The Girls from Finland

A friend's friends are presently visiting India, happened to meet them on Saturday evening, while they were doing their Pune leg, with the friend guiding them. Here is a summary of the information extracted from these two nurses-to-be.

Anna and Johanna, close friends and roommates at Helsinki, wanted to take a break after completing their nurse course.
So one fine day, Johanna asked Anna,"Would you like to go to India?"
Anna said,"OK."
That was it. The Euro's value against the Indian rupee ensured that expense was not a major issue for a short sojourn.

So, laying down the plans about five months in advance, the duo alighted in Delhi, got hassled by saree shop-owners, prospective guides and numerous street vendors. Their stay at India's capital was thus, anything but fun.

Their next destination was Mumbai, and from there on, guided by the friend, they tried various Indian food items, visited beaches, traveled in local trains, sung, loved the architecture and vibes of South Mumbai, and after three days, unwillingly left the city to arrive in Pune.

Conversation
Finland has temperatures between 21 to 25 degree Celsius in summer, in winter it can go down to -20 degree Celsius. It is something the denizens of Finland are used to, that they go skiing and indulge in other winter sports during this time.   

The girls were very keen on what they were eating, sometimes, extracting from a paratha, strands of coriander stem and enquiringly about the same. They also had intent eyes on how we were going about it, one particular moment when we were gobbling Anise Seed (saunf) by handfuls had them look at us with asking eyes.

Then there were the jokes that you have to crack with care and caution, now what do you make them laugh at? It is usually with the aid of elements that are at hand, and you hope they are laughing more out of instinct than politeness. And that was that.   

(This will seem to be a withheld, inconsistent information piece, for the purpose is such, the rest of the details go into a dairy.)

clouds for breakfast

market morning,

dyeing stolen clouds

in edible camouflage

Home Alone Chronicles: Starring - 'The Broom'

  
No work, no chore, is big or small, especially when you have no option but to perform it. Every day, from the skeletons of upcoming buildings all around, dust comes visiting, laying itself down in layers on the snow-white tiled floor of my home. After a fortnight, common cold had set in, along with suspected asthma. It all sounds poetic when somebody else does the cleaning up, but last Saturday, with a broom in my hand, it sounded, looked and felt like prison work.

Introducing - THE BROOM. Anything in man's creation, made for the sole purpose of cleaning up, has seldom been bright and attractive in appearance.The broom is no exception. Fellow home alone blokes, thee who have not held this revolting device yet, let me tell you, it's no joy to do so. Consider the broom first, shaped as it is without inspiration. Its unimaginative top plastic cover makes one think of destroying it, the dull texture of the bristles that make the other end, is enough to inspire extreme hate.

Now, the broom is best held at the top, with one hand, fingers wrapped loose round the handle, such that it can be manipulated with ease. First, tie a hand kerchief round your nose, if no gas mask is available. Now, bend a little and start from the corner of the room. Let the broom glide down in multiple frisks, rounding up its collection to a central location in the room. Meanwhile, ensure that no accidental breeze or whirls of the ceiling fan scatter your toil. Usually there is a dirt-stuck scraper to scrap all the dust up, and then glide it all down to the bin. Do so and you are done. If you keep washing your hands with soap afterwards, remember, somebody had to do the dirty work.

Postscript: So after a week of sweeping floors, desultory cooking, doing the dishes and beating the crap out of clothes, there is a kind of self-respect that sprouts in one. Steadily, anything with the possibilities to create becomes art. In all chores, there is a method and degree at which, effort can be minimized, and magnified to the attainment of the main purpose. 

At the Hamara Haiku Festival, Pune

Vidur Jyoti captures another moment at Bhamburda Forest, on the second day of the festival

This is to say that the Hamara Haiku Festival held at Kala Chhaya, Pune on November 27th and 28th, 2010 was a continuous monsoon drizzle in learning the various alternate ways of writing poetry. It was the first stage, like learning the alphabets, of the conciseness of haiku writing, the similarity of the former to senryu, the five-line lyrical tanka, and the prose-cum-haiku flexibility of the haibun, and finally the creatively boggling renku session, where each poet contributes the new delicate leaves to the bare branches of the poem.

As so much was to be imbibed, rebellion, and queries as to why poems had to be written in that particular way were kept aside. Meanwhile, let me thank all who made up for the extreme, deep, experience that the festival was, in no particular order, from the experienced, to the young, co-participants, organisers...

Kala Ramesh – Pune, Johannes Manjrekar - Baroda, Rohini Gupta - Mumbai, Dilip Daswani - Pune, Vidur Jyoti - Delhi, Rajendra Samal - Delhi, K. Ramesh – Chennai, Shernaz Wadia - Pune, Raamesh Gowri Raghavan - Mumbai, Sarat Rao - Mumbai, Mahrukh Bulsara - Mumbai, Gautam Nadkarni - Mumbai, Zalina Gamat – Pune and Nirali Shah – Pune

MICHAEL JACKSON IN TRANSLATION

A still from the 1983 performance at Motown 25: Yesterday, Today and Forever

*****

Billy Jean is one of the most intricate songs that Michael Jackson ever sung. A glance at the lyrics will tell you how out of sync the lines read, like broken words, not flowing as song lyrics usually flow. Yet it is in the rendition that Jackson creates magic.

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What is the song about?

As legend goes, the song is said to be inspired by an insane female fan claiming that Jackson is the father to her unborn son. The producer Quincy Jones took some convincing for the song to be included into the record-breaking, bestselling album - Thriller (1982). Here is an attempt to translate some parts of the song lyrics to Hindi (English script), for the absurd effect it creates ........

Billy Jean meri premika nahi hai

Woh bas ek ladki hai jo kahti hai main 'woh' hu

Par woh baccha mera beta nahi hai

Woh kehti hai main 'woh' hu,

par woh baccha mera beta nahi hai....

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At the 1983 US television special - Motown 25: Yesterday, Today and Forever, Jackson gave a breathtaking performance of the same song, the first glimpse of the moonwalk apart from the enthralling dance steps that were to make him legendary. The youtube link to the performance is here...www.youtube.com/watch?v=AIbRx98h4_4