Blogs R Us?

In a deconstructed way, most (good, great) fiction and (all?)
great poetry has an element of raw truthfullness in it. Whatever
it is that's being played out, articulated or storytold, the
great written word has an air of confessional finality and
innate believability in it. There are times when you, as the
reader are overwhelmed by the impact of a sentence here, a
phrase there, and there are times when you feel for the writer,
really live his or her experience, and realize that below all
that literary construction is a story as real as yours. A
story as common as yours too, but made unique -- in all
probability -- because of the ruthless objectivity and
frankness with which it is told.

This happens a lot with those who read poetry. In fact, for
many people for the poem to grab them "by the scruff of the
neck" or for it to "leave them winded", as if by a blow in
the guts, the poem has to have intensity and be burst of
raw emotion. The refuge not resorted to by speech, the
catharsis that is expected to balm over a deeply ingrained
wound, the angst that is so guilelessly shared.

Not surprising then, at one time, most blogs also had a
similar spine of ruthlessness, honesty and "coming out of
the closet" kind of confessional spirit. Sometimes you in
fact, even felt as if you have intruded into someone's
personal space or are reading through an immaculately
kept "spare nothing, chronicle everything" kind of daily
diary.

Oh yes, it wasn't long back ago when many used to have
"livejournals"; a blog by any other name would smell as...

Then, as we all know, google happened and its search engine
got more and more powerful (read intrusive), Facebook happened
and a lot of the time that one spends "online" got eaten up
there. As also, pretty soon many undesirables (and the literal
types) became part of the blog-reading audiences and so on...

Which means, now most blogs have gone "under the radar" and
become as guardedly insipid as most of us readers who are
connected to the intrusiveness of the Internet all the day.

Unless one considers all those "bloggers" who are "below
the radar" as it is and choose not to be crawled by search
engines, don't really care for what the world thinks of them;
whose blog posts are more or less (in terms of intimacy, honesty and spirit) prefixed with the words "Dear Diary".

Hmmm...

A train to Delhi and Varanasi -- my gullibility travels (again)

A couple of days back, I have had the most peculiar dream;
that I am in a truck (or some kind of a cargo carrier, anyway)
wearing an expression of absolute tiredness, totally beat
and sweat-drenched and evidently in shock. Shock on
discovering that though I have my rucksack with me, I have
forgotten quite a lot of stuff behind -- namely my sleeping
bag, my tent, my camera tripod, a diary and so on...

Thankfully it was just a dream and I woke up to reality and
the fact that its been long since I have tripped in a way that
needed a sleeping bag and a tent.

But yeah, if you dig dreams the way I do -- this dream tells you
two things (or at least that's what I think);

i.) I have been planning a major trip and been thinking of
roughing it out too.
ii.) I am a bad traveler; at least in terms of losing things
while on the road.

And if you thought so, you would be right. Because I have been
contemplating a long trip up north -- starting from Kullu and
heading to Kedarnath and Badrinath and a bit of a bigger hike
into the snowy expanses all around. And yes, I am a bad traveler
and have lost quite a bit of stuff on the road. A list that
includes 2 pairs of hawai chappals, one set of gum boots
(this was in Ladakh in 2005 when my gear was bungeed down in a
fashion that would have made any tinker go green with envy), a
pair of Bermudas (this was somewhere after Pune when I was
returning back from a ride to Gujurat; I had the Bermudas spread
on the seat for some more comfort to my sore but and then they
just took wing somewhere), a Lonely Planet, a diary with detailed
trip logs (somewhere near Gira waterfalls in Dangs way back from
Ladakh in 2005), a tripod and a sleeping bag (at Barr in Rajasthan,
on way back from Ladakh in 2005 -- stolen while I was making a
STD call) and more helmets than I can remember...

Got to do with either the strain of being on the road, or not having
anyone watching my back or to do with my continued gullibility, but
then there you are, yes I have lost my fair share of this and that
on the road.

Oh well, while I am at it, I need to also make a clean breast of a
fact that would be downright criminal for any self-respecting
photographer (arguably also a traveler). I have also managed to
lose the lens hoods; of both the 18-105 and the 55-300 (Nikon
AF-VR) lenses I currently have. One was on the highway while I
was still getting used to the D-90 and the other was again on
the road (on a dirt track near my place, while I was on the
cycle -- way back from shooting nesting weaver birds).

So...ummm...well, hota hai yaar. Joke's on me and my gullibility,
you see.

So...ummm...well, it travels again, this time in the relative comfort
and order of a train. Heading out to Delhi (to meet a schoolmate whom
I haven't seen in more than 18 years) and thereafter to Varanasi and
the trip called Om Namaha Shivaya. And since a part of the journey
is unreserved, this should be fun :-)

No, for once I don't anticipate losing anything; but yes I look
forward to finding some poetry!

The fascinating world of my butterflies

Picturise a late morning -- 11ish -- setting, of grass that has a dazzle
that can only be called "green gold", along with a wealth of Lantana,
bramble and scrub and other wildflowers, under a wealth of sunlight
pouring in from dazzling blue skies. *

Amidst this "canvas" for the photographically inclined, now picturise
the flight -- of specks of bright colour -- hither and tither, this way
and that, now soaring up to be lost in the light of the skies, now
dipping down to vanish into the green of the verdure.

If you can follow the speck of bright colour long enough and do it
again and again on a daily basis (and google for it and land up at
places like this) probably you can recognize one of them as an individual "type" as opposed to "hmmm, isn't
that a butterfly?"

Okay, if you are an "old butterfly hand" kindly excuse me for
this whiff of what may appear to be grandstanding (it's delight,
that too childish, in fact) but yes, I have got good enough to
identify some butterflies in flight (and most when they are
basking) and in fact I already have a substantial list (one that
will hopefully grow) of my butterflies.

So hold my camera while I type them down, will you please?

Common Rose
Crimson Rose
Banded Swallowtail / Blue Bottle / Common Jay
Pale Grass Blue
Common Tiger
Striped Albatross
Leopard
Red Helen
Lime Butterfly
Danaid Eggfly (male / female)
Common Jezebel
Blue Pansy
Peacock Pansy
Lemon Pansy
Yellow Pansy
Chocolate Pansy
Striped Tiger
Plain Tiger
Blue Tiger
Tawny Coaster
Common Castor
Anderson's Grass Yellow
Blue Spotted Crow / King Crow (male / female)
Zebra Blue
Pale Grass Blue
Common Cerulean
Grass Demon
Common Gull
The Pioneer
Mottled Emigrant
Common Emigrant
The Baronet
Brown Awl

Yes, many of these butterflies have even resulted in pretty good
captures! Which is like an added joy on top of the fascinating
reward of just seeing and identifying the butterfly.

As I write this, its been almost three months of lots and lots
of painstaking field work, of being scratched in the bushes,
of being led a dance in what one thinks is stalking and the
absolute disregard of time in what is involved in
"chasing a butterfly", but nonetheless it has been worth it.

As has been the tanning of my sun-exposed body and bleaching of
the wilderness of my hair.

Because, for every proper "capture" of a butterfly, there are
countless more that take root in me in the form of poems.

And capture or not, poem or not, its humbling to "see" a
butterfly and both enlightening and delightful to thereafter
read up on it and know it as an individual, as yet another
lovely living thing that makes nature what it is -- a
fascinating world.

Here's to you -- my butterflies, may your tribe(s) increase!

* Sad, but true...it hasn't rained much in Hyderabad this year.
Normally I would tear my hair out and complain and bawl a lot.
But this time I was getting something built, okay? Also, you
cannot do much photography of butterflies. Ask me :-)

"You write well...your honesty is admirable..."

The nice people on the matrimonial website where I have had a
"paid" membership have given me an extension of three days. And
prior to the expiration of my "premium" membership, they even
reminded me to renew my membership fast...and to avail the special
spotlight feature for my profile.

Which is all very fine and in fact pretty forward-looking and
customer focused and market led of them. But "spotlight" on
what? Pray?

My ears? My poetic angst? Or my "admirable honesty"?

Oh well, probably I am just being strongly satirical here or
you may want to call this a mild case of gallows humour (of the
matrimonial kind) but yes (and I am sure you know it too)
matrimonial sites are where the action is, for all those intent
on getting hitched "fast" and "settling" down and it is where the
posturing and masquerading and marketing (that goes along with
showing oneself in the best light)is...

Yes, I have been on these sites before and no I wasn't expecting
miraculous results, but still...

And yes, as usual, I wonder if I am probably too open, easy-going
artless and unsophisticated for my own good. Or probably intent
on being truthful to a fault. And as you can very well expect,
these approaches don't work in a world that is getting more and
more literal everyday, when most of us are led to believe that
we are perfect (and virtuous and settled down) and should ensure
we stay that way by allying with others who are the same.

The company we keep and all that marketing jargon if you will...

So I guess -- by extension -- I am a misfit on matrimonial sites
too. Or maybe the ladies (or their chaperones) I have been
fortunate enough to interact with google me and land up here.

Well you do the math thereafter.

"Angsty poet" + "rootless motorcyclist" + "romantic tree lover" +
"unsettled consultant" + "obscure writer" doesn't add up to much,
no?

And then again, there would be the other stereotyping at play,
(since this blog mentions my being Hard of Hearing, rants about
my troubles when employed, questions my employability and so on)
making me a prospective minefield, I guess...:-)

Whatever it be, the sum total is that I don't probably weigh in
as substantial enough to be pursued as a prospective alliance.
Let's leave all that jazz about intelligence, compatibility,
common interests, etc.

Or, everyone is just too tired and expects to find the "finished
item" who has excellent phone skills, travels extensively (which
not only means he is culturally polished -- and has hotel napkins
et al to gift -- but can immediately "come" meet up) earns
big bucks, etcetera, etcetera...

Who knows, I am certainly not a woman intent (allegedly) on
getting married and I am certainly not someone who
understands them that well. Nor am I someone who is unaware of
what an average reader's reaction would be on reading "hearing
aids" on a matrimonial profile.

But then, this blog post is not about all that and in
fairness, to each one his / her own. What I find surprising is
that of a substantial number of those who "liked" my profile,
(and went on to praise it too) not many showed any interest in
taking things ahead. A bit indicative of a mindset that goes
like -- "Poetry, travel, photography, motorcycling is fine,
but I would prefer someone who is a regular guy doing a
regular job".

Oh well, like I said before -- to each, his / her own
and (no, I don't go by gender stereotypes) maybe that is
what is called "feminine logic" or whatever else...

I do know that I have been a bit too frank with that profile,
but it will stay that way, thank you.

And yes, if you have seen it and said / felt "you write well..."
hey...why, thank you! And wish you all the best for a happily
married life!

P.S. -- This post is not taking any potshots at matrimonial sites.
I still feel they are the best way to meet people; else I wouldn't
be a paid member on one. This post is about my own experience
on a particular matrimonial site and indicative (if at all) of
what confounds people like me or indicative (if at all) of how the
marriageable among the fairer sex (or their chaperones) look at
"getting married".

P.P.S -- This one is not needed -- especially if you know me :-)
Yes, I don't believe in gender stereotypes and I also believe
that it is the man who should do the wooing. But there is only
so much one can do, without "phone skills" and if the other
party gets literal and panicky...no?

The glittering happiness of three Goldfish

I just changed the water in the Goldfish tank. Meaning, I just
poured out all the water (after transferring the fish out into
a small bowl), gave the gravel and the inner surface of the
tank a hand scrub, gave the plastic plant one, set it in again
and filled up the tank.

With common tap water.

And then -- when I put Tonu, Gonu and Donu back into "their"
tank, it is as if I have put them back in a paradise of bliss
and happiness. For one, their glitter has the sparkle of a
beatific smile and for another they are stiller and calmer then
before. You could say that they are floating serenely in the
middle of the tank, enjoying and thrilling in the
purity -- of water.

Even if it is common tap water.



Oh well, am telling you half the story? Yes, the other half is
when they keep making a beeline for the surface, very evidently
distressed if you see how they "blow" bubbles; it almost seems
they are coming up to breathe. This is all of course when
the water has gone all cloudy and bad, almost like a cesspool.

Well, if you keep fish and have a bigger tank than mine, you in
all probability have an aerator and some kind of fancy breathing
apparatus, but even in that case I am sure you will agree with me.
Fish in fresh water glitter their happiness, don't they?

Incidentally, this is not the first time I am keeping (and caring)
for fish at home. My earlier experiences were in Orissa, when
I was 10-12 years old and used to get pond water and half-dead
fish (from the fry and fingerlings left over when nets teeming
with Pokhuri fish are drawn in) and a attempt creating aquariums
from one and two kg Horlicks and Maltova jars. To wonder why
the fish would belly up and die, sometimes just overnight.

It wasn't all that bad either, I also used to "breed" Eels and
Catfish in the ditches all around my place when I was a bit older
and learned; and those fish lived longer too -- before disappearing
in the give-away smell of fried fish from a stealthy neighbour's
kitchen.

Anyway, if my memory serves me right, these three little goldfish
have completed more than 100 days. Or rather the fish bowl has. Oh
yes, one of the first two fish died within 4 days. Then I got another
two and they too died. And then I got another two. I am happy to say
that all seems to be well in fishland, with the last two of them here
for more than 2 months now.



Some more facts about the fish fellows -- the names were given by
the little man; or rather I proposed and he seconded the same.
I may be wrong but Tonu is the original "survivor" and a bit aloof
and the biggest of the three.

And oh yes, like any thing that needs "doing", cleaning the fish
bowl is a chore. Also, a responsibility, because "before you know why,
fish could belly up and die!". And responsibilities are scary and
painful. In my case, the pain happened as I slipped and fell (on my
behind) while changing the water at around 2.00 in the morning.

But still, its worth it all to see the glittering happiness
of Tonu,Gonu and Donu. Especially when they catch the sunlight,
streaming in from the skylight, over the landing where their
bowl is.