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Indian Potpourri IIISouth was simply superb. Josh had reached God's own country-Kerala. The profusely viridiscent landscapes glided past in slow motion as he ferried the lakes. There is the immensely variegated boat race festival known as Onam. Long boats are oared by brown, sinewy men-each one vying to win the race. The women dress in white and gold, slowly sway, carrying small mud lamps around colorful patterns drawn on the ground with powders in every imaginable color called Kolams also called rangolis in the north.
Huge elephants are indispensable during Onam. The pachyderms are scrubbed by the proud, smiling Mahouts in lakes and then adorned with red and gold brocade and paraded with howdahs (saddles).This is the land of Kathakali,the indescribably complex, holy and radiant dance-danced by an all male cast. They sit for hours together and paint their faces predominantly with greens, reds, black and yellow and emote subtly yet articulately displaying a plethora of histrionics-pomp, pain, piety and pur
Indian potpourri IIKarnataka- the painted sign proclaims (in three languages).The train grinds to a halt. The smell of metal is in the air. It's been a grimy journey. But eagerness and anticipation fills Josh Hartlett as he has reached Bangalore (Bengalooru)-all cosmopolitan. The itinerary says it was known as the pensioner's paradise a few years ago. However urbanity has hit it and made it more urban than most other cities. It is inhabited by a few foreigners. It was easy for Josh to see why. Its temperature was more pleasant than other cities.
It is also known as the garden city. It has plenty of greenery. But it was sad as he realized that pollutants are taking their toll. There were the green, cool gardens- Lal Bagh, Cubbon Park-to name a few. He found decent food in Bangalore- Pizzerias, McDonalds, and KFC… Quaint British villas hobnobbed with huge skyscrapers.
He found most people speaking good English, Hindi and Kannada.
This is known as the Silicon Valley. He found colossal IT parks with delegate
Indian potpourriIndian food was at first unpalatable. Josh had been on an All India trek.He tried the Northern food that was available in every little shanty called Dhabas. It was mainly from a place called Punjab (lit. the land of five rivers). He grew to relish it. They offered bread made in a tandoor (a pot like oven).Fresh, hot and delicious. He tried tandoori murg (spicy chicken cooked in the tandoor), and kofta curries (vegetables/cheese, meat balls smothered in thick spicy gravies), kebabs (skewered edibles), Biriyanis (spiced rice) along with a generous supply of raw onions, curd, green chillies and lime wedges. The spices they used were mainly was garlic, onions, cinnamon, cardamom, cloves, peppers, cashews….
Kashmiri food boasted of fruit-both dry and fresh .He began to enjoy Kashmiri pilaf (rice cooked with pieces of fresh and dry fruit) and naans and kulchas (pancake bread sprinkled with fruit as well) and ghosht (meat mainly mutton).Gujarati and Rajasthani food was succulent even in its b
Chaos or CosmosIt's amazing....How the greatest anthropologists cannot unravel the biggest mystery ?I would choose the most flabbergasting and bewildering mystery as the human psyche,the essential soul within the Homo Sapien.It is as if we are trying put together the jigsaw puzzle of human race-its beginning and evolution.But the more we conclude the more baffling it gets.Our religions have developed mythological and fantastic theories of how we originated...
To think of how only two percent of the human brain functions.The rest is a colossal waste.Imagine if we could harness all the positive potential that we could build upon and work together with a common goal.But we let our petty differences and foibles rule and stifle our common motto-the ultimate human revolutionary evolution...
Shouldn't we be applying the 'agree to disagree' and 'win-win' strategies to iron out differences and ego clashes between us.After all this body and our personalties are perishable.
The idea of Nirvana is a bit too far-
NavratriNavratri, has the literal meaning nine nights (alliterative!).Celebration takes place for nine consecutive nights. The very mention of the word brings poignant memories The lights dancing along the heavily brocaded Ghaghra cholis. The mirror work beautifully formulated by some unsung artists. A million sparkle-spangled, vividly-hued, intricately embroidered full skirts swishing. Softly tinkling silver bracelets, anklets moving to the exotic rhythms. Hordes of smiling women with foreheads intensely beaded with perspiration. They pant while dancing but have ecstasy writ on their countenance.
The staccato rhythm never pauses while they pirouette. They carry decorated foot-long sticks and clack There's the unfailing beat .
Myriad hues reds, yellows, greens, blues. Gyrating fast and slow. There's the sweetmeats they gorge on to keep their pep. Icecreams, Aam ras, chats. The nights go by They dance till the wee hours of the dawn. Special provisions are made. There i
Blind beliefsJosh learnt the history of India piecing together the events that were narrated by a slew of people including the sants (the beggar monks that claimed to be in a state of renunciation), the merchants (vending all and sundry), the "guides" (who told scarcely credible stories of how, when, where and why the tourist spots existed), the palm readers and astrologers, the eager bystanders who nodded (the very oriental nod) and elatedly spoke gibberish.
He moved through the (high class) discotheques and through sleepy villages that had never seen power supply. There was rubbish strewn on roadsides some places and there were touching tales told of how people worshiped the Gods that took forms of trees, animals, human beings (yes, pantheism was rampant in India).He found it disconcerting that people, who were that sagacious and sane, worshiped snakes (often offering milk to the hooded asps called cobras) and the bloodthirsty Kali (mother Goddess).They had deities and demigods that ruled over mo
TajHe had visited most tourist spots that India boasted of, including the pearl Mosque city of Agra (at its bewitching best on a moonlit night) he snapped copiously away at it. The scented night made deep lasting impressions in his memory. He visited Chandni Chowk with its myriad hued hawkers. The festive iridescence casting a spell in its native chaos
He was spell bound at the peddlers and their wares. He then inferred something. There would never be that merry gaiety and pomp contiguous with the rich, splendid culture that this
new world had offered him in his country. Behind the garrulity and (seemingly) rude conduct of these simple hearted, almost bucolic mannered people, there lay a warmhearted concern and solicitude that no one in his "developed" continent could ever hope to match. He saw these curios, antiques and artifacts that were tremendously well-crafted and painstakingly wrought.
He saw sophistication in the city created by Le Corbusier called Chandigarh.
He saw the vas
Paradox ParoxysmsOne thing that India did not lack in was variety. People were seen in a myriad of colors, shapes and sizes. And they did a multitude of tasks. Josh was in an awed reverie when he suddenly was shocked by a sharp slap on his right arm .He turned right in time to see a
cow ruminating lazily swishing her tail about. He just about missed a dollop of dung.
He resumed his journey afoot wary of the penny pinching tricycle driving autowallahs.
He, then was awestruck by something he had never imagined .
A Mercedes E-class. The classy silver colored luxury on wheels was turning around the corner. He was aghast at the paradoxes India was offering, every minute of his life
He passed by a mixture of sorts-raggedy beggars and street urchins ,men urinating and spitting some awful red stuff that corner shops offered as paan.
Piles of malodorous foods-Samosas (some kind of potato filled pastries), Bhel Puri-(something that had no valid name in the more civilized world he knew of), Sweets made
Indian welcomeWhat was that again? Josh squinted in the merciless sunlight. A sign that said in a variety of scrawls "Ramanand Rao-("A cuer for the incueribals-homeopathethic doktor with hypnatics and reversel of blake maggic"). He was riding an "auto"
-a kind of a modified tricycle that honked and blared with a hideous cacophonic noise.
Yes, he had passed by the same "market" at least twice before. He had no clue about the
viciousness (literally akin to the "vicious cycle") of these swindlers
The man was crazy. He kept ranting on in a language that he called "Inglees"
The "auto man" was gleeful alright (at leading the lamb to the slaughter) through the narrow alleys. Josh wildly gesticulated at the blithering idiot and put on his most authoritative voice and ended up yelling at the smirking, smug Autowallah.
They had reached a nook .It was a dilapidated building. Ah! There was the lodge
That said (in the by now familiar variety of scrawls)"Shanthi Niketan"
He jumped out and was immediate
Unworthy This, Unworthy That
Forgive me in the times of each day
when I come to see my truer colors.
The less suitable ones that bring down a godly smile.
My efforts to betterment have yet to cease,
and I've nob intent on making such an appointment.
They wait like thieves and murderers,
mere inches from my soul, in wake and slumber,
outnumbering me and breathing down my aching
neck whilst I struggle to breathe
the purer air I am deprived of.
Though cognizant of my sins,
they are doubtlessly committed by a guilty
consciousness which has been undermined with a
pride that bear in deep shame as opposed
to a better way to walk.
The list will be long, as you,
as with all things, are more the perfectly aware.
I am the guilty by my own confession,
and grace is a concept that is greatly welcome
and unconditionally existent in the presence of my unworthy soul.
I know not why i write what is already known to Omnipotence
perhaps a confessional to my one and only
King who spared me the eternity of fire and ice
in a realm witho
RemoteThe pond eye
drunk with Oklahoma rain
comatose in the yolk
of a centrifuge
is my third
Egrets perch high in sycamores
like leaning lashes.
sickly black oaks
and hold mass at feeder ducts.
Turtles dart beneath the pupil
as cows come blundering
into the inner blue
of a vast
Broken ChordMy heart alone is a instrument in God's temple
Playing songs of worship for hours and hours
But then the chord breaks and music cannot be played
Have to get the chord fixed, but too sad to fix it right now
That one broken chord; curled and twisted
Can I ever play music right now?
The tragedies of this world makes it seem impossible to play
Then nothing but tears roll down for there is no songs playing
The broken chord that used to play many songs
The broken chord that used to play songs of worship for hours and hours
My heart broken and nothing but songs of tragedy plays
Songs of brief tragedy plays in the haunting silence
Tears roll down my eyes and wonder if I will ever play songs again
But in the grace and love of my God
In all the things He can do
He takes the broken chord and just smiles at it
There's nothing He cannot do
The chord maybe plucked and no more music can be played
But the Lord himself plays His songs on a broken chord
Song of worship reenters my heart from a broken ch
StrongLifting all the weights in the world and train to a pulp
Thinking the world can rest in the palm of my hands
Not giving a care in the world
Bench pressing the world and pouring out sweat
Studying all day and all night
Hitting those books and jogging the miles in knowledge
The world is in the palm of my hand
Sweating out with the strength of moving walls
But as the pressure gets too much; there is always aching
The strength that make one stronger than oak starts to fade
Crawling on your knees when the pressure gets too much
The pressure is unbearable and you can’t do anymore
But my God gives me faith that can move mountains
My God has no limits to His own strength
My God releases the pressure and puts it on Himself
My God has no limits
My God is stronger than the roots of the mighty oak
My God is stronger than the volcanic rocks
My God is stronger than metal chains that binds me together
My God is stronger than any superhero in 30 pages
My God is stronger even on that day on Calva
The Heart of HeartsI have seen the fire that burned creation into being,
Heard the song of the universe at it's beginning.
I have known home in the heart of hearts,
I have been eternal in a sea of stars.
When we are born we know that we are one,
Yet as we grow we are taught to become,
So profoundly alone
So lost to ourselves,
We will buy anything to save our souls from this hell,
We will work to the bone and empty our shell
With hate and lies, an inability to recognise
Ourselves in each other, in each flower, in each lover.
We do so weep when we are wrenched apart
Yet we are one in the heart of hearts.
And forever, without care,
We are and will always be there.
Is more of a choice
Than a feeling
It is hard
Fear and doubts
Try to smother it
And to cover it
It takes a choice
Not to listen
To those fears
And to those doubts
It is hard
It is worth it
It frees you
From those fears and doubts
There is the ultimate hope
In something more than this world
That is true and faithful
That loves no matter what
Who is there all the time
It is that hope
That keeps me going
Day in and day out
And I would not
Have it any
Blessings in the StormThrough the shadow
Of the storm
There is light to be seen
Even though it is raining
The light can be seen
Behind the clouds
As this storm continues
I feel Your love
I know that
You still care
About my family,
About my dreams
Big or small
You shower me
That I never thought possible
Or in a way that was not expected
There in none like You
You are my Love, my Lord
And my Savior
You are my Daddy
And I am Your princess
And I know You love me
More than I can love You
You gave me
Life, love, and light
There is none that equals You
You have given me
Dreams to explore
A talent to show Your love to others
And hope to keep me
Faith to stand the valleys and mountains
Hope to keep moving forward
Love, the greatest of these, to give to others
Like You have given me
13lightning boiled my frontal lobes
i can feel it
dripping down my cheekbones,
no-longer-neurons, an ejaculation
uncertain rooted in unthought
define boundaries; far as the eye can see
but no further and sigh complacently
no more bumping into buzzing barbed wire
What Does One Say?
What does one say when someone
What does one say when someone
believes only 40% of the Bible?
What does one say when someone
does not even believe in Jesus
& say they never sin?
What does one say when someone
will not listen to you
no matter how compelling you can be?
What does one say when someone
doesn’t care about an after life,
only about today,
What does one say when that someone
is a very old and dear friend?
A friend that has no faith?
What does one say when faced with a dilemma?
Push too hard (I can get l
Abandoned ChapelThe parish waits now,
the loneliness of corners
crawling outward on walls--
chipped away by the wind,
and held together
by silk spindles;
cobwebs align them like the membranes of memories,
the cut of a jewel in an broken window
against the sun
where beads of rain
gather in a mesh of strands
a new Mosaic
against the backdrop of a cemetery;
My eyes seek out the sermon
in close proximity,
paint no distance
between headstone and cloud;
elegies topple each other
in their climb to heaven
as light trickles
over the shade,
breathes a new glow over snuffed candles.
I feel the weight in these empty rows,
how a breath couldn't cease to be breath
in the midst of prayer.
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More