Category Archives: LIFE

The Age of Rude ?

She stared through my face as if she never saw me –  stunned, I waited. Maybe there was a mistake. Maybe I was expecting too much, but the woman wouldn’t look at me, wouldn’t acknowledge my presence. It was as if I did not exist.

The next day we met again, this time in an auditorium. She talked to everyone else, but not even a nodding good-morning hint at me, as if I weren’t there.  These were new family friends, not even distant relatives, no histories exchanged. No I hadn’t stolen her best dress at school, no I wasn’t an artist rival, nothing. She was a mom like me, a citizen of this same earth, but she wouldn’t look at me.

Its possible she was just tired, or thought I had nothing of use to say to her, or be. Is possible she was having a bad day, is possible she was ill, is possible she didn’t like my face, or hairstyle, or work.

But the question followed me all day and night, it stood there between my mirror and me the next morning, it sat in my toothpaste and hair brush, my shoes and sandwich.

I asked my family if I was unlikable, I asked the dishes and newspapers, asked my morning tea and sadding– heart. Yeah Sadding. Like Madding Crowd. 

This morning, I looked at images from 2016, and most of them were images of loneliness. Someone somewhere was either hurtful or being hurt. Where are the dancers and restaurateurs ? The movers and shakers are all earthquake or badder news. You must pardon my grammer, its the way I feel today.

What makes a person Rude ? ss-161216-yip-18_d9b16fd06c848a2e90e3d649508758d6-nbcnews-ux-1024-900

What makes a nation Rude  ?
Why is there hate enough to birth students of Hate ? I do not know, but look at the pictures. There’s a few left, waiting for Hope

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I’m ashamed to even complain of small insults …. …

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What made something as beautiful as a human heart, such a refugee

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We spare no one, nothing, to bless our own business

The day will come, only the dead will be envied. ss-161216-yip-17_d1a89f3c20634ba4f5070806a97c45d2-nbcnews-ux-1024-900

Are we prepared ? Sure, this isn’t about Christmas trees. Should it ?

It’s a ‘ madding crowd ‘  like T/ Harding said. 🙂 We ache for Laughter. We are thirsty for real food, we hurt for naked joys – we are beggars of joy, peace. Sellers of smiles, agents of change like never before. We do not mean to be Rude. We just dont know any other way to get through the day.  There are ravines between us. Misunderstanding. Gossip. Evil schedules, agenda. we murder with sweet tongues. ss-161216-yip-43_b9bc04da4ce709297b898c6d66a0781c-nbcnews-ux-1024-900

These are the days we should cherish though. Colours have never been this beautiful. Movies, music, books, people, speeches – they are all pretty moving.

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We as a human race are more sensitive than ever before, more shaken, more privileged, more torn, more wise, more expressive, more cunning, shrewd, street smart, savvy, we are sharper, richer, faster, we are at our most beautiful, yes we are….

ss-161216-yip-14_ac305bcd00109045f2d8afa7700d200a-nbcnews-ux-1024-900ss-161216-yip-50_b9bc04da4ce709297b898c6d66a0781c-nbcnews-ux-1024-900                                                                                                                                Break through my Harsh ! God, we may not be Good enough for each other, but remind us that we as a Human Race are Indispensable ?                                                                                      424665_406549232738048_1671826253_n

Gift me a Smile, that I may give another today. I seem to have run out of Apps.

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Harvest blessed

You harvest me

like a field

of swelling sleepy grain, waiting

for rain

Musetouch Visual Arts Magazine

Musetouch Visual Arts Magazine

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Filed under LIFE, Love, Miracles, People, Personal Reflections, Personality, Songs, Visual art, Word Press

Wh -aaat ?

At the Music shop everything stood silent ; everything except chords within. Have you heard your soul sing ? Almost against your wish ?  Haven’t you ?

C’mon, Your soul – it raved, ranted, fought, wept, swore when ever it could, would. But then again it sang when it willed. When the tide turned, when it hit rock or sky, it soared like an eagle on wings you never knew you curled within, yes there – right there…

then it sang.

The words startle, shove you off the  cliff, off the shelf you built over the years, flings you off your fortress, your strongholds – It sings for you with words never uttered, chords untouched just lying there waiting wanting plucking at your throat. This morning as I write this there’s music in my skin seeping through as if that were normal. As if there’s more to a planet than sunrise and mortal joys. I don’t know much but this is getting clear – we have soul buddy, we have soul. And that soul has gates waiting to be opened …

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Just a wee planet

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So we talked another hour after the movie ” Cliffhanger’ a needless re-run, but it provoked Maji to ask, ” What keeps humans warm when everything out there is cold frost” ( see movie, a perfect ‘signs of the times’ movie ha:) 

To which Noe answered, “The heart.”

Maji,”What keeps the heart going?”

Noe,” Life.”  ( Maji rolls eyes and starts to ask ‘ what is life..’ but gives up).

Which got me thinking out loud about how the earth is just a wee planet going on and on in space with nothing to support her and how gravity is limited to us, and how day and night does not matter in calendars outside the sun, but here we are going on and on about human issues, fashions, passions, all temporary pursuits, but out there, I mean get on a space bus, and there’s a whole University out there that has other agenda, and one lil rock from some place has to hit Earth‘s forehead to get us into non – gravity agenda – that is the essence of Life… .. ?

Maji kind of liked that. This morning the sky grinned down at me and asked a few questions, which was my heart thumping new pulse into fingers that I never knew I had. It feels good somehow to know how temporary, how permanent, how transient, how eternal we are ; it feels good to know the heart listens to an order  it bows to,

why do I like that …

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Filed under ASIA, Bengaluru, Blog, Challenges, Faith, Hope, Inspirational, LIFE, music, Personal, Universe

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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Beautiful Bloggers

( This Post utterly inspired by a fun 20 mins ?  with Sakshi Nanda,Sfurti SinhaRekha Vikesh :
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thank you for responding to my Post yesterday OH – AM 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… 🙂 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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Image of You

I am a portrait 

in Your image,

a photograph,

growing, edge-less,

how could I be a picture of  You ?

 

Deep within, its true, I know

I am a breathing testament

of You..

dear God,

what a reminder …

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Seeing with ears ECHO LOCATION

i HAVE POSTED THIS VIDEO ON ANOTHER BLOG OF MINE LYRIX&LIFE, but am fascinated by this one and needed to re-post, for I see my own son in it. This whole thing of Echo vision and sounds bouncing off objects, walls. People have asked how Johann moves without assistance of the cane or a guide. I am sure all blind people can use sound – do check this one out. Am crying LAUGHTER… …

when we re-located, from Mumbai to Bangalore, a rented house for few years, then a home of our own, it was so tough. But those were the years he grew, and learnt to talk, ask , vibe…

oh dear God, the problem was our answer :))))))))))))))))

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Aroma of Life

innerdialect

innerdialect

English: NASA image of Mahanadi River

English: NASA image of Mahanadi River

Some of my worst and best memories are flavoured with the same scents… funny na ? At least 10,000 known ‘smells’, in this shared space we call Life. 

I have lived in some extreme places – coastal, jungle, urban, mountain, island ;  through a Mumbai riot stuck in  first floor Kebab-Korner.

Kebab Korner was freshly painted, new enamel and incense sticks mingled with the seasoned masalas,  crushed pineapple..

A mob had gathered outside the restaurant. Mumbai riots, and it was late night. No one knew there would be a riot ; I would have stayed home !

Match Box hai kya… pooch raha hai..”,  ( do you have a match box, they are asking ) , our restaurant- waiter whispered to the five or six of us, in that tiny eatery. The mob outside were asking for matches to burn down this Joint. Was that a joke, was it real ?

Kebabs cooled in our plates…. then like they had come, the mob left. ( There was no smell of petrol or kerosene, or diesel. “Mumu tailors’ in the same street was burned, with three other shops.The riot and the silences that followed were never forgotten, there was that smell of fear, no music in the streets, no street pedlars, no vada pav, or lassi – wallah. Just the importance of water, milk, the morning papers). When the sun came out the next day I sat in our 1st floor balcony savouring the aroma of our sun-dried linen, as if It had pushed away the bad..

As I write this, the feelings  are real. They bring in Scents, trails, and I am unable to sort them out neatly. They’re like too many perfume bottles in one shop  : my mind ! Childhood and the in between years mingle, tangle, with surprising ease. Hey I didn’t know our noses and minds, worked together this much….

Odour Amour

Odour Amour

at a Farm last week,traces of yester- year re-visited like old mates  whom one recognised immediately. We kicked off  shoes, settled into the room and that familiar fragrance of sun dried- sheets filled my senses….

Jungle queen ‘ ( flower)  scents  sharp – pungent blew in from trees outside along with smells of a drying lake –  rain- thickened mud, mosquitoes. Lamps hung over tables in the open air misty with monsoon. ..

..Ghee rice and curries.Pickles seasoned in mustard oil ( ah the cook was from Orissa!) ; curd,sliced onions and minced green chilies, Kebabs. A bon- fire

Memories ran in on barefeet,  such a Tsunami of childhood memories.  Here now, at Morritt’s Farm ( near Bangalore), among geese and rabbits, there was a fun -bullock cart ride, bright yellow painted cart and happy bulls! Oh it brought back, as if real close up, my young fisher- friend Thandala ; we were 8 years old. ..

she  reeked of mustard oil and the sea. Of Jasmine flowers . Cow dung dried cakes burnt in an oven at their stove, there was pokhalo rice  – soured rice soaked  for days in rice water and served with onion, green chilly, a heap of salt, dried fish, or  coriander spiked curry .Ay, aromas  and associations are fantastic mates!   

I never really understood how I got to go on a yellow and black pug-nosed bus to school but Thandala stayed back and helped her mother sell fish.Sometimes we drew water from the well, sweet cool water when the water tanks went dry . Oh there were shells to pick – sometimes stinky shells sheeeeeesh! 

There was Chakrapani, Dad’s attendant who chewed paan : the lime, and tobacco in it  could hit you if you stood close, but he wore a  loud local village perfume ” Rojh !” ( Rose ). The night the mad dog bit him, Chakrapani was so drunk on local arrack he called it a  ‘ Mad Jackal ‘ ( the dog) .  Weeks after that he soaked himself in Antispetic lotions and dettol ;                                                                      Thandala’s mother, Achamma found it very funny ; she never drank but smoked bidis inside her mouth, oh she could talk with that clenched bidi, its acrid smoke drugged the air  as she helped my mother in the kitchen ;  they ground at a small round grinding stone, baked, made pickles and ghee …

English: Ripe & Unripe fruits of the Curry lea...

fruit of curry leaf

ummmmm…

home made ghee in horlicks bottles ( recycled !:),seasoned with curry leaf, roasting to molten  gold in the kadai, as we ran back in from school.  Sometimes Achamma brought us  toddy to drink, wrapped in a cone shaped out of coarse areca leaf…

English: Crayola Silly Scents

Dear God, how many flavours sift in. They say we can recall 10,000 easily, but here am flooded with things I forgot I remembered.

Paper….

fresh printed books. Old books in the library, the pages buttery thick with older prints and dust. My first box of wax crayons : what words can even say what that was like. Almost as good as rain on hot dry mud. Like grass heavy with dew.

Mahanadi River,Cuttack,Orissa

Mahanadi River,Cuttack,Orissa

Have you lay down in grass or flat beaches till they searched for you ?

False Point Lighthouse/ island, Paradip Port. We had to cross the Mahanadi river. Fagoo Behera the boatman shiny with sweat and dried salt, dark velvet skin and pure white smile.

Where am I ? Am on an angry river/ sea crossing in a tiny boat, the sickly sweet smells of river banks wet boats and reed. Baskets of milk cans from town – and my mother’s picnic food : Dhal, hot rice, or lime rice. Or biriyani…

Are you saying we have five senses ? Kiddin, right? We must have at least seven or eight. Am sure now there are rooms in our heads like galleries where we store things we do not know we stored. Scents, images, sounds, words, feelings all live together .. see I can feel the sway of that river licking at the sides of the boat, just recalling mud smells ! Okay yes, the brain is a terrific organisation, I get that, but ..

never mind..

here now,decades later, Bangalore looks like its about rain. Am back home, Lavender fresh and stored in a little Ambi pur vial in our car …. why do I love Lavender? Why did I ask for Lavender ?  Should’ve said , ” River mud” or ” First Rains”, na , Lady Moghli that I am !

What’s with the Lavender ?

It’s working for me and our  two younger kids. We are three hyperactive monsters and highly possible candidates for road rage, so, Aunty Moa said Lavender was a good choice, it calms people down.

What am asking is, where in my village/ island/ mountain ( we once lived on a mountain called Dolphins’ Nose, Visakapatnam, that Mt. was filled with Night Queen trees…) where was I….? 

.. oh yes. Where in all my travels and travails with ‘ match boxes ‘ and riot -mobs, mad jackal and bidi – smoking village women, could I have had an olfactory meeting with ‘ Lavender”… that it so draws me to it ?

Dear God, how many smells are there – good, bad, or ugly ? Wait I just remembered.  My first airplane travel alone, KLM, I was dying, positively dying of fright. The Air hostess told me it was just air turbulence, we would live.

” Look down, that’s Finland...” she whispered and looked at me half worried I was travelling alone.

I sat up straight trying to reassure her I was a big girl now. Yes I visibly calmed down. It was not Finland’s lush coast, or the Hostess’s smile. It was her perfume, Lavender.

Now I know.

It took an Indi-bloggn’ Ambipur moment here to understand why I  insist on Lavender all the time. Not just me, my little son who is blind and lives in a world of mostly four senses. For him Smells are Key. Oh so very Key. It leads him ,warns him of danger, or good. We share so much  when we can relate to rain or flowers, even the smells of a storm, he smells out people. And smiles. Tears. Anger. Fear. And sunshine.

Yeah I better shut up now, can go on and on on this…. 🙂

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

ALL of the above Post is True, verifiable and as Unabridged as I could make it. 

Lavender

www.facebook.com/AmbiPurIndia

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Earth’s Open secrets

cucoon

Cucoons – like us, deep inside, waiting growing, breathing, living dying, breaking, tearing, crushed, expelled, shed skin and diminished, to excel ;  shellled, to spread wing, from little feet to skies….

DSC00276DSC00057
DSC00056 PiCourtesy RayCatcher

DSC00059Image0299-5Fields looking to the Sun ( from Home Fires Collection)

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