tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64401182628129933602024-03-14T01:46:43.768-07:00Tumultous IndolenceThalassicReveriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06189250520750141041noreply@blogger.comBlogger19125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440118262812993360.post-83402850417360597902010-01-23T21:44:00.000-08:002010-01-23T22:29:32.912-08:00The Religion of HumanityIn school , we are taught the religion of humanity and to accept every other faith with tolerance.<br />For practising Muslims , the religion of humanity is Islam , and tolerance means maintaining peace with all faiths unless someone unjustly oppresses you.<br /><br />A true Muslim , follows the verses of the Quran and the way of life of Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) rather than follow his own ideas and beliefs.<br /><br />Why not always follow whatever our self and intellect say ?<br /><br />Some questions :<br /><br /><em>What is the purpose of human life ?</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>Why are we here ?</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>When we die ......what happens later ?</em><br /><br />Each one of us will answer differently or similarly.<br /><br />Human intellect is limited.<br /><br />For someone who observes the universe and everything in it , will ultimately have to conclude that a Creator has to exist for the creation.<br /><br />And each created thing has a 'purpose'.<br />Examples are all around us.<br /><br />Ponder on the following points :<br /><br />Islam is not a man-made religion.<br /><br />The Quran , is a direct conversation of God ( Allah as He taught us of Himself ) to humankind.<br />It is the only scripture in the world whose text (Arabic) is unchanged , word-to-word , since its revelation in the 6th century and remains preserved in the hearts of Muslims who have memorised all of its 30 parts.<br /><br />Allah has sent prophets from the beginning of the world's creation to teach mankind about His existence and to worship Him alone.<br /><br />Allah says in the Quran :<br /><br /><span style="color:#009900;">" And I did not create the Jinn and mankind except to worship Me… "</span><br />(Quran, 51:56-58)<br /><br />Those who believe , do righteous deeds will be able to see Him on the Day of Judgement and be rewarded ( Heaven or Hell ) according to their 'marksheets' of the test in this temporary worldly life.<br /><br />Prophet Muhammad was the last prophet sent to all mankind ; with his prophethood , Allah completed the code of life He decreed for human beings to follow until the Day of Judgement.<br /><br />Now , it is every Muslim's duty , to tell people about Allah.<br /><br />I shall quote some translated verses :<br /><br /><span style="color:#009900;">" Then do they not reflect upon the Quran ? (i.e. its meanings and its objective) If it had been from [any] other than Allah, they would have found within it much contradiction. "</span><br />(Quran, 4:82)<br /><br /><em>The Quran is available for scrutiny and investigation by any person to try to find even one error or contradiction in it. In fact this test must be applied to any other scripture that claims it is the word of God. </em><br /><br />In other words...there is every means in it to call man to use his LOGIC.<br /><br /><span style="color:#009900;">" Indeed, in the creation of the heavens and the earth and the alternation of the night and the day are signs for those of understanding - Who remember Allah while standing or sitting or [lying] on their sides and give thought to the creation of the heavens and the earth, [saying], “Our Lord, You did not create this aimlessly; exalted are You [above such a thing]; then protect us from the punishment of the Fire.” <br /></span>(Quran, 3:190-191)<br /><br /><span style="color:#009900;">" And whoever desires other than Islam as religion - never will it be accepted from him, and he, in the Hereafter, will be among the losers (in the Hellfire). "</span><br /><br />Lastly , <span style="color:#009900;">'there is no compulsion in religion'.</span><br /><span style="color:#009900;"></span><br /><br /><strong><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Allah has left man with a free-will......to believe or disbelieve.</span></strong><br /><br />And He has sent plenty of proof ( logical , scientific , practical ) in the Quran , in the life and character of His last prophet ; in everything around us.<br /><br />We , Muslims , are merely instructed to preach .....not force anything down anyone's throat.<br /><br /><br />For further information :<br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#993399;"><strong>Best way to find the truth is through knowledge.</strong></span><br />The knowledge is present in the Quran as well as the life history of the man who was an illiterate and recited such a masterpiece that stunned the Arabs of his time and continues to do so even in this day.<br /><br />(1) <a href="http://www.islam-guide.com/">http://www.islam-guide.com/</a><br /><br />(2) <a href="http://www.islam-guide.com/purpose-of-life.htm">http://www.islam-guide.com/purpose-of-life.htm</a><br /><br />(3) Dr. Zakir Naik is an Indian , world famous scholar who has studied various scriptures (Hinduism included) and written books which will benefit the seeker of Truth.<br />An example : CONCEPT OF GOD IN MAJOR RELIGIONS<br /><br />He hold lectures too ...inviting non-Muslims to voice their doubts etc.ThalassicReveriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06189250520750141041noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440118262812993360.post-56332773561092003242009-11-18T11:33:00.000-08:002009-11-18T13:33:19.977-08:00Beauty without the Beast(s)<span style="font-family:verdana;">There is an odd sense of being conspicuous and invisible at the same time when you - a 21 year old ex-student - walk into your school , clad in a black burkha , veil and all.<br /><br />Anywhere else , be it the supermarket or a park , being veiled gives you the liberating zest of being comfortable in your healthy , de-glamorous body while wondering why you impishly enjoy your path of anonymity as opposed to that of the non-burkha , non-veiled woman.<br /><br />While in your old school , as your step into its premises , you smile : a veiled smile. You watch unfamiliar students passing by ; a few cast curious looks as you walk guardedly , comfortably aware of your direction. You love to walk its gravelly ground and under a deep blue sky , standing on the playground of your school , with the winter sun teasing your wind-chilled body , there is an overwhelming sense of peace and loneliness - when you stand at the ground which is empty , while the classes go on in classrooms where you can never sit in again , not as a student ; classes where you can never , listen to soporific lectures on the chemistry of amino acids , experience the flurry of submitting assignments under basilisk-ian deadlines , never write a biology exam with the exhilaration of knowing most of the answers...</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">And many such humdrum activities that to you , are forever lost in the fog of ageing.<br /><br />It is in school where you still find the impulse to de-veil while inwardly conflicting with your lessons in Faith. Its so very tempting to smile hugely at your old teachers with your misplaced front tooth pushing forward with the rest being primly in line !<br /><br />At the age of 13 , you sneaked to the beauty parlour for a 'facial'. The beautician's assistant - a slim 'parloured' specimen with lovely eyebrows , no teeny-weeny hairs on her pretty face , a pout on her peachy lips - suggested a removal of your facial hairs prior to the steaming ; and you , entranced with visions of a smooth , glowing face consented... </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />You did not subject your thick eyebrows to her threading on that fatal day ; for which you remain heavenwardly grateful at preserving their natural blatant beauty.<br /><br />Years later , and perhaps as long as you look into the mirror closely , you murmur apologies to your mirror image for the extra growth of hairs on the sides of your cheeks.<br /><br />Ofcourse , you could do it again , and again and yet again or even permanently have them removed. But you have learnt your lessons in Faith and Beauty. If you wish to preach , you must practise!<br /><br />Without faith and knowledge , you may have succumbed to the pains of creating artificial glamour (and 'confidence in your beauty') without realising the beauty that was naturally perfect in yourself , and others with their crooked teeth , their hairy appendages , their bushy eyebrows.<br /><br />You have been told to visit the dentist and there are gentle innuendos regarding your complacency with no-parlour policy...yet you are stubbornly firm on your perception of beauty.<br /><br />To end this harangue , you quote yourself :<br />' If he cannot see you as beautiful as you 'really' are , you must become an opthalmologist....'<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span>ThalassicReveriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06189250520750141041noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440118262812993360.post-6937656460131503892009-02-10T09:46:00.000-08:002009-03-12T11:42:03.349-07:00Baby Full-HouseOur Kuwaiti-house-cum-building is a curious place. On all sides it is enclosed by walls. When you walk through the strong metal gate , you arrive into the 'Courtyard'. There is a big tree in the corner. In winter days , the sun sparkles through its branches , casting pretty shadows on the wall of my bedroom. Other than the actual two storey house-cum-building , there are small living quarters squeezed around it.We live on the groundfloor rooms ; it must have been a 'diwaniya' once.<br /><br />It is almost a mini-village.<br /><br />A motley group of people live here. Men , women and children alike roam about the courtyard throughout the day. Mostly families come and leave in a year or two.<br /><br />Since the past year it has become a baby full-house.<br /><br />We have got Mannu bhai , Paki darling , Foogi , Sunny , Baby Aunt and the Bengali Bachchi.<br /><br /><p>In order of adoration :</p><p><strong>Mannu Bhai</strong></p><p>He hails from Hyderabad. His real name is Manthan. </p><p>Introducing myself to him was no difficulty ; he loves the Courtyard as I do. Everyday he would totter through their doorstep , casting sly glances at his Mamma hanging the clothes to dry. If she worried , he would loiter close to her bucket of clothes and bask in the freedom outside the confines of home.</p><p>First came the stares. Then I smiled. He stared back wonderingly. Then shyness overtook his innocent inspection of 'who is this girl ?' and he would look away with a smile : 'pleased to see you'.</p><p>So the days went on. Staring and smiling ; then blowing kisses. When I felt we were friends enough , I went out and kissed the long pending cheeks. </p><p>Chocolates , chips , oranges , biscuits , bananas were baited to lure His Littleness , Mannu bhai smiles and kisses.</p><p>He kept the Courtyard lively and clean with his babyish charms and toddling feet. There were days in dhoti , in banyans , in lungi ; even a girl's frock.</p><p>The Bengali Bachchi (coming up later) was his favorite girlfriend when it came to pinching cheeks and throwing his little arms with the affectionate gusto springing with the trifle inattention of their respective guardians. Once such zest sent both of them tumbling to the ground ; much to his surprise and the alarm of the poor girl. However it did not dampen the baby hero from his naughty courtesies.</p><p>He would kiss his hand and imitate blowing the kiss across my window.</p><p>Now isn't that gallant?</p><p><strong>Foogi</strong></p><p>In Konkani language , we call a balloon 'foogo'. If we want to feminise it , it would be 'foogi' , won't it ?</p><p>That's how Foogi got her name. Chubby all around. She is Fatima in real and belongs to our Keralite neighbours. </p><p>She clung to her mother with the cement of adoring liquidity. If you have managed to unclasp her from her Amma's bosom , it would be only due to a deceptive play that she cares for no longer the moment it takes her away from her beloved mother ; wails of pitiable tremors and tear-filled haggard eyes were her tools to lure her mother in leaving household chores undone to attend to baby's wish: 'schtay-with-meeee'.</p><br /><p><strong>Sunny</strong></p><p>His folks call him Sunny ; nickname for Sandeep.<br /><br />He is very fair , and has eyes like a light grey , calm sea in winter. Very interesting shade. Its not just plain grey. His eyes give him a touch of glitter.<br /><br />Chubby tubby fellow , cries almost not at all (his parents worry about it!) and weighs masha'Allah (caused some nerves near my right upper ball and socket joint side to strain badly) !<br /><br />Smiles like a gentleman. Not too much , nor too less.<br /><br />You can hold him in our courtyard for an hour and he would be enjoying the breeze , looking up into the tree and in general seeming a nature-lover.<br /><br />The only thing he really dislikes enough to wail about on a daily two time basis : the bath tub!</p><p>Through our kitchen window , we first realised his existence. His cries , morning and evening , floated over and thus we bonded with the familiarity of knowing his voice without seeing him till many months later.</p><p>He sleeps without needing motherly pats nor songs. Three fingers go slowly into his mouth : 'I wanntu schleep pleezh' . Just lay him down on the bed and he is off to La-La-Land.</p><p>A serene baby soul.</p><p>Only he says : Please please , pretty please , don't give me a bath ! Me good sunny boy , no soap and water for me ! </p><p><strong>Paki darling</strong></p><p>As her name suggests , she is a Pakistani. </p><p>Huhhh , huhhh are her favorite words.</p><p>Mother and daughter have interesting conversations involving morose crying , scolding , imitation cries , screaming , loving endearments and further wailing monotones. </p><p>Their voices are a live audio entertainment.</p><p><strong>Baby Aunt</strong></p><p>She was born to her parents in their autumn years. Their third daughter. Since her niece is a couple of years elder to her , it seems proper to call her 'choti aunty' .</p><p>A delicate baby with a beautiful rose hued complexion.</p><p>Once , her mother was visiting us and had gone out of her line of sight , on all fours she set the course , tiny hands and tiny feet sprang with monkey steps and found her mother a few feet away.</p><p><strong>Bengali Bachchi</strong></p><p>The youngest of a trio.</p><p>She is a quiet , don't-mess-with-me toddler. </p><p>Manthan loved to irritate her.</p><p>I would watch her and she would smile discreetly.</p><p> </p><p>Last note:</p><p>Three more babies were on the way , two have gone away to India , the third will be joining the ranks of this full-house in a couple of days. Cries and smiles yet unknown. Welcome to the village !</p><p> </p>ThalassicReveriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06189250520750141041noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440118262812993360.post-82985847170600074352009-01-25T05:09:00.000-08:002009-01-25T05:42:05.491-08:00The Gift of GabblingIt is wonderful to be able to talk ,<br />To voice your joys , wails , dreams ;<br />Day to day mundane chatter ;<br />To answer if you are thinner or fatter.<br /><br />Those who love pen and paper ,<br />Have found worthy company ;<br />One writes the ravings ;<br />The other feeds the cravings.<br /><br />'Once upon a time....' , I can tell you a story ;<br />Letters I can write , which would have no replies.<br />One cannot please my literary longing ;<br />The other bestows praise instead of a hopeful reply.<br /><br />I know the 'I' is supreme.<br />It is 'I' who can change my state of being : happy or sad.<br />I love you , for 'me' ;<br />I love 'i' - it sounds strange , ugly.<br />I believe , hopelessly , in 'you' and 'i' yet ;<br />You cannot have me ; 'I' cannot leave you.<br /><br />I have been profoundly prolix ,<br />In showing my loquacious laurels ;<br />A verbose vagary , so volubly uttered -<br />With such giddy glibness ,<br />That you think me surely ,<br />A garrulous gnome ?<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />GARRULOUS : talking a lot - about nothing , annoying chatter<br />LOQUACIOUS : talkative<br />PROLIX : wordy in speaking or writing<br />VOLUBLE : characterized by rapid speech<br />GLIB : speaking or writing with ease, perhaps superficially<br />VERBOSE : wordy, implying dullness<br /><br />Note:<br />I wanted to string all these words together , so thus the above was strung.<br />If anyone can employ these words to a better , humourous effect , let me know : I shall be pleased to read.ThalassicReveriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06189250520750141041noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440118262812993360.post-55167884673167350912009-01-06T22:07:00.000-08:002009-01-06T22:47:20.786-08:00January Blacks<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">There are days , some hours of those days , when -</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">the morning full of winter sunshine is devoured into an empty space , a blackhole , that is your heart...</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">the twitter of birds inspires no poetic delight ,</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">you want to stop the ticking of snail-paced clocks ,</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">the prayers you say , tell nothing of prayers...</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">you cannot cook, with a zest , for those who are the salt and spice of your life ,</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">you do not feel you love anyone , and doubt if anyone loves you ....</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">your body should have slept but is conspiring to give you an infernal wakening time ,</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">you cannot drown yourself in your flooded , numbed , nothingness of thoughts...</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">books , babies , bars of chocolaty sins seem as if they would fail in consuming your</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> naive hunger ,</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">there is no one to whom you could reveal just how you feel , every single time you felt like this...</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">you wish , it was night ,</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">you wish , you could lie on your bed , draw the blanket , squeeze yourself into the comfort of foetal rest ...</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">you pray feeble words , hope guilty hopes , seeking Him to hear , to see , to set you free ,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">into that Sleep of death ; into that Life of no such days , such hours....</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span>ThalassicReveriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06189250520750141041noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440118262812993360.post-11909924490881294882008-12-03T09:41:00.000-08:002008-12-03T09:59:22.526-08:00December Blues<em>It was a winter afternoon.</em><br /><br />The last paper - Biology - was over. Blissfully blank minds could now indulge in elfin treks to our haunts : the sea , the Hut , the malls ; they would retain the echoes of our wandering footsteps mingled with the tinkling of girlish chortles.<br /><br />The ground seemed firm , undisturbed ; alas!<br />Squelch!<br />The shoes went through water-laden sand. Walk with her often and be certain to carry home a momento : mud-covered , grim shoes. She would grin and trot off unconcerned and I would sigh ruefully at the mess I would have to wipe clean without a tissue paper....<br /><br />Why did we not learn to keep tissues handy ? Being girls that too : for inkdrops , for drops of water after washing under the cooler (the uniform tie served the purpose often) , for food smears , for dusty desks , for tears , for the Unknown trouble (like the shoes above).Perhaps , we could do without them till life compelled us to be what our mothers scolded us to be like during our wonder years.<br /><br /><em>In the cold breeze , a few drops of rain fell on us - silently.The sky was a melancholy metal blue , overladen with grey nebulous clouds. </em><br /><br />In the mall , we visited the perfume shop ; appreciated a couple, criticised a dozen ; remained forgetful of anyone around us and took away an effusion of scents on scraps of cardboard paper ( that had been a catalogue of some sort , taken from another shop ). Then slipping them in between the pages of our books , it remained a lingering memory.<br /><br />We left the mall , and head towards the Hut.<br /><em></em><br /><em>The raindrops hastened through gusts of cold wind.</em><br /><br />A sumptuous aroma greets you - of hot oven bread and an assortment of saucy titbits. Over an hour we sat ; nibbled on salad ; talked of sweets and sweethearts, the droll and the dreary ; munched pizza , giggled , sipped on drinks ; sighed.<br /><br />The watch marched beyond the 4'O clock gong : to hurry homewards.<br /><br /><em>Now the rain fell with suppressed alacrity , in the seducing frenzy of the biting winds.</em><br /><br />The tumult of the weather spurred us on ; teeth chattering , teasing , half-running , chuckling - we parted ways - praying to be home without being "caught" -- in the play of wind and rain.ThalassicReveriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06189250520750141041noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440118262812993360.post-62940221832102444232008-11-03T09:15:00.000-08:002008-11-03T10:07:29.382-08:00The Refuge<strong><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>It has been raining since the previous night.</em></span></strong><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">They quarelled:</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Her anger spilled bitter words ;</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">He withdrew into wrathful silence.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><strong><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>I cannot stop the rains ; I can watch a falcon in his flight.</em></span></strong><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><strong><span style="font-family:arial;"><em></em></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>A pearl in an oyster , in a fathomless sea.</em></span></strong><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">There is no refuge -</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">From the darkness of the womb , to the harsher light ;</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">From the confines of the grave , where will we proceed ?</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><strong><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>I want to stay shut , in the haven , in me.</em></span></strong><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span>ThalassicReveriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06189250520750141041noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440118262812993360.post-91985218709407480592008-10-24T20:11:00.000-07:002008-10-27T11:12:34.588-07:00Memorable Quotes<span style="font-size:130%;">A 5 years old cousin</span> , got into a scrape , whereupon he received a beating from his mother.<br />After a while , he came to his mother , busy in work and chided her :<br /><br />" You did not even tell me 'Sorry!' ! "<br /><br /><br />During the toddler age of the aforementioned cousin , his favorite phrase on being annoyed was :<br /><br />" You are not good! "<br /><br />He went further for higher levels of irritation ; thus remarking to his aunt once :<br /><br />" You are not good , and your Been ( her husband Mubeen , whose name he preferred cut short ) is also not good! "<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">On marriage</span> :<br /><br />(1) "The biggest blunder I made in my life."<br /><br />- A Physics teacher , whose memory reminds me of 'bubbling with talk , laughter , life'.<br /><br /><br /><br />(2) "Dear , it is the start of all troubles."<br /><br />- A History teacher , who would say my 'dear children' to a class of bored 15 year olds.<br /><br /><br /><br /><strong><em><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></em></strong><br /><strong><em><span style="font-family:verdana;">" I love to come to school in the morning and smile at everyone ....."</span></em></strong><br /><br />- A Chemistry teacher. Her smiles inspired those zestful 'Good Morning(s) , ma'am' !'<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">During a meal</span> , I was reminding my 5 year old twin cousins about saying their prayer prior to eating (i.e 'In the name Allah , and by the blessings of Allah'). My mother futher commented that if they forgot their prayers , the food would go to the Devil.<br />The younger of the two girls , paused thoughtfully and asked me with eyes wide with somber curiosity :<br /><br />" Who is the 'Devil' ? "<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">One of the twins</span> on being forced to eat her lunch by Nani (maternal grandmother) :<br /><br />" My mother will come and beat you! You are making me eat so much! "ThalassicReveriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06189250520750141041noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440118262812993360.post-5525481583926623402008-10-09T02:45:00.000-07:002008-10-09T02:52:25.514-07:00Snapshots in Writing<span style="font-family:verdana;">Watching the rain fall , alone in the afternoon ;</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Listening to the drops slapping on the ground.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />Licking ice-creams other than my own ;<br />Sipping a new juice made by a younger cousin.<br /><br />Telling stories to the twins ;<br />Hearing protests on holding one more than the other in my arms.<br /><br />Playing monopoly , with a ship ;<br />Sailing stubbornly against hoots claiming my Titanic would sink , as usual ;<br /><br />Laughing at the banter common to the dinner table ;<br />Crying at the parting and yet longing for home ;<br /><br />Gabbling about my love for words to an aunt , busy in the kitchen ;<br />The milk boiled over -<br />Apologising for distracting and ruefully commenting on schlimazels and schlemiels ;<br /><br />Remembering that past vacation , the passionate mourning ;<br />Rejoicing in the eternal joy that sprung from ephemeral heartbeats.</span><br /></span>ThalassicReveriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06189250520750141041noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440118262812993360.post-24777859100866654632008-09-03T06:11:00.000-07:002008-09-03T06:39:31.828-07:00The Sounds of Khed , India<span style="font-family:arial;">Our building is located on the highway leading to the town.Thus, it is subjected to an unceasing cacophony of vrooom , po-pon-po , grrhh , trriiingg , ghhr - ghhrr.The vehicles are simply the background music. The real song begins with the 'paowala'.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />For those who don't know , 'pao' is a type of Indian bun bread. And the man who sells them is hence the 'paowala'. Though , we address them 'bhayya' (brother) whether they be 35 or 55 years old.<br /><br />As the morning prayer of Fajr ends , through the crepuscular light rides the paowala , with a basket full of fresh , soft , delicious buns tied on the backseat of his bicycle. He is the first one to ring your doorbell.<br />The sparrows twitter and hasten the slumberous sun ; with the breakfast over and children off to school , they continue flitting around and resting on window grills. Soon their melody is interrupted by ding-ding-ding-ting bells of the van of the garbage collector. Even garbage dumps have a signature sound of their own here. Masked , he sifts through the litter in his van , while waiting for the waste to be cleared from the four wings of the complex. If we collected bottles , plastics and such re-usable materials separately , he would be spared the disgusting task of poking into our pell-mell rubbish.<br />( Couldn't resist digressing ; lets get back to 'sounds' ....)<br /><br />On Sundays , you would surely awaken to :<br />'Ay Allah ke bande , (O' Slave of Allah) !<br />Allah tumhare karobar mein barkat de , Ya Allah , (May Allah bless you in your business , O'Allah!)' , chants the fakir baba with a voice certain to touch the skies even if failing to appeal to the mortals below.<br /><br />By 10.30am -<br />'Samosa - garam samosa' ,<br />'Samosa - samosa garam' ;<br />the couplet of the Samosa-wala disperses the heavy clouds of tantalising rains. It was inevitably , one of my favorites.<br /><br />The sun climbs monotonously ; the much awaited rain looks on grumpily from the firmaments.<br /><br />The crows caw-caw overhead. From the nearby building , a variety of voices float over with amusing implications.<br /><br />Playful prattle of children lulls the afternoon into a drowsy stupor.<br />With the lunch reposing in a content chamber, a book in hand and the cushioning heat pressing the eye-lids to droop over eyes that do not need sleep -<br />'Bhangar , plastic , battli.....' , the Bhangar-wala's vocal chords strike through compressions and rarefactions with gong-like amplitude , creating temporary waves in the vibrating stillness.<br /><br />The donkeys bray ; believers seek protection from the devil for the braying signifies evil.<br /><br />Then the fruitwallah comes with his 'Mausambi , chikoo , aam-wale-aamwale' triplets cry, pleasing the little girl who pestered her mother with , 'Mummy , mana mausambi hawi' (Mummy , I want orange) . And then she would whine for the fruitwallah to come soon , 'Aamwale, ye naa!!' (Mango-seller come no!!) - the whines growing louder till she tired of hearing her own echoes.<br /><br />Once again , in the evening brightness , rides the paowala. This time , he too has his lines to be sung , 'Cake , toast , butter , paowale...'<br /><br />With the fading twilight , old women - Nani ,aaji , dadi , buwa call their darling brats home.<br /><br />The song is far from over , but becomes muted to ignorant senses happily anticipating to climb to bed after dinner.<br /><br />Soon the human sounds sleep into oblivion and the sounds of the night awaken to a promising symphony.<br /><br />Tick - tick - tick...<br />Goes the clock.<br /><br />Whirr - whirr - whirrr<br />The fan overhead.<br /><br />Creak...<br />Some door , pushed by the wind ?<br /><br />Unnngg.<br />The whistle of the train , tunneling through the hill.<br /><br />Bow-wow-bow ; the dogs having a disagreement.<br /><br />The voice of Darkness , when all is quiet.<br />Listen closely , tonight.<br /></span><br /></span>ThalassicReveriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06189250520750141041noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440118262812993360.post-82524372926701853362008-06-14T18:40:00.000-07:002008-06-14T19:45:34.707-07:00Lock and Seek!<span style="font-family:arial;">Once a cousin , aged about 2.5 years , was visiting us. His elder brother had not come ; thus being companionless , he went about the flat , prying into murky corners and poking into everyday oddities.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Having kissed and petted him , I shifted my attention on the conversation between my aunt and my mother.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Some while later...</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I glided out of their doleful exchanges on the chaos of married life to bestow some more kisses on his chubby cheeks.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">He was not in the hall. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Nor in the alley between the kitchen and bathroom.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">He must be in my room.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The door was closed : I turned the handle.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">It was locked.(How can it be ?)</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I tried again - truly locked. ( ??? )</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I called out to him.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">No reply.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Knock ! Knock ! ( Are you there naughty boy ? Playing ? </span><span style="font-family:arial;">Let me in too...) </span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Silence.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">OK. There is a gap between the door and the floor so I went down on all fours and peeped.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">He was pattering around.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I drew his attention to the gap.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">On the other side , two little black eyes twinkled back at me.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I could sense him grinning. ( He was being cheeky ?! )</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">'Open the door...see what I have got for you...'</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">No response.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">'There is a key in the door..just turn it ...' ( Perhaps , he didn't know how to unlock ? )</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">No action; nothing doing.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I called my Aunt. She tried similar tactics.The baby ignored his darling Ammi as well.<br />We whispered worrying possibilities - What if he can't open ? Can he actually turn the key ? Is it possible to get in through the window ? (We live on the Groundfloor) The window has grills....</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The pair of eyes regarded us casually through the gap.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">His mother's patient worry snapped.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">'I am going. Open the door and come out soon.'</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">We went to the hall.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">In a few minutes...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">'Ammi....' , said the baby and found his mother sitting in the hall.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The elf!<br />So he did know how to unlock ; tricky game.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Lesson learnt : Never leave the key into the door lock when toddlers are around.<br /> </span>ThalassicReveriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06189250520750141041noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440118262812993360.post-3283750151862092462008-06-01T18:24:00.000-07:002008-06-01T18:32:39.098-07:00I am Alone<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The sun was bright ,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I was young ,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The days were carefree and light ,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">There were friends , there were people.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I am alone.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Parents - they were there then:</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">In the remote background , close to touch ;</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Now nearer and dearer , yet farther away ;</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">We spoke less ; now the talk is much...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I am alone.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The memories swirl as misty ghosts - </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">They are mine ; not gone away.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The books hold out a stronger hand - </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">They are mine ; soul entrenched within soul.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The sun still shines ,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The people still pass by , leaving pages to fill in.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I am alone , not empty ;</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I am with God - </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Is that lonely ?</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">He is alone: The One and Only.</span>ThalassicReveriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06189250520750141041noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440118262812993360.post-80103869294556536972008-05-25T10:59:00.000-07:002008-05-25T12:03:01.007-07:00Nothing to say ??While chatting to a friend the other day , the usual 'Hi ; How are you's?' were followed with the not-so-unusual silence. In a few minutes - an aeon - the friend opened the 'window' with : 'nothing to say ??'<br /><br />'Nothing' has a non-existent definition when it comes to saying. Plenty of things to talk about ; aren't there ?<br /><br />About ...<br />One's day , in detail ;<br />Why your sibling is an irksome pixie that you cannot freeze, (remember 'Mum' ?), no matter how she makes you boil and blister ;<br />How tiny , pink and sweet the new-born was in slumber while it could remain innocently indifferent to the wails of the World ;<br />What was the So-and-So of Such-an-Such-incident (calamity - scientific discovery - economic crisis - ) ?<br />Of Princess Diana , the Queen of Hearts , forever wedded to an unhappily-ever-after --<br /><br />Break it : 'No - thing' as 'Nothing' (to say!)<br /><br />If you find me quiet , it is merely to watch for your green signal : to say something , anything , everything....(that is nothing too ?)<br />Would you , can you , will you , listen to all ?<br />My tsunami is at your command.<br /><br />The mind is often talking to itself :<br />'Alarm must be set at 3am , no , 3.17am - dawn is ...'<br /><br />'Maldives - why did he re-marry so soon ? why couldn't he persevere in persuading her ? Aunt - married...divorced - our twin-cousins.... '<br /><br />'Chapter 112 - touchstone of theology - verse 1 "Say, He is Allah, One and Only" ....Only 'one'...the Odd number...'<br /><br />'Tonight , I would ask him.... (and proceed with our conversation ,in my head)....'<br /><br />Rarely , perhaps only in sleep , there is Rest : to the cacophony of a precious mind.<br /><br />The human mind , at its pinnacle , is waiting to blow out its contents : meekly , passionately ; and the tongue is ever moist , with words carefully jailed or rosary chants - sometimes monotonous , sometimes fervent - willing to chatter away at the slightest opening.<br /><br />In this virtual world , my fingers - though adept at typing - are checked by an obsession with using the right metaphor , the quaint word , the tidy presentation.<br />You have been saved by the atrocity of my incessant tongue.<br /><br />Now , do ' you ' have nothing to say ??ThalassicReveriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06189250520750141041noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440118262812993360.post-65822907747061844652008-05-21T22:08:00.000-07:002008-05-21T23:01:19.099-07:00Smile...and say 'As-Salam Alaykum'<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimV40xuvucDU4s78PkScjURyPLEIN8r4xdoUkGCoQLCh9UUhz1HQwrY6r6xQwI8ct2FjqLiUobpqXsNyBtPKgXOi0_O5Yn62HzRt5AOxshbdHTSx84XOk4NQSxsgW4h7EQjNNOFM8GKts/s1600-h/lily.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203066728146009618" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimV40xuvucDU4s78PkScjURyPLEIN8r4xdoUkGCoQLCh9UUhz1HQwrY6r6xQwI8ct2FjqLiUobpqXsNyBtPKgXOi0_O5Yn62HzRt5AOxshbdHTSx84XOk4NQSxsgW4h7EQjNNOFM8GKts/s320/lily.jpg" border="0" /></a> (<span style="font-family:times new roman;">For her , whose name meant 'Lily of the Valley' : See Image on right</span>)<br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">The final year of our school life was filled with obstacles in the form of assignments , labwork , revision tests , observation book correction , recordwork submission , projects ; the list went on. Most of the time , when not busy completing ever-incomplete work , we would be talking about how we were going to finish it. The rest of the time was thriftly spent in last minute bursts of intellectual learning - before a major test. We were machines pre-set (sometimes , re-set) to produce an expected output.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Time and opportunity to truly relax , converse and connect as friends needed special </span><span style="font-family:georgia;">effort (also read 'cunning'). </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">A friend and I saw less of each other due to our separate subjects ; phone calls became rare (or came to clear doubts ; further discuss how much work we had to finish ; talking about 'so-many-things-to-do' needs to be checked strictly - its a foolish waste of time that could be used to 'neither-think-nor-do-work') . Living in different areas , made it difficult to catch time to drop in home and have food ( the eternal solace ) together.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;"><br />Instead , we had developed a habit. Into the class , at the start of the day - a smile , a hug and 'As-salam alaykum'.<br /><br />' Salam ' literally means 'peace'.<br />'Al-Salam' is one of the names of Allah in Islam. Hence , the Islamic greeting <em>'As-salam alaykum'</em> translates as <em>'Peace be on you'</em> and is responded with <em><span style="font-family:georgia;">'wa alaykum as-salam'</span></em> meaning <span style="font-family:georgia;"><em>'And peace be on you too'</em></span>.<br /><br />Sometimes , I forgot to wish her ; she wouldn't ; vice-versa.<br />Once , while I was pouring over homework (finished in school), a classmate seated in infront of me , teasingly inquired , "No hugs today ?!"<br />I replied with a grin , "Thanks for reminding."<br /><br /><br />Take time to smile and greet ; even those who are strangers to you.<br />Do it often , everyday ; spread 'salam' and feel the joy...<br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#33cc00;"><strong></strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#009900;"><em>"Smile and greet each other , it has the reward of charity."</em></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#009900;"><em>"Do not underestimate any good deed (no matter how small it is) , even if that deed was to meet your brother with a friendly countenance."</em></span><br /><br /><em><span style="color:#009900;">- The Prophet Muhammad </span></em><br /><br /><br />Reverie says : Girls cannot be 'gay'. Nowadays they are labelled as 'lesbians' .<br />Our hugs drew some rather dubious looks ; I don't know if it was my imagination or the gossip I heard by the grapevine , but I sure feel like being catty to the sniggering.<br />Nowadays , it makes you squirm , even to hug your own kind ....<br />And I thought , it was the opposite sex you needed to 'keep at arm's length' ....<br /></span><br /></span>ThalassicReveriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06189250520750141041noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440118262812993360.post-10025976618365822212008-05-20T11:04:00.001-07:002008-05-20T11:52:29.920-07:00Watermelon<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI1ccnST-50tLCdtnBYE8dNRDIUY8_4a9Zc4q5vEpoRDWSvuS3gfCvDe1wD6cktAkm1jz7DT9uNjn64c9UWHM2OV7HV4dzhVNUM9hJUgjSX26Yw6Zv1BN8JfShU0oOG7_9yDrTCioDJac/s1600-h/watermelon-drink.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5202532241050140594" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI1ccnST-50tLCdtnBYE8dNRDIUY8_4a9Zc4q5vEpoRDWSvuS3gfCvDe1wD6cktAkm1jz7DT9uNjn64c9UWHM2OV7HV4dzhVNUM9hJUgjSX26Yw6Zv1BN8JfShU0oOG7_9yDrTCioDJac/s320/watermelon-drink.jpg" border="0" /></a>It is the King of my Fruityland.<br /><div><br />The big , round and plump with a dark green skin colour is the most adorable. The interior : a luscious , fleshy red ; sequined with dark little seeds.</div><br /><div>As a child , I used to scoop out the white flesh beyond the juicy red.</div><div>They scolded me for it.</div><div> ( Was I being greedy ? )<br />As a young adult , the habit persists.</div><div> ( Am I still greedy ? )</div><div>I get more slices , yet I refuse to give up.</div><div> </div><div>Then , there is the craving of satisfaction in cutting them. No matter how busy I am , I like to devote time to indulge in slicing it open. It is a request : Let me have the pleasure of opening its locked beauty , 'first' ; then you can take your share.</div><br /><div>Some facts :</div><div> </div><div><em><span style="font-family:georgia;">(1) Watermelon is 92% water. </span></em></div><div><em><span style="font-family:georgia;">(2) Its official name : Citrullus lanatus </span></em></div><div><em><span style="font-family:georgia;"> Of the botanical family : Curcurbitacae </span></em></div><div><em><span style="font-family:georgia;"> Related to : cucumbers, pumpkins and squash.</span></em></div><div><em><span style="font-family:georgia;"> ( That makes it a Vegetable ?!)</span></em></div><div><em><span style="font-family:georgia;">(3) Watermelon is an ideal health food because it doesn't contain any fat or cholesterol, and is an excellent source of vitamins A, B6 & C.</span></em></div><br /><div><span style="color:#ff0000;"><strong><span style="color:#000000;">Sweet , juicy , cool -</span> </strong></span></div><div><span style="color:#ff0000;"><strong>Have a watermelonicious summer .....</strong></span></div><br /><div></div>ThalassicReveriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06189250520750141041noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440118262812993360.post-78861336935925960362008-05-17T10:38:00.000-07:002008-05-17T11:14:34.468-07:00An Odious Task<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Writing is sometimes such an odious task ,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Not because of lack of creative ideas ; </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">They are swimming in the tantalising depths of the mind ,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Surfacing but not yet ready to metamorphose onto paper -</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The more you think of giving them a ground life -</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Without a pencil ready to bait ,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The lesser chances of completing a work written without rhyme or reason.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />Now , I had wanted to compose an essay ,or a poem , or close to either,<br />With a title : " The labours of writing evanescent thoughts "<br />The pencil refused to form lines as required ,<br />So I let it scribble -<br />Lest I remain useless in a 'must write spur' ,<br />and sit agitatedly with a blank paper.<br /><br />I must admit : I made that title up just now !<br />No plan of writing of such labours had occured to me ,<br />It formed shape as soon as I allowed my fingers to move...<br />See , that's how unpredictable scribbling can be !<br /><br />Writing - while feeling 'how silly' of whatever written -<br />Its start is a much needed ignition ;<br />The middle , a slothful dripping of fuel ;<br />The end , a baffling ride with a memorable line.<br /><br />I don't know about you ,<br />But I like coming to the End - <br />Good or Bad and all the adjectives in between -<br />I have presented it 'neatly' : Don't you agree ?</span><br /></span>ThalassicReveriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06189250520750141041noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440118262812993360.post-86091171924656495332008-05-12T07:18:00.000-07:002008-05-12T07:51:19.551-07:00Wandering , Working and Waiting<span style="font-family:times new roman;">The distant hills , veiled in mist , call for you in the solitude of the evening hours. Standing on the terrace , a halcyon wind blows , swifts through your hair , caresses you , quietens your soul : filling it with momentary peace.</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><br />The sun shines benevolently.<br /><br />The vacation was wasted on idle thoughts ; an uncertain academic future ; a passion for the unattainable at a turbulent age.<br />In that feverish summer heat of 2004 , I helped with the household chores - Nani* had the most amazing will-power to work efficiently and make others work as well. Her food was always a relish.<br />The French exercises lent by an aunt were done with half-witted interest. And I had had such engrossing times learning the language a year ago... <br /><br />The train moves through the nearest hill , approaching the tunnel. Further upward , the cars, trucks, buses move lazily on the road twisting out of sight in the shield of trees. Would they reach their destination ? Did they have one ?<br /><br />The sound of anklets - chann chann - I listened in recognition : the Rajasthani Housewife. The terrace was a place of relaxation. On some days , a group of housewives from our building complex collected here while the children played in their puerile kingdom.<br />I conversed only with her : the woman from Udaipur. Her graceful musical steps announced her feminity - even before you saw her. Fair , dark eyes and neatly parted hair filled with sindoor. The sarees often smiled her demeanor ; their hues - greens , blues , fawn - were suffused with the freshness of Nature's treasures.<br />When her young son had no playmates , she would engage him in learning his alphabets. He had her fair skin and curly hair , tied in a little ponytail ; as per their customs , it was not cut since his birth.<br />I thought he was a girl , till she corrected me. Often , his voice carried over from the upper stairs to our flat below , ringing with a throaty appeal that contradicted the sweetness of his age.<br /><br />I achieved nothing during those days. Neither worldly nor spiritual.<br />A void , useless , desperate existence.<br />It was a blessing , a thousand blessings when the time for returning back home arrived. The return would mean a new beginning , of which , I never imagined nor considered. A transition from the dreams to the ground of reality ; a spiritual change , a 'practising' faith of character-building , academic diligence.<br /><br />The bus weaved its way through the hills. The rain spattered on the windows , disappearing soon ; you could unlatch the window , breathe in the sensuous night and soon enough the rain would beat down again. It remained irresolute : about duration as well as direction.<br /><br />I could not sleep and did not try to ; night journeys were rare. And this was after three months of physical , mental and emotional imprisonment : a subtle release from an almost self-created cage. Three months - where each day had been besought , vexed , coaxed to hurry on - depart !<br /><br />I was going home.<br />Soon to be with fleeting pleasures : castle and country , sea and storm.<br /><br />The hills were dark , alive with the murmur of raindrops. The road meandered treacherously. In the shrouded darkness of the bus , the passengers slept ; while the night passed by them in her revelry.<br /><br /><em>Now I see cottage and country , sea and sunshine.</em><br /><em><strong>I want to go home....</strong></em><br /><br /><br />* maternal grandmother</span><br /></span>ThalassicReveriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06189250520750141041noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440118262812993360.post-85300818973985521252008-05-04T23:56:00.000-07:002008-05-05T00:02:19.275-07:00To the Teacher<span style="font-family:times new roman;">Words are fascinating: each one a world waiting to be created. </span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">The lesser known , the more tempting to employ them in writing.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">Some of the words have been provided with their meaning , scroll down to the end for them ; I wish to be understood despite the trifle elusive 'simplicity in choice of words'.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><strong>To the Teacher (s) :</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><strong>' Thank You '</strong> </span><br /><br /><em><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">A syzygy of memories , gratitude and new horizons </span></em><br /><em><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">beckon to these logolept musings...</span></em><br /><br /><em><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">In pursuit of academic achievement ,</span></em><br /><em><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">Including such :<br />Byzantine array of equations ,</span></em><br /><em><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">Coding approximate to galamatias ,</span></em><br /><em><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">Numbers - an abyss of conundrums ,</span></em><br /><em><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">Hippocampus - a warehouse of psittacism.</span></em><br /><br /><em><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">Most would slip into oblivion...</span></em><br /><br /><em><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">The Smiles ,</span></em><br /><em><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">Treasured and cherished - always.</span></em><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;">SYZYGY : The alignment of two (or more) celestial bodies (as in an eclipse)</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;">LOGOLEPT : word-lover</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;">BYZANTINE : complex</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;">GALIMATIAS : Nonsense , gibberish.</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;">HIPPOCAMPUS : part of human brain associated with memory</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;">PSITTACISM : Characteristic of parrots(Speaking without knowing)</span>ThalassicReveriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06189250520750141041noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440118262812993360.post-55830518312383337512008-05-02T19:56:00.000-07:002008-05-02T20:05:12.559-07:00The Trials of donning an ApronI was making Vegetable Pilaff (aka 'Tarkari Pulao') as the Hyderabadi cookbook said.<br />Being a dish of rice, my apprehensions surfaced and glided over to take refuge in Mother's expertise on the Art of Cooking. It looks and reads (as in a printed recipe) easy - to prepare a dish of rice - or so I always thought - until I started cooking it myself. Even the simplest everyday rice-boiled-with-salt : 'chawal' as we call it, needs meticulous attention. If you want it 'perfect' - give it your absolute focus and care. Else , like me , if the less-than-perfect standard , set by Lord Knows who , is nevertheless enjoyable to eat : Forget asking Mother for help.<br />She harangues on simplicity, my mother.<br />The recipe lay solemly intricate.<br />She protested against its handsome order.<br />It beeseched me,to give it a try...those dapper alphabets of its existence : thus wooed and won, I insisted on following the print.<br />She was adamant on experience.<br />Tempers flared.<br />Rice - three-quarters cooked - cooled.<br /><br />Mother exits (from the perspiring Kitchen) .<br />And I attempted to assuage my dish's ruffled grace.<br /><br />It was done eventually. A profusely (try 'overcooked') steamed Pulao. Had I served toddlers, I would have received those oh-I-love-you-so gurgles following a Cerelac session.<br /><br />The family ate.<br /><br />Meanwhile , I sought sanctuary under my blanket :<br />' <strong>Those who sow in tears , shall reap in joy.</strong> '<br /><br />I doubt , the latter part ; sometimes.ThalassicReveriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06189250520750141041noreply@blogger.com3