definitely the process helps me forget all kinds of pain, suffering and hopelessness and in a way connects me with the 'Unknown' whom we often have referred to as The Divine. Many a times it actually restores my faith.<br />
Sometimes when i close my eyes to pray or just sit in silence with my eyes closed, i see images of life i had seen earlier on the terrace. The light of bliss/calm eludes me and there in my mind's eye i see Gardenia/ smell the fragrance or any other bloom or that caterpillar i saw, insect that happily nibbled the leaf into a green lace, bird that flitted across looking for this or that and the colors on wings i saw flashing in reckless pursuit.<br />
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This time a plant was handed over to me but again with the wrong identity. The seller told me it was Chinese Ixora. Since it was a small plant (in the black poly bag plant) with just a couple of branches of healthy looking green leaves i came back and re potted the plant carefully into my earthen pots.<br />
Last week i was delighted to see the cluster of buds appearing and this week i was more than just surprised to see the blooms. The gasp after watching the blooms indeed escaped but not without few exclamations.<br />
" <i>Oh My!.Who are you</i>... !!"<br />
It is not that easy to get the name of certain plants on the world wide web if you have never studied Botany but because i did in my high school and still remember a few terms like racemes, elliptical i could get not only the ID of the flower and the evergreen tree but a lot more on the internet including the fact that it is Australian as i have mentioned before and that it is a hard wood <b>tree</b>. The wood used by the indigenous population to make spears and shields.<br />
Sometimes just knowing the name gives a lot of insight. Other times it leaves you in the lurch.<br />
The common name is <b>Golden Penda</b> and now in India they call it <b>First Love</b>. Probably the plant is an import from Thailand where it is called <i>rak raek pob</i> (<b>love at first sight</b>). i can very well understand why the name First love or <i>rak raek pob</i> and why Golden but Penda still draws a blank.<br />
Scientifically<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Xanthostemon chrysanthos is Greek meaning Golden flower.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Last time i was quite annoyed by the gardener but this time i am rather pleased with </span>mistaken ably<span style="font-family: inherit;"> finding my First Love. <b>Some great </b></span><b>surprises</b><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b> really spring from having it all wrong in the beginning</b>. This was an epiphany one of the many i keep having every now and then. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">i hope some day i will also come upon a great story associated with First Love but right now it suffices to know that apart from butterflies and bees a strange insect i know not of called <b>Spitfires</b> by Aussies breed on this tree. Otherwise called <b>Sawflies </b>the larvae of which when aroused eject or spit a yellow fluid from their rears. This could be nasty as if it gets into the eye it could sting bad.</span></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">My observation of many endemic flowers that now don the gardens in India is that they certainly have something missing. So is the case with First Love. Back in their native place they are supposed to be sweetly fragrant with glossy leaves. It could be due to many reasons. Could be the soil, climate, the air...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">However i am happy to have yet another from as the band Men at Work sang in their song, "...<i>a land down under, where women glow .</i>.."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">i also hope to update this blog if and when i find out why or what is 'Penda'. </span><br />
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i don't know if it happens with other people too. There actually is not much to tell but yet when i sit to tell it does stretch. Will have to confess that many times it is just like that for me. But of course i'm not a writer and can't be artistic about this special characteristic of mine. i have also come to accept that it can't be done any other way but this however boring or long it may seem to anyone.<br />
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Shivani Singhhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08693724458955705943noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2908771939786959090.post-90413889448672399942020-05-16T07:59:00.001-07:002020-05-16T09:14:26.554-07:00Souls Fiddling on the Roof<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
One morning a couple of days back i received a <i>carpe diem</i> kind of message from my younger sister. This is how it appeared on my phone screen.<br />
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*हो सकता है हर दिन अच्छा ना हो, लेकिन हर दिन में कुछ न कुछ अच्छा होता है।*</div>
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*<img alt="🐾" class="CToWUd" data-goomoji="1f43e" data-image-whitelisted="" goomoji="1f43e" src="https://mail.google.com/mail/e/1f43e" style="margin: 0px 0.2ex; max-height: 24px; vertical-align: middle;" />सुप्रभात<img alt="🐾" class="CToWUd" data-goomoji="1f43e" data-image-whitelisted="" goomoji="1f43e" src="https://mail.google.com/mail/e/1f43e" style="margin: 0px 0.2ex; max-height: 24px; vertical-align: middle;" />*</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: xx-small;">सुप्रभात</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">in English means 'good morning'. About the rest of the Hindi words that preceded the good morning i discovered it to be a great quote from Alice Morse Earle. " Every day may not be good, but there's something good in every day".</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Thanks to my sister not only did i learn something of Alice Morse Earle but also got the exact words to express my feelings. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Just like everyone i do get insufferable at times. The creeping heat, and most importantly the absence of helping assisting hands can be enlightening on good days but utterly depressing on a daily basis. Being used to having people who would do jobs or run errands for us is like addiction and i guess dealing with all the chores for a few days is as exciting as joining a gym the sole purpose being weight loss. Now it feels like being in an addiction rehab and the withdrawal symptoms are killing. Chores that are never-ending, tiresome and monotonous. In fact some chores are happily bundled and thrown out of mind for 'laters' but much to my chagrin they do remain in sight.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">i wouldn't have </span><span style="color: #222222;">realized the importance of the wonderful whattsaap message what to talk of using it to express</span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"> until grumbling under my breath i walked into the already heating up terrace to feed 1500 or more babies in their beds. Yes i am talking about my plants in their pots. Pots of all sizes ranging from three inches to one and a half feet. With daily temperatures now creeping and nearing 40 degrees they need to be watered twice. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">It was then when i saw what was there to see did i actually recall the words again. </span><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">*<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">हो सकता है हर दिन अच्छा ना हो, लेकिन हर दिन में कुछ न कुछ अच्छा होता है।*</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"> *</span><img alt="🐾" class="CToWUd" data-goomoji="1f43e" data-image-whitelisted="" goomoji="1f43e" src="https://mail.google.com/mail/e/1f43e" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px 0.2ex; max-height: 24px; vertical-align: middle;" /><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">सुप्रभात</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><img alt="🐾" class="CToWUd" data-goomoji="1f43e" data-image-whitelisted="" goomoji="1f43e" src="https://mail.google.com/mail/e/1f43e" style="color: #222222; margin: 0px 0.2ex; max-height: 24px; vertical-align: middle;" /></span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">*</span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">The tree which these days is a cynosure of eyes had been flowering for a few days now but today it seemed to radiate flashes of whites in a random manner. Walking close to it and breathing in the mild fragrance i could make out not only flashes of white but even more. The pretty thing was a venue for ' Party Time'. Different kinds of bees, insects and butterflies going </span><span style="color: #222222;">berserk</span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"> dipping into one flower then next then again returning to the first but hurriedly flying off to take a sip from another.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Citharexylum spinosum or the fiddlewood tree. A graceful tree with fragrant, creamy white, tiny flowers. The wood perhaps is used to make stringed instruments hence the name '<b>Fiddlewood</b>' but which ones i still have to know. It is not used for violin that much i know. Why i bought the plant not knowing anything what to talk of it being a<b> tree</b> was the instant attraction to the</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> glossy bright green </span>color<span style="font-family: inherit;"> of the leaves. Also i was quite taken with the color of the leaf stalk. A juicy orange</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">. The seller did not bother telling me anything about it having blooms because i did not ask anything either. This was seven years earlier. The plant cried out for help outgrowing the twelve inch pot into which it was initially planted only then did i learn of it being a tree. Learning has been happening ever since but in bits. First the fact that the beautiful bright green foliage turns orange in early spring and finally falls off . Hence perhaps it is a <b>deciduous </b>tree. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;">It left me wide-eyed the day i saw flower buds. Some elegance and grace in how they hung. Clusters that arched like fountains. Finally the flowering and the mild fragrance of the clusters. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;">It was that first flowering day when i stayed awake till late that night and sought 'Google' to help me know it's name. Slept somewhat content and somewhat in wonder later after discovering not only the name or how to pronounce the name but quite a lot more. Funny </span><span style="text-align: left;">facts</span><span style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"> that native birds don't nest on this tree and hence the local name 'Sitaranjan' . <span style="font-family: inherit;">i have wondered if native birds have </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="text-align: left;">after all</span><span style="text-align: left;"> started nesting on </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #333333; text-align: left;"><b>sith-uh-REKS-il-um</b></span><span style="color: #333333; text-align: left;"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #333333; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">spy-NO-sum</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">after being renamed <b>Sita Ranjan </b>or <b>Sitaranjan</b>. For now it suffices that butterflies and bees have taken quite a fancy to it</span>.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Today it made my day special indeed when slightly irritated with unfinished chores i walked to the terrace to hydrate my babies. Seven years does not feel long when i stood close breathing in the gentle and mild aroma. After reaching maturity it has flowered regularly on time. i have captured photographs earlier too with the lone cute <b>Lineblue. </b>This butterfly which thought-to-have-gone-extinct reappeared much to the delight of lepidoterists. </span><a href="https://www.hindustantimes.com/delhi-news/butterfly-spotted-in-delhi-in-2018-was-last-seen-in-1962-researchers/story-zwdFFokFUUMZ4pt6x76ebJ.html" style="font-family: inherit;">https://www.hindustantimes.com/delhi-news/butterfly-spotted-in-delhi-in-2018-was-last-seen-in-1962-researchers/story-zwdFFokFUUMZ4pt6x76ebJ.html</a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The celebrity butterfly resting on it made that day super-learning-special too. That day the learning centered more on the <i>lil angel with tiny moving legs and glittering orange dot on the wings </i>(Lineblue). </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Today not one or two but many butterflies hovering around it made it extra special even when the butterfly is commonly seen. At one time i counted and there were eight common Indian Pioneer butterflies. Some white with black, others having yellow quite pronounced and yet some who did have mist sprays of subdued yellow. It was magical. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">My friend would've felt the same magic i guess when she sent me a mobile picture of many white butterflies over a Moringa (Drumstick) tree. What kind of whites i would't know but many whites over a tree indeed can be a great sight.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The entire scenario refreshed the mind and body. After indulging later when i returned to my chores i was cheery and raring to go. Nature indeed has the power to renew and refresh. Couldn't agree with this Helen Keller quote more. Not only did i unplug from all the botheration i felt recharged too. i returned to my chores feeling the 'runner high' and completed most remembering to have enough time at my disposal to relax and do absolutely nothing.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Finally i would love to add to what i started with. Do one thing everyday that makes your heart sing for that would make your day the most beautiful day. </span></div>
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Shivani Singhhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08693724458955705943noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2908771939786959090.post-58578922637574504072020-05-11T09:54:00.000-07:002020-05-11T20:21:02.336-07:00Cravings Change with Age<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This morning i received a forwarded whattsapp message from a friend who is enjoying her current posting in Myanmar. It had the ever so popular <i>Ekla Chalo Re</i> composition sung by Ms Shreya Ghosal. And as the music played the immortal words of Guru Rabindranath Tagore flashed by. Few if not all meaningful eternally relevant words by Tagore flashing on the screen as the song played. <i>Jodi tor dak shune kyu na ashe tobe ekla cholo re</i><br />
Currently i am wanting to focus on one of those words.<br />
'' <b>The highest education is that which does not merely give us information but makes our life in harmony with all existence</b>. "<br />
The week that was had many special dates. 7th May being one. It is celebrated by one and all and there are simple gatherings where the birthday of Guru Rabindranath Tagore is celebrated and his compositions sung. <span style="color: #333333; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white;"> </span></span><br />
So here i am listening to'' <i>Jodi tor dak shune kyu na ashe tobe ekla cholo re</i>...'' Translation: If nobody responds to your call, then you move forward. My blogging may or may not be consistent with Guru's immortal words but this is what i have to say today. My mind having flashes of it's own of this peaceful nestled amidst forest, a region in the Doars of India called Alipurduar.<br />
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Some of us have the habit of making sweeping generalized statements. Like this one that if ever there was a food crisis the Chinese as a race will emerge because they would survive. They can eat anything and everything that moves. There is no scientific validity about that 'if' barring the fact that nature has a way of dealing with things and in nature either the species evolve or get obliterated. After all it is a survival of the fittest planet, this earth. i suppose that nature has a way of maintaining balance or for even providing if things go haywire.<br />
For quite sometime now i have had strange food cravings. This was way before the lockdown. i remember telling my friends about my strange cravings. Biological Science has an explanation to 'Senior Citizen' cravings.<br />
i don't know if that science has explanation for what i am having. Cravings that are not only sudden but also consistent. Most of us are quite familiar about expectant woman cravings and maybe science has research papers to explain that too. For those women who are 'expecting' the cravings might not only be for sweets but it could differ. Some crave sweets, some have cravings for salty or that which is sour. Talking about craving reminds me of that particular scene in the Bollywood movie 'Salaam Namastey' where pregnant Amber/ Amby Malhotra (Preity Zinta) has a sudden craving in the middle of the night to have nothing but Ben &Jerry's Belgian Dark Chocolate icecream. i have known friends who have wanted to eat <i>Paani Puri</i> or <i>Chaat </i>items all of a sudden when they were pregnant. When i was expectant with my first i craved crisp <i>Jalebis</i> and warm G<i>ulab Jamuns</i>.<br />
Past one year or so i have realized these sudden cravings to have returned with vengeance and now as in today cravings are quite frequent for primitive and simple foods. Some that don't involve cooking at all but just mixing the available ingredients. Adding this and that and food is all ready to fulfill. Really don't know if Biological Sciences can explain post menopausal strange food cravings.<br />
One thing i request for whosoever reading this is to understand that my cravings are not for what society has labelled as 'poor man's food'. Food is survival and it is none of our business to brand food as 'rich' or 'poor'. Hunger cows men and can make us eat whatever.<br />
i was not born of pauper, begging parents nor am i lacking anything now. It's just that i am myself nonplussed as to how my mouth salivates at the thought of what i don't see but have known in fragments. A memory here and an experience there. Primitive because i don't see anyone talking about those foods what to talk of making them or eating them. Although there is not much making involved only assembling things and custom mixing them to suit the taste buds just as it is of so many delicious Indian snacks for example <i>Bhelpuri</i>. Primitive foods because my understanding so far of pre gas stove era or any stove era for that matter is that getting the cooking fires lit itself was a major task which was accomplished eventually nonetheless for all that must involve cooking ( frying, boiling...). Food for breakfast generally then were the initial fast foods, mostly leftovers from the previous night eaten with a ready made pickle or onion or perhaps even jaggery if the need arose.<br />
During this period of lockdown people are forced for reasons best known to us and them of making do with whatever is available and there is a sudden boom of food videos be it on instagram or facebook or even whattsaap apart from very-depressing-to-me workout videos. But strange it may sound i wouldn't be interested in any of those food videos. Needless to say then that i delete the work out videos even without seeing them. i have urges of my own and who knows the universe might get the vibrations generated by my urges and provide me with videos that i seek. These days i roam the internet lapping in all the information about all the hitherto overlooked edible leaves and flowers that exist around us and just a few days back i was amazed to God's glory to read about Edible Dandelions. Yesterday i felt thrilled to forage edible purslane called <i>noniya</i> (Hindi) which had appeared naturally in my flower pots. Also enjoyed cooking it with Bengal lentils called <i>Chana Dal </i>. Decided to make a simple dry veggie dish mixing potato if more <i>Noniya Saag </i>appeared naturally in my flower pots.<br />
i once called up a friend just to know what she was cooking because i had exhausted my own ideas and wanted easy vegetarian recipes. Secretly i wished my folks at home to mirror my own cravings and i think an epiphany of sorts was constantly happening regarding food.<br />
Just like every other thing food is so personal and tastes undergo evolution too.<br />
One cannot force one's tastes on another.<br />
Everybody has their own cravings which could be based on their own memories of food that once was and is no longer easily available.<br />
Only little babies, the old and sick eat without fussing and shaming food... .<br />
Yeah more truths emerged. i have listed just a few.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kumhror phool : Pumpkin Flower</td></tr>
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i have waited for just <i>Saag &Bhaat</i> posts and posts showing <i>Maand Bhaat & Aloo Chokha</i>.<br />
Taste buds have undergone massive changes too and i think just like my Bitmoji avatar on my phone whatever we come across as healthy eating feels somewhat like a Bitmoji avatar. i did not come across what in the village i had once, a potpourri of sorts of the leftover cooked rice of the previous night. The leftover rice that remained<b> </b>in the container in which it was cooked and doused with some fresh water as if to soak the already cooked rice !<br />
Early morning that rice mixed with ingredients like mango pickle spices, green chillies and raw onions ! My original first indigenous fast food breakfast. No cooking shooking just some chopping of raw ingredients and mixing them happily with the same amount of affection as one would happily cook.<br />
Eating this eating that also has a fashionable status associated so much i have experienced. Chinese, Thai, Lebanese, Mexican and of late Sushi....then things have gone further and even more complicated. There are vegans and probably more 'ans' quite justifiably so. From oats to olive oil to exotic multi grained breads, red rice, black rice and recently quinoa pronounced keen-wa...<br />
Not surprising when Gods could be in and out of fashion then why not food. First <i>Natraj</i>, then <i>Ganesh</i> and these days <i>Buddha</i> in all possible postures. Be it Food or Gods who are supposed to provide food, both can't escape 'trending now' status.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaWT6QdMiUYoVMYyFm7oiVKBITuqSDnTwuhEDZfdHNFM3A5iGoqMHAwgkTL8R3NQMN9EJsj63XEXGZeRM83oEp8zMO5XQ0T04qVor1wBRbMzDx769WqsmPofoBl165UsqFMyOTmFqLxxU/s1600/IMG_7455.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaWT6QdMiUYoVMYyFm7oiVKBITuqSDnTwuhEDZfdHNFM3A5iGoqMHAwgkTL8R3NQMN9EJsj63XEXGZeRM83oEp8zMO5XQ0T04qVor1wBRbMzDx769WqsmPofoBl165UsqFMyOTmFqLxxU/s320/IMG_7455.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Simple stir fried mixed greens</td></tr>
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My cravings being consistent i eagerly look for veggies that i could forage. Eating all kinds of edible greens with plain boiled white rice and freshly cut onion quarters. Not a salad which is a mix of cucumber, onion, carrots, tomatoes, radish and whatever one possesses... just plain onion quarters.<br />
It forces me to think however that everything happens for a purpose and in order to satisfy my cravings, the cosmic forces in nature created situations which took me to a place where foraging for food is a common sight. West Bengal. Maybe not in the metro cities but small towns far from metros, not heard of generally foraging in the wilderness even, is indeed a common sight. That is if the food to be cooked is not to be found in the makeshift kitchen garden or nearby pond. Most individual homes have an area where vegetables or a couple of fruit trees grow, Banana clump a must and maybe guava or mango or any other and every few houses share a pond where one could forage for all kinds of the much loved fish.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dhekia:<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Diplazium esculentum the edible fern</span></h3>
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My learning regarding healthy and sustainable eating reached new frontiers and i could acknowledge the amount of wasteful consumption that i have been indulging into all along. Bengali cooking has a perfect recipe to use the discards effectively. Delicious simple recipes for Cauliflower stalks, potato/bottle gourd peels, the thick stalks of greens that generally go to the dustbin, leaves of vegetables, flowers and buds of certain vegetables, even the tendrils you name it and all can be cooked into one yummy treat that not only satisfies the craving for primitive food palate but also indulges the soul. It's a feeling i can't describe. Eating and imagining all the vitamins, minerals, roughage reaching the various parts of the body which is famished for those providing not only nourishment but healing too. The essentials reaching even the brain which has a mind. The mind feeling blessed, feeling joy of yet another kind. Awe mixed with the thrill of discovering foods that exist all around us and will help us survive if only we cared enough to know them.<br />
Food taken care of by nature and indeed not planted by humans but others. Birds/bees/ insects/animals all playing interconnected parts in that. From pollination to germination to seed dispersal and finally as being organic fertilizers that enrich the earth again. No wonder then i was healed from much of the pain i was suffering from. i felt healed inside out.<br />
Today as i foraged and found flowers of pumpkin to make as fritter, a special treat for my craving palate i am posting a borrowed from you tube video which will not only show the recipe but also tell about the foraging for food sight i talked about.<br />
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It tugs my heart when i recollect the images. The '<b>Mothers</b>' in <i>taant</i> sarees some wearing <i>pola shakha</i> bangles and others without picking 'stuff' from the green patches by the sides of the road, lurking and looking around near the boundary walls/fences searching and picking up the choicest leaves, collecting them in the makeshift pouch made in the overlapping folds of the <i>taant saree</i> ....<br />
True it is when they say that when it has to happen things will automatically happen. We have no way of controlling what we need or when we need. Thanks to my husbands' posting in that particular region which falls under West Bengal i was in the right place at the right time to know that during one such occasion and i am forgetting if it was Bengal <i>Nobo Borsho</i> (New Year) or <i>Bashonto</i> <i>Utsab </i>(Spring Festival) a potpourri of 21 greens is prepared with the most simple ingredients easily available in any Indian kitchen. All one needs is, to raid the local vegetable market for most and perhaps forage for the rest. This special dish for the day apart from many other special dishes like crispy fritters made from edible flowers and a delicious <i>paayesh</i> ( pudding) made from aromatic small grained rice and <i>nolen gur</i> ( Date palm jaggery)<i> </i>.<br />
<u>Twenty one types of greens</u> and although i can't remember the names of all than what i already know of spinach, chenopodium, fenugreek, dill, purslane, amaranth- red and green, mustard, drumstick...! Sensing bliss through the palate with plain white boiled rice a bowl full of all kinds of edible greens from nature. <i>Patua saag </i>(<b>Jute</b>) and <i>Dhekia saag </i>(<b>Fern</b>) in that bowl of edible greens, my craving reaching fulfillment and satisfaction. Plain rice with nutritious greens and onion quarters.<br />
What i crave of my village that i once visited as a child was something special too because i remember pickled spices scooped from mango pickle jars also added to this what West Bengal calls <i>Panta Bhaat</i>.<br />
<a href="https://www.downtoearth.org.in/coverage/pantabhat--well-slept-rice-13162">https://www.downtoearth.org.in/coverage/pantabhat--well-slept-rice-13162</a><br />
i am sure most rice producing regions might be having their own versions of <i>Panta Bhaat</i> or <i>Baasi</i> <i> Bhaat.</i><br />
Not really knowing the real reasons for such cravings to happen has nevertheless not stopped me from having theories of my own validated by my own experience.<br />
a) It is also genetic and,<br />
b) history repeats itself.<br />
i recall my Ma who would cry out in her sleep and crave in her awakened state for <i>Paeda </i>( Sweet fudge made from thickened milk). i remember being in the final year of graduation then. i also remember Papa taking care of that earnest request when she wanted the Amber-of-Salaam-Namastey-type <i>Paeda</i> and obliging her by getting special <i>Kesariya Paeda </i>( Sweet fudge having real saffron strands for flavor and color) from Banaras. She is in heaven now perhaps not needing anything and experiencing what saints and seers describe as true BLISS land where one actually is 'wantless' or 'craveless' so as to speak.<br />
Not that i don't miss her otherwise but in this too i can't help but regret not understanding her craving then and all of us poking fun at her. i wish i could go back in time and change that.<br />
From craving Orange Marmalade to craving soupy noodles to the indigenous Bihari <i>Baasi Bhaat</i>, i told you it is getting weirder and weirder!!<br />
Want to say more but i think i must refrain from making more sweeping generalized statements of my own. Will return soon to share my own recipe which took care of my craving. Not many but one which perhaps should be consistent with my own narration of foraging and eating happily.<br />
Also the second Sunday of May i received Mother's Day messages too which instead of uplifting me made me miserable. i missed my Ma not especially on this day or when i have my cravings but always because in all that i do or all that is happening around me i know i have seen before when Ma was physically around.<br />
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Shivani Singhhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08693724458955705943noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2908771939786959090.post-85777183587710368172020-05-03T06:40:00.000-07:002020-05-03T21:53:14.421-07:00Paintings that Flutter By<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It would be more than interesting to know why it is called The Painted Lady although it was helpful to know much more apart from the fact that it has other names too. Courtesy <a href="https://www.thoughtco.com/facts-about-painted-lady-butterflies-1968172">https://www.thoughtco.com/facts-about-painted-lady-butterflies-1968172</a><br />
i wouldn't be sure if it is a common butterfly simply because commonality too is very personal and depends on apart from the frequency of sighting to one's interest in them. i can't say then that The Painted Lady is as common as a crow. i was seeing them first time.<br />
When i was a kid growing in Bihar i loved trying to catch butterflies only because it was thrilling to tiptoe, holding in the breath and missing them always but nevertheless going at it at the mere sight of one. The thrill of a challenging feat and it didn't really matter if i caught one but feeling super elated at the attempt itself. Those colorful butterflies of childhood days seen everywhere, in school gardens or in the deserted patches near home where thistles and other wildflowers grew are not seen anymore. It is heartening to know however that they are still around.Thanks to the field guide compiled by none other than the Butterfly Man of India Mr Issac Kehimkar.<br />
As a kid i knew them just as a butterfly that one needs to catch and had no questions not even as to why it was called a butter although it did fly. Now thanks to the book i know that they are commonly called Jezebels. The Jezebel i mostly miss of my childhood is also having the prefix <b>painted</b> too. Painted Jezebel a white with black branching in a pattern stripes and having yellow, orange... if i remember them correctly. Today i have a question. Why are they called Jezebels !?.<br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;">The meaning of the name which </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"<span style="font-variant-ligatures: no-common-ligatures;"><i>Often not capitalised</i> : an impudent, shameless or morally unrestrained woman''</span></span></span><span class="dt " style="background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; display: inline; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: 22px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="dtText" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: 22px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.2px;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.2px;">or </span></span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.2px;">" an immoral woman who </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-variant-ligatures: no-common-ligatures; letter-spacing: 0.2px;">deceives</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.2px;"> people in order to get what she wants."</span></span><br />
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Watching one now as a piece of live art i did not feel the thrill of childhood but curiosity mixed with awe as it probed to feed, my thoughts glued to the art which could be a clever mix of abstract and geometry. The mind seeking creativity most times started imagining a huge canvas with those patterns in it. Shades/hues of browns interspersed with white, powdery orange and salmon pink if i am describing the colors correctly.<br />
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Should i be marveling the artist Master Creator or the fact that science has explanation for everything be it the fusion art on the wings of the butterfly or the strange color combinations used to create unique masterpieces !<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">''</span><b style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">The patterns on the wings</b><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> can help protect butterflies from predators through camouflage, or warn predators that </span><b style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">the</b><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> butterfly's body is toxic, or help attract potential mates.''</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Presently i want to believe that there is a Master Artist preparing yet another set of patterns using unique color combinations to blow my mind off and leave me yet again with one or more questions. </span><br />
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Shivani Singhhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08693724458955705943noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2908771939786959090.post-71415432669804745322020-05-01T05:35:00.003-07:002020-05-03T01:51:16.369-07:00Thirsty Mind is the Lucky Mind<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Concerns are getting scarier especially when it is about the malaise that has struck the globe with no respite other than staying where you are and taking preventive/precautionary measures.<br />
All around there is a feverish concern about lockdown but
here i am beginning to feel greater than before. Some saying this and some
saying that. Some doing this and some doing that to remain sane and calm during
lockdown. Some using phrases like ‘burning a house to kill the rat’ and others using
words like hell, curfew, detention, clampdown, confinement and what not to
describe their feelings and i am beginning to wonder if it is crazy or mean of
me to feel very fortunate especially now. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Nothing much has changed for me barring the frequent
ordering of special takeaways online through the usual aggregators. i have more than enough to live well and do
whatever i want to without having an iota of doubt if it is the correct thing
to do during ‘trying times’. <o:p></o:p></div>
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i continue to live each day as before doing chores that i
must do and when i want to be entertained i have plenty to pick and choose.
i can’t complain about anything but the usual. For example calling up the Chief
Health Inspector and requesting him ‘fogging’ for the entire colony as there is
a sudden influx of both Dengue and Malarial mosquitoes.<br />
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i deal with my health issues by diverting my mind and most importantly exercising the mind. i can’t help feeling blessed here too because i can.<br />
Each first time encounter makes me smile like a cat who has just polished
off a jar of fresh cream and is so certain that the next meal would be Ben & Jerry's Strawberry Cheesecake ice cream. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The painful joints cease to exist when i am into my self-induced
projects. The projects not only obliterate the unwanted but also give purpose to my mundane existence. Pre
or post lockdown i have always been like that and feel thankful that my life has not been thrown off gear. The perfect formula for dealing with any
kind of lows/blues or even boredom be it during this (lockdown) or any other is to create
something to look forward to depending on what one is really passionate about. Never
comparing or competing with others as to what they were doing but doing just
for the love of it. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Among the so many things that i enjoy doing is arriving at my
own discoveries while executing those mindful projects. Not that i am a committed- to -the -cause explorer but it is just that lady luck shines on me
delivering me golden opportunities to quench my ever curious thirsty mind.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The picture of the beautiful exotic flower is that
of a clover. Of course when my eyes chanced upon the tiny specks of delicious
pink i did not know it's human nomenclature. Living in what
the world is experiencing as ‘trying times’ and yet having at my disposal a
vast seemingly endless resource called the internet at my disposal to satisfy the
important and urgent needs, it took me less than ten minutes to know what it is.<br />
<b>Clover</b>- Apart from pink there is a white flower and yellow flower clover too and they are great nitrogen fixers for the soil. So many new knowledge did i find <a href="https://momprepares.com/red-clover-an-edible-plant-that-packs-a-punch/">https://momprepares.com/red-clover-an-edible-plant-that-packs-a-punch/</a><br />
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Not knowing what the beauty is would've left me in a state of tiresome restlessness just like how the ever so busy ever so moving world is facing during this scary lockdown. <br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
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So not only the pink clover
but all that the’ trying times’ are adding to my kitty will be featuring in my next blogs. But let me confess the treasures that add sparkle to my bored -with- everything mind are definitely not induced by lockdown. i have for a long time now attended classrooms without walls and have been content. i was urge free to share or blog. Absorbing the
importance of each addition felt like the start of a fresh new episode of a binge worthy show and finding time to write/blog felt wearisome if not worrisome.<o:p></o:p><br />
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Last evening when i spoke to my Mother in law
she was echoing the same contagious excitement of extreme gratefulness. She said she was eating better because
the vegetable vendors were delivering straight -from- the- farm- to -home fresh
fruits and vegetables. It felt even greater to analyze over a long warm chat
without getting bored/snappy with each other as to why it could be so</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%;">.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">They say that a four leaf clover is hard to find but one who does is considered lucky. But this is what Ms Oprah Winfrey said about luck. She said that luck is what happens when preparedness meets opportunity. One must be prepared when opportunity came along. i believe not only me but there would be so many of us who would second that. </span><br />
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Shivani Singhhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08693724458955705943noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2908771939786959090.post-51755265308668355962020-04-24T09:40:00.001-07:002020-04-24T09:40:36.593-07:00My Observations <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Learning also comes through conversations especially when it involves equal participation with no hidden agendas. There is an interesting anecdote and i am not sure if it will be consistent with my chain of thoughts but here it is.<br />
A family friend was telling us animatedly as to how he dislikes this of his wife, '' She does not read ! no matter how much I tell her to...!"<br />
He bemoaned not having delightful conversations about the trending bestsellers. Probably our friend was trying not to criticize but rather compare musings because my husband had shared his bits about his own wife. Now i really don't know if my husband really approves of my old way of reading hard copies because at the drop of the hat he reminds me of all the space occupied by books and how those books would prove to be a burden if and when have to shift. Nevertheless while having his elated conversation he talked about my habit and my collection both.<br />
Listening to them i could feel that both husbands were not really being honest in their conversation. And both were not at fault. i too am like that.<br />
i am forever wanting what is not and cribbing mostly about my husband not reading anything but the newspaper too.<br />
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Are all readers really better than those who don't read i can't tell. What i can tell is that people around me respect, love and admire my husband despite him being a non reader probably because he is a good listener. What also i can tell is that books are lovely conversation subjects provided one is being honest about just the book and not bringing it into the conversation just to impress.<br />
Mostly i feel we are not truly being honest about reading what to talk of books.<br />
If the society says it is great to be a reader then it is so. <i>Pathetic are those who do not read for they will never understand, know or learn or grow...</i><br />
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Today as i sit to blog i am beginning to question if it was really decent to laugh about what our friend divulged later as the session carried on.<br />
He said that if and when his wife was meeting her friends for lunch/dinner/coffee/ she would approach him to summarize the plot of the trending book he had just read. Sometimes even scribble a small write up which she could lap up to reproduce later during her drive to the rendezvous spot. He went on to explain how his summaries had actually helped his wife to keep up with the joneses. i remember all of us lolling to that.<br />
Today when i think about it i feel guilty for endorsing that which i generally condemn. Which is to participate in ridicule. i should've said something. Changed the direction of the conversation instead of laughing out loud at someone who was also a friend and that too when she was not even present.<br />
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It indeed is making me question. Should one read for the love of books or should one read to improve one's understanding or should one read because when people have conversations one should be participating as readers even when they are not. And why do we keep shaming non readers. There are a host of other so called good things we all should be doing and are we actually doing them. <br />
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If not reading then something else. Aren't we all projecting what we really are not. Be it caring for animals or environment, be it doing Yoga or managing waste, be it contributing pseudo opinions on social media or grabbing attention by posting meaningless details . The list is endless. We just want to be seen as conforming to what we ourselves have rated to be the best not because we really mean it or are truly committed to it but because we want to impress upon others. Apparently seeming to be concerned and connected but not really staying committed or concerned about anything.<br />
i fail to understand how hard it could be to grab a phone and have a lovely tete e tete than to type niceties which truly lack credibility. All those niceties at best appearing like i scratch your back will you please scratch mine. <br />
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Why can't we feel good about how or what we are and why don the false pretense?<br />
It seems to me the more we apparently engage the further are we being driven apart. And all the social medial platforms are actually destroying the social ness of it all. And we definitely are not having conversations between friends or anyone there what to talk of having conversations that can usher forth a change.<br />
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Conversations are starters, binding us and eventually making us feel good about the time spent.<br />
When i was younger i remember conversations adding more zest to what i already knew. Someone mentioning about a piece of music composition i had not heard or interesting facts about which place i should be visiting, an introduction to customs/rituals the how's and why's, easy DIY's including handy kitchen/household tips and a whole lot of other things apart from comparing notes on family, gardening, pets and recipes. Not to miss it we also had conversations on books to read, movies to watch so on and so forth.<br />
i also remember those conversations as being refreshing and exciting. Igniting not only a passion for more but also keeping us looking forward to sharing details about our own lack of understanding without any false pretense.<br />
Today i am at a loss. Sometimes i am banging my own drum and other times i am listening to other drums. Of late there has been a constant bombardment of sorts and i want to run away to a land of peace and quiet if it exits anywhere. Where my inward talking should provide me with solace if not all the answers as to why it is so. It troubles me to realize that we are slowly but steadily drifting apart. <br />
Often a conversation meets a sudden death and what ensues is the emergence of an argument where no one is really listening to anyone. Or else as it happened in this case the conversation left in it's wake so many unanswered questions, doubts and an overriding sense of guilt.<br />
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Maybe through this as i blog i am mulling over the aftermath. The fact of the matter being if the art of listening to some who love to only hear themselves speak can be mastered. Should i really work towards building a huge stockpile of patience and learn to be a passive listener or should i be working towards more effective communication skills through which i can convey what i have to say without being offensive.<br />
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Folks who care (home) tell me that i get too hyper and the words fails to convey. Emotions, expressions creating an unpalatable soup which drowns the essence.<br />
Uff ...<br />
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It beats me to talk softly or slowly about something i feel strongly about. Even though i am not a certified bipolar i must be sounding like Carrie Mathison (Homeland) when she was having one of her episodes. Talking fast and talking loud and thinking even louder.</div>
The last show on Netflix i binged on was Ozark. As i soaked in the all kinds of conversations between warring factions the one sentence that has stuck is this- " <b>People aren't afraid of autocrats. People are afraid of being different from their neighbors.</b>'' Jacob Snell.<br />
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i think conversation is also quite a cultural thing and it definitely has something to do with our genetic make up. When i ponder over the harmless allegations desiring change i do realize that i have my roots somewhere and i carry all the telltale signs of it.<br />
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Can i improve or will i ever be able to change that which dilutes the essence only time can tell.<br />
i don't know if what i have just said is consistent or not. But blogging it definitely has brought me to what i should start with for the time being. For the moment with this pleasing thought, "<b>Conversation isn't about proving a point, true conversation is about going on a journey with the people you are speaking with.'' </b><br />
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Shivani Singhhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08693724458955705943noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2908771939786959090.post-42015960373500689402020-04-20T11:33:00.000-07:002020-04-24T20:49:54.769-07:00Accept what is and forget what was<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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''I thought that my voyage had come to it's end at the last limit of my power,-that the path before me was closed, that provisions were exhausted and the time come to take shelter in a silent obscurity.</div>
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But I find that thy will knows no end in me. And when old words die out on the tongue, new melodies break forth from the heart; and where the old tracks are lost, new country is revealed with its wonders.'' Rabindranath Tagore</div>
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i often question myself if anyone ever thinks it this way. That the apparently seeming most unimportant/ unworthy also has a prime place in the scheme of what constitutes the entire universe and it's working. For every discernible wee bit that looks ugly and gnarled, weathered and broken and in dire need of fixing and also those which cannot be seen or won't even be acknowledged has some unique purpose.<br />
We tend to stand and admire and applaud what appears before us full of pageantry and brilliance and not after the world has proclaimed an artist as great who painted the wilted and shriveled flowers do we admire the beauty or purpose of what is on it's way out.<br />
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i had been contemplating of tidying the area by removing all the dried up branches of once upon a time a profusely flowering shrub of Butterfly pea (Clitoria ternatea). Commonly called <i>Aparajita </i>in my own mother tongue. Thoughts and feelings creating a mess of it's own and if those labyrinthine thoughts/feelings could be painted it would look as messy and in dire need of a spring clean up. Anger building into rage at the sheer callousness, frustration at my own capabilities/ , helplessness about a lack of resources and last but not the very least the mourning and pining for what is lost.<br />
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The universe works in mysterious ways to bring solace to the troubled soul. For me this time as cute fluffs of hopping greens and whites, painting the dead grey and browns with a glow of what can be compared to the blinking fairy lights.<br />
Also because i was blessed to be in the right place at the right time with a few borrowed words from Guru Rabindranath Tagore.<br />
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Shivani Singhhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08693724458955705943noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2908771939786959090.post-30899735892595049252016-11-19T00:22:00.000-08:002016-11-19T05:24:22.180-08:00# 3 Orange Blister Beetle<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: large;">Sometimes i think curiosity is an important key to learning. Learn quick and in a thrilling, adrenalin pumping way. Books are great learning tools but what good can a book do if one is not curious enough to know. But of course that's only sometimes because too much curiosity can be fatal too. Thank Heavens that i was not that fatal kind of curious with this one although i must say i indeed was one thirsting for knowledge of the hurried kind to know as fast as i could. Learning did happen by leaps and bounds asap. Now a good word for what it is worth has earned a well deserved attention and i feel like sharing APOSEMATISM.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Of course i was not even pronouncing it correctly as my tongue was reading the word like a just initiated into reading kid saying A- Pose- Matism stressing on the Pose part. A pose matism i mumbled twice thrice or maybe even more. Probably an instinct to hang on to the word lest it should evaporate from my system. Don't remember hearing the word on Nat Geo or any other Wild life Channels or even if the word was duly repeated during narration i might not have picked it up. Being more engrossed in seeing the visuals than listening carefully to all that the playback voice really was wanting its viewers to also know. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The sequence that happened because of my as curious as a cat self is as follows. Orange Blister Beetle- Aposematism- How to pronounce Aposematism- Thank Heavens for the premonition - Feeling elated -Happily satiated like a cat that has just polished off a jar of cream- the cat feels like telling one and all about it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> First the brilliantly striped insect appears on the flower (Yellow Alder) and i can't stop looking at those colors and feeling vaguely thrilled as well as intrigued at the size of the insect's head, thorax and abdomen. It was as large as a big black bumble bee. Some premonition kind of a feeling too about giving it a due respect and leaving it alone lurked inside . </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Although i tried staying away i could not help in my curiosity to keep coming back to see and hear. Sounds if there was any or how it moved. Only to see to my horror that it was munching away to God's glory my beautiful bright yellow Alder. Moving quickly from one petal to the other voraciously devouring like a starved beast. It's brilliantly striped shield like abdomen slightly parted and it's phalanxes appearing and disappearing. i assumed that the abdomen was also the wing and maybe the insect could fly like the bumble bee. i however could not get the opportunity to know if it made any buzzing sound like the bumble bee. Some instinct cautioned that i leave the creature to it's meal but it was curiosity that saw me sitting on my laptop few minutes later frantically searching the ID of the insect eating my flower. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Knowledge is good but it also brings fear. But even when you don't know anything nature provides warning signals. My premonition was justified when i learnt of the beetle. Good that i did not move too close for it to feel threatened although i must say i wanted to take more pictures. Closer shots and perhaps chase the beetle to where there was enough light to capture all it's features.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It sure was an interesting subject for <i>practice practice till you get</i> <i>perfect</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: inherit;">The term aposematism was coined by the English zoologist </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edward_Bagnall_Poulton" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0b0080; font-family: inherit; text-decoration: none;" title="Edward Bagnall Poulton">Edward Bagnall Poulton</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: inherit;"> in his 1890 book </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Colours_of_Animals" style="background: none; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="The Colours of Animals">The Colours of Animals</a></i><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: inherit;">. He based the term on the Ancient Greek words ἀπό </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: inherit;">apo</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: inherit;"> away, ση̑μα </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: inherit;">sēma</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: inherit;"> sign, referring to signs that warn other animals away. </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aposematism" style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;">https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aposematism</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This Orange Blister Beetle because of what nature has bestowed them with has earned a bad name for itself i learnt. i believe some call it <i>Besharam </i>(Shameless) and those speaking Hindi call it <i>Behaya </i>meaning just the same (one who has no shame). i am glad the scientific name cannot be translated. For in entomology it has a name sounding as unique, elaborate and perhaps partly descriptive too as all the other species that co exist along with us. Mylabris pustulata. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The various internet sites might call it a pest for anything that preys upon what humans need for survival is a pest but i feel otherwise too. They are what they are because nature intended them to be that way. And looking from their perspective even we the Homo sapiens are a pest. Rather of late i feel we are the biggest pests existing in nature now. For with our sheer number and increasing demands we are devouring, plundering, destroying everything that is coming in our way. We intrude upon habitats making way for our own settlements destroying farms, fields, forests and when hunger/loss of habitat brings creatures back into our yards we raise a hue and cry. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">For this time i have decided to learn the word, how to pronounce it correctly and let things be, Thanks to the brilliant color and size i would not know Aposematism. i know now (also thanks to my curiosity) that not unless they are threatened or crushed no Orange Blister Beetle or Mylabris pustulata will look for me only to attack me and give me blisters or welts that turn septic if not treated. i don't own horses either which might face extermination due to this beetle. And although i was horrified at first to see it eating the flower my garden still has plenty of Turnera ulimifolia or Yellow Alders or Yellow Buttercups or Sage Rose or Cuban Buttercups. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">However knowledge is helpful so i would like readers to be warned too. Hence <a href="http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/city/lucknow/Blister-beetles-create-problem-for-citizen/articleshow/3230025.cms">http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/city/lucknow/Blister-beetles-create-problem-for-citizen/articleshow/3230025.cms</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And it would not be fair before giving all (who didn't know the word) a chance to learn to pronounce it. </span></div>
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Shivani Singhhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08693724458955705943noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2908771939786959090.post-35702482584321701852016-11-16T05:14:00.000-08:002016-11-16T05:14:27.224-08:00# 2 Hoverfly<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
i feel blessed that i am given space to grow plants. And this activity of growing has from time to time brought me up close and personal with species i am seeing only now. Quite a revelation !<br />
i see them often and sometimes must admit feeling somewhat reluctant to disturb their daily chores. What if my curiosity gets in the way of the creature and their instincitive defence mechanism sees me running for cover. <br />
So then that's how i came to notice these beautiful creatures when at first i thought they were bees/wasps and that i should stay away from them lest they should sting me.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimWPNRXHuKqYhGosaAwIESlLzLSru7IHYSBSyNNevUQ-amCZrUJ27KLFzW0zmEnbDPHTsl5J8u16E0MTKdf9Lpkp2xoED6r9vNlwTYNEZ997cqGmPp1XtE9qWkAKaOAx9RK6cXImbEPtM/s1600/DSC_0351.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimWPNRXHuKqYhGosaAwIESlLzLSru7IHYSBSyNNevUQ-amCZrUJ27KLFzW0zmEnbDPHTsl5J8u16E0MTKdf9Lpkp2xoED6r9vNlwTYNEZ997cqGmPp1XtE9qWkAKaOAx9RK6cXImbEPtM/s400/DSC_0351.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Tiny creatures with brilliant stripes. Iridescent pair of wings and the body that shines like it was made of glass. But that was not the only feature that attracted me towards these bee looking creatures. What fascinated me the most was the locomotion part. Yeah !<br />
In so many ways it reminded me of helicopters and the way it hovered around the flower or foliage it fancied. <br />
For days have i chased them keeping them at arms length at first because i thought they might sting me if i got too close. Last year i was stung twice by wasps (accidently) and i still cringe at the memory of the pain and the swelling. Not to miss the itching that happens as the spot heals.<br />
Then thanks to a couple of my just by chance shots plus some search on the internet that i got a bit more daring.<br />
Hover Fly that's what they are called. Friendly tiny creatures that hover around the plants in search of nectar and pollen.<br />
They move like they are swimming in the air. Just gliding in and out of the flower beds and among the foliage like an expert diver. The speed of the wings with the day light all around they apparently seem wingless. Actually it is quite difficult to make comparisons. Sometimes you feel like they are like divers in the atmospheric sea and other times they resemble like those helicopters in the sky. The blades seen chopping the wind not as pair of blades but something moving just too fast to let the eye discern.<br />
However the uniqueness of this particular species of 'Flower Fly' truly is in the way it hovers. Suspended with their glassy bodies in the air. Harmless and quiet. As if meditating/levitating. Their beautiful pair of fragile fairy wings hardly visible to the discerning eye at times. At other times if you are close enough maybe you can spot the rapidly moving wings. <br />
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Sometimes i wonder how we knew right from childhood about bees and missed knowing about these. Maybe we weren't looking or maybe there was no time to look. i thank Heavens. For the exact time when i see more now even though without my glasses i am partially blind.</div>
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Thank you for going through my pictures and what i had to say.</div>
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i also thank the mentioned below site for giving me the FAQs on this among the so many of the Flower Flies.</div>
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<a href="http://www.entomology.wisc.edu/mbcn/kyf211.html">http://www.entomology.wisc.edu/mbcn/kyf211.html</a></div>
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i am still chasing Hover flies to shoot for myself a perfect clear picture of the one sleek brilliantly striped body flanked by rapidly moving wings.</div>
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Wish me luck then ! </div>
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Shivani Singhhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08693724458955705943noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2908771939786959090.post-51441513745916756112016-03-19T03:26:00.000-07:002016-03-19T04:43:44.392-07:00# 1 Ladybug<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; line-height: 21px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“The thing about exploring is that you have to know whether the thing you've found is worth finding. Some things are just sitting there, minding their own business, waiting to be discovered. Like America. And other things are probably better off left alone. Like a dead mouse at the back of the cupboard.” </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">― </span><a class="authorOrTitle" href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7195.John_Boyne" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Lato, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 21px; text-decoration: none;">John Boyne</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">, </span><span id="quote_book_link_39999" style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><a class="authorOrTitle" href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/1148702" style="color: #333333; font-family: Lato, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: bold;">The Boy in the Striped Pajamas</a></span><br />
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It's funny and strange...You just finish reading a book and when you are up and about certain visions take you back to those words...<br />
i love being on my own along with my companions...those which do not speak my language and yet converse with me...teaching me...showing me what i have missed during my 51 years of existence on this earth...<br />
Feel rather rich even when i realize that this knowing may not be a quantum leap but just a tiny hint of the entire secret to be unfolded...<br />
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# 1. As brilliant as a jewel- The ladybugs<br />
Now apart from knowing from my personal reading of them that not only are they good bugs that control pests, i am rather thrilled to see that this brilliant as a jewel is like a cute space ship. Hidden wings inside the bright and spotted domes that automatically come out when it's time to take flight...<br />
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As a kid i was fascinated by those books in the school library. Hardcover Ladybird story books with it's closed wing ladybird logo. Did i know then that today would be that day when i shall have time and the inclination to watch intently one for real. Of course apart from loving the smell of those books and admiring the print what to talk of the stories i also thought then that The Ladybird was a beautiful insect that was found in the gardens of England. And those gardens were often frequented by gnomes, fairies and pixies...when people were deep in their slumber swimming in their dream river... </div>
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Cannot say if i was better then when i had such fantastic thoughts or i am now to see this as a really <u>cute tiny brightly colored spaceship with it's automatic mechanisms</u>. To some with whom i share my findings i might apparently appear to be having some knowledge. Because some are not aware that the ladybug is also a Samaritan of some sort for the garden. As helpful as the natural tillers of the soil- The Earthworms.</div>
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"<span style="line-height: 23.5px; text-align: left; word-spacing: 1px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Ladybugs control pests that pester your plants. Definitely a good bug to have. They are capable of consuming up to 60 aphids per day, but will also eat a variety of other insects and larvae including scales, mealy bugs, leaf hoppers, mites, and various types of soft-bodied insects.</i></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 23.5px; text-align: left; word-spacing: 1px;"><i>They may be white, yellow, pink, orange, red or black, and usually have spots</i>.'' <a href="http://www.clean-organized-family-home.com/good-garden-bugs.html">http://www.clean-organized-family-home.com/good-garden-bugs.html</a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Would like to conclude my post with yet another from the same book...</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: inherit; line-height: 21px; text-align: left;">“Just because a man glances up at the sky at night does not make him an astronomer, you know.” </span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">― </span><a class="authorOrTitle" href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7195.John_Boyne" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: lato, 'helvetica neue', helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 21px; text-decoration: none;">John Boyne</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">, </span><span id="quote_book_link_6011665" style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><a class="authorOrTitle" href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/1148702" style="color: #333333; font-family: lato, 'helvetica neue', helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;">The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas</a></span><br />
Will be back with #2...because i have more to share...<br />
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Shivani Singhhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08693724458955705943noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2908771939786959090.post-81244200959824052362016-01-27T12:51:00.000-08:002016-01-27T12:51:20.407-08:00The Unfinished Necklace and Idle Tears <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">When i took this picture i was just wondering how nature missed out on two drops of crystal when it was decorating this of the Nasturtium leaf. Just one tiny drop plus one perhaps slightly bigger, of pure silver moisture and the necklace would be complete.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But here it is for keeps now this unfinished necklace...in my memory...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And for want of anything substantial let me decorate this page of mine with Tennyson...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Nothing really seems befitting as my condition truly is also of one 'divine despair' in which i find there is no <span style="background-color: white; line-height: 28px;">immediate, identifiable grief as to why my own tears rolled down...</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And as the tears dropped i was hoping it could perhaps complete the unfinished necklace but it couldn't/wouldn't but chose first to linger on my cheeks instead and when they did drop they lost their </span>way into the weaves of my garment. Sigh ! </span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 28px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">Tears Idle Tears a particularly evocative section , is one of several interludes of song in the midst of a larger poem called, " The Princess" by Alfred Lord Tennyson. i am indeed very grateful to this brother albeit a virtual one whom i call Dada. Dada is an affectionate but specific Bengali term for elder brother whom we in our own </span></span><span style="line-height: 28px;">mother tongue</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 28px;"> Hindi address as </span></span><i style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 28px;">Bhaiyaa</i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">Thank You Dada for giving me beautiful words to rely on...for this post of mine. Wish you were near and i could share my magical moments and also the fact as to what i consider my daily miracles to be. Hope that you smile if/when you read this post of mine for i am going to divulge the secret...</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">First and foremost even before i divulge is a question, "Was it a wild guess Dada or was it ESP...how did you (of all people ) come to know of my predicament...you who is known to me through computers and that other than our identities on </span></span><span style="line-height: 28px;">Facebook</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 28px;"> we have never met...?"</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">So if you read this someday...(i hope you do) then i am about to tell you this...my share of miracle of this Jan 27 2016 was a fact. It was You and your 'Idle Tears'.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">That even when i am </span><span style="line-height: 28px;">clueless</span><span style="line-height: 28px;"> about you Dada as much as you are about me...you gave the exact words to finish this post of mine which would've perhaps died a stillborn death.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">Divine despair is what i am in...and you have in a way helped me put it across...</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">i feel sometimes the Divine speaks through radio...through articles that i read or even books. Other times through the words of people i know and this time perhaps it spoke through you.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">Whatever ! i will sleep a bit more easy and perhaps who knows tomorrow shall be a bright new jolly good day!</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 28px;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,</b></span></span><br />
<b><span style="background-color: white; font-family: LFT-Etica-Web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;">Tears from the depth of some divine despair</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: LFT-Etica-Web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: LFT-Etica-Web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;">Rise in the heart, and gather in the eyes,</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: LFT-Etica-Web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: LFT-Etica-Web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;">In looking on the happy autumn-fields,</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: LFT-Etica-Web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: LFT-Etica-Web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;">And thinking of the days that are no more.</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: LFT-Etica-Web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: LFT-Etica-Web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: LFT-Etica-Web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;"> Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail,</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: LFT-Etica-Web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: LFT-Etica-Web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;">That brings our friends up from the underworld,</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: LFT-Etica-Web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: LFT-Etica-Web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;">Sad as the last which reddens over one</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: LFT-Etica-Web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: LFT-Etica-Web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;">That sinks with all we love below the verge;</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: LFT-Etica-Web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: LFT-Etica-Web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;">So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: LFT-Etica-Web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: LFT-Etica-Web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: LFT-Etica-Web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;"> Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: LFT-Etica-Web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: LFT-Etica-Web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;">The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: LFT-Etica-Web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: LFT-Etica-Web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;">To dying ears, when unto dying eyes</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: LFT-Etica-Web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: LFT-Etica-Web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;">The casement slowly grows a glimmering square;</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: LFT-Etica-Web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: LFT-Etica-Web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;">So sad, so strange, the days that are no more.</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: LFT-Etica-Web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: LFT-Etica-Web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: LFT-Etica-Web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;"> Dear as remembered kisses after death,</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: LFT-Etica-Web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: LFT-Etica-Web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;">And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: LFT-Etica-Web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: LFT-Etica-Web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;">On lips that are for others; deep as love,</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: LFT-Etica-Web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: LFT-Etica-Web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;">Deep as first love, and wild with all regret;</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: LFT-Etica-Web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: LFT-Etica-Web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;">O Death in Life, the days that are no more!</span></b><br />
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-<span style="color: #424242; font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Alfred Lord Tennyson</span></span></h2>
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Shivani Singhhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08693724458955705943noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2908771939786959090.post-36651438633930754092015-10-14T08:33:00.001-07:002016-01-19T04:58:20.655-08:00Dew<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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January 2016...New year</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><b><i>Let your life lightly dance on the edges of Time like dew on the tip of a leaf</i></b></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <a class="qa_384868" href="http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/r/rabindranath_tagore.html" style="box-sizing: border-box; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><b>Rabindranath Tagore</b></span></a></span></div>
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Shivani Singhhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08693724458955705943noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2908771939786959090.post-54270306064341398752015-10-14T02:33:00.004-07:002015-10-14T02:33:38.696-07:00 Painda for Chotee Chotee Bhook<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
i am looking for quick healthy snacks all the time. Something that is not completely dry. And something that is juicy, chew able, which is also full of flavors with some raw freshness added in.<br />
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i know and make salads and in that my all time favorite is the <u>sprouts salad</u> into which i keep adding and subtracting ingredients when i get fed up of a particular taste or flavor. But last time on my trip to Mukteshwar (Nainital) i came upon this. Thought then that through my blog i must share not only the recipe but also save the recipe lest my fickle mind forgets it. Besides other subjects might also take precedence. i mean the talker in me might want to talk of other stuff and forget entirely about this simple yet tasty snack for <i>chotee chotee bhook </i>. <br />
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Mr Manoj thank God he beckoned me with his lovely smile and the warmest call that i can ever remember to try it when disgusted with all that garbage and muck at that spot which supposedly was one great scenic spot of that area i was returning quite upset. Cursing within myself as to when my country folks will ever learn to keep their surroundings clean. Animatedly telling my husband if the 'Swachata Abhiyaan' ( Cleanliness Drive) will ever take off in a major way. As if my poor soul of a husband was responsible for the stench and the garbage that was there. Yeah i was going on and on. "... Has it really taken off if at all or is it restricted to those <b>biggies</b> sweeping the already clean roads with a brand new broom and their photos flashed in the dailies...''<br />
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Mr Manoj stopped me and my ranting with his gentle call..."<i>Madam jee naraaz mat ho, aao Painda khaa lo</i>..."<br />
i at once stopped...in my walk and my angry talk...<br />
Looked at that face with the neat hair cut who had pleasantly asked me to quit being cross and just eat his snack. Was surprised too how my facial expressions must've conveyed so much for him to make that passing observation, 'Cross' if at all it was one or did he understand every word i was saying to my husband. Oh God was i that loud !.<br />
i bet that i would've been. Family members have often reminded me time and again to speak softly.<br />
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Painda. Pronounced not as the D in English but that which we have in Hindi Devnagri script. In fact we have a proper word 'painda' in Hindi which means bottom or base of anything. For example the base of a vessel or anything. We also have a proverb too ' <i>bin painde ka lota </i>' which translated would mean a small round pot with a round bottom...the application thus suitably would be a person who is of highly unreliable character or has varying conduct. A chameleon character maybe.<br />
So Painda with that D...<br />
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Then because my mood was rotten...i glanced at that offering dismissing it perfunctorily as, " Oh no...not another Chana Chaat is it..." .</div>
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Then looked at that colorful basket with the lovely fresh greens and reds and the shining in the sun goldens. </div>
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Okay this potpourri looked slightly different. This must surely be different to those i have had in Patna my native place or in Delhi where i am residing now. </div>
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i chided myself inwardly for being so miss- know- it- all. But could i help myself for being so. After all Chana Chaat or Bengal Gram Savory Snack Vendors are there everywhere in India aren't they ...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqefn4vUpKdcmZVJUQPOTlcbURyh0ATxFlvAWpQfgiVLwICv8gbIIsXd38a0CFxjKkumbdq85KpBLudCeAJewE0-oAk4fHPILncwB_zSvNpyU3cLTVwMGmnlbHzFLY7EiBDtbnbLXJdcA/s1600/DSC_0342.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqefn4vUpKdcmZVJUQPOTlcbURyh0ATxFlvAWpQfgiVLwICv8gbIIsXd38a0CFxjKkumbdq85KpBLudCeAJewE0-oAk4fHPILncwB_zSvNpyU3cLTVwMGmnlbHzFLY7EiBDtbnbLXJdcA/s640/DSC_0342.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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i must confess...the entire looked not only appetizing but there was a faint delectable aroma too...a tangy spicy aroma and the sight of those perfectly chopped fine pieces of fresh cucumber, tomatoes, coriander started it's tricks on my tongue which instead of wagging and making sounds was moistening by now and i felt that quietening down deep inside. What then caught my attention apart from the boiled gram was the deep fried Bengal gram lentil glistening golden and looking very fresh and crispy too. Was that to be added to the preparation or was there an entire different preparation with that one ? i was mulling over the idea of asking the vendor man to do one of that too if it was another.</div>
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i waited and watched with fascination the entire procedure as the hands set to work the moment i placed my order for three '<i><b>Paindas</b></i>'.</div>
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So then, my curiosity was taken care of when i saw that the deep fried <i>daal</i> ( Bengal gram lentil) also went into it plus that secret spice and finally a dash of fresh lime juice.</div>
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The three of us...my husband, our taxi driver and me hardly talked but chewed on to this sheer simple tasty delight which had it's juices, the crunchy freshness and took care of that <i>chotee bhook</i> which had actually made me more irritable than i normally would've been. i finished mine and went back to drop those paper cups in the makeshift cardboard bin that Mr Manoj jee had kept by the side of his little vending hand basket. It was then i thanked him for introducing me to this lovely snack and then happily i asked him about that area and talked to him for a while. Came to a deeper understanding about the garbage and the stench too which was primarily because of those horses there that took the tourists uphill.</div>
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But in all this talking i forgot to ask him if the word ' <i><b>Painda</b></i>' was it a local word for the chat he served...</div>
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And i now am left wondering if it was Garhwaali or Kumaoni... </div>
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i cannot quit before explaining what <i>Chotee Bhook </i>is... </div>
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It is not so much of a hunger but that intense desire to munch on to something in between meals, movies, tv programmes, get-togethers or even just like that. Period.</div>
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Shivani Singhhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08693724458955705943noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2908771939786959090.post-48292076018848946802015-10-11T14:27:00.000-07:002015-10-11T15:08:30.323-07:00Blessed are the Meek for They Shall Inherit<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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i have through these years of my life come up with many theories of my own. Eerily some that family members can remember have been proved to be true. Not just like that but in a complex manner like those theorems in geometry. i know this comparison too sounds strange but just like those equations had to be first learnt in order to know how triangles are congruent or non congruent or for that matter any of those eleven or more maybe one more theorem we did in high school. So did we live to see my theories getting those proofs.<br />
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Theories that i propound have been built up with years of simple observation and sample analysis of very many kinds the disclosure of which might rather sound rude and is not really required nor important. What matters is my theories have received acknowledgement if not from the world forum but from those who matter to me. And for me that's more than enough.<br />
And yes i have used the word eerily because many of these known people get afraid nowadays when i say things because they immediately react with words like, " Don't utter, because however strange and illogical you might apparently sound your words come out to be true...in the long run".<br />
<i>Kaali Zubaan </i>(someone whose words are like premonitions) that's how they might prefer to say it in our mother tongue but for the love of me refrain from using the harsh and negative word. But the mere consternation and restlessness conveys what they mean.<br />
Poor pathetic superstitious souls, sigh ! they will never learn. Sigh !<br />
i mumble within myself and thus continue quite unperturbed with what their reaction is or how they might think but nevertheless continue assimilating my theories based upon my own personal experiences and observations of facts as and when situations have happened to me .<br />
These situations also have within their gamut all the five senses mind you...sight, sound, taste, hearing and most importantly smell.<br />
<br />
Taking time out and seriously acting on my son's advise i think it is time now i ought to save these theories. What better way than to do it in my blog. One by one as they come to me.<br />
So here it is.<br />
Theory # 1:<br />
Today's theory is about <b>taste</b> and <b>smell</b>. This time relating to FOOD and thus it's aroma.<br />
<br />
<b>What thou deny/ reject today is what thou would crave or seek tomorrow and shall never receive nor obtain.</b><br />
This again is one which experience and years of observation has taught me.<br />
On my own i try not to disregard food whichever way it is offered to me. No matter how not up to my liking it is. Because i am terrified of this imaginary concept of 'HUNGER'. i have been by the Divine Grace never had that unfortunate moment ever in my life when i was hungry and never got anything to eat.<br />
i wonder however then being born in the land of plenty and then having been forever there why then do i still have this fear of being without food just like i have many other fears and insecurities. Which thus leads me to propound another theory but then i'd rather not spill that one here. That for laters.<br />
<br />
So then there was this time i denied food. And it rained on me.<br />
My own theory...it thundered...striking me with full force and lightening. Making me feel wet, homeless and pathetic... <br />
Here i was sitting tired and hungry...alone on the terrace remembering those hot <i>rotis</i> offered to me with a gentle and loving smile. Some kind soul had asked me to break bread with them one fine day and i had refused. <br />
<br />
How i craved and wanted to eat nothing but that particular sweet- smelling- like- roasted- flour <i>rotis</i> when i knew very well that those <i>rotis</i> no longer existed. They were just in my memory. Making my stomach ache with one unknown to me knotty gnawing pain. i had not cooked. Did not get the time to cook. The kitchen downstairs maybe had other dry snacks and some fruits that i could go to and eat but just like the pregnant lady gets a serious craving during which she wants nothing but that particular food so did my mind, mouth, saliva, stomach every part related to the process of digestion seem to scream for one and one particular item only.<br />
"i want to have that <i>haath sey thapak key bani huee meethee meethhee khushboo waali garam garam roti..." </i>( hand made fresh bread smelling sweet and hot, one that is not rolled but patted by hands...)<br />
The one i had denied which was once offered to me.<br />
Now as you read this story of mine think of your own experience and compare. Do let me know if it has happened with you too. Have you ever denied and later regretted ?<br />
As for the rest...let my pictures do the talking...you can see which <i>roti</i> then i am talking about.<br />
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Not a single day goes by when the hand hoe that i got from the lovely, kind lady does not remind me of her <i>rotis</i> and her warm loving smile. But if only i could just get to eat her <i>rotis</i> if only i could know how to get to her somehow...i know definitely this time shamelessly i might ask to be fed.</div>
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i would have to go find her first along the highway to Mukteshwar where by the side of the road i had found her. Maybe pitching her tent for sometime to perhaps have that lunch and then perhaps move on. </div>
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Meanwhile i am making do with my own insipid rolled on with the help of a rolling pin and thin <i>rotis</i> but her hand hoe is doing wonders making my job so much easier than i had ever imagined. God alone knows how i was managing with a <i>khurpi</i> ( garden hand shovel) all these days while when actually to work on a caked with dryness mound of earth on the terrace you actually need a hand hoe. </div>
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Shivani Singhhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08693724458955705943noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2908771939786959090.post-59514980694664650512015-06-25T06:52:00.001-07:002015-06-26T01:40:45.094-07:00Book Review : The Wedding Trousseau<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
i was a tad bit late in doing what primarily i could've done even in my washroom...that is to read a simple small book possessing 129 of very readable pages that had arrived two or maybe three months back.<br />
Yeah it is funny and for some people sacrilegious. This reading in the toilet part. But i guess the habit had developed from school days when i would be cramming stuff while attending to nature's call.<br />
The fact of the matter being that 'The Wedding Trousseau' the book, a collection of short stories was delivered by post to me and inside those words that book had apart from short stories was a responsibility...a serious one. To write a review.<br />
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And now after having read those 128 plus one page i feel relieved but the anxiety is still what i possess.<br />
Will i be doing justice...in my review to a labor of love for writing.<br />
Writing which in itself is complicated but that which also gives joy to the writer. Joy for a labor of the love of expressing in black and white the swamp of ocean like emotions that clutter our thought process the moment we start expressing.<br />
i sure am a bit nervous too.<br />
<br />
The least i can do in order to rid myself of the anxiety is to try. And i am trying for this actually is my first book review.<br />
Holding the book in my hand and looking at the covers trying to take in the designing and what the back cover had of the book just ruffling through those comfortable fonts of those pages i felt at once that Ankita Sharma the author of those short stories is a neat, uncomplicated and a sensitive human being. i love the font size. It is so important for a bespectacled me.<br />
<br />
i admired the book first for the design and the comfortable font size that it had. The mind shifting from the mundane act of just leafing through to reverence at the page where we find the dedication. <br />
i couldn't help but bow my head in reverence to whom the book was dedicated to.<br />
Shiva the Creator, Preserver and Destroyer, the Supreme Yogi " The Auspicious One " and Shakti the active feminine energy of Shiva " The Great Divine Mother " who represents the primordial cosmic energy that sustains the entire universe according to that which is rather a way of life.<br />
<br />
Since the days of " Call no man a foe, but never love a stranger" from ' A Stone for Danny Fisher' i love reading the preface of the book. (That really was also the first book which made me cry a river.)<br />
Don't know if others do it too cause i really never have asked any voracious reader if they do what i do while reading the preface.<br />
i sometimes nod in acknowledgement and other times feel as surprised as a mouth- opened in wonder wide- eyed child who was just shown a new magic trick.<br />
<br />
Here too while reading the preface i smiled and nodded as if in acknowledgement. Seemed like Ankita is speaking to me only with all her honesty and simplicity.<br />
Those simple words what i would use when and if i come out with a book of my own.<br />
i felt instantaneously that i was about to read experiences that probably have had but lacked the necessary consistency required to turn experiences into neat and straight forward stories.<br />
<br />
The contents page then informed me why the book is called The Wedding Trousseau. i must confess though that the urge to read the sixth story aka the title of the book was suppressed by the frivolous mind and i started out with the first story ' The Pink Card' with little less enthusiasm than i should have had.<br />
The Pink Card saw me feeling pink with realization. First for my needlessly abated excitement and then of the reality of the story. It hit me straight for i cannot deny not having witnessed such scenarios.<br />
i have been a privy to situations such as those depicted in the story. A facade of self righteousness that we keep donning all the time when we have to condemn the weak and the not so privileged poor beings who assist us in our daily lives. And i wonder why do we do that. What is there to gain in being narrow- minded ly moralistic. <br />
Then shamelessly go on with our lives having no regrets as to those useless words uttered and damage done mostly of our own. Words bombarded over nothing at all. And finally who then has the last laugh...after all is done and said. Can we get rid of the hypocrisy mixed with superiority ever i just wonder.<br />
<br />
i carried on suspecting the least that the second story might be something i have known too, maybe condemned inwardly but on being aware having done nothing about it actually. 'One More Bite' and the pink was seeping into the ears making it feel hot with shame and embarrassment. i felt bitten and stung with another about our own kids who turn eventually into brats. Who then is responsible for propagating shallow values devoid of any sensitivity, empathy or pathos ? The tantrum throwing brats are not born spoilt are they ?<br />
As parents what kind of <i>Sanskaar </i>are we imparting to our children? By humiliating another tortured and abused starved child and exploiting his poverty as cheap labor to do kitchen work or any kind of domestic odd jobs !. What values are we inculcating in our own PRECIOUS ones. One More Bite was just more than a single for the aftertaste kept me grumpy and sullen for sometime as i proceeded. For not only was the truth bitter but also the story lashed out. The disdain we have and our own callousness in imparting true but substantial meaningful values to our own kids. The values which should sustain and not get dissipated by the tides of time. And these kids today will be the insufferable society tomorrow.<br />
<br />
i certainly felt a faint smile wanting to turn into a full- throat laughter in ' Leaves' the next story. But why did the laughter not emerge. Because the truth in this story felt stranger than the fiction it was built upon. What caught my fancy was the dream of the poor protagonist young boy. In the story he had probably seen aliens and nobody believed his sighting instead the girl friend even assumed he was doing drugs and hence had hallucinated. And when in slumber he has a dream. The dream felt more real than the aliens that he had seen at that knoll. So much of literacy, education and all kinds of empowerment but we still have strange beliefs and myths. The strangest one rather stranger than having even seen UFO or aliens is the belief of most Indians about marriage. That marriage is some cosmic panacea of all evils. All evils that plague the youth starting with "...haywire hormones'' and many others including "...bad Karma".<br />
i feel compelled to use Ankita's words (used in a different context) myself simply because it fits. My own thoughts about marriage thus, "...patterns on the sooty walls...cocooned minds.''<br />
<br />
Then while ' Curse ' dealt with the same unctuousness in which a mother is consoling her drunk good for nothing incorrigible son whose wife has just left him and gone for good ; ' Courtesy' dealt with the snobbish behavior of the upper middle class. Nowadays they are here, there and everywhere thanks to the so called development. Development yes but not much growth. These who have neither the time nor the inclination to hone their own soft skills rather prefer to gloat and swim in their own fake and shallow waters of development over stuff and objects for hours or even days. What is worse is the fact that this class apart from being snobbish are opportunists to the core who believe strongly in worshiping as spineless sycophants all those that they deem to be the rising sun / suns. Courtesy's family is also very well known to me and i hope my analysis is not trashed as an exaggerated statement of facts.<br />
<br />
i thus arrive at The Wedding Trousseau somewhat fully aware of what i am about to view from behind the descriptive stacks of expensive silks, chiffons, pashminas and those shimmering beads of the <i>lehnga</i>. i saw what i knew i was about to see and felt deeply for the girl who fussed over her wedding trousseau just to realize after the wedding that dreams die first and a man with money is just a bonus not a ladder to upgrade. i wandered in the "blank silence'' which one roams with having a cow of a husband for company. For money can't buy happiness but it can buy a cow which is pretty much the same thing. i got reminded of that one by Coco Chanel, " The best things in life are free; the second best are expensive."<br />
<br />
The next story 'The Site Visit' gave me some goose pimples when i questioned myself after finishing the story as to how i would react if i had to visit such a flat for renting. The kind in which a gory homicidal murder had taken place after which the murderer had hanged himself. Tell you the truth i would not be able to run away as my legs would freeze and all i could possibly do would be to scream in horror my guts out if i found a somebody behind me standing in a room which was erstwhile locked and supposedly vacant.<br />
<br />
' The Fresh Stock' made me think of the strict adoption laws that i have been seeing while watching Hollywood movies but i really am not sure how orphanages in India operate. Do they bother even to check the credentials of the ready for adoption parents? What are the questions that need to be answered substantially by the willing to adopt a child couple? Who then certifies that the adopting parents are mentally healthy enough to be qualified as fit to adopt and take care of the child like it was one of their own? For those who see orphans or castaway children as ' Stocks' should strictly be dealt with some punitive measures. Pathetic is the word that comes to the mind for such moneyed people who in the garb of doing sincere charity donate handsome sums to orphanages and then treat children as objects/ commodities. Like a flash of lightening it struck me about the possibilities if it were possible that is. That if it could be possible they would further want manufactured beautiful babies...those that have fair skin, blue eyes, pink chubby cheeks probably a dimpled smile and to top it all definitely those curly like maggi noodles soft lustrous hair....<br />
What was best about this story was that despite everything that seems to be going wrong in our upwardly mobile society in which childless couples are seen living in condos and gated communities having no time to chill out what to talk of thinking about starting a family with kids and all that jazz that goes with it, the story still ends with a fresh hope of bringing in the so very much desired rather needed positive change.<br />
<br />
Having to deal with a loss of a dear departed one is quite painful and it takes time. The loss is irreparable and i guess it comes naturally to people who come to console you to say that in time you should be able to overcome the loss. The fact of the matter being we console ourselves in ways we can to deal with the loss although the absence of the dear one is never ever dealt with. The absence stays and keeps resurfacing from time to time. Guilt about having to lose maybe because of one's own bad karma and other dissecting theories/ analysis keep haunting from time to time. Also the hopelessness of the unknowable fact if the loss could have been prevented. Those what if's never completely go away.<br />
'The Solitary Mound' deals with such a loss where a mother talks to her dead child sitting next to the mound where the infant is buried. i was very much enlightened myself by the thoughtful and sensible explanation that the husband of the grieving mother had to deliver to those who thought that the poor lady perhaps needed psychiatric help.<br />
The acid test of any relationship is loss; a body part or a dear member of the family or even an infant child...<br />
Who do we turn to, whom to trust. And here was in this story an entity...ever understanding, all forgiving, non-judgmental. The husband of the grieving woman.<br />
It is hurtful rather painful to be in that world which behaves oddly itself when one is in mourning and grieving. The world is too much with us and does not give us enough space even to grieve in peace.<br />
<br />
There are bosses and then there are those <i>Hari Sadu </i>type of painful bosses. And Mr. Kapoor is one such boss in the story ' I Forgive You'. True it is then there are dire situations when you face conundrum. How to deliver oneself from the evil that calls you ' <i>beti </i>' and yet continues to harass you at the drop of a hat. One has no choice then but to stay put and forgive the poor pathetic <i>Hari Sadu </i>soul. The survival kit of a woman who has lost her husband in this not so easy on widow world has tons and tons of forgiveness for everyone. The relentless boss being just one on whom this great virtue is lavished.<br />
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The eleventh and the final story is all about this perfect mania fever that keeps gripping us from time to time. As if perfect couple, skin, body, family and even home or gardens is not enough now we even want perfect pets. When Ankita writes about perfection in her story i am reminded of Robert Mugabe's speech on racism. This speech of which i really haven't done any Google search appeals to me and i am really not very sure if it was delivered by President Mugabe either. i am reminded of the speech because it has enthusiastically been doing rounds on social media. Be it on Facebook or Whatts App. Thus after completing it's rounds it arrives to me as a new poster once in a while. This one...<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 22.3199996948242px;">1. Racism will never end as long as white cars are still using black tires.</span><br style="line-height: 22.3199996948242px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /><span style="line-height: 22.3199996948242px;">2. Racism Will never end as long as we still wash first white clothes, then other colors later.</span><br style="line-height: 22.3199996948242px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /><span style="line-height: 22.3199996948242px;">3. Racism will never end if people still use black to symbolize bad luck and WHITE</span><br style="line-height: 22.3199996948242px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /><span style="line-height: 22.3199996948242px;">for peace.</span><br style="line-height: 22.3199996948242px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /><span style="line-height: 22.3199996948242px;">4. Racism will never end if people still wear white clothes at weddings and black clothes at funerals</span><br style="line-height: 22.3199996948242px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /><span style="line-height: 22.3199996948242px;">5. Racism will never end as long as those who don’t pay their bills are blacklisted not White listed.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 22.3199996948242px;">6. Even when playing the pool (snooker), you haven’t won until you sink the black ball, and the white ball must remain on the field.</span> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Ankita has thus rightly said in her story as the voice of Rahul who apparently is the only sensible/ sensitive and genuinely kind person in that particular family to adopt an abused- badly- dog as a pet from an NGO. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">" Perfection keeps shifting like a mirage. We are obsessed with anything that is perfect but the standards shift every minute: they are not fixed. We refuse to accept and agree with anything that fails to fit inside our moulds of excellence. If fair is beautiful, everything having a dark surface, be it a dog or a human, will be ruthlessly tagged ugly. If X is considered nice, anything different from X will be ugly: this list is virtually endless."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And i totally agree with the author when through her story she tries to convey that love and acceptance has no relation to the concept called ' PERFECT'. Love surpasses every criteria set for perfection.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">i kept wishing if the whole world becomes like Rahul what a wonderful world it would be then. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">i kept weaving </span>Utopian<span style="font-family: inherit;"> fantasy threads in my thoughts for sometime. What if no one was considered 'fat' or 'dark' or 'short' or ...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Actually how would we all be if that word ' UGLY' is erased from our hearts and minds. Won't then ' PERFECT' also cease to exist...</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Eleven short stories that show us what we really don't want to see or if we do see them the best that we do is to turn a blinds eye.</span><br />
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i appreciate the joy of compiling experiences into short stories. And i am sure Ankita has expressed herself well in the best possible way that she could. Barring a couple of stories that sounded like leisurely story telling over a cup of coffee between friends i could feel the urgent whispers in the rest. And the Keep it Simple language makes the deciphering of those whispers all the more easy. Each story shows us our own particular side because we ourselves are so wily, with shifting loyalties that in the end we are what we call people.<br />
To me her collection was like a mirror. Revealing the slightest scars that we deceitfully hide. And for showing us this mirror all i can say is that i am grateful indeed to the writer for giving me this opportunity to know more of the unknowable and wary of others ME THE PEOPLE.<br />
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Shivani Singhhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08693724458955705943noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2908771939786959090.post-85834790138595138662015-04-07T20:00:00.003-07:002015-04-08T07:24:13.247-07:00 Chaltey Chaltey<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Well the words translated in English should mean, While i walked...and walked...<br />
Chaltey Chaltey a transliteration would be Walking Walking.<br />
This post will be flooded with pics and yes words but some lines from a famous song. Nah...not from the movie of the same name but rather from the another classic Bollywood movie... Meena Kumari's last. ' <b><i>Pakeezah</i></b>' it sure is and thus the famous <a href="http://mujra/">Mujra</a> song...<br />
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Chaltey chaltey, chaltey chaltey</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Yunhee koi mil gayaa thaa</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sarey raah chaltey chaltey</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Vahin thamke reh gayee hai</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Meri raat dhaltey dhaltey...</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">These lines should mean ' While i was walking i chanced to meet someone. While i was walking on the road. Since that chance meet my night has come to a standstill and there seems to be no dawn'..., Something quite similar i feel...a poetic way perhaps of saying that my mind is stuck...' There where i met someone.' And often i have these urges to go and just be there and keep looking till i myself get fed up. But the point is. Can i ever get fed up. Can one get fed up of LOVE?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The only difference being about the song and me is that my chance meeting happened in broad daylight whereas the song lyrically expresses about one such encounter which took place at night.</span><br />
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And contrary to the song...the meetings just kept happening. As i went along with my daily chores. Sometimes while walking and other times i would catch a glimpse through the window of my car.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Sometimes in the middle of a nursery i was visiting to buy saplings, other times on buildings. Then in one place it was the entire roof of a room or rather a cute looking cottage where the security guards wait and watch. My walking gave me amazing encounters of the same <i>Koi</i>...</span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Against the green </span>foliage<span style="font-family: inherit;"> of all hues...young bright neon as well as dark deep olive green. Against the concrete, </span></span><span style="color: #333333;">distempered /</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;"> plastered...grey, white, as well as that of ochre walls.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;">i would be </span><span style="color: #333333;">transfixed</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;"> staring at my </span><i style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;">Koi</i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;">...viewing it from a distance. And if possible even going near enough to catch the beauty and grace against the bleached in the mid afternoon sun blue sky. Yeah going bonkers enough to stare shamelessly as to how it appeared with or without the clouds as the backdrop.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">i kept seeing and my heart would beat to some magical rhythm i cannot really explain. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">As of now this but i don't know how i will find them next. My heart and mind just keeps humming </span><i style="font-family: inherit;">Chaltey Chaltey Yuheen Koi Mil Gayaa Tha Sarey Raah Chaltey Chaltey...</i></div>
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It happened in the movie...One day she sang of her admiration and anticipation and how she was stuck with that <i>Koi</i> she met <i>Chaltey</i> <i>Chaltey</i>. But as the story moved Mr <i>Koi</i> and she come to meet in person and know each other. Love had already happened even without seeing.</div>
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So did i get to know finally. But in my case love happened even without <u>smelling</u>. </div>
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Yeah such was my predicament a note wouldn't have worked. i had to first <b>smell </b>it first.</div>
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In the movie the <i>Koi</i> had not seen her face just her feet and left a note for her which said, " <i>Aapkey</i> <i>paon dekhey, bahut haseen hain. Eenhain zameen par mat utaareeyayga, mailey ho jayengay</i>. " ( Saw your feet, they are very beautiful. Do not put them on the ground, they will get dirty.) </div>
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i had to sniff and smell like a dog first. One elimination was easy...definitely not Wisteria.</div>
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Then all that chase began...first the gardener at a local nursery who mumbled something which was neither English nor vernacular but definitely enough to give me a clue for the great Google search. Bholubilis was what i heard and remembered. So that's how i was led to volubilis and from there to</div>
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<b>Petrea volubilis.</b></div>
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<b>Purple wreath, Queen's wreath, Sandpaper Vine and in Hindi Neelmani Lata</b>.</div>
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Ahem! <b>Neelmani Lata</b>. Lata meaning vine...a climber. Neel meaning Blue and Mani meaning Jewel.</div>
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<span style="background-color: #a8ccb6; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">[Native to Central America, Purple Wreath is a very lovely small climber with drooping long racemes of delicate violet-purple star-like flowers. It is a semi-shrub and semi-climber and the small wooden trunk develops artistic curves over the years. It looks as if an Ikebana expert has shaped it for his floral arrangement. It grows best in sunshine. It flowers in spring and in some areas also in November. The flowers come in raceme reaching over 1 foot long. The true flower, which is purple, lasts a couple of days but the blue bracts remain much longer, slowly turning gray.]</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #a8ccb6; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Source:<a href="http://www.flowersofindia.net/catalog/slides/Purple%20Wreath.html">http://www.flowersofindia.net/catalog/slides/Purple%20Wreath.html</a></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">As i had seen met with another of the same just like this <i>Chaltey Chaltey</i> in my last visit to Manali i knew by smelling it that it definitely is not Wisteria. <a href="http://shivanidiwani64.blogspot.in/2012/04/best-firsts.html">http://shivanidiwani64.blogspot.in/2012/04/best-firsts.html</a> </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">i had to smell it because of various reasons. Pollution of mid morning traffic being my main concern apart from the structure of the cluster blooms and others. The Wisteria blooms were fragrant in so much that just by standing near it i was getting their lovely perfume but sometimes like the glorious yellow clusters of Laburnum blooms one can get the fragrance only in the early mornings before sunrise or before the mad traffic hogs all the fine smell away and thus all you can get is the dazzling like gold everywhere sight. That is if you you get to meet somewhere during mid morning when the sun is right overhead and it is getting just too warm for one to feel really very comfortable to be outdoors. So it is with many of such...</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Yeah stuck like this bee...i am there...</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Around me my folks are fed up and they talk of me like i am raved. Like i have nothing else there to talk about...</span></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">[The thoughts that I could never voice</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Are on everybody's lips</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A tale</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This chance encounter of mine</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I chanced to meet someone</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">While I was walking down the road...]</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Jo kahi gayi na mujhse</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Voh zamaana keh rahaa hai</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Ke fasaana</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Ke fasaana ban gayee hai</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Meri baat chaltey chaltey</i></span></span></div>
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<i>Yunheen koi mil gayaa tthaa</i></div>
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<i>Sare raah chaltey chaltey...</i><br />
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Koi- Someone</div>
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Fasaana- Tale</div>
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Zamaana- World...here it means people of the world</div>
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Yuheen- Just by chance</div>
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Raah- road</div>
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Sare Raah- on the road</div>
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Shivani Singhhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08693724458955705943noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2908771939786959090.post-60267732156257352462015-03-30T02:32:00.001-07:002015-03-30T23:25:21.612-07:00When The Stars Appear On Roads<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Yeah and during the day...have a look<br />
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Starry starry road is fine but i lack in my prowess to show how the starry starry sky appeared during the early morning walk and what drew me towards the tree which i passed daily but never cared to linger upon had it not been for its starry starry blooms.</div>
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i went close to the tree just close enough to feel if the profuse stars emitted any fragrance if at all of any kind but did not get any hint of any perfume nevertheless the flowers fascinated me and hence i looked here and there for branches hanging close to the ground so that i could take clearer shots of the blooms.</div>
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i found one lone one which was a little above my five foot one but <i>surely i can manage</i> i mumbled within myself and proceeded but not without taking a long distance shot as a practice exercise to see if i can take one clear one. i know i need to improve upon that but really don't mind putting it here.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQtTR1ZheukA9h_i_ZVrZIqID9B-c7eb7LgqEELJJt-oFQZ9vS4CqHzl1t95fB00FPAE5bxIt5KhCtA6s7dYjWbCn4MFdpTMR-IoAAfuLvey-4jh25zYQPqbLDmI3nj2mNqXNKi9iILAQ/s1600/DSC_0098.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQtTR1ZheukA9h_i_ZVrZIqID9B-c7eb7LgqEELJJt-oFQZ9vS4CqHzl1t95fB00FPAE5bxIt5KhCtA6s7dYjWbCn4MFdpTMR-IoAAfuLvey-4jh25zYQPqbLDmI3nj2mNqXNKi9iILAQ/s1600/DSC_0098.JPG" height="211" width="320" /></a></div>
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A few steps closer and another shot of the same.</div>
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Not much of a difference though but i managed a wee bit of what in photographic jargon they i suppose call 'Bokeh' . Those lights that looks like diffused balls of light...i guess...hmmm...</div>
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Okay flowers...the starry flowers...they have to be captured...in all their splendor and beauty. So click...click...click i carried on. Forgetting where i was...the time or the place...</div>
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For when i started it had not yet shone but while returning home i remember feeling the need of shades.</div>
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First the single among the lot...uff it is so difficult to select that one so i just aimed my focus on a random central one...maybe because i liked the way the buds were positioned next to it. All in a row, from sizes large to the smallest clinging neatly to the stalk that arched gracefuly. The pinnacle of which had a pagoda/dome shaped green yet to be a bud, bud...</div>
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And not only did i catch the bee but i have like a miracle managed a fairly good shot of a mature flower which perhaps had lived it's life and had just dislodged itself from the parent stalk to lay quietly down below and decorate the road with a <i>rangoli</i> of sorts to make it look like how it looked...starry starry. (Rangoli-flower arrangement on the floor with real flowers).</div>
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i am so fond of this but had i known about this magical moment perhaps i would've focused much better. i know not. What i do know is that perhaps photography is just like how life is. <u>Before you</u> <u>know it the moment has already passed you by</u>. Nevertheless i have no regrets about this shot. i like this suspended in the air starry flower with a neat hole in the center. i was wondering if i could collect some of this and string it into a <i>mala </i>a garland and perhaps decorate my Shiva Linga with it. Laters before i leave.</div>
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Two other interesting happenings worth mentioning before i quit. </div>
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As i wanted to look up again to see the starry starry sky i found the Mr Cute monkey silently watching my proceedings without disturbing me. Perched up high on that huge <i>Peepal </i>tree. Yeah Ficus religiosa tree or the Buddha tree.</div>
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i was alone with this cute Simian when i started out but was unawares of Mr Cute but by the time i had finished i was hands and hearts full. The good couple that stayed in that bungalow next to the tree the blooms of which i was engrossed taking a picture of had perhaps walked out of their gate to see to some repair work being done. We didn't know each other but Mrs and Mr Jamshed invited me in and between exchanging introductions and pleasantries i was offered one of the most amazing ginger ale i've ever had in years now.</div>
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It's been two years that i've been in this colony and this was my first great Indian hospitality comeback . Despite my invitation to my own abode i don't know what reasons prevent people from making those warm connections again but whenever i have approached even my neighbors i am sort of interviewed by a peon who answers the door. One who informs about his madam/ sir either being busy or not being home.</div>
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So this ' Starry Day ' also became a Ginger Ale' day. Thus a memorable chapter in the history of my stay in this colony where i am residing now. Mrs and Mr Jamshed have already carved an indelible imprint in my heart. Words will fail to do justice.</div>
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No wonder then i am always a very optimistic person. <i>Kyunki har din naya din</i> for me. (Meaning each day is a new day).</div>
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i am also blessed that i have on me this wonderful book by Mr Pradeep Kishen. Which means this time i did not have to trouble Mr Google at all. </div>
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In his book ' Trees Of Delhi A Field Guide ' he explains in all details all the names and characteristics about this 'Starry' tree. </div>
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<b>CHAMROD</b>. Yeah that's what he gives it as with " No English common name...".</div>
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Chamrod aka <b>Ehretia laevis</b>.</div>
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i read in the field guide all there was to it. But there is no mention of the flowers having any fragrance. Therefore i have decided to take a night walk too. Just to find out for myself if the blooms are nocturnal. For in nature many trees like Alistonia scholaris aka the Blackboard tree/ Indian Devil tree emit fragrance in the evenings or night and not during the day. </div>
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Also i promise myself to be regular in my walks because Mr Pradip Krishen talks about the fruits too,</div>
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And i really would love to take a picture of the bright orange berries which are slightly larger than the peppercorns.</div>
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i remember seeing those berries and boy! am i glad i actually took a picture of one with the berries too. They were small and green. Have a look...</div>
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My reflective thought on my way back was a Serbian proverb as i returned home...hands and heart full thinking about the tree...the stars it had, Mr Cute on the other tree and last but not the very least Mrs Farhat Jamshed and Mr Jamshed in that bungalow next to the 'Starry Tree' , " <b>Be humble for you are made of earth. Be noble for you are made of stars."</b> </div>
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Shivani Singhhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08693724458955705943noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2908771939786959090.post-35180745165773094022015-03-26T10:26:00.001-07:002015-03-30T01:06:08.968-07:00Its okay if you Walk Into But know Just when to Walk Away<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
i lost the message which came to me one day...rather i remember having deliberately deleted it after the words were all absorbed in. The phone becoming crowded with pics and messages and sadly some great messages have to go making space for new. But i remember the words. " Sometimes walking away has nothing to do with strength. <b>We walk away not because we want others to realize our worth and value but because we finally realize our own</b>. "<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiozUn0E_qcn9xp9MRMvH96MXXGB-KzQD57T5KU3LXJ9kjz7TsbWrEDgfNq8Hl_iCUn0YJHwVQ4EjLBSQaCSyCYwzE4HZY2TJJ7ObBCHebprmZUTcP7eZcSCkfLvJOiTSlJhQ0XqTDI0Y4/s1600/sidewalk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiozUn0E_qcn9xp9MRMvH96MXXGB-KzQD57T5KU3LXJ9kjz7TsbWrEDgfNq8Hl_iCUn0YJHwVQ4EjLBSQaCSyCYwzE4HZY2TJJ7ObBCHebprmZUTcP7eZcSCkfLvJOiTSlJhQ0XqTDI0Y4/s1600/sidewalk.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
Life is a journey and this journey is filled with people and thus experiences relating to all. Each a lesson to be learnt. Everyone and each one is there for a purpose and having met and known so many we come to realize that the journey feels more enjoyable if we learn to travel light. The sooner it is done the more happy this wonderful journey feels.<br />
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True it is that the journey is more enjoyable if you hear a friend's footsteps beside you but then not all you meet in your life are really your friends. Especially those who just use you as a <b>resource</b> and then never turn to think about you. These special category of friends set rules that suit their convenience, are not only pretentious, bragging about their initiatives, endeavors and socializing but also have a <b>chameleon</b> like character. Donning appearances that hoodwink people into thinking about them as being helpful when they are not because inside they might be nurturing some hidden agenda. Some motive. And for me i have been rather unfortunate because i can't seem to think of any ' Friend' who has helped me. But i am blessed that the Divine gave me enough to help all that i met in my journey. Friend, acquaintances, strangers even and i hope no amount of what anyone does to me will take that away from me. i was manufactured that way. Nothing of my own here. i am what i am because that was how i was born.<br />
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So then if life is a journey and if by chance you get to meet some and get tricked into believing that this special category is your friend then no need to be baffled later when you learn during this journey that you have been conned all along. There you were in your naivety thinking of someone to be a philosopher's stone which turns anything that it touches into gold and while you traveled you were enlightened with the truth that there is no such thing as philosopher's stone. It was just a silly conjured up notion of your own childish heart which perhaps wanted to know one.<br />
Philosopher's stone the legendary lapis philosophorum capable of turning base metals like lead into gold. <i>Paras Pathhar</i> that's what we call this legendary stone in Hindi.<br />
There is a beautiful Kabir doha about this legendary stone too and i got reminded of it.<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="text-align: -webkit-center;"><b>GANGA KE SANG SARITA BIGRI; SO SARITA GANGA HOYE NIBRI, CHANDAN KE SANG TARUWAR BIGRYO; SO TARUWAR CHANDAN HOYE NIBRYO; PARAS KE SANG TAMBA BIGRYO, SO TAMBA KANCHAN HOYE NIBRYO; SANTAN SANG KABIRA BIGRYO, SO KABIR RAM HOYE NIBRYO.</b></span> </span><br />
Meaning: <span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Just as any tree that grows near Sandal, acquires the same fragrance; just as a dirty rivulet takes refuge in the Ganges and acquires its vast form, just as copper becomes gold by coming in contact with the touch-stone(<b><i>Paras</i></b>), Kabir jee says that he (man) becomes merged with God by coming in contact with the saints.</span></span><br />
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The milestone approaches and you rest for a while and think about that word you coined. For her the one you considered a friend... '<i>Paras</i>' Hindi for Philosopher's Stone. You laugh out loud at you own silly nomenclature and question why !?<br />
What did she do...what did she touch...what did she turn to gold ?<br />
Can anything which originally was gold be turned to gold again...and you laugh out loud.<br />
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Yeah. Life is a journey and not all you walk with are meant to stay. The journey is happier and full of smiles if one learns to travel light. And sometimes you have to take that walk. The ' Walk Away' one if you have to make your baggage lighter.<br />
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Now this came to me just two days back and i thought about posting my blog today.<br />
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Such is life. We are so biased in our way of thinking. Whosoever hangs out with us for whatever reason we call them friends. This woman i called ' <i>Paras</i>' in college hung out with me simply because she needed not me but my vehicle. Every single day i would go out of my way to drop her home which was quite far away into the other part of the expanding town. No one in class knew much about her because she was from out of town. Was in the same college and same class to do her graduation in the same subject. She then did not know many of us who had done schooling together and belonged to the same home turf. i was definitely more popular than her for not only as the 'apt conversationalist' which the school magazine once described me but more so for being the class joker too which most of my friends considered me to be. i did not deliberately put up an act but my honesty and forthrightness made me one such. And then there was this an additional plus point in that so far as academics was concerned i was fairly among the top three and quite a regular with all my class notes which i had no qualms about sharing with one and all. Graduation over we both got married and went our ways. Me loving and believing that she was a friend who is gone far away. But there was no reason to be be badly missing her because i was riding my own romantic wave of a new happily married life. Was knee deep in love with my own six foot IITian. There was absolutely no reason to miss a friend who did not do much but just hung around perhaps providing me companionship at times but not contributing much. Besides there were many other lovely and warm friends to keep me satisfied, happy and busy.<br />
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i was the first one to establish contact through STD phone when i was in Chennai when i learnt that she along with her family has shifted to Delhi from US. (San Francisco was where she had gone with her hubby after she got married). Had received the number of her land line through email.<br />
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Even after having experiences that were not so forthcoming so far as long lost friends were concerned i never once thought that this time too i shall be left in the lurch. After my phone call there was not much reciprocity barring some bare minimal mails now and then .<br />
Then major news of her came to me in a mail from her which i received when i was in Chennai. ' Breast Cancer' she wrote, and my heart went out for this ' <i>Paras'</i> of mine. i rushed from Chennai. Lodged at Ginger Hotels Delhi Railway Station just to have a look at her. Saw her all dolled up to meet me in a pretty white blouse, bandana and a skirt and felt good to see her thus compared to a shriveled image i had conjured of her sick with all that chemo and radio therapy self.<br />
During the same time certain aspects were revealed which i found strikingly odd but i let it pass and continued in my friendly fervor.<br />
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After that onward it is a sad pathetic story of my journey. i am not ashamed because <b>while i was busy</b> <b>making mistakes mistakes were making me</b>. Journey's are supposed to do that.<br />
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My husband got a promotion, i shifted to Delhi and thus began my real learning of facts. She started her <b>reign</b> over me. Setting rules. Ordering this commanding me not to do that. Yeah rules and so many boundaries. It hit me then but then i just brushed it aside thinking about her illness. But there was more and slowly i started feeling unhappy just at the mere thought of her.<br />
Illness she got out of but then she was not the same or rather my journey was showing me her <b>true colors</b> only now.<br />
Never willing to be a friend, rather always using me as a resource. For her outings, her social obligations. All as <b>per</b> her convenience. <b>Bragging</b> about her endeavors, she never ever invited me home. But whenever she would meet me of course by <b>self inviting </b>herself into my home at any time that would suit her she would talk about the lunches or dinners she threw for some friends of hers. i started getting suspicious at first and was provoked to form my own logical conclusions. Maybe through her bragging she was covering up for some <b>complex </b>she was suffering with. But then i tried to forgive and forget and took my first step. Ignore and just let things be.<br />
i started avoiding and not thinking about her and got busy managing my own affairs. Took to my hobbies and not really bothering about her companionship which i would've desired had i not discovered her new complex weird side but then she would not let me be.<br />
As is typical of an ailment that relapses she would hibernate for days and reappear suddenly. She would be around the corner while i would be maybe washing clothes or attending to some chores barely giving me any time to even have a proper wash and call. Then reappear at my door in say anywhere between less than a 10-15 mts sharp. Or else would call me and command me to be ready in 20 minutes sharp like Hitler would be commanding his army to be ready. As i narrate i am seething more with anger at myself than having any sourness for her. Why in Heaven's name was i succumbing to all that?<br />
Why was i hell bent on pleasing a self centered, rude personality who was having no respect for me?<br />
Pressure was building up at her coming and going and yet thinking something is better than nothing i continued to tag along hoping she would show me places of interest. Which she actually did on one rare occasion when she took me to Khan Market the first time and i am grateful for that. But then it could have felt nicer and warmer if it was done in a normal mutually friendly manner. Not like a Hitler commanding and a soldier following. i wish it was a bit mutual and more easy going.<br />
i remember trying to be overtly nice. Hugging her when saying goodbyes hoping she would feel what i am trying to give her, convey to her and come around but...<br />
In order to make her realize that in everybody's life there are major upheavals i have shared my sad/ tragic moments with her and have kept nothing hidden from her.<br />
And yet time and again she has insulted my friendship by saying it rudely to me, " <i>Some of my problems are very personal Shivani, i can't share with you. I have someone i can share with but i don't want to with you."</i><br />
i often wonder then why did she seek me out then in the first place. First when she had that Cancer...then while tending to her, her mother passed away. Then again she texted me. Why did she in heaven's name seek me out then.<br />
But she instead used my own moments, my tragic stories to insult me later.<br />
<br />
Slowly and steadily i started seeing the more ugly side of hers. She was game for all fun which were free but at other's cost. But strangely that free at other's cost fun too again at MADAM'S convenience.<br />
About her cancer well i sure am happy she came out of it but what kind of a person uses an illness as an excuse to do what she kept doing. Sitting in my living room just to talk her stuff rather brag about herself barely having time to listen to me. Then eat, drink and leave.<br />
There was so much i wanted to know...share...<br />
If by chance i would talk about the book i was reading, or something i was into she would want to <b>hang up</b> or else make a statement which would sound not only rude but like she is trying to <b>cut me</b> <b>off</b>.<br />
<br />
Often she would entice me with an eat out option which experience taught me to stay away from. Initially i was game but as truth started to unfold i thought it better to avoid because of the following reasons.<br />
a) Acting like she is no less than Ms Nigella herself she would dominate that part too. Giving instructions to the waiter about the dish questioning the procedure. Ordering an expensive dish...an expensive wine to go along with it which eventually i learnt through experience that i will land up paying for.<br />
b) She would never ever be willing to pay and rarely went dutch.<br />
c) Most of the places that she would like to take me to would be expensive joints...where<br />
i would offer to pay just to feel <b>falsely</b> good about myself and she would happily agree.<br />
How utterly <b>foolish</b> i was being then. <br />
<br />
But when she wanted to get regular and make it a once a month affair i had my alert guard on of the mental crisis that loomed ahead and declined such outings by making excuses. Not that i did not want to go and eat out with a friend. It was unnerving to feel foolish and regret later just for some momentary vague sense of false pride. Paying for someone who neither loved or respected your time nor companionship what to talk of the value of each penny being spent from your own pocket.<br />
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There has to be other dignified ways of having fun than just by using foolish friends. Especially by using those who in time learn of the unclean intentions and still are being nice to you. <u>One cannot be so <b>insensitive</b> not to understand why some nice people are still <b>pretending</b> to be foolish and hanging on to game you continue to play.</u><br />
<br />
She did not help me one bit after i shifted to Delhi...not even something as simple as sharing the address of a tailor or even a recipe that she kept bragging she made it.<br />
Sometimes i even doubt if she really cooked or just got stuff from somewhere. Because i have no problems ranting off in a jiffy if anyone asks me how i cooked what i just served.<br />
<br />
Aren't friends supposed to do a lot more. Okay that she was sick is understood but when she could gallivant the entire city eating at all the expensive joints how difficult would it be to give the address of a tailor if one can't find time to introduce a newly- shifted- to-city friend to one. Or even share a recipe? How difficult is that?<br />
Rather sharing gives the ultimate joy.<br />
And that's what friends are actually supposed to do.<br />
Not what which she enjoyed doing with me.<br />
What she was doing i consider it to be evil.<br />
<br />
Just the other day i had gone to Dilli Haat and i saw her with someone. She seemed to be roaming around fine but whenever she has to speak to me or i have something to ask her always some lame excuse...or else clamping of rules. Some examples given below.<br />
<i>This time i rest.</i><br />
<i>i am conducting this workshop/ that class...</i><br />
<i>Tomorrow i have a lunch get-together...</i><br />
<i>Yesterday i had a bad headache...</i><br />
<i>Last week i had therapy...</i><br />
<i>i was a little low in my spirits...</i><br />
<i>My Sister in law is ill...i am cooking food to take to hospital</i><br />
<i>i have relatives at home...</i><br />
You name it excuses come raining a plenty and now knowing her seriously i think while talking to me she was making it all up.<br />
Because when she has to come she would not ask me anything but just call me and say in her typical condescending tone, " Wednesday suits me i shall be at Khan Market by 11.30..."<br />
i am more angry at myself for yessing to her and going to Khan Market. Hell i could have always said , Sure go ahead but sorry i am not that much in a mood. God alone knows why i didn't.<br />
<br />
i can't call her when i want to. i can't send her sms's because she does not like forwarded stuff. She likes original stuff but will never read my blogs. She wants to eat at expensive joints but will refrain from footing the bill. Because according to her if the other party is happy paying the bill she is quite comfortable with that.<br />
In her own language, sniggering like she is mocking all fools including me who had paid for her she had said ''<b> <i>If people have lots of money and they are willing to pay for me i have absolutely no hang ups about that. " </i></b><br />
<u>That was the day i had decided it was time to take leave</u>.<br />
This was the worst shock i had received. i can still picture her saying this...reclining on my bed where i lay recuperating from a knee surgery.<br />
<br />
i watched her at a friends reunion once which she had arranged at the posh DLF Emporio. She seemed to be fine then. Pitching in her share smiling well without sermonizing anyone about anything. She kept smiling charmingly and at one point even lied within her teeth and i was like what's that!!<br />
And at the reunion it was not about her definitely. Yeah strangely she never talked about herself. Around me it is as if she is Ms <b>Me Me Me</b>.<br />
<i>i like to take my food this way</i>...<br />
<i>i love to have wine</i>...<br />
<i>i don't watch tv it gives me headaches</i>...<br />
<i>i am on to a project</i>....<br />
<br />
And as if her domineering ways are not enough the worst part is how she flutters her eye lids like she is closing her eyes for <b>deep meditation</b> and is in a perpetual sermonizing mode. For anything that i say or utter.<br />
It's like <i>sau sau chuhay khaa key billi haz ko chali</i>. ( Meaning pretending to be innocent after committing so many sins.)<br />
OH MY GOD...IT IS ME THEN...ALL ALONG ONLY ME...WHY WHY WHY???<br />
i thought i have only helped her...all this while. What possibly could i have done. Why is she nurturing complexes? Why now?<br />
Her cancer or whatever problems she is facing is not my doing. She is out of cancer and things seem to be working fine now for her.<br />
She knows my life ain't a bed of roses either. i had traumatic experiences too. i had terrible tragedies/irreparable losses too.<br />
She knows all of it then why?<br />
<br />
i was so excited when i shifted to Delhi. Hoping i could go to Heritage walks with her...watch plays with her...catch all the Oscar movies with her in the best PVR at Gurgaon but...<br />
<br />
i tried talking it out to her...told her that. Also expressed my need for companionship to her. Once over the phone i told her about her coming, talking and going, leaving me in the lurch. That once in a while she can plan and together we can do stuff. She obliged but i had to make arrangements for picking her up and we went to Surajkund Crafts Fair. As usual she made that too her own ball game...did her buying of Bhagalpuri silk stuff, ate what she wanted to making her illness an excuse and wanted to leave. i would've loved to sit for a while and watch the folk artists perform. Had taken my camera along to click a few pics but in retrospect i regret asking...rather begging the companionship for one such outing, it certainly would've worked out better alone but more than that i am angry at myself for towing in to all her whims and fancies.<br />
i am angry with myself for even asking her of all the people in the first place. Wasn't her actions screaming for me to stop right there and then.<br />
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She continued her style. Hibernating-reappearing at my door even when i am out of station- disturbing my next door neighbor- then my son who was studying boxing him with questions. And my son had last seen her years ago when he was barely a toddler. Did not even know her name. He actually did not know what to do but to offer her a glass of water and probably some fruit juice. And while he goes about it calls me, '' <i>Ma Guess who is here</i>.... "<br />
Sonna is smart for he did not want this 'Aunty' to feel bad that he did not know her name so he played it rather extra cool and very smart.<br />
<br />
Although i had no intentions of getting in touch with her yet i had to text her to thank her when i returned to base. Because in order to appear seemingly good the other day she took my son and treated him in a nearby cafe. Which was really not required. She put the most awkward question to my son, her style you see and i don't blame him, i had not told him anything about her. " <i>Surely you don't study all day</i>, <i>so maybe we can go to Khan Market and grab some bite</i>..."<br />
My son could not refuse because he was in the loo and was already feeling embarrassed to keep her waiting as she had pressed the bell. That the neighbor was roped in was a double whammy so he suggested a nearby cafe close to home.<br />
Later we were all having a good laugh that this time she eventually did land up paying but all for a business card she had come to distribute. Perhaps she wanted to spread the news in my colony of her newly started business.<br />
When i asked her if i could talk to her in ease and maybe together we could go visiting an Aunty who is battling uterine cancer, pat came the excuse once again after some pretentious statements and i must not miss out to mention that <br />
" ....<i>long phone conversations are not good for me you see...</i>"<br />
But she did not miss out to preach me do's and don'ts about visiting cancer patients and also that she has visited Aunty quite often and that she takes her own cooked stuff for Aunty. Something that is very appropriate for her as a terminally ill cancer patient.<br />
<br />
<i>Long conversations on phone</i>...my <b>#$% !!!</b><br />
<br />
What kind of a friend uses sickness or personal problems to behave in a manner which is not only rude, self centered. lacking in courteousness but highly insensitive too ?<br />
i guess it's the kind one needs to walk away from. Maybe they never were friends in the first place.<br />
The journey maybe will be full of smiles if one is able to walk away from such.<br />
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Also...<br />
The Sunday Times Of India had a very wonderful article. And i think it answered many of the questions that were pricking me. Would like to quote some lines from ' <b>Are Nice People Losers</b>' by Vinita Dawra Nangia.<br />
<br />
" <span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 24px;">Who says to be good is to be a victim or a pushover? Today goodness is adaptive, neither absolute, nor inflexible. Dharma as a concept has evolved over thousands of years through adaptation and being contested at various levels. As Gurcharan Das says while quoting the philosopher S. Radhakrishnan in his book, ‘</span><i style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 24px; max-width: 100%;">The Difficulty of Being Good,</i><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 24px;">’ “A person who follows dharma realizes the ideal of his own character and manifests the eternal lawfulness unto himself.”</span></span><br />
<div class="selectionShareable" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; height: auto !important; line-height: 24px; margin-top: 20px; max-width: 100%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And truly the good and bad all live within us…our free choice determines the direction we wish to sway towards. The difference is that along with goodness, comes a responsibility for the evil too. You may be the epitome of goodness, but you still have to take responsibility for the bad around you. Either do something to change it, or ensure you are equipped to fight it. <u>Closing your eyes to evil is as good as accepting that it has a right to exist!</u></span></div>
<div class="selectionShareable" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; height: auto !important; line-height: 24px; margin-top: 20px; max-width: 100%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Blaming others for what befalls you — and in some cases the bad that hits you repeatedly– is not an option. It just perpetuates the problem. <u>Losers never own up</u>; <u>winners take responsibility</u> not just for what happens to them, but also for what happens in the world around! These are the ones who then have the gumption and the awareness to change the world! ''</span></div>
For the entire article please click the link <a href="http://blogs.timesofindia.indiatimes.com/O-zone/are-nice-people-losers/">http://blogs.timesofindia.indiatimes.com/O-zone/are-nice-people-losers/</a><br />
<br />
My story is neither a crib story nor a sob story because i am still happy i took this journey. i wonder how many of us are out there hanging on to relationships that has no meaning. i wonder how many have finally managed to do what i did. i am glad and thank the Almighty for giving me the opportunity to recognize the real <i>paras</i> and providing me with answers that irked me and disturbed my mental peace creating upheavals that affected all. My family members and in that including my 300 and more babies on the terrace.<br />
How else would i know what light travelling really means and how marvelous feeling free really feels.<br />
Let there be light and hope all get light...<br />
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Shivani Singhhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08693724458955705943noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2908771939786959090.post-90422162784496996422015-03-05T11:40:00.000-08:002015-03-05T21:23:12.087-08:00Colors i Love to Play With<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The festival of colors is here so let's get started ...with the Holi colors then.<br />
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Green...the color of love and life...<br />
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Green of my flowering Kalanchoes. And green with pink...whoa what a nice combination to play with...</div>
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That Poppy pod against the pink...how pretty the colors look together...pink and green...</div>
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The green also in my Sweet Pea vine...</div>
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And green looks good with white too...</div>
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Green of my Pittosporum...dark green with just a some whites here and there...</div>
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Blue for Peace, Indigo for Knowledge and Violet for Bliss...all in Cineraria...and some in the little dwarf Pansies. But first this amazing violet cluster of the Verbena. Violet against the green another amazing color worth mixing and trying for great dramatic effects...<br />
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Red for Power...Begonias have it and also in a Daisy. That which is known as<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Pomponette. Both look freshly showered and playful. Inviting one with their bright yellow center.</span></div>
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Orange for Purity...uff can't explain how the Nasturtiums were delivering and to what extent. i guess all the shades i was seeing from the deepest to that which looked fluorescent.</div>
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A special hue of Orange also in the Impatiens...</div>
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And finally the yellows for Happiness in Calendula and Gerbera.<br />
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But the best of all the yellow of the Marigold which asks for more...remember from last post...</div>
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The temperatures in Delhi has dropped but if i have to play Holi like this i wouldn't mind playing it the entire day. A happy and safe Holi...no damage to any part of the skin, no wastage of water even but just sheer bliss to the senses and pleasure to the soul...</div>
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Happy festival of nature's colors to one and all :)</div>
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Shivani Singhhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08693724458955705943noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2908771939786959090.post-30219788414373154252015-03-05T09:15:00.005-08:002015-03-05T09:15:55.948-08:00Colors Stand For Unique Virtues Of The Soul<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Yeah as the title suggests...Colors sure do and it came to me as an appropriate Whatts App Holi Message.<br />
Holi a festival of colors.<br />
And what a co-incidence just when i was enjoying Holi of the best kind in the company of my colorful ones on the terrace...<br />
So without much ado let me show you all...<br />
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First things first was the color of Condensation that greeted me... the color of water..." God is the color of water. Water doesn't have a color."<br />
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Then saw my God sitting there blessing the offerings of the previous day. A pattern of sorts like Him floating on a sea and yes naturally remaining thus as dry as dust. The condensation...wonder why it was not on Him...<br />
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After checking His dimpled feet to where he sat and the delectably drenched rose beside him not needing any replacement i proceed with my Holi rendezvous with the rest.</div>
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i start with the Poppies...<br />
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Those perfect drops on the leaves reminded me of Kundan stones that i so much love of the jewelry much a rage these days and these Kundans created while we slept by nature also the color of God.</div>
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The sun was coming up and i made haste towards my Petunias...good that i did for i would've missed the razzle dazzle, the shimmer and shine...of those natural colors...</div>
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And the color of God taking on the colors of those that wore it...</div>
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It was hard to resist my paper thin Petunias but Holi means mingling with one and all so i made haste towards my Pink Periwinkles...and not just because these wore the maximum shimmer and shine...</div>
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And while i still longed to be in their company the baby pink Geranium beckoned...</div>
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Dianthus also known as Sweet Williams was already dusted with fairies silver dust but i wished some of that shimmer and glitter to come on me as well so i went berserk with these sweet, delightful and amazing williams...</div>
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While i frolicked with the Williams the Pansies young and small waited patiently to seek my attention...</div>
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What do i say about my marigolds...they just bowed and wowed me like they were asking for more... more to drench them with...</div>
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My Holi with colors will go on and on but one post would not be enough to contain all...</div>
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Happy Holi is tomorrow so i will continue playing the colors...all these colors...on my terrace...</div>
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Playing safe and sound with these flowers and colors in my next post with more spiritual colors...as the Whatts App message correctly said with all the <u>Blues </u>which stands for <b>Peace</b>, the <u>Violets</u> which mean <b>Bliss</b>, the <u>Indigos</u> that signify <b>Knowledge</b>, the<u> Oranges</u> that hold <b>Purity</b>, the <u>Greens</u> which not only mean the color of life but also is the color of <b>Love </b>and definitely the <u>Reds</u> which bestow us with <b>Power</b>...</div>
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Till then wish one and all a very special Happy Holi :)</div>
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Shivani Singhhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08693724458955705943noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2908771939786959090.post-64397263698263133362015-03-04T23:45:00.002-08:002015-03-05T04:04:31.578-08:00Prayer<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<em style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></em>
<em style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A Future Not Our Own</span></em></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>It helps now and then to step back and take a long view</b>.<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />The Kingdom is not only beyond our efforts,</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />it is beyond our vision.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">We accomplish in our lifetime only a fraction<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />of the magnificent enterprise that is God's work.<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />Nothing we do is complete, which is another way of<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />saying that the kingdom always lies beyond us.<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />No statement says all that could be said.<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />No prayer fully expresses our faith. No confession<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />brings perfection, no pastoral visit brings wholeness.<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />No program accomplishes the Church's mission.<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />No set of goals and objectives include everything.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">This is what we are about. We plant the seeds that one<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />day will grow. We water the seeds already planted<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />knowing that they hold future promise.<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />We lay foundations that will need further development.<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />We provide yeast that produces effects<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />far beyond our capabilities.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />liberation in realizing this.<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />This enables us to do something, and to do it very well.<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning,<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />a step along the way, an opportunity for the Lord's<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />grace to enter and do the rest.<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />We may never see the end results, but that is the<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />difference between the master builder and the worker.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">We are workers, not master builders, ministers, not<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />messiahs. We are prophets of a future not our own.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">i found this prayer on the internet and it had words i felt were there inside me but i could not have expressed it so well hence felt like borrowing so thus i have copy pasted the entire on my post here today. It would not be proper if i did not mention where i took it from because what i read there moved me further. Maybe because i was needy and thus was led there as i am led too generally when i am seeking. For whenever any thing pricks and am out of sorts i am led to somewhere. No not always do i roam cause sometimes i get my answers just on time in any article that i read in the newspaper and other times a song would start playing on the radio. As if like i have popped some painkiller i feel okay once again . But this time i got my answer for the day here. Thus felt like providing the link for all to see and read. <a href="http://www.journeywithjesus.net/PoemsAndPrayers/Ken_Untener_A_Future_Not_Our_Own.shtml">http://www.journeywithjesus.net/PoemsAndPrayers/Ken_Untener_A_Future_Not_Our_Own.shtml</a></span><br />
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Just the same day on my walk i saw the long stem of the mustard plant emerging from the bushes of Nightshade...a single stalk with such lovely blossoms of mustard flowers...<br />
And my thoughts again went to this Prayer..."This is what we are about. We plant the seeds that one<br />
day will grow. We water the seeds already planted<br />
knowing that they hold future promise..."</div>
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Kept walking further and came upon this cute looking Hibiscus. </div>
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Went a step ahead to have a closer view just to find that the texture even without touching registered like satin to the eyes and brain . </div>
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The thought naturally took me to the Master and hence the thought itself became a remnant of the prayer, "...<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">We are workers, not master builders..."</span></div>
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Returned home quite at peace but remembering part of the same prayer </div>
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">"<b>We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of</b></span><b><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">liberation in realizing this.</span><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">This enables us to do something, and to do it very well.</span><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning,</span><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">a step along the way, an opportunity for the Lord's</span><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">grace to enter and do the rest.</span><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">We may never see the end results, but that is the</span><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">difference between the master builder and the worker..."</span></b></div>
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Shivani Singhhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08693724458955705943noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2908771939786959090.post-75821435559272941122015-03-01T10:17:00.001-08:002015-03-01T10:22:43.481-08:00Reforms is Not a One Way Street<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My folks around me at home switched on the TV and watched the news about the budget...see the discussions and then animatedly discuss it among themselves whereas i as a typical homemaker who is not really grappling with poverty but something else on a daily basis had wanted to contribute...questions relating to schemes...developments and most importantly of <u>reforms</u> and why those reforms fail to bring about the desired changes but something stopped me.<br />
There weren't many around who would much give a twopence to what i thought or felt so i continued being there fiddling with my phone and looking into this picture of me with Chirmee and wondering if when she was branded with that plus mark she was hurt and in pain.<br />
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That she camel Chirmee...chi as in chair...so Chir...and Me...hey i just made it up ...in order to help with the pronunciation...Chirmee and me...<br />
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i just listened and later read and did not react much to the headlines screaming stuff and went about my chores as usual. i was hearing words and there was a hundred things going on inside me. Chirmee her branding and because Chirmee was a camel also the Camel and Arab story...the reforms...changes...so many thoughts...<br />
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My opinion does it matter...and even if it does how will those reforms help when more and more there seems to be a culture of dependency and entitlements.<br />
Be it food. housing, education, health. And the list seems to be endless. <br />
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i am seeing a lot of development from the time when i was a child to now when in about ten years time i shall be entitled for what is known as the ' Senior Citizen ' benefits.<br />
But growth and development are slightly different and i don't see much of growth rather a steady decline and i am left wondering if and when i will be entitled to one such will then i shall also start being hopelessly dependent on the Govt to do everything for me or will i have the self esteem to work it out for myself and be thankful enough for what i am being provided for .<br />
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All the talks about helping those less privileged or help those below the poverty line reach a decent standard of living and encourage them to achieve certain basic entitlements seem to collapse from what i see of the tendencies in those we are hopelessly trying to help.<br />
" Sleeping off a line on benefits" i remember reading this somewhere and this is what i am grappling with on a day to day basis.<br />
And sometimes i curse within my breath, " Heck all the positivism with which i am beginning my day with how do i maintain it... and why is all the frigging sermons meant only for us...just because we are not below poverty line is it...? "<br />
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i was horrified the other day to learn that all those lovely sweaters we graciously distributed to the naked children and the shivering homeless seen wandering here and there on the Delhi streets during the chilly winters have landed in the huge piles at Sarojini Nagar Market where they are being sold for Rs 100 each.<br />
The message was circulated through Whatts App and we complied by always keeping a few woolens in our cars. Sure it is an experience worth reliving and re learning. How while commuting we would frantically look for ' shivering in the chill of the winter' bodies to generously donate. Actually done with true intent to help those whom we thought needed help and that we were blessed to have plenty. Donation done the warmth inside the car made us throw our own coat even once. Then coming home feeling still warm with the thought that someone will not be sleeping or sitting cold tonight. Sweaters, pullovers, cardigans, blankets...i remember making a neat assortment of sorts because we never knew what age, gender or how we would find them. Some might even be lying there sleeping in the cold...<br />
i am citing one example because winter was not far away but there are many such instances and just a couple of days back a lady conned my son pretending to be a ' have not' and he got conned because she faked pregnancy and a false alarm...<br />
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i read about the Self Determination Theory. It has three important aspects and if met it would enable us to function well, be proactive and grow as well.<br />
According to SDT theory we have three innate psychological needs. Which i remember making a note of. Competence, Autonomy and Relatedness.<br />
From what i can remember of the three should be as follows:<br />
a) <b>Competence</b>- a good sense of self esteem and efficacy. That you matter and can impact upon others around you.<br />
b) <b>Autonomy</b>- A feeling of having options and choices in your life.<br />
c) <b>Relatedness</b>- Mutual interdependence in a way that you are as much dependent on others as others depend on you. This one is feeling based and the most important of which lately i see a lot of erosion in trust of. The feeling that people do care and want to care and thus that way we are close. Only thing this care should not be taken too much granted as a right without giving anything in return.<br />
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i have tried in vain to be virtuous, kind, generous and humble. But those i feel need to be reformed seem to be getting from bad to worse and i wonder why. There is a constant malicious scheming a hoodwinking of sorts into getting you to buckle down and provide them with stuff which they are capable of getting for themselves.<br />
i can understand the exercise in futility of the Government 's welfare schemes too. One i am regularly seeing is that the Government clears a slum in one area gives the slum dwellers a clean housing facility with basic amenities and these people then sublet it just to shift and create another slum elsewhere.<br />
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Perhaps we need to do some serious thinking and maybe re adjust our lenses through which we see 'Generosity' and thus the need of ' Reforms'. The <u>kind</u> and of what <u>sort</u>.<br />
There is an adage 'You can take the horse to the water but cannot make it drink unless it is thirsty'.<br />
However theoretical or psychological it may sound i think The Self Determination Theory is not only instructive but also motivational.<br />
If we want to help people we should strive towards this than complying with messages that are forwarded in impulse and donating this here and that there. Just to find some of those donations in a pile in Sarojini Nagar being sold for Rs 100 each.<br />
One close relative was thrilled at getting a 'branded' and 'trendy' export winter wear so cheap and came running to me the next day asking me how to conceal the hole that she had just discovered.<br />
i had to explain her then the logistics of how to buy...when she buys such stuff...from a pile...before i could ask her if she has disinfected and cleaned the branded export item or not.<br />
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i was thinking on these terms. <span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">If we truly want to support people into work we need welfare reform and work programmes that help people to develop Competence, Autonomy and Relatedness. </span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Only thing i don't know how to make my horses drink competence, autonomy and relatedness. My own practice what you preach does not seem to work. Love and kindness are taken for granted and most of the times i am taken for a big ride of which the family later has their cracks upon.</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">That's why many a times positive lenses and love spectacles are left aside and punitive welfare sanctions and meaner benefits seem the only way to wake them up. Seriously.</span></span><br />
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<span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">i have a question today and that question is if 'Reform' is a one way street.</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Why are all the sermons meant only for us...'The Haves'</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">What about the' Have Nots '...what special training is required other than kindness, humbleness, compassion, empathy, sympathy to get the horse feeling the thirst to grow and just not develop enough to have a cell phone and probably all those fake clothes with which they try to emulate style...</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">How can i as a homemaker enforce SDT and help bring about these changes that i so much desire to be a part of for development i see plenty there is no dearth of it.</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">How do i remain positive when each day a new experience with the so called have nots takes me to that tent in which the camel put his nose first. Yeah the Arab and His Camel fable that i read not many years ago...</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 22.3999996185303px;">(In a 1915 book of fables by </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Horace_Scudder" style="background: none rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: 22.3999996185303px; text-decoration: none;" title="Horace Scudder"><span style="color: black;">Horace Scudder</span></a><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 22.3999996185303px;">, the story, titled </span><i style="background-color: white; line-height: 22.3999996185303px;">The Arab and His Camel</i><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 22.3999996185303px;">, ends with the </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moral" style="background: none rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: 22.3999996185303px; text-decoration: none;" title="Moral">moral</a><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 22.3999996185303px;">: "It is a wise rule to resist </span><i style="background-color: white; line-height: 22.3999996185303px;">the beginnings of evil</i><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 22.3999996185303px;">.) <a href="http://www.mainlesson.com/display.php?author=scudder&book=fables&story=arab">http://www.mainlesson.com/display.php?author=scudder&book=fables&story=arab</a></span></span><br />
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The <span style="background-color: white; font-style: italic; text-align: -webkit-center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Paradoxical Commandments </span></span><span style="background-color: white; text-align: -webkit-center;">by Dr. Kent M. Keith known as the great poem Anyway is there...but then there ought to be changes and i desire to be a part of some if not all.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; text-align: -webkit-center;">Thing is how...</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; text-align: -webkit-center;">How does it matter this budget or the other budget...people will continue to be the same...unless they are given some wake up call...</span><br />
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Shivani Singhhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08693724458955705943noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2908771939786959090.post-10786108674157839702015-02-25T02:07:00.001-08:002015-02-27T07:38:22.661-08:00Bin Guru Gyan Kahaan Se Paaoon <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Post updated this day today ie Feb 27, 2015...thanks to the prompt reply to my query...</div>
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i sincerely need to thank the kind beings who helped calm my restless for an id soul...</div>
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First and foremost my gratitude to Mr Issac Kehimkar whom i consider to be my Guru now and who advised me to send my query to a group on facebook namely https://www.facebook.com/groups/indianflora/</div>
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Here a gentleman called Mr Arun Kumar N helped me with the name of the species. So my sincere thanks to Mr Arun Kumar N for had it not been for him i would never have known the name of my tiny but having some hidden light of their own beauties. Today i know what it is. <b>Vicia augustifolia</b>...commonly known as Vetch or Spring Vetch and the <u>nitrogen fixing</u> plant belongs to the pea family.</div>
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However the essence of my blog remains unchanged i would still love for my blog to reverberate with feelings...<b><i>Bin Guru Gyan Kahaan Sey Paaoon</i></b>... ( How do i gain knowledge without a Guru)</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Haree Aum, Haree Aum, Haree Aum, Haree Aum<br /><br />Mann tarapatt Haree darshan ko aaj </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I crave to see Lord Vishnu today</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />Moray Tum been bigare sagare kaaj </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Without Your blessing everything is going wrong.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Nothing goes right when You are not with me</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />Binatee karat hoon, rakhiyo laaj </span><br />
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i plead with You hear my prayer</div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />Tumare dwaar kaa main hoo jogee </span><br />
<div data-iceapw="8" id="t" style="color: blue;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I am a humble seeker of your door</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />Humaree oar najar kab hogee </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">When will You honor me with Your blessings</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />Suno moray byaakool man kaa baaj </span><br />
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Hear my ardent prayers</div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />Bin guru gyaan kahaan se paaoon </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">How can I gain knowledge without a Guru</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />Dijo dhaan Haree gun gaaoon </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">If You bless me Lord Vishnu, I will sing Your praises</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />Sab gunee jan pe Tumaraa raaj </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">You are the King of all educators as You grant Your blessings to every seeker</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />Muralee Manohar aas naa todo </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The one with the flute, do not let down my hopes</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />Dukh bhanjan moraa saath naa chhodo </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The reliever of pains be by my side</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Mohay darshan bheekshaa dey do aaj </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Grant me your appearance today, i am begging for just one look at You </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;">Mann tarapatt Haree </span><span style="color: black;">darshan</span><span style="color: black;"> ko aaj </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I crave to see Lord Vishnu today</span></div>
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The song is a famous one an olden goldie from the fim Biju Bawra and composed by the great Naushad...but then when it used to play on the radio a few years back on the radio when we were kids we did not much fancy it. We would start tuning to other stations making fun of the semi classical tune. Complaining that it was such a sleepy boring song. Not peppy at all. But then it was the ABBA and BONEY M days.<br />
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Today the same provides solace and it's the cry emanating from the core only thing i cannot even sing it even as bathroom singer cause it's a difficult to sing to tune bhajan. So i just love to chant it as a prayer. Keeps me close to Ma my mother who was an intense Vishnu devotee. Makes me calm and for sometime think about the ONE who was supposed to play some great flute too. Lord Krishna.<br />
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Why i turned towards this one today is because of the particular line... Bin Guru Gyaan Kahaan Sey Paaoon.<br />
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i have known and read of many who were self taught...discoverers, explorers, scientists, musicians, you name it various fields and why Baiju himself was one. Baiju also earned a title as 'Bawra'. Bawra meaning one whose mind wanders...one who appears crazy to the world. Baiju Bawra who beat the great music maestro Tansen in the musical duet on whom the movie was made from which this song which is my prayer is taken . <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baiju_Bawra">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baiju_Bawra</a> </div>
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Like i said in my blog earlier i am a seeker and need answers rather one too many. As for myself can't claim that i am self taught not really because starting from Nature which is also my Guru i have a lot many resources. Unabashedly i ask these days from strangers too. Answers to my queries which keep erupting. Be it relating to food...to clothes...to music and even some new jargon people seem to be using these days and being away from the mainstream circle i am not able to figure out the meaning of some when it is casually dropped on me in any conversation.<br />
Yeah i am cool about being very originally <i>desi </i>( traditional as opposed to being utterly modern)...and don't really mind if the so called hep <i>janta </i>(public) calls me '<i>behanjee</i>' (rustic simpleton) for that.<br />
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Of late technology is where i turn to for assistance but the Internet leaves me in the lurch and eats too much of my free and quality time which otherwise i would love to spend feeling free. My mind and fingers occupied with the keyboard the entire day is not my kind of done thing. It chokes my spirits. Another disadvantage being that restrained in the confines to where i am seated i lose track of the main search and land up being caught in sights that the world wide web shows me of others not what i search but closer to what i had been searching. Thus i land up getting lost in some <i>bhool bholaiyaa </i>(labyrinth)<i> </i>if i haven't typed the correct key words or the correct name.<br />
Like i said it chokes my bubbling with life spirit if i get lost and spent on my time and energy that way.<br />
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As i had mentioned in my earlier blogs my Guru Camera shows and the search begins. Sometimes it takes days. Sometimes months and my blogs with pictures wait in tow as drafts till i am able to identify. But many a times i wish i had a physical, living Guru to tell me stuff. Someone who i can be safe with who would just answer my queries and perhaps impart me with something more that would pique my curiosity further and just and <u>let me be</u>. Is it possible in today's world to have a physical Guru of the sort i wonder.<br />
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Now i came upon this beauty the other day and i am clueless about this beautiful creation of the Almighty. At the outset it appeared as grass...a thick network which perhaps was covering the large pot which contained my Sage bush. Sage bush also known as Barometer bush because it flowers beautiful small lilac trumpets depending on the humidity in the atmosphere. Now the bed of this large pot was covered with thick foliage and some of this tiny beauty...and i would've uprooted the entire thinking it to be grass...a trespasser sharing, no gobbling the resources at that moment i thought, of the limited earth in the pot...had not the glowing dazzling brilliance of the pretty beautiful things stopped me.<br />
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At the outset it looked like some kind of a tiny pea family flower but the foliage looked nowhere near and when i peered it looked like a twining creeper just like pea.<br />
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<span style="text-align: left;">One specialty which although i notice again this time like all in nature. The tiny glowing with a light of their own <u>inner beauty</u> shone brilliant no matter how tiny they were from the dense green foliage like glow butterflies instead of glow worms that we have seen and i wonder if in reality we do have butterflies that glow as well as these flowers that reminded me so much of butterflies. Tiny swift butterflies...i wondered if such butterflies existed somewhere in the world...tiny but one that glowed...</span></div>
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Another feature that i just noticed and reminded myself to watch. This aspect in others now to see if the young ones of other flowers show such similar traits. The buds looks purple or blue but the full bloom tiny flowers this glowing pink. </div>
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Well not only the flowers but also the pea pod like fruit of the plant makes me believe that the dainty butterflies belong to legume family Fabaceae ie pea family and the closest technology took me to was a plant called <b>Lathyrus</b>. Some also call Lathyrus as <b>Vetchlings</b> but i cannot be so sure. </div>
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Thus my need...of a Guru...a real one who could tell me...if this glowing butterfly that has formed a dense network in my concrete pot...should i just let it be or should i mercilessly yank it off.</div>
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Because certain things in nature are nitogen fixing too. And i don't want to destroy. A thing of beauty which is joy forever. </div>
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Somehow till i find answers i am trying to convince myself silly, stuff like, " let it be... the lush green foliage will help prevent soil erosion...keep the top soil intact ..."</div>
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Also i like all that green with the tiny glowing pretty beauties against the wall the paint of which is peeling and against the grey cement background the entire network of this looks so appealing and beautiful. Some intuition tells me this admirable beauty is valuable to my Sage bush...</div>
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This time i could not make it to the Delhi Book Fair. For if i would have gone i would go there for one book specifically. But Flipcart Zindabaad i have the book on me now and i was hopeful of finding the identity of my butterfly flowers in it. The identity of my beauty isn't here but a whole lot of others is and the book is a delight to me. </div>
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Thus i know now this gentleman is the only Guru who can help me.</div>
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In the acknowledgement section of the book the author <u><b>Mr Issac Kehimkar</b></u> talks about a Guru whom he never met but who "... <b>has been like Dronacharya, from whom I have learnt identification of plants in the field, and like Eklavya, I could never be his student officially</b>."</div>
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i know i have the name of THE GURU but i want Mr Issac Kehimkar to be my Guru...and it could be because of this book of his...it could be because of his words that he has used in his book...it could be just his love of nature i identify with. i don't know what...but at the moment i am chanting Man tarpatt Haree Darshan Ko aaj...Bin Guru Gyan Kahaan sey Paaoon...</div>
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And yes i am still clueless but happy and strangely not restless but calm...yeah it's the prayer...it works...</div>
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Shivani Singhhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08693724458955705943noreply@blogger.com7