Bozoical thoughts on Education

Bozo, Mumbai's only dog-with-his-own-blog is hugely excited.  The child of the house who rescued him from an unforgiving life on the streets, is coming home on a holiday!

Naturally, Bozo looks back, at growing up with the child, and thinks of the wonderful days. Both of them have had different types of education, and  have moved on and they take great pride in each other.

He waits , breathlessly in the balcony,  in anticipation, of a familiar voice and figure , and his mentor Magiceye, simply clicked the anticipation in the eyes... 

(On a side note, Bozo is just grateful he didn't attend Mumbai University , with all the things appearing in the papers these days....)

A lot of folks think
I don't understand
language
because I never went to school.

We chaps,
have a built in Right To Education(RTE)
and thankfully,
do not need Parliament
to sit , argue and  fight about
SSA (Sarva Shiksha Abhiyan)
which
we fellows think
is actually,
SSA (Some Straight Answers)....


I have had a holistic education,
with no examinations and degrees
learning
English, Konkani and Marathi
in realtime,
complete
with the related actions.

Sometimes,
I simply hear and I understand...

Life events
unfold around me
and I watch.

A special interest
in the child
who brought me home,
grew up,
and then went on
to seek new horizons,
now on the way home.

I've been out with Deepak
to stock up on mangoes,
I've heard phone calls
discussing the arrival,
and I have,
despite the doctor's advice,
bounded around here and there
behind folks
preparing
for the homecoming...

There's joy in the air,
and
stuff happening
in the kitchen;
folks on the phone,
beaming smiles.

Sometimes
the excitement is too much,
and I do mess up
wagging my tail furiously....

But we dogs
have learnt to wag tails
instead of tongues,
and
if someone
gets angry with us,
didn't someone say
"To err is Human, to forgive, Canine ?"

The Music of Politics

My blogfriend IHM posted these three amazing  photos on her blog today, as part of a Thursday posting on the subject of Music : "Musical Instruments on  GulMohur Tree".  Of course, Delhi , with its wonderful green spaces,parks and gardens  gives the Mynah birds a wonderful opportunity to make great music, besides allowing folks to photograph them in action...

I did hear the music, enjoyed it. But once the music died down,  it occurred to some that this was really a comment on political realities....

It was also clear, that we all manage to tolerate all the problems of the nation, simply because there is all this actual Mynah music happening around us....

 

Comfortably ensconced
away
from the orange,
amidst
green, white and orange
flag-colored
long scarves
it is time
to address
the masses,
protected by
some invisible
cool dark green
uniformed darting types,
and
other visible folk
of great prominence
standing behind.

A training of sorts
for them
in  making promises,
fancy announcements,
requests for votes,
and
highlighting promises
not kept by others,
and now made by themselves...

And like all children
they
watch and learn,
joining in
at slogan time
adding volume
to the noise,
only to graduate
one day,
to making their own
false promises,
their own loud speeches
sitting
on the same branch,
right behind  her,
and
she turns back,
very pleased,
relieved,
and says,
"Well done, well done !"

Griddle Stories

Preferring an Onion Uthappam to the weight conscious dosais, is like preferring Katherine Hepburn to Angelina Jolie, or  a Waheeda Rehman to a Kareena Kapoor.

One, redolent with tradition, richly constituted, made just so, and the other,  like a side shoot, made from diluted batter, using up all the hangers on.

My blogfriend Magiceye, must have had a hard time restraining himself from deciding to eat first.

You see this photo , which he posted here  , simply because, he photographed it first, possibly, in its golden age on the hot griddle.

Smooth and black as in ebony
her weight
greatly enhanced
through the ages,
she spends her nights
face down,
resting in the kitchen,
mobilizing for an early day.

An early morning
hot assignment
on the gas burner,
in the shadow of
The Lady of the House,
and she remembers
how fashions change.

Light and quick spreads
aching to reach her edges
forming
a white lace dosai,
stiff in formality.

No.

Some a bit more pliable,
brown spotted
but bending in friendship
with
the spatula in steel.

No.

And then
there are the size zero
featherlite
Neer Dosais,
now you feel them, now you don't.

No.

But not for her
these new fangled fashions,
obsessed with weight,
or the
opportunistic
cheeses, chillies, tomatoes and paneer
acting pushy
wanting to crowd her.

Life is all about
being uniformly hot and welcoming
in a cream kanjeevaram,
embroidered in gold
translucent light diamonds
embellishing the occasion;

Or a thick
round  of batter,
breathing and browning
on her,
the well cut onions
adorning the face
in a design in gold,
and then landing
ever so carefully on a plate,
a proper traditional
hefty Utthappa,
waiting respectfully
for the two Chutneys of his life.....

Slithering Lives

My blog friend Anuradha Shankar  , who is an avid traveller, travel writer, photographer and reader, recently acquired a new camera , and took some amazing shots of lizards in her garden. Of the standard old middle class garden lizard, and also of some Gen Next lizards. 

Somehow the stoic expression on the face of the older lizard, its attitude of learning to make do with whatever available, and the  posh attitude of the Gen next fellow, on top of the ledge,  reminded me of Mumbai.  And some yogic asanas .

(All photos bt Anuradha Shankar)

Sign of the times.

He slithers,
homeless,
across the collapsed fence
ignoring the
rust
and the surrounding jungle
of dehydrated plants
fallen in holes.

Lizard Yoga classes
happening,
and it gets
more and more difficult
in this old age 
to reach in time
with the
cracks and pokes
and hurtful rust.

And so he stops,
hands resting
next to shoulders,
stretches and lifts himself
in a Bhujangaasan,
beseeching the Lord.

Watched
by a proud denizen
on a
redeveloped
highrise stone terrace,
also going for Lizard Yoga,
togged out
in a moddish red bodysuit,
proud
to have made it
up here
by hook
and mostly by crook,
and unsuccessfully
trying a Mayuraasan
to show it...

And a butterfly
flying just out of reach
of the younger Lizard,
flaps its wings,
alights on a leaf
and shakes its head
saying,
"They dont make Lizards
like the old ones
any more...."

Sun Questions

At one time, in India, Summer was vacations, mangoes, jackfruits, trips to native places, running and climbing amidst the trees, swinging with cousins of homestead swings,  and swimming on beaches and riverfronts. Today, most of these things are either polluted, or expensive, and vacations sometimes do not even happen .

For aeons, the country, state, city is the same, the Sun is the same, the sky is the same, but suddenly, sunscreens are a dire necessity, you have many of them preying cleverly on your obsession with your ability to tan, and turn dark, and folks who have more modes of covered transport than say, 50 years ago, daily slather on stuff as they leave for work. 

Call it insecurity, call it herd mentality, or call it inability to be comfortable with your own melanin levels,  the cosmetic companies are laughing all the way to the bank.


I wonder what the Sun Himself has to say .....

He sits enthroned
and golden
smack in the centre
watching all nine of them go by.

Eartha,
the only one,
with
noticeable human movement,
carrying her oceans ,
her animals.
her people,
her trees and her
mountains and rivers,
going around
endlessly.
around herself too,
to get a breather
from his piercing hot gaze.

He sees
women on steep mountain roads
carrying pots to fill;
who cares if you look darker
if there is to be
water for all;
the sari palloo
and the pot
will cool the merged fontanel.

He sees
a gaggle of kids
throwing themselves
into
the breaking waves
of a polluted sea
with overflowing
infectious mirth,
making him
temporarily hide
behind a cloud and smile....
Any color is fine,
if they get space to play

And he sees the young girl,
half out,
fluttering
in the suburban train door,
squinting against him
and some
nasty folks
passing by in another train
another way;
Another in sunglasses
and a scarf
rubs something
on her arms and face
and disembarks.
And the young girl wonders
how many lunches
she must forgo
to be able to buy
a tube of stuff
like the other girl.

Maidans full of sweaty kids
waving bats around,
young fellows with
false ages,
working on carts
selling stuff
in the hot midday sun;
Five stars full of pools,
waving colorful umbrella tops,
with some pretending
they cant reach their backs
to slather the stuff in the tubes;
Some very concerned
talk
on Sun Protection factors(SPF's),
the know all lady
nodding , what else
knowingly.

And late in the day,
as he hurries
to meet his Ocean ,
he wonders,
how he,
to whom
Suryanamaskars were addressed
in praise,
in chaste Sanskrit,
and the
Gayatri Mantra
resonated every dawn
in his honor,
how he could suddenly
be the villain
that spoils the beauty
of those
inhabiting the planet....

He wonders
if it is Fair....?
and then says
"Oops! That was a loaded question......"
and promptly
sinks into the waves...

Hornbill Lessons

You have to be very lucky to spot such a large variety of birds in the vicinity of where you live. My blogfriend, Sangeeta Khanna (who is also a antioxidants researcher, botanical expert, trekker, photographer, nutritionist and follower of traditional systems in food and medicine) clicked these two hornbills .

At first I thought this was a kind of Hornbill ballet. But there is more to it....

Turns out that there are at least 9 varieties of Hornbills found in India. They have such amazing beaks for a specific reason. Unlike some fashionable types we see around us today, these birds are monogamous.

They nest in holes in trees. When time comes to procreate, the female starts packing up the hole with all kinds of recyclable material, leaving only space for her to get through. She then goes in and packs the hole further, leaving space only for her beak to come out. The male, passes foodstuff to her through this system, as she sits in confinement , inside the dark hole, lays eggs, and then undergoes a spontaneous moulting.

Once outside, she thinks nothing of bending over backwards to straighten out an erring kid.  As you can see.

Real Hornbills,
are monogamous,
have very strong beak structures,
and make nests
for breeding in
holes of trees,
sometimes
used again and again.

The female starts
sealing the hole
with mud, dirt and fruit pulp,
leaving a small entrance for herself.

She squeezes in
and seals herself in
leaving an outlet only
for the beak,
so
the male can provide sustenance
as she
singlemindedly
lays eggs,
presides.
and
spontaneously moults
in the rich darkness.

One day,
her kid starts acting too smart,
and
unlike some folks i know,
she thinks nothing
of
bending over backwards
and clamping the kid's beak shut.

And then
we have those
with Siren Horns
who generate Bills,
(but never pay);
who create several households
and several off springs,
not to mention,
several non-hole-in-the-tree set ups.

Destiny urges a moulting,
but they refuse.

They must stay
the way they are
so
when the son
opens his beak wide
and demands,
they can actually feed him
in the darkness
without any
visible effort
more "black" stuff
than he needs.

Fence Sitting

I live in a place which is situated between a big lake and a hill. As it happens, there is planned imposing high-rise construction on one side of the Hill, close to the lake.

If you climb to the top of the hill, besides getting a panoramic view of the area, complete with wooded areas, the technological campus, and the water supply pipes for Mumbai swerving in the distance, you also get a view , on the other side of the hill, of some high rises far away in the distance , and , closer to the hill, of the unplanned , cheek by jowl, desperate development that has taken place in creative ways, so that those that make the city run, can get a place to stay....

The hill is part of the campus, and hence fenced in some parts. 

The daughter, who is a self taught photographer, and has her own photoblog, climbed the hill yesterday, and came up with , among several others, these two captures.

Some horizontal,
some vertical,
and
some entangled
and chain linked

Some come
scraping up
cheek by jowl
to the foot of the hill,
and some,
blindly, rush upwards
stiff in concrete
to
cock a snook
at the hill
from a distance.

The intermittent trees
watch
and wonder,
why the hill is fenced,
when the fences
are actually in the mind...

Bozoical Music Psychology

Bozo, Mumbai's only senior-dog-with-his-own-blog   has become a bit upset.  Some of his friends have been barking, and threatening to bite strangers, and naturally, dogs are getting a bad name.

Bozo has been around, observed , and is a student of psychology, although no one ever thought of giving  him a degree......

He became all quiet and thoughtful one day after hearing a visitor talk about some barking dogs. Unlike some folks we know, he doesn't defend his brethren blindly, simply because they are dogs. Bozo is a well informed fellow,  and you need to hear his explanation... 

His mentor and chronicler, Magiceye, caught him in a very pensive pose....

Bozo's theory:


 

Yes,
I have some friends who bite,
but that's
just like
you have friends
who hit and fight.

Really, really,
depends on the environment.

Irish research
says it depends on the music
you hear.

Those dogs
who shook their heads
listening to heavy metal,
got so agitated
they barked and fought
much like the
IPL fellows
listening to heavy money.

Those immersed
in grunge music
simply got confused,
tense, and hostile,
much like  politicians,
who hear
but don't listen
and simply react.

But those
who heard classical music,
and nodded at the
notes
of Beethoven,
Balgandharva,
Bhimsen,
Bismillahkhan
and Vilayat Khan,
developed a sense of calm,
and lay down,
forgetting bark and bite
on a cool afternoon
post lunch....

Naturally,
I belong to the last
and after the Mehfil,
Deepak decided to
click me
as an exemplary Senior.

Actually,
this was my effort
at imitating Rodin's Thinker;
it's just
that
you cant see the paw
supporting my
err....chin.

Stars in Nine Yards...

Mumbai's finest, clicked by my blogfriend Magiceye, and posted as part of his 365 Project today.

A common sight in Mumbai, round the year. Household help ladies walking from house to house doing their jobs, in their traditional permanent attire of 9 yard sarees. Day after day.  Perhaps saving for a daughter's marriage, perhaps for a sick spouse's medicines,  and sometimes because they simply head the household in the absence of anyone else and must provide for the family.

 They remain unchanged, and firm, in a world, where people  not only change the types of attire  depending on work, play, celebration or mourning, but some folks even  surgically change the shape of , say, their nose and lips etc etc

And so,
Put your soft pink
hands together ,
for our show stoppers,
at the Bandra India Bai-log Fashion Day...

The veteran,
Shantabai,
resplendent in pink and turquoise,
designed by
Nauvari and Nauvari
Mumbai's oldest;
and Kanta
her niece,
wearing one
with a slightly modern drape
designed
by
ChinchPokli Stars
and
copied by Angelina Jolie
at the recent awards,


Necks adorned
with gold and yellow
freshly washed pure cottons,
caressing bangled hands
roughened with
a lifetime of
soap and utensil powder;
they walk together,
on the
bitumen ramp,
aware of life's potholes ....

And unlike those,
who need to turn back
at the end of the ramp,
these two,
freshly scrubbed,
and
shining in the Sun,
all Achilles heels
disappearing
in their
comfort  Hawai Chappals,
continue from place to place,
dazzling all
with their abilities,
empathies, and energy,
leaving
all those size zeroes,
with false smiles
teetering on their heels....

Tattered Lives

Sometimes you see amazing photos on FB that inspire you. Sometimes thanks to friends of friends.  One such,  is by someone who calls himself Durgesh Unpredictable.  And he calls his photos as  "  "i" (eye?) photographs "........

At first I thought this was a map of some sort. Then i realized it was a leaf, probably living out its Vanaprasthashram in a very traumatic way.

It inspired a poem in Marathi (The King's language :-)) 

The translation in the Queen's language follows ......


 (photo by Durgesh Unpredictbale)

कुणा एका आयुष्याचा हा नकाशा ,

एके काळची गार हिरवाई ,
आज एखाद्या राड्यातून बाहेर पडल्यासारखी,
इकडे तिकडे भोकं पडलेली;
स्वतःला सांभाळत ,
मधूनच समुद्राच्या खाडीला वळसा घालत,
त्याच्या तळाशी
मासे आणि अन्य प्राणीजनांना चकवणारी
प्लास्टिक चौकटीतली घाण बघत ,
सुस्कारा देत वर बघते ...

आणि
पलीकडले
खोटे
पांढरे स्वच्छ ,
खोटे बोलून , धर्मा धर्मात भांडणे लाउन
आपल्याच लोकात आग लाउन ,
मतांसाठी,
स्वताचे खिसे भरत
बाकीच्यांना फाटके तुटके करून
लाल निखारे फुलवणारे
नेते बघून थक्क होते ....

बिचारी हिरवाई ,
स्वताहा भोवती आपल्याच फांद्या गुंडाळते
मागे फिरते ,
आणि आकाशाकडे बघत
कुणा एका पावसाळ्याची वाट बघत ,
तिष्ठत राहते ....

 Old Green memories
in tatters...

She emerges,
totally scathed,
injured and marked
through the remaining Green,
and wanders
looking for a resting spot,
traipsing around
a few bays,
inroads made
by a sea traumatised by
polluted waste
positioned to capture
innocent sea lives....

Only to look up,
and see,
far away,
on another bank,
folks with pure white looks
and blacker minds,
playing Fire-Fire
as they fan the Vote Flames,
with fans
of religion,
money
and lies,
leaving
a torn populace,
shredded
in the hot red embers.

.....
......
She turns back,
wrapping
her remnant branches
around her shoulders,
and recedes
into the remaining Green,
desperately awaiting
the arrival
of a much needed Rain.