Kashmiri Song

I was browsing through the books at the library today afternoon. I happen to pick up a book titled, "Best Loved Poems of the American People". Half way across the world I read this poem from the book.

KASHMIRI SONG

by: Laurence Hope (1865-1904)

ALE hands I loved beside the Shalimar,
Where are you now? Who lies beneath your spell?
Whom do you lead on rapture's roadway far,
Before you agonise them in farewell?

Oh, pale dispensers of my Joys and Pains,
Holding the doors of Heaven and Hell,
How the hot blood rushed wildly through the veins,
Beneath your touch, until you waved farewell.

Pale hands, pink tipped, like Lotus buds that float
On those cool waters where we used to dwell,
I would have rather felt you round my throat,
Crushing out life, than waving me farewell.

The Rat's Tail

He was a stunner. With big brown eyes, a shiny brown coat, a handsome tail to go with cute paws which looked like he had tiny white socks on. A menace nevertheless, this tiny uninvited guest would run around the house, eating our food, furniture and leave behind the byproduct of digestion all over the place. More often than not, I would see his tiny squiggly tail, run right across my field of vision. So, one fine day we set out to catch Stuart Little (assuming that's the name christened upon him).

My cousin dug out this old rusted barbaric mouse trap, the kinds which snap on contact crushing the poor little things backbone. I wonder how PETA hasn't done anything about these spinal cord transecting contraptions. So after my insistence, we finally got a more humane trap, the type that shuts the mouse into a cage.

After a few days, I saw him again nibbling at the bate inside the trap. It was time to set him free. I thought of the woods, but Sony reminded me, this was no country mouse. It would die in the woods. Imagine, city boy competing with Tarzan. After much speculation it was decided that we would set him free in it's natural habitat....another city apartment.

All this while, we presumed Little Stuart was happy in his new temporary dwelling. After all, we had provided a loving environment, adequate food and warmth. But to my utter disbelief, I found him dead, the very day he was to be set free. I tried my best to resuscitate life in to him..even CPR with the tip of my finger.

I still wonder what killed him..... an acute coronary event..bad diet..stress....the rat race....Maybe if he had a bushy tail..like a squirrel perhaps people would have bestowed more kindness. The following day we buried in a pretty pink shoe box. May is soul rest in peace.

Diagnosis

Finally figured my ailment out. It's called " Blogstipation".
Major signs and symptoms include highly infrequent posts and writers block.

Ruminations - 1

Perhaps we should take a moment, a minute silence to mull over the inevitability and finality of our own deaths.
Regardless of what you have, who and what you are; rich, poor, wise, silly, circumspect or giddy...... You are going to die!!
Even if you were to live in a sealed tank with filtered air and just the right amounts of food, drink and light, death creeps up in its season.
But just for kicks, many die in means and way less bland, and mostly unintended. It's how life keeps it's sense of humour, the myriad of ways its truncated.
To fear death but, would be to fear the unknown. For when death comes to either one of us, who fairs better? The one who lives or the one who dies.
Only God knows!

My Proverbial Auntyji

Every one must have one.

The expert on assorted subjects; international teacher of Indian philosophy, Master of Yoga, Wardrobe consultant, Moral guardian, etiquette educator, social swami. All rolled in one.



She looks her part. Short and rotund, she dress in the most vibrant colours of nature. Her face is white as snow barring the big mole on her left cheek and the strategically placed big red bindi which she claims is in line with her pituitary gland.



Every time we meet, she surveys me up and down. As if she were buying the leg of a lamb. Then wistfully says, "Shus chhak gumutz!!". Roughly translated, this would mean, " You look life less !!" I dig my nails into into my flesh, smile and try to look moved; instead of hysterical.



This one time, Auntyji-the-decorator decided to give my room a makeover. Everyone has their style, she for one worships symmetry. So, she organizes everything in the room; books , CD's, toiletries in order of size...the second classification being colour and consistency. She is almost obsessed about aligning the cushions diagonally and everything must always be equidistant from each other.



I specially avoid being in her vicinity when she is venturing out in the market. For her any purchase, tomatoes and turnips to tuba's and televisions, must include a round on bang-on bargaining. Each discussion is almost as profound as a nuclear arms deal.



Cooking is her passion. Specially the 37 types of mutton. If she is serving you a helping, to refuse would be a major faux-pas, akin to blowing snot on her face. The minute you pause for a breath, Auntyji will fill your load and insist you eat more. A sluggish eating performance is seen as a personal affront.



For someone as animated, spirited and industrious as her life never stands still. Barring ofcourse her favourite daily soap, " Mother-in-laws were Daughters-in-laws too one day" is on air. This moving epic of family drama makes her shed tears to make up for the saline enough to rehydrate a dozen thirsty famine struck Ethiopians.

Auntyji loves entertaining. Worthy of mention are her singing and dancing skills. The dance moves consist a lot of head wobbles, shoulder shimmies and the best of all, the punjabi move which involves a manoeuvre akin to changing a light bulb. She sings old hindi songs with a penchant. Almost incomprehensible when screeched in her strong Kashmiri accent at a double decibel.
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Auntyji isn't outrageously funny, but has this capacity to tell endless deprecating jokes. Sometimes I think she is Lucille Ball trapped in an Indian body. She loves good food, good gossip and good controversy. Not necessarily in that order. If she were to be the last one on earth she'd probably fight the wind.

Auntyji has her tales on bravery and valour too. She actually survived a seven day stand-off at the IC-814 hijacked plane from Kathamandu to Kandahar. She claims reminiscently to have given the gun totting terrorists a lesson or two on the Gandhian philosophy of peace and non violence, that too in impeccable Kashmiri.

At times, she is too cliche'd, too melodramatic, too movie....But mostly, Auntyji is beyond definition, beyond statement. For anything you say, the opposite could be true. She defies understanding, and for once, that's okay with me.

Everyone must have one.
An Auntyji.

Its a (wo)Man's world!!

Exit the Male.....The battle of the sexes has moved to a petri-dish.

If one were to go with the much hyped claims of human cloning, I am starting to believe that men are becoming redundant in the reproductive scheme of things.

The algebra of genetic make up is such that while women can be replicated, men can't be similarly xeroxed. This is becaouse it is the ova which is at the crucible of creation. Women with their XX chromosome, can create more females. On the other hand, men with their XY chromosome can't simply do without the X chromosome in the female ova. So, men are disadavantaged at the cloning game.

Even after fertilization, the nascent embryo is implanted into a womb to await it's birth. Here too, it's the female who is indispensable to the process, not the male.

Could it be this impending threat of redundancy the real reason for the outcry against the breakthrough's in cloning?

The real problem in our male dominated society is not that such techniques would one day allow man to be god, but---ultimate blasphemy-- that they could enable woman to play god !
Such male fears are older than history, but currently reached crisis point. Many pagan and animistic traditions when subsumed under christianity, were robbed of their original meaning. )(Dan Brown rings a bell)

Paradoxically, Mary , mother of Jesus was herself an "immaculate conception" and gave birth to her son similarly without any human male intervention.

According to one theory, men are nothing more than " accidental" women created through random genetic mutation. So, far from being heaven born priviledged sons of a patriarichal god..men may be nothing more than a chance throw of the evolutionary dice.

Hinduism just corroborates this concept. The " Ardhanareshwor" or the Shiv-Shakti combine symbolised the seamless union of male female principle, the yin and yang of seeming opposites to make a larger whole, greater than the sum of it's individual parts.

There is no getting away from it. In the pre christian and pre brahminc traditions, the woman was very much on TOP. And contemporary science will soon ensure that she resumes that position.

Goodbye guys, It hasn't been particularlry nice knowing you!!

p.s. Life's joy lies in its diversity. To loose the male sex..why would women want to loose the joy of the ridiculous.

थे immunology song

Chuhe ki chatni main chhipkali ke baal
Ball par lachakte hue Bacteria ki chal
Lipopolysaccharide se bani bacteria ki khal
Us par pyar se chade C3b ke opsonization ka kamaal