Donating body is noble but...?

    And:

 palampurbeats's  Ist Anniversary:  musings 

There was a death in our neighbourhood on 3rd of November. Well, what is so unusual about it, you might ask.  Sad, but this is an inescapable fact of worldly existence, you would add. But there is one thing noteworthy in the present case.  This neighbour of ours (who served the postal department with distinction), Shri Surinder Bhardwaj - a gentle, amiable, soft-spoken, kind-hearted but clear-headed soul – standing up and above our customs, conventions and रीति-रिवाज़  which at times stifle our rational approach to life and world, had opted to donate his body to a hospital (Medical College, Tanda) for medical research. To ensure that his family members suffer no hassles in the execution of his wish, he had painstakingly and meticulously completed all the tiresome formalities and the necessary paper-work well in time. But after his death, when it came to actually handing over the body, his son Sandeep and  other kin had a shock awaiting them. The doctor-in-charge at Tanda hospital came up with a new pre-condition to be fulfilled before the body could be accepted: a certificate of death from no other than an MBBS doctor. Taken aback, Sandeep argued with the doctor that all the necessary formalities have already been carefully taken care of and no such pre-condition exists. Still, if indeed it is so, they could procure a certificate from any RMP. But no. The good doctor was adamant and unrelenting. Flabbergasted, Sandeep then talked to a senior doctor-friend at the local Government hospital and told him about the impasse, seeking his help and advice. He agreed and opined that there was no such pre-condition and that the body should be gratefully accepted by the hospital in question. But the stalemate continued. Then, out of sheer exasperation, the grieving son lost his cool. He told the stubborn, insensitive doctor: “Look here. It was my father’s dear wish that we are dutifully trying to carry out. And you are unnecessarily creating difficulties instead of being helpful…without the slightest care or empathy for the shocked state of mind we are in. If you can be so callous and unwilling then I will have  no option but to arrange for the funeral instead. But before that I will call the press and expose your insensitive and non-cooperative attitude in the matter…” and so on. That said, the wheel turned the other way at once. Realising that this kind of adamant attitude by the hospital against a noble act by someone when exposed, would at once go viral and show the hospital and the doctor in poor light, the doctor’s stiffness and obstinacy all melted at once. All due help was then extended to the family and the body was at last accepted.

We all know there is a crying need of dead bodies in all hospitals. Most of the bodies that the hospitals are able to procure with difficulty are unclaimed ones and not in a very good physical state for medical practicals and research. Any good hospital should therefore feel immensely grateful and lucky and in fact go out of the way to have a body being willingly offered at its doorstep, and facilitate the whole process instead of creating hurdles. Further, the maze of procedural formalities which deter potential do-gooders from such kind acts should be simplified and the hospital administration should play a pro-active role in smoothening the process. In the present case even the refrigeration facility which was locally available wasn’t extended and the kin of the deceased were asked to arrange ice themselves in order to keep the body in the right state for its proper use.

 How many of us, trapped in our orthodoxy, rituals and customs, have the nobility, greatness and generosity of mind to rise above the self, above the sentiments of the family, above rigid, insular mindsets and volunteer to donate the body for the cause of science? Very, very few. Therefore the rare few in our midst whose hearts throb with idealism and social spirit need to be saluted and worshipped. Shri Surinder Bhardwaj was one such exalted soul deserving of all praise and applause.

And in contrast, the attitude and behaviour of the doctor in question is a matter of shame. It also speaks of the sickening bureaucratic tangles, convoluted procedures and tedious paperwork that kill initiative, prevent people from doing some social good, promote mediocrity/incompetency, fuel corruption and hinder our path to progress and prosperity.

                                                                  *

Musings on palampurbeats's Ist Anniversary    

* When you do things from your soul, you feel a river moving in you, joy: Rumi

* I would like to live/ Like a river flows. Carried by the surprise/ Of its own unfolding: John O' Donohue   

     

Dear friends,

Well, this is the 52^nd post; in other words, palampurbeats’s first-anniversary post. This year-long journey has been quite an exciting one; very satisfying too. It gave me a window of opportunity to vent out my steam and write without fear and inhibitions on any topic under the sky that seized my fancy: politics;  social issues; Palampur’s woes and worries, it’s steady loss of ‘green’ and pristine beauty; translations of some poems that I loved; nature and its wonders that make life worth living…birds in particular; a leaf or two from my own personal life and some inland travels; tears and sorrow on the deaths of some beloved and respected ones; and not the least, on the never-to-die theme of LOVE which makes our hearts tick...and at times stop! I also took the liberty to dip my pen in my ‘poetic inkwell’ so to say, and dish out some verses both in English and Hindi...not without some trepidation whether it would agree with the refined taste-buds of my reader-friends or not. Well,  I don't know for sure whether you liked it or not: the stuff I churned out week after week, every Saturday, except one miss and (on a Sunday, on one occasion). But for me posting these weekly blogs - as well as the introductory lines (on Facebook and WhatsApp) in verse - I have enjoyed and loved every bit...especially taking pot shots at this tribe of power-hungry, unscrupulous politicians masquerading as “public servants” (noble exceptions notwithstanding) who have made such a terrible mess of our great country, as also our charming hill state.

My readership hasn’t been huge but steady and growing, and, believe me, incredibly global. After my own country, my posts have had readers in the USA, Canada, several countries in Europe, South East Asia, the Middle East, Russia, Ukraine, Japan, Taiwan and  South Korea. What more can one expect as a response to a very modest and humble endeavour? Further, there are friends who have been commenting regularly on my posts, some on the blog site, most others on WhatsApp and Facebook. I have been profoundly overwhelmed and am beholden to them for their abiding support. That has been the most essential fuel, the tonic I required to keep the little flame of writing, burning bright. I have been fully conscious of my limited writing abilities, though. Neither I wrote, nor envisaged penning anything great or earth-shaking. But it is true that what I wrote has been straight from my heart and without prejudice or bias. Still, if willy-nilly, I have hurt anybody’s feelings in any way, my unqualified apologies!

Now, at this juncture, I am in a dilemma: Should I carry on? Or should I now navigate some fresh new waters?..Why not sit all alone beside some gurgling Himalayan stream wrapped in my own thoughts and string  garlands  using words as beads?...Should I reappear now in some new avatar, or call it quits? 
I hate monotony and stagnation, and adore change. Life, for me, is a river. It must flow on, taking the rough and smooth, the rise and fall, the soft sands of happiness or the rough boulders and rocks of sorrow and sadness  in its stride. I don’t know what course my life’s river will take next: through some sun-lit beach of bliss, or a turbulent, choppy run! Be that as it may, I am, for now, taking a  break. Till then keep your fingers crossed and once again thanks for having been with me!

My thousand million hugs and kisses to you all!  Oh, boy!  I loved you all so much...

And (though preachy, but) my last word:
 'Be like  a river. Be open. Flow.' (Julie Connor).
 Embrace the whole world. It is  beautiful and...all yours. Only, you should have eyes without blinkers, a warm loving heart, a spirit with wings and without knots, and wide open arms!
Adieu! नमस्कार। ख़ुदा हाफिज़। 

   

                       

                                                                   ***

"We mean happiness for you":Myna

                         

Hi! 
I am Myna, speaking from the courtyard of this rather silly, unworldly, but your friendly blogger-cum-lover of a man: Subhash.
Yes, chirpy, garrulous Myna. सारिका (ever-flowing), पीतनेत्रा (yellow-eyed), पीतपादा (yellow-footed) and कलह-प्रिया (feud-loving) are my other Hindi/Sanskrit names. To be honest, I can't figure out the logic of naming me सारिका. And as regards my other name कलह-प्रिया, well I simply detest it  even though some of you may find in it an apt description of me!

Slim and trim, I am dressed in soft, smooth, brown plumage. A small bare yellow patch around each of my eyes is my beauty spot. Besides, to flaunt, I have a white mirror, one on each wing, which I show best when I fly.  My shapely golden beak and toes are my pride, and proud peacock’s envy. The story (with a moral) goes that I stole them from the peacock in a dancing match! Be that as it may, don’t I look a sexy damsel?

 Like my puny, timid friend sparrow, I love man’s company, his courtyard and his surroundings. I often get into a running feud with a sparrow or my own kind over a grain or a morsel but still we all get on well together.  A farmer ploughing the field exerts a magic pull on me. Whether I am alone or in a group, it is such fun prancing around, dancing and hopping about to catch a little worm. Wow! How much we mynas adore those succulent tidbits being dug up by the moving plough! So yummy! The grazing cattle too attract us. We love this little sport with them: side-walking, or simply hanging around waiting and watching, and then making a short ground-to-air sortie to catch mid-air, a disturbed  green grasshopper leapfrogging from grass.

Like sparrows we are wary of that big brother: crow. In fact we are hardly friends with him. Boy, so meddlesome and such a nasty thief is he. Always on the lookout, perched high above on a roof or a tree branch to steal our bread crumb, rice or whatever, we resent his presence and his bossy, arm-twisting ways.

Yes, I chirp and twitter too much. And when we mynas are in assembly our collective chatter may even split the heavens above… A feminine trait we perhaps share with the squabbling middle-aged ladies in your neighbourhood. Well that’s what and how we are. Just can’t help chattering. But leaving that aside, we are your friends getting you rid of pest, paper and rubbish… as much as we can. In fact, you may not believe, our fame as pest-eaters and farmer’s friends transcends the Asian shores.

Know you about my cousin the Hill Myna ( see the pic below)? Isn’t, of all mynas, this one the cutest of all with those lovely orange patches and wattles? And the way these beauties imitate the words you teach, even dear parrot is no match when it comes to tongue-twisting. But I pity this cousin of mine… the poor thing.  You cage so many of them as pets for your pleasure. To hear them speak your pet words like ‘राम’ and ‘गंगाराम’. You sell them in the market indiscriminately. It has been going on for so long that now their numbers have declined. We mynas are therefore now a protected species.

Your folklore and mythology is replete with legends and stories about us. We symbolise true love. Let the world turn more prurient and adulterous with changing values, and by the invasion of internet. But we have and will remain devoutly monogamous always. Parrot is my mythological lover. Hence the popular Hindi song “तोता मैना की कहानी...", and so many others. And I feel so delighted when I hear young lovers petting their sweethearts and swearing their love with endearments like “तू मेरी मैना”, “मैं तोता और तू मैना” … and so on. (But truly speaking, and true to biological laws, it is my own kind I do always make love with.) 

Another thing: "one for sorrow", "two for joy"…so goes your popular legend. But that’s not true. Whether you chance to see one myna or many, we always mean joy and happiness for you. But do you too feel the same for us?  I am not so sure. At least my cousin hill myna certainly doesn’t think so. As for us, populationwise, we are not so worse off unlike our friends, the sparrows. But with changing land use, senseless urbanisation and worsening ecology, we may be the next to come under your axe of development, who knows?

Here’s hoping all will be well and good sense will prevail and we will all live happily together…as has so wisely and beautifully been said in your Sanskrit hymn: “सर्वे भवन्तु सुखिनः..." 
Bye; take care.

                                                                       
                                                                            ***

                  Are we misogynists?

           

Are we a nation of misogynists? Every time I read news of a woman assaulted, a woman raped, a woman abused, a poor, famished domestic help subjected to harrowing torture by the मालकिन of the house (a case of same gender violence), acid thrown on some, a wife abused and smacked by her husband and in-laws and so on…this question haunts me. (This is not to say though that cases exactly opposite in nature where poor, trusting husbands are taken for a ride and are at the receiving end do not exist!) Leave aside Haryana’s notorious khap panchayats and honour killings in some of our northern states. This malignant virus of misogyny has spread even in our prestigious institutes of higher learning: Our well-known and esteemed Banaras Hindu University (BHU), for example. What a sorry spectacle it presented in the recent past. While the country was gearing up for the Durga ( a female diety, you must note) puja festivities, the BHU had turned into an ugly battle ground. Unable to bear it any more, the girl students had come out in the open to protest against unceasing acts of harassment, eve-teasing, abuse and what not by the male students. Most shocking was the sickening response of the administration and provocative, insensitive statements by the person of the eminence of a Vice-Chancellor of BHU. The police were no help to the hapless women students either. With misogyny running full and fast in their veins, they, as reports suggest, beat up and thrashed the protesters thereby adding fuel to the fire. Not just the famous BHU, most universities in our conservative north are known for gender discrimination, moral policing and the male predatory behaviour in all its ugly manifestations. There are hostel curfews, dress codes, no 'Wifi' facility, no library access after certain hours and so on. Indian daughters can’t dream even and aspire for an exciting new careers suited to their talent and aspirations because it is the exclusive preserve of ‘man’. There are several constraints: it is the elderly male in the family who will decide what career to choose; or the brother suffering from the same syndrome will put his foot down. Then there are fears of harassment, discrimination and exploitation and many other prickly thorns all along the road to making it to the top in our male-obsessed, male-dominant centres of learning.

                                             

    

Having said all this I must however hurry to say that we in Himachal are comparatively lucky. No doubt, the infamous, blood-chilling ‘गुड़िया murder case’ has been a blot on our peaceful state. Incidents of rape, domestic violence, wife-bullying and beating, and other kinds of torture and discrimination do happen and make us hold our heads in shame. In fact I am a sad witness to such  a case right near my own neighbourhood. But by and large, careerwise, the women students do enjoy relative freedom in opting ones of their own choosing. Most of our colleges and universities have an air of equality, mutual camaraderie and bonhomie. They have the freedom to dress as they like, mingle freely, rub shoulders with male students and participate in all events and activities with equal gusto and zeal. At a private university where I lecture a few days a week mainly for my love for teaching (with the additional benefit of students' youthful exuberance that rubs on me!), my heart leaps with joy to find this very kind of a happy, healthy ambience prevailing at the campus. Perhaps that’s the reason that on the educational front  at least, our Himachal is way ahead of some of our neighbouring states writhing under the vice-like grasp of obscurantists, religious zealots, bigots and the illiterate, obstinate, hookah-smoking, turbaned khap men refusing to shed their supermale egos  wrapped in thick folds of medieval, stone-age mind sets.

                                                    

   

                                                               

Well, I don’t want to sound too preachy with a long boring lecture on ‘misogyny in India’.  I only deeply desire my country to let its daughters breathe the free air, move with pride and dignity, dream their dreams and become equal participants in our country’s march towards progress and prosperity. When women in our rich past – recall the bold, vibrant and free-spirited women characters in our great epic the Mahabharat – could bask in the sunshine of equality and freedom, why not our  21^st century भारतीय नारी ??

                                                     

                                              ***

  
                                             

HP Assembly elections 2017: Will anything change for the better?

The HP assembly elections are round the corner. The climax is gradually building up. While our hill state basks in the glory of silvery autumnal sunshine of October-November, soon, very soon, political temperature will begin to soar…it already has, in fact. Loud cacophony packed with abuse and counter abuse, mutual mudslinging, accusations and counter accusations, lies and damn lies by the rival parties and contestants will split our ears and pollute our clear skies and clean air. Sheer propaganda lacking any substance will be unleashed on the credulous masses to divert attention and focus from the real issues that dog our state. The outgoing government will sing tuneless, jarring songs of “stupendous development” during its tenure and dish out reams of misleading statistical data and figures. The opposition will go all out to pull its leg and enlist govt failures in a mindless counter offensive just for the sake of opposing. Thus the slanging match will go on and on. Charges of corruption, money laundering, scams will be hurled at each other. But as you know very well, the leaders across the political spectrum have mastered the art of skulduggery and subterfuge. Howsoever serious and even if  under judicial scrutiny, they will wash off the taint of charges with  standard excuses and phrases like “political vendetta”, “political vengeance”– as if we are all fools – instead of coming out with credible point by point rebuttal of each and every charge that has been slapped  on them. And I repeat, this applies to all and not any single party or individual leader.

Further, as we can see, the political ‘biggies’ will ensure that  excepting very few noble exceptions, the bunch of men and women they will field from their respective parties for elections are known not so much for their merit, education, capability, vision or zeal for public good but one single criterion: loyalty to the supremo and the high command. Fielding candidates of mediocrity and of relatively low calibre is a win-win situation for the mighty lords who control the reins of power in their own political parties. Because then none of them will pose an existential threat to the ‘throne’ and fiefdom and thus the ‘dynastic principle’ will stay on and perpetuate itself. Not that leaders imbued with dynamism, dare and righteousness are not there. But in this rotten political system geared toward promoting mediocrity and chamchagiri, where is the scope for such leaders to take the lead?  Another unmistakable aspect has been and would be the caste factor. Candidates will be picked up for fighting elections on sheer caste calculations of the constituency rather than the suitability of the candidate to deliver on development of the area. Thus, yet again, the venom of casteism and regionalism will be injected into the psyche of the janta who otherwise want to get over with such kind of fissiparous thoughts and want to live in a harmonious, inclusive environment of आपसी भाईचारा and सदभाव. Then when the D-day will approach near, despite EC’s watchful eye, carloads of money and gallonfuls of liquor will be used on the sly to woo and win the voters.

What will again be missing in these elections?

A reasoned, cogent debate on the real issues and problems that confront the state.

A mutually agreed upon ‘common minimum programme’ for sustainable,  holistic development of the state that will be carried out irrespective of whichever  party assumes power.

How enlightening and wonderful it would be if the big leaders, or in other words the potential chief ministerial candidates of both the Congress and the BJP, volunteer themselves for a free and open debate on “the agenda of development for HP” on some credible national TV channel: NDTV for instance with Ravish Kumar, the suave but straight and fearless anchor, to moderate the debate. Let Ravish ask them hard questions on their respective vision, goals and the blueprint for development (and even on charges of corruption) and let the viewing public evaluate who has the better vision and the wherewithal to deliver. But I assure you none of them will ever dare do it. Hoodwinking the masses and feeding them on false hopes and promises is a far easier option, isn’t it? Further, sadly, none of the leaders or the parties will ever speak about preserving the rapidly declining ‘green cover’; of credible measures and safeguards against the natural calamities and catastrophes happening  with increasing frequency and intensity year after year as a result of degrading ecology and climate change.

Thus another batch of legislators will take over to enjoy power and fat perks, public would have been fooled yet again and once again the sickly, tired, rusty, creaky mill of governance will begin to churn out its usual bland, insipid, stale stuff in an exercise of बंदरबाँट  - a school here, a tehsil there - by the ‘Mr Chief Minister’ lording over his dummies and pygmies: all in the name of ‘development’.

                

***

Hoopoe, oh dear Hoopoe, where are you? This sad birdwatcher sorely misses you

                           

Lovely and loveable Hoopoe! I simply adore this bird. A small, myna-sized avian friend, it has such a pretty fawn-coloured plumage with black and white zebra markings hand-crafted by nature into an interesting geometric design on the back, wings and tail. A charming, fan-shaped crest on the head adds to its overall beauty and grace; the long, slender, curvaceous beak no less. On its plumage, stylish crest in particular (Hoopoe’s very own fashion statement, I would say), M Krishnan, one of India’s finest birdmen (next to Salim Ali) and known for his scintillating writings on birds/wildlife has the following to say:

“The very full crest is spread out into a flamboyant fan, then suddenly shut tight into a spike counterbalancing the curved line of the beak, this gesture being repeated again and again as if to relieve the tedium of the long, pedestrian search for food. There are many birds with highly emotional tails, but here it is the head that wears the crown that is uneasy. The folding and unfolding of the volatile crest express the entire emotional range of the bird, and each passing mood. I have seen a Hoopoe indulge in this play with its crest six times within a minute for no reason that I could discern, but there are rules regulating its conduct in search of prey, or when it takes off from the ground, the crest is shut close, and just before alighting from flight it is fanned out as fully as it can be…

Hoopoe on the lawn is strikingly decorative as any bird of strange plumage, though it is fulfilling a daily need and being useful to us-- how rarely does beauty go with routine need and utility! As the bird moves forward on invisible feet, the slanting sun touches it, turning the fulvous sienna (brownish yellow) of its breast and crest to liquid gold, revealing fully the emphatic contrasts of black and white in the back….”
That was the distinguished M Krishnan on Hoopoe.

I, a humble Palampurwalla,  often used to meet this bird in the open grassland near Differpat (beside the road from SSB chowk to  Neugal café, Palampur) on my morning walks and feel thrilled by its sight. At times a Hoopoe would - out of nowhere - descend on the outer, grassy part of our courtyard in search of worms, grubs and insects- its staple food. However, sadly, I see this bird no more. The large sloping meadow at Differpat now supports two eye sores:  a government tea nursery and a big PWD store. Some buildings too have come up virtually obliterating this patch of green where once sheep and cattle used to graze and young boys and girls played their छुपन-छुपाई, स्टापू, फिड्डु and other such rural games now almost extinct. Since this (shamlat) pasture-land afforded a spectacular view, I often took an evening stroll too and sitting on a rock watched the preternatural bliss of a setting sun.

Quite often I wonder and worry why this dainty little bird, once quite ubiquitous, has become so elusive now? Has it become another victim to the fast expanding jungles of concrete? Has it suffered serious habitat loss? Has its population dwindled to alarmingly low levels? If so, we would have lost – or might do so in the near future - not just a bird that was not only a picture of loveliness but a great friend of the farmer as well. For, many of the crop pests that worry the farmer are Hoopoe’s favourite food.  

Well, if you love watching birds like I do - or even if you don’t - do look for this one on any open grassland or a pasture: it is so easily, unmistakably recognisable. Greet it and welcome it.  Appreciate the beauty of its plumage and its graceful movements especially the fanning out and then shrinking back of its fabulous crest (as so aptly described by Krishnan) and how it goes about pecking the ground with its artistically carved beak. You will be mesmerised. And, as you walk by, please don’t forget to say to it my Hello and tell: “Hi Hoopoe! Subhash, your old friend, loves you so, dearie; and misses you too. Do show up to him some  day.”

                                                     

                                                      ***

          Beware! I am a 'lover'

I am in essence a ‘lover’; and rather an impish and incorrigible one! Well, I think we  are all indeed born to love. It is another matter though that in the course of our life’s journey myriad influences - some sweet, some sour – that impinge upon us give a defining shape to our personality and mind-set. That in turn determines whether one ends up predominantly as a person of love and inclusiveness or the one full of prejudices, malice, violence, hatred and contempt.

As for me, of my many loves, love for the beautiful bounties of nature both big and small, probably comes foremost. And blessed and lucky are we to belong to this part of the globe where mother nature has been so kind and generous to give us its very best: the majestic Dhaualdhar, the hills, the valleys, the rivers, the khuds, deodars and pines, such a bewitching diversity of plants, birds and animals and above all the charming, hospitable, warm, friendly and beautiful men and women to fall in love with. What an ethereal delight it is to go out for a morning walk, inhale the limpid, pine-scented air, pass through the quiet loveliness of the sprawling green carpet of tea gardens and feast your eyes on the first kiss of a golden ray striking the snow-laden mountain crest! How divine it is to perch on a rock of a hill slope and look at the crimson orb of the western sun gently slide behind the silhouette of trees and hills and illuminating the stray wandering clouds by its red-hued incandescence for a fleeting few seconds. Those moments cast a magic spell difficult to put into words.

                                           

Books come second. And my love affair with them has been long and most rewarding, and without having had to suffer any heart breaks! The very sight, smell and feel of a good book transports me to an exclusive world of exquisite pleasure. A thought-provoking passage or a story, a witty barb, a sharp retort, a pleasing metaphor, a pithy, life-revealing philosophical observation, a catchy turn of phrase, some rich tapestry of imagination in a poem, elegant prose make book reading a source of rarest of life's delights. And my range is wide and varied: from autobiographies to fiction to travelogues to mythology to science…in short any stuff that is inspiring or stimulating that tingles and tickles my cerebral cells; I  can - by way of a dessert - also slurp something titillating even, if not vulgar. I have read some and want to read many more.

I love a bit of pen pushing too - both small prose and simple little poetic flourishes - despite my very limited writing abilities. It helps me unwind and give vent to pent up feelings, deeper emotions, and anger and rage on the personal, social and environmental issues that confront us, most of which I share with you all and urge you to be proactive about.

Company of good friends comes next. I don’t have very many. But dearly love the few I have. It is sheer joy to spend time with them and enjoy their empathy, warmth, good humour, jokes (vegan as well as non-vegan!), anecdotes, free-wheeling chat on current events, some light banter, some gupshup and so on. The pleasure becomes manifold, if there is a good drink to boot.

I have long cherished and longed for the company of women-friends but have been singularly unlucky. Perhaps my overwhelming, blushing shyness has been the main stumbling block. (I do however have an enduring and mutually fruitful long-distance ‘exchanges’ with some of my ex-students, a few of whom have been noble, kind and sporting enough to put up with my idiosyncrasies!) I think the company of a woman of ‘substance’ and good learning, cerebral, enlightened, uninhibited, and not suffering from male-mistrust-syndrome can catapult you to heavenly heights of ecstasy and inspiration. She can trigger the flow of creative juices in you and make you do wonders in life. Conversely, a mean, parochial, conceited, suspicious, deceitful, hypocritical one can despatch you to infernal depths of doom and gloom. (To be dead honest, supercilious  women [and men] masquerading as 'religious saints' frighten and scare me.)  In the insular, conservative milieu that we inhabit, the former kind is a rarity. Moreover, in the present times when crimes and brutal violence against women have become almost daily news, the prospect of finding a truly enlightened feminine soul and striking a friendly, mutually rewarding chord with her don’t seem too bright.  But if  you do bump into one, go all out to woo her though I would be quietly very jealous of you!

Lastly, as my profile says it too, I adore my tipple: some 'soulful sipfuls' to round off the day with when I can give free rein to my flights of fancy, fantasize about and weave my utopias and be in my fragile but sweet little 'love-world'. 

Well, there is a lot more to write on my ‘loves’ but some other time...perhaps over a drink!

            I am a godman

     

I am a godman, listen you one and all,

Bend and bow, lest from my graces, you fall.

Am a God’s true messenger, His blessings on you I shall shower,

Touch my feet and worship me well: both with money and flower.

No doubt I was born poor, indigent, weak and hungry,

But now I am a ‘Miracle Baba’ as known to all and sundry:

A spiritual guru in my own rights and of a world-renown,

With wealth, power and mass following in almost every town.

To my guru - now no more - I am ever so grateful, for helping me make the grade,

Who taught me some useful mantras and clever tricks of this wonderful trade.

People adore me, worship me and sing hymns in my glory and name,

Mantris, santries and big babus seek my blessings for health, wealth and fame.

For me it is a just a sleight of hand after long practice– a conjuror’s trick,

To roll out a gold ring or a watch tucked behind my sleeve- with just a wrist’s flick.

But for the gullible, Baba-crazy world, it is a miracle good and true,

Suits me fine as it draws men and women of every shade and hue.

To the sonless couples and swooning women I offer the gift of holy ash,

Costs me nothing (being a bonfire residue) but earns me bagfuls of rich cash.

My word is holy and my diktat final and binding for the foolishly faithful,

A mantra whispering god incarnate I am to the paying bhaktas ever so grateful.

But being after all human, when carnal lust does haul me over passion’s hot ambers,

Easily, as lord Krishna’s avatar, I handpick eager gopis to be lead to my inner chambers.

But (curse befall them!)  the media’s shameless  eye upon us of late, fills me with much dread,

In Kaliyuga, though God’s very own, still with caution this path of (sinful) bliss I need to tread.

Thus our credibility and (feigned) powers for miracles suffer due to media’s sharp tooth and claw,

Besides being exposed to the prospect of long term jail under the cruel instruments of law.

Shall, I wonder, in such tragic way my wealth, name and fame, glory all be gone?

Or will some gullible politician in power usher me back into the good old dawn?

The present election winds though do rekindle in me a flicker of heart-warming hope,

My sagging fortunes may turn with the enthronement of a good new Baba-bhakt Pope.

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