Category Archives: India

Love India

 

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Census of India of 2001, India has 122 major languages and 1599 other languages/dialects

“Oh there’s fish frying in the seas, there’s more tables than trees, and the Ganges in my bones cries like a baby;

I’m daughter of the temple where the pews have no knees, and the madness in my fire is getting heavy..” (Lyrics&Life)

Happy 72nd, India; your 1.2 billion faces and kohl eyes meshed with more cultures than I know.

 

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As I write this I’m grateful for the many flavours we are, our mixed cuisine and architecture, our accents and tribes.

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There are flags hoisted in roof tops, little versions of the tricolour in dashboards; distant strains of the National anthem Jana Gana Mana ..

 

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My India
“India is, the cradle of the human race, the birthplace of human speech, the mother of history, the grandmother of legend, and the great-grandmother of tradition. Our most valuable and most instructive materials in the history of man are treasured up in India only.” Mark Twain

 

love you India, your gentle or insane monsoons, your thirsty rivers, your desert in our streams, your snow-capped mountain and nude forest;

your blood in my veins, your 3 crore gods and goddesses,your pulse beat beat beating deep in the skin of my soul, I got to go celebrate, There’s frying rice for meats marinating in ground chilled- curd, ahhh it’s not me cooking but the darling head of the house. See? Woman liberated, no more purdah, thank you Raja Ram Mohan Roy and others, may your tribe increase. May our daughters run free to wear what they like, (uh, mostly:)

may they bless the planet with their ‘olive skins and kohl eyes ‘, may the generations that follow live fearless(Tagore).

This one below is my daughter Vihan’s original which earned her an international award, its in description¬†(allow me to show off ūüôā have a great day!

 

 

 

 

 

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Filed under Cultural Affairs, India, Journals, Personal Reflections, Writers

‘Yes, but don’t go.’

Last night, all plates and dishes put away, the lights low in the bedroom where our youngest son went into his blanket ; the girls were yet to fall asleep, I peeped in at Joh, and he lifted that dark head calling me for a second kiss, then a whisper –

“Ma,I feel lonely.”

My heart missed a few beats ; it had been a long two months, there had been illness, a trip, school year starting over, uniforms that did not fit, unfinished assignments, a lingering cough and so many unfinished things…

“Why son ? We’re all here aren’t we ?”

“When you ‘re all busy with other things, I feel lonely,sometimes. “

Speechless, I hugged him close, closer, a third a fourth kiss.“You feel good now ?”¬†

“Yes, but don’t go.”¬†He said nothing after that just smiled and the room filled with feelings I have no words for.

Human touch. How abused, misunderstood those two words are : and so very easy to ignore in all our busy-ness. We sat there an hour, not just Joh and me, but all five of us, an hour in that quiet gentle dark as the little ones fell asleep.

Dearest Lord God, the worst disease on earth : ‘loneliness’ and such a simple cure right from the mouth of Babes.

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Filed under ASIA, Culture, Disability, Dreams, Humanities, Inspirational, Literature

Earth Song

Colour me green, please, let the Light feed us, graze

our need, our greed ; with storms

of Peace, 

 

please ?

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Shhh .. listen to those Feet

 

..on these mountains, like the rhythm of hoof

shedding miles, with good news

of Peace – how beautiful those feet, shedding light

NoelJeff

like blood on pale faces,places;

like the trample of fresh new wine

cellars in the valley new with grain song unheard

like dawn fire among stars that pale

against Your sky, oh God, my God –

how beautiful the feet of those who bring… good news

on these mountains of division, despair, destruction, 

shredding miles of lost terrain,

with good news…

oh how beautiful these feet…

..

( re-written, suggestions  Abhra Pal thank you )

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Filed under India, music, Oil&Acrylic, Writers

Recieve

Two Universes

touched

and diamonds turned,

from dust

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Filed under Challenges, Faith, Healing, Hope, Human rights, India, Inspirational, Literature, Personal, Universe

Maddens me

.. . that your beauty is regarded as a vice Mother, your holiness desecrated, a million times, with out reason, without rhyme. And just a few of us ¬†cry a little in corners , and that is the only crime, certified. A father or mother who cried. ” …where is the mind without fear ? ¬†That ¬†clear stream of reason has just its way, into the dreary desert sands of dead habit…’
India, can you still read this ? 
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Indian Village early morning RN water colour

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Filed under Artists, ASIA, Bengaluru, Human rights, India, Personal, Writers

My Soul stammers

Thresholds. OIl RNoel

 

Early hour of morn – Peace,

like a sword – thru’ indifference.

 

How dumb man is when he is afraid.

My spirit shivers at the cowardice of kings,

 

and I am such a wisp of a thing, yet ,

each new dawn,

my soul stammers, then sings…

¬† 

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Filed under Artists, ASIA, India, Inspirational, People, Personal, Writers

My burden is Light

What ? I asked the one with the flowers,

and acres of naked skin,

” How can your burden be Light ?”

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To the trees stooped with night, I asked it again, but

they were too busy to reply…

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I went to the flowers in the fields, and they said it to me, again,

” My burden is Light, ” ; ¬†they were pregnant with blossom, with drippy leaf and waiting showers,

confused I turned away

Gul Mohar

and met a sky full of the sun, so full, it dawned on me, finally

Silence of the  Sun.  RN ( India, Bangalore)

Yes, Light. Light. A burden, as in a ‘ carrying’, a torch borne, a Vision of Beauty, held.

I still cannot embrace it all.

How could I,

but today I read these Words that spoke back at me,

My¬†Burden is LIGHT…

spilling off rooftops and sky, lanes and silhouettes, smashing shadows

shedding darkness like filthy rags,

oh brilliant burden, be mine, be mine!

Huts on Beach Hill. Oil, Acrylic  RN

Huts on Beach Hill. Oil, Acrylic RN

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Filed under Abuse, Aroma, Biography, Challenges, Disability, Faith, Human rights, India, Oil&Acrylic, Personal, Poetry, Times

A Human being with heart and Poetry : ‘Hariharan Balakrishnan’

” … for diamonds and rubies I do not care, all I have is for others to share, I crave for just a glimpse of Light, for peace and rest in that after-Life..”¬†Hariharan Balakrishnan

Innerdialects : I am in awe of the creative fraternity, especially when they are there for the sheer passion of expression. H. Balakrishnan¬† says it like it is, without too much ‘modesty’ or ‘ guilt’ – ¬†tracing Lost Horizons, the safety ¬†of ‘Stars‘, of ¬†moments,mementoes, of memories that never left, and of Dancing Diamonds and Volcanoes. The Equipoise of Silence …

His Works reflect a Universe waiting to be understood. They provoke the writer in me, silently reminding me of the human being perhaps neglected, within. Of secrets that wait to be told; of what Words can do in a Time that is more devious than ever before. Here is a human being that must be read, for he is more than a dad, husband, writer,traveller, lover of good food and music. He is an Indian with Spirit, heart and soul.

¬†” Poetry, comes out of inner thoughts at some particular moments in time. I don’t see any need to feel guilty.It is the capacity to absorb things differs from people to people and also, in the same person, time to time. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be human. ”¬†Hariharan Balakrishnan

SINGULAR

The silent man came in to this world                                                                                                 With a lusty cry, the wail for peace                                                                                                   He shouted screamed and swam about                                                                                               He saw he heard he smelt and stood

The silent man grew up and watched                                                                                                 The world around him go down in size                                                                                               His loudest wail of no avail                                                                                                             He chose to grow up, not capsize

The silent man too had his moments                                                                                               Of standing- and of understanding                                                                                                   People who had something to say                                                                                                With mere presence, now gone away

The silent man has chosen silence                                                                                                    He has his silence for company                                                                                                      He has no use for fools or falsehood                                                                                                 He is happy in his path of silence

The silent man too sometimes shouts                                                                                             He wants his voice once to be heard                                                                                                   He sometimes loses sight, his voice                                                                                                   And also, anon his equipoise

The silent man too tries to teach                                                                                                        The world that is within his reach                                                                                                  He came in shouting, wailing, crying                                                                                                  He wants to go out smiling laughing

The silent man sees, thinks and learns                                                                                               He has something to teach in turn                                                                                                     But chose to keep his thoughts inside                                                                                                 Like the volcano that never spewed.

……

Hariharan Balakrishnan 21.06.2001 With the Prime Minister of Bhutan , our INTACH Chapter decided to present him with a memento.

Lost Horizons

Lost horizons on the way                                                                   Of a lonely traveler on his road                                                           To some place somewhere                                                                 He knows not, does not care

A wayfarer in Eternity                                                                                                                 Without an inn- or an out                                                                                                             Only his thoughts- and dreams                                                                                                        Of someone else’s tomorrow

Horizons lost by one                                                                                                                         Can they be gained by another?

……………………..

The author here .. ? After father died, she read out to me some of the life experiences she noted down in Tamil. I told her if she writes a few more to make 100 pages in print, I’ll publish them in English. And that’s precisely what we did- on her 80th birthday. Only¬†I know what went into the final product. The original mss was ‘lost’ for a few years etc. But the launch was really a ‘launch’. The book was released on a real launch which floated on the Husain Sagar in Hyderabad with some 200 people. Newspapers were competing to take her interview and outdo one another. The Hindu Friday Review did a story, and it was followed with a remarkable commentary by Eric Shackle of Sydney in his “Life Begins at 80”. Eric has since become a dear friend and now lives in Big Pond- still writing an occasional column. He is maybe 93 now. If I send him a mail, I can bet he’d reply within 48 hrs. That’s the kind of man he is. God bless him.

Hariharan Balakrishnan Poetry is subjective, and is often written in reflection- of events and moments that have passed long since.

Hariharan Balakrishnan

Came back a few hours ago after a trip to Greece and Turkey. Met a lot of people to understand these countries, saw a few memorable places and have already spun a few stories in the mind. In the next week and more, maybe I’ll be bale to put at least two or three of them in words, ably supported by some pictures that seem to have come out well. I promise to give you all a few glimpses soon.
There is also a series of humorous anecdotes that I can share only over a cup of coffee in a group. Who knows? Once I start writing, this idea may bloom as a book!
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In conversation with Hariharan Balakrishnan, a Poet and a Humanbeing to reckon with. 
Innerdialects

Photo: Kalpu, Nargis, Bhavani and Sanjeev. Good to heer that you want to read what I write. But first things first. Here is the picture of the doorway to the Palace where the last six Sultans of the Ottoman Empire lived. Mustafa Kamal Pasha also lived here for a while and breathed his last in one of the rooms. From what I heard from people, it is not for nothing that this great reformer was called the Ataturk (Father of the Turk Nation). There was universal adulation- even after 90 years since his time.

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Filed under India, Inspirational, Journals, LIFE, Literature, People, Personality, Poetry, Writers

Beautiful Bloggers

( This Post utterly inspired by a fun 20 mins ?  with Sakshi Nanda,Sfurti Sinha, Rekha Vikesh :
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thank you for responding to my Post yesterday OH РAM JUST A MOM    on Real Fiction. People like you remind me that there  is only one race : Humanity. That we must never stop being friendly, though we live in an age of Indifference, a time of suspicion and some chaos. Thank you for being downright brilliant-silly with me. I so needed a dose of that kind of decent madness, rare among people that never met before now. God Bless and may your tribe increase !!!)
We shared little words yesterday
and in that moment, we were not just moms,
or even women ;
were just people,
ageless, unlimited ;
strangers,
with this common thread :
homes, kids, husbands, work, words, life, likes
blogs,cupboards,fertile spaces, or infertile,
raves and rants, moms and 
places, profile pic.faces,
traces of lives we lived, and
live, and will ;
I saw your Will, to not just survive,
but do well,
to not just get by, but
excel –
and I need to thank you for the reminder
that when humans get together,
talk,
can laugh at self and each other
somethings beautiful
begin to make¬†all¬†things well…
so much happens when the human spirit within,
rears Its Head to
yell shout whisper
hey everything just shut up- downright proper – and just
get well :))
….
( I love your blogs – may they like you, live forever… ūüôā KUDOS!
( NOT TO FORGET ALL THE GREAT PEOPLE THAT WROTE IN WITH VALUABLE INSIGHTS…NEVER CEASES TO THRILL ME. THANK YOU SO MUCH).
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