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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
Happiness is...A red gold sunset
A baby's gurgle
A mother's curls on the nape of her neck
A toothless smile
A distant laugh
A cheerleader's scream
A sailor's ahoy
A home nearing on a cold drizzly evening
A steaming mug of cocoa with a warm book beside
A sister's kiss
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
Time's Karma GamzeexReader== > Be the lowblooded rom-sick troll
[Name] took a deep breath; this was the day she was going to tell her flush crush about her feelings. Swallowing hard [Name] walked up to the hive on the mountain terrain. Knocking on the door of the hive, [Name] waited for someone to answer as she tried to calm her nerves, Aurthour Came and opened the door. She smiled at the lusus, giving him a small “thank you” along with a gentle pat on his head; [Name] was a gentle troll who could not hurt a tinkerbull. The lusus let her into the hive before he went off to do who knows what.
[Name] smiled as she slowly ascended the stairs of the hive towards Equius’ respite block, her blood pumper going faster with each step she took towards the respite block. Her face slowly flushing a light [b/c] from the fantasies that were going through her head, she finally got to the door of Equius’ respite she slowly opened it…
Giving Life to The MoonBlackness. She was going in and out of blackness. It was consuming her, pulsing around her. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think.
A voice kept coming to her, faint and quiet. She couldn't understand it. It was too far. She felt as though she were underwater. Everything was distorted beyond her senses.
And then there was pain. It shot through her like the talon of a hawk, or the fang of a dog. It gripped her tightly, and held her it's prisoner. She could smell blood. She could feel the blood. It was all over her. And it was overpowering.
There was that voice. She tried to open her eyes, to see who was speaking to her. It was hopeless. She knew she was going to die. Is this was death felt like? Pain and darkness, consuming her? It was horrible. She wanted it to be over.
"Timidbreeze? Can you hear me? Just breathe, okay?"
Her ears twitched. She felt herself take in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. She opened her eyes slightly, blinking her blurred vision away. Bre
The Storm - Chapter 6It was an ordinary day for most of the population. They were all in work or school, living out their lives like it was any other day. However, this day would become the day that changed the lives of many forever.
Mistress was in place, the camera focussed on her as she prepared for what was about to happen. Vincent, in his new female form, stood behind the camera performing the behind the scenes operations. She hit the button and soon the transmission commenced. Suddenly, all the television channels were cut off, replaced with the image of Mistress looking down upon the worried viewers. Crowds soon developed, eager to see what was happening as this figure they had never seen before began to speak.
“Hello World. I am Mistress.” She began. “For years, our world leaders have been oppressing the lives of women across the globe, deeming us weak and ignorant. Today I am telling you that this day of male dictatorship is over once and for all. Together, fellow females, we can
Tara's Secret - Part 2Tara woke up to the sound of sparrows chirping outside her window as the morning light engulfed her room. "It's morning? damn, I must have knocked out right after I ate" She thought.
Tara lifted herself out of bed, well rested, and proceeded to get dressed. She walked over to the full body mirror in the corner of her room in her underwear while she decided what to wear. The sunny sky and beautiful weather had her in the mood for a dress. It wasn't the most exotic or fancy dress ever. It was a casual dress one would wear on a summer's day. It was loose fitting and perfect for casual attire.
She then made her way downstairs and into the kitchen, keeping to her daily routine when she noticed a note on the kitchen table. "Good morning honey, we're going to be home a bit later tonight, your father insisted on taking me out to dinner tonight so you're going to have the house to yourself today. If you go out don't forget to lock the door, and your father left you money for pizza for when you
HIMH Ch. 18Ch.18
“Austy... Wake up… I’m back…” Riley said poking his cheek softly trying to wake him up.
“Mm…” He groaned and stirred to the other side. “…5 more minutes…”
“Austin you’ve been sleeping since I left! Which was at like 3:27 in the morning… and its now…” She paused and looked at the time. “5:12 in the afternoon…”
“Get up.” She grabbed his legs and pulled him out. Austin being a bit on the smart side grabbed onto the bed posts to avoid getting out. “Austin! You’re taking the bed with you! Come on let go!” She kept pulling until finally he let go and they both went crashing into each other.
“Oof!” She said once she landed on her back. She shook her head and looked to see Austin on top of her… still sleeping. “Seriously?! Austin get up!” Riley pushed him off which finally cau
Giving Names to The Moon"Timidbreeze?"
She felt her body shudder with her sobs. A small bundle was held between her front paws, her warm tears dripping down upon it. Two other small bundles were nearby, both mewing and wiggling around. But this one.. was still. And silent.
She sobbed again, trying desperately to drag her tongue across the unmoving brown kit. She thought she would taste it's warm pelt and fur, but instead she got a mouthful of her own salty tears, and felt his cold body.
Her head shot up, her eyes locking on the form of the grey pelted medicine cat. He stared at her sympathetically, and moved closer, glancing down at the brown tom between her paws. His voice was calm, and quiet, "Timidbreeze.. He's gone. He's with Starclan now. I'm sorry."
She tried to speak, but only made a few small grunts instead. Her paw came across her eyes, wiping away some of her tears. How could any of this be real? With everything that had happened in her life, she had no idea her heart could possibly b
Goodnight DadHere's some music to go with this story
* * *
The elevator doors opened and out stepped Sherman. He was all grown-up now and had travelled all the way from his home to visit the old penthouse he once lived at. Now it was just owned by the famous Mr. Peabody, who had disappeared out of the limelight quite some time ago, due to him not appearing as often.
The reason? Mr. Peabody was too old.
Sherman’s shoes squeaked against the laminated floors as he glanced around at the mostly unchanged house he used to roam about in as a child. He entered the lounge, looking about for his father.
"Hello?" he called out.
Suddenly, there was a quiet thud at the door. Sherman swivelled around and saw it open slightly. A cane came through, shortly followed by the hunched, greying figure of Mr. Peabody himself. His green eyes sparkled the moment they set upon Sherman.
"Ah Sherman, my boy," the elderly genius greeted, "so glad to fin
I Remember (One Shot)I am Elsa, the former queen of Arendelle. I cannot be queen anymore and I don’t understnad why. If I remember correctly, I’m about a hundred and two years old now.
My nurse comes every now and then… whatever her name is. I feel as if I know and I just… can’t remember. Days are like months in this room… wherever I am, with nothing to do but wait for my next meal. I feel warm, but whenever I see people they look cold. I don’t understand why. where I am, the curtains are always closed tight, like I don’t deserve to see what is out there… like I’ve done something wrong.
Suddenly there is a boy above me. A boy of about eighteen or so, merely a child, leaning over the bed I lay in. His hair, surprisingly white, seems to glow in my blurred vision.
“Elsa?” He pleads, his voice cracking a little bit. “Elsa, do you hear me?” He grabs my hand with both of his, rubbin
The Wanderer She was known as the Wanderer.
A modern-day Forest Gump or Jesper Olsen, she went from place to place, going wherever her feet led her.
Except unlike both the fictional and non-fictional people mentioned above, she was on the back of a horse.
Sitting astride a black horse, she rarely said a word other than a simple 'thanks' when news vans and curious passerby recognized her and swarmed like bees to a congregation of pollen-laden blossoms. Her once frightened and flighty horse had turned into a trusted travel companion, merely looking at the noisy crowds with seldom a flicked ear. On her mahogany-colored custom-made saddle rested saddle bags filled to the bursting point with necessities such as her wallet, clothing, grooming supplies, a first aid kit, and other items of that nature.
One might wonder how one such person is able to feed the ravenous appetite that a horse brings. Well, when one is a national celebrity, one does fin
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
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