All posts tagged: India

Food and the world on a new yogi’s mind

It was time the sun arrived when he decided going to bed again. After last night chocolate truffle the cough had soared. In his sleep he chanced upon the pizzas of fat lulu because only they had items where he could find some vegetarian ones. The voice inside him for many months had been asking him to leave dairy. Even when it is the best time to be a cow in India, he thought, milk like few other well marketed products have been projected as a necessity to humanity. So he started writing alternatives whenever any possible eatable came to his mind. He wrote it on a small diary he was keeping in the right cheek of his behind. But while on the road that led to an elite market, he saw a fruit man selling in February a watermelon. Is there something called a season ? Because time seems to have taken a back seat. But he stopped, thinking all fruits are good. When Manu Called he was counting his chewing the papaya in …

Lovers

His year began with a cold shower last valentines morning, of course it was February, of course it was cold. For many years he dismissed the love day by saying valentines’s mother was a pagan and did not believe in Christ herself, rather was in love with a tree outside her home. So he would love a tree that stood outside their home. She would rebel even thinking about going outside and say I detest this urban theatre. Every one is a clone of the other. Look a likes inside outside. He left mother for school where he found children crushing and tearing a chit that was given to them to call their parents. Later the painter came and looked at the plant pots and said no. They cannot be done. Twenty five years had passed. Then one day somebody complained about the school running in the park of a society. The notice came and school was shut. On the closing day school organised a reunion inviting all the ex parents where they served them …

LAST FLIGHT OF AN OWL

He kept looking towards the sky while floating in the water kept for cows. Big round button yellow eyes like ever watching you do the doing. His death seemed such that at one time I felt he chose it. But would a predator or anyone can choose his own death? May be. But When Maharaj arrived, he first closed his eyes. May be he needed someone to close his eyes before it could be plucked out. May be he earned this burial. To only put a stop to this cycle. May his body rests and the spirit awakens. Aum Shanti

A view from the Car

Today started with Tiya mam forming a laugh on the white board. I had been photographing it. I woke up today waiting, like I had been doing since November. Chatterjee arrives late but it never wobbles me as it is not him. It is divine intervention. Lately enjoying photographing my food, purely for statistical reasons. It just happens to give a real view of your daily choices for the body that is the ultimate temple. We were going to the pat. The first one of the five. Also after the mountain fill of methane and worldly dump that made me choke through out the morning walk over the black mountain. We ticked another mountain off. And it bloomed evergreen Bougainvilleas like. Pink and other colours. Balloons over Krishna. Matsyadesh/The fish country and Pandava warriors. Days are pleasant. Sun is shining from far like a star. Moon chilling in the night. Gana arrivèd with lots of sweets but I don’t like them anymore. once after they enter the magic system, they shut the whole nerve colony. …

The Rajpath and the Ruins

His yesterday’s guilt made him wake up dot at four in the brahm mahurat. Even though he left home at five. We reached on the Rajpath in the darkness of the dawn. Never was Delhi be heard and felt from the pride and the energy with which they marched past. With the bands of each regiment leading the way. The drums, the beats, the smell of the young sweat, the valor in the air. The discipline, the clacking of the iron bar beneath their marching boots to the tar ground woke us all up. The mist, vapours coming out of mouths while a woman officer commanding against the street lamps of Rajpath takes you close to colonial India’s cold faced armies. The varieties and improvisation that has gone through in making them could be seen. It was there day. It was our day. It was a day to feel Indian when only wind moved when the national anthem rang through our nerves together. Every being was still but the wind. A day that turned long. …

The Hymn

When I returned to Ishbar that night, Shiban seemed speechless. But Dr Kaul looked at him with satisfaction giving an expression like “then he has seen.” And soon the moment came to explain to him what he had seen. We sat around fire, while waiting for the food to arrive. Open your ears, said Dr Kaul and he began speaking like reciting an over practised hymn. “The men in the east, he said, are trees; those in the south are flocks of animals; those in the west are wild plants. Last, those in the north like ourselves, who cried out while they ate other men, were the waters. When the collective sound of chewing filled the air, he started explaining about eating. The act of eating is a violence that causes what is living, in its many forms, to disappear. Whether grass, plants, trees, animals, or human beings, the process is the same. There is always a fire that devours and a substance that is devoured. This violence, bringing misery and torment, will one day …