Chotu - the wonder puppy.

I first met Chotu when he was couple of weeks old. A scrawny and gawky little fur ball who was trying very hard to convince us to give him something to eat. Chotu must have just learnt to walk then. His tiny fur-feet trembled when he tried hard to walk towards us. He made a perfect clown of himself. Most people who sat at the run down shack drinking sweet tea and biting into some bread, biscuit, cookies etc hardly noticed this tiny inconspicuous clown and his antics. I visited this shack just to spend time with Chotu - feed him and feed my soul with a tiny portion of happiness.

Ever since I met Chotu and his mother and some more kith and kin of his, I began looking forward to my travel trysts to my work place – a good 150 kms every day. Unfortunately, few days after I got to know Chotu and his mom, his mother died a mysterious death - a death that many Indian Pariahs experience - poisoning !!

Despite having many dogs and puppies around me near the workplace and home, Chotu has been the second one who has managed to convince me that the Indian Pariahs are not only a resilient breed, they are also very sensitive, loving and intelligent lots. I always look forward to meeting the floppy eared, smiling eyed wobbly legged pup who has an attitude that of a king. Unless one was to play with Chotu, one can never convince this pup to eat. He has always been a very sensitive puppy and responded well to love; beyond food and water.

The last three weeks had been spent trying to find Chotu a loving home befitting him and his temperament. I am pretty sure that if I had a home of my own, I’d have taken him in, in a heartbeat. But I live with 4 cats and am wondering if they will accept him and, he them. Unfortunately, I have not been able to find this young and loving fellow a proper home as of now but, there is an enclosed food stall near my apartment and the owner agreed to adopt Chotu. He was expected to come home with me on one of the days; unfortunately, as I do not have a vehicle of my own, I could not get Chotu on the planned day and after a long weekend, when I got to Noida, I found Chotu lying huddled in a corner – cold, wet, emaciated, listless and almost lifeless. It was heart wrenching to see life almost ebbing out of such a vivacious bundle of joy. I was fervently hoping to find a colleague, any colleague who would permit me to take Chotu to SPCA so that the vets could start treating him with proper medicines. Both Chotu and I were lucky as, a colleague of mine offered her car and another offered to drive us to the hospital. Chotu, the wonder pup had contracted the deadly ‘Parvo’. The doctor who saw Chotu was prompt to put him on drips and start the treatment immediately. Since Monday, 17th August 2009, Chotu has been battling for his tiny life at SPCA. My heart bleeds every waking moment when I think how much that tiny body is enduring.

Yet, when I visit Chotu every day, he greets me with a wagging tail and his eyes follow my movements. He responds to my calls by a simple gesture of looking at me and pleading me to stay by his side. When I pick him up and cradle him in my arm, he licks my palm till he is exhausted and just sleeps contently like a child in its mother’s arm. Calm, comforted, secure, trusting.

If hope is something that the optimists have and if I have recognised the loving and yet, the fighting spirit in Chotu, I know that if he survives and is discharged from SPCA, he has a home and a bigger family – four cats and a mom. Chotu – the tiny wonder-pup!!

The Boredom Verse

Sweet melodies, the taste of thyme, Fountains of wine - flowing divine;
And, I were to hope they all would beautifully be mine;
Words to be formed as shapeless clouds, transforming into shapes sublime.

Logic in a poem, can one see?
That'd be meant for Lewis Carol or else, his rabbit'd never flee.

Alice, Alice, what's the time? Eat the cake - one piece at a time.
Oh what nonsense, why whine and dine - what piece of cake, that was'nt mine.

A Haiku, A Terza Rima, A Ballard or A Verse,
A mere thought of writing one, I could never nurse.

Yet, one sultry dusk, inspired by some bore, sitting by the dusty roads, doing some lowly chores.
I pretend to think, and I pretend again, this is my contribution to English Literature, it must not go in vain.

E'un po' come.. It's a bit like..

Every time I make a trip to Europe, I come back motivated to learn yet another language.

My romance with Europe began 14 years ago when I fell in love with 'German' followed by 'Espanol' and 'Italiano'.

Awed, feared,praised, envied by many around the world,this beautiful continent and it's inhabitants really have an 'image' given to them. Nevertheless, had it not been for them, I don't really know what would have been my 'future' like. I have been living 2 of her languages and cultures ever since I stepped out of the cocoon of my sheltered life.

Beautiful and charming continental Europe never ceases to amaze and captivate my attention. The closest analogy that can do Europe justice is, that of being a beautiful old woman, sitting gracefully and watching the lave go by. Her rich heritage, beautiful nature, delicious cuisine and myarid people - all juxtaposed to the perfection, has made Europe what she really is. Since the last 14 years, I have been a regular visitor to Europe - covering the likes of Germany, Russia, Austria, United Kingdom, Belgium, Luxumberg, France, Spain and Italy.

When I fell in love for the first time, I remember the gutteral German sounded like beautiful bells chiming into my ears. The sound of the frightfully long words like 'ausgezeichnet' and 'entschuldigung' seemed cool and exciting... like moffassa or something of the sorts. May be around the same time, all french words were harsh to the ears and unpallatable. It was 'love' in deed. Anything german was favoured and all offences towards the language, literature, culture etc, was taken personally. May be, the romance ended years ago, but the affair continues to this day. A label, 'Hergestellt in Deutschland' makes my heart throb that extra bit even today.

But apart from Germany, I was never as captivated by any other land than Italy. This has been a dream come true... the natural beauty of Isle of Capri, the rich art of Florence, the colours of Sienna, the ruins of Pompeii, the gondollas and bridges of Venice, the collossal and mejestic Rome - not to forget the beautiful Sistine Chappel in the Vatican ... the countryside of Tuscany and the aroma of everyting in Italy; right from the coffee, to the pastas, to the art, arcitecture, music, history, nature - everything - what I did not have then, was the gift of speaking the language... I realised that I had fallen in love once again - only this time, it is for my lifetime. When I was leaving Italy, I had made up my mind to learn the language and visit the land some day, one day - again.

My stint with learning italian has been really different than what it was with learning German. I can never compare them both as I shall never do justice to any. I learnt german in the most formal environment and I have been learning italian in the most informal environment. German was learnt because I had wanted to make it a part of my professional life, am learning Italian because I have made it a part of my personal life. The mindset of both the cultures are really anything, but similar and yet, I relate to them both... the yin and yang.
Whilst I can never forget that to learn the language, one must be passionate about it; I have never been more convinced that eating, drinking, reading, thinking, sleeping, cooking, counting ... dedicating every living moment of my to the 'pursuit of happiness' - to imbibe the essence of the culture to become one with it.

It is a bit like..... to be the ' Essence' !!

E' un po' come essere 'La Essenza' !!

For my Guru, Mentor and a Friend...

My day usually begins by waking up to the chants of Maha Mrityunjaya and some meditation, followed by a cup of tea. Before I go for my shower, the house is filled with the beautiful sounds of some classical music that my music system churns out. No all of us are blessed with the gift of being able to appreciate these lovely master pieces of work. I was not born with this art of appreciation either. Parag Trivedi – my Guru, and Anjan Ray – my most beloved uncle: Parag, his beautiful and ever so benevolent wife- Manda , Anjan and some handfuls had come together with a common passion and goal in life – this was to demystify the classical art and bring it to us commoners.
Dvorak has always been my favourite composer followed by Beethoven. I had almost forgotten the reason and the people behind my love for these two maestros. I have a sense of pure nostalgia whenever I listen to Symphony Nr 9 of Dvorak and Symphony Nr. 5 and 6 by Beethoven. Dvorak’s work invariably brings tears to my eyes – just the 1st movement of his New World.
After much search, I did manage to find a beautiful and mind boggling recording of Herbert von Karajan conducting the New World – knowing well that no one apart from Anjan would be able to appreciate it as much, I shared this with him on Facebook. Next evening, I got back a mail from him, informing me that the particular piece of music was also a special favourite of Parag. This one liner made me happy and sad at the same time. I realise how much I miss my Guru and a dear friend – Parag. ‘Parag Trivedi’ was a name and a booming voice in A.I.R that Bombayites woke up to each Sunday morning in 1997 – 98 and Anjan would complement these with his music on a weekday’s night music. Those were the days when there was no world space and CDs were really expensive to buy – radio was still the next best form of entertainment.
I did travel back in time last night ... of the day that I met Parag.
A typical sultry noon in Bombay’s Victoria Terminus – a.k.a CST is definitely not a moment to remember in an average Bombaywala’s life. I call myself a typical Bombayite despite having spent all my living years living in various cities pan India and a tiny patch of my life was spent in Germany. I had gone to bid mamu farewell as he was disembarking on yet another journey via the railroad to Baroda. It was 1997 May. The relentless heat and humidity was hardly a thought that was crossing my mind as I stood watching the trains come in and go. That afternoon, I was wondering why is mamu going to Baroda to play some classical music to some office going lots... who cares for such vague and arbit pianos, violins, Western, Hindustani and Karnatic music .... what a waste of time !! I was just another ‘young rebel’ who liked listening to the music of 70s,80s and of course the 90s.... Classical Music was meant for the old and the snob class, this genre of music never did appeal to us young lots and in case we were to encounter one of us listening or even curious, we were to tag the person as a fossil . Little did I know that afternoon I’d meet my uncle’s friend who would be the ‘Tipping Point’ in my life. My uncle introduced me to the hurly-burly , humourous gentleman with a beard and twinkle in his eyes, donning his classic Kurta and blue jeans and carrying his maroon CD case – his most prized possession. I always believed myself to be an introvert who does not easily like talking to strangers and my uncle told Parag that I speak Gujarati and German & this was the ice breaker. Parag spent exactly a minute chatting on the platform before the train to Baroda came chugging in and I promised to meet him with mamu next time in Bombay at his place.
Still being sceptical about the ‘Classical World’, I did go with my mamu to Parag and manda’s home in Bombay’s Juhu area. The house was austere – exuding such peaceful and positive vibes that anyone could be at peace with the world and self upon entering. The aura of the house was akin to Manda’s. That morning, Parag, Anjan and Manda were all preparing for yet another Classical Art’s workshop dealing with the Baroque, Classical and Romantic era. The passion, dedication and the knowledge each one shared and bought out, kindled my instant love for this ‘new world’ I was entering into. Over a period of time, the Guru-Sishya parampara truely enfolded and I was invited by Manda and Parag to be a part of their family and live with them. As time went by, I slowly inched further and further into two worlds – that of Classical Art and the other of German. I went off to Germany eventually chasing a dream and spent long months basking in the newly discovered world of the western classical world that was now larger than life. Everything I saw and read in Europe, I could value it more because of the plethora of knowledge that Anjan and Parag had shared. I was like a sponge, taking in everything every breathing moment....
In 2003, when I came back once again from Germany after having spent some months in Deutsche Bank - I had called up Parag and Manda, wishing to meet them once again after a long spell; I was shocked to be informed by a strannger’s voice that Parag had become one with the Universe about a week ago. I could attend the prayer meet that was being held at one of his friend’s place at Samudra Mahal. I have never been able to reconcile with ‘Death’ : Not of Parag’s and not of my Thakurma’s.
As I pen these thoughts, I still wonder if Parag is smiling down at the world from where he sits...in eternal peace, sharing his eternal time with Beethoven, Tschaikovski, Mozart and his Guru. He must be glad to see Sabrang where it is today, to see where and what some of his Shishyas are doing and particularly laugh out loud in sheer joy when he listens to me waking up to Beethoven and walking a righteous path; so what if I can’t do much for the humans, my calling in life is for the animals. Manda and Parag had been the guiding lights when I was still young and could be influenced. Spending days and hours with them, I was subconsciously taught to transcend beyond the materialistic world. I do not know how successful I have been in transcending , but I do know that some people who had influenced my life then, would be glad to see my bit of the contribution to the world.

27th Feb

This is my little corner in the cyber-world where I can have a monologue with the world and yet remain anonumous. I have been having hectic days at work. Sharing my space with braindead machines and humans who have donned the robotic state. There are moments when I just feel like keeping my head on the desk and catching a catnap.... just to act defiant.

There must be something that shall change the ways of life - no? I am so bored with the corporate set up. I wish to bring about a radicle change in this day and age when everyone is sceptical about life@work. This is just some mindless rambling I am putting up ...but I am sure that the more I write, the better I shall feel and my creative juices need to see the light of the day.

Of felines and other things...how it all began.

The toughest things are the easiest ones...like giving a shapeless cloud a form !! Have you ever looked at a cloud and see it float and merge without any effort with another cloud.... will there be an identity crisis?

A blissful month of October in 2004 in Bangalore - being spent in a city that was an absolute bore for a lonely soul like me. I had broken up with my beau, I had the world at my command at work, a beautiful apartment at a dirt cheap cost on rent.... I did lack both acquaintances and friends ( ahem.... the closest Bong friend that I had was having a sordid affair with the man whom I was dating and who is still a dear friend. My then boyfriend told this to me much later & I had a laugh at my own expense :0 C'est la vie). But then, I was a very lonely person in Bangalore and I abhored the place.


This was my second year in the Indian silicon city. If someone were to have asked me my opinion of the place, I'd have de-sold the place for sure. I had longed for warmth and friends in a place that was so commercial and materialistic. Sometimes I felt like an alien in my own country. The vegetable vendors, butchers, auto-drivers and the local people fleeced anyone who did not hail from the southern part of the sub-continent. Now, in India we do not have the luxury to choose the city to live in or the job... most of us are like the free flowing water; getting into the job crevice before something or someone else gets in. At times, also displace others. Its still the survival of the fittest, of the conniving.

Despite my dislike for Bangalore, I can not discount the truth that some of my best years as far as learning about life as well as on the work front took place there.

That afternoon in October was the tipping point. Shamal - a colleague who was in my team called me and asked me if he could come over. Now... Shamal, Patrick, Vrinda and Ananth were family in a place that was home away from some 'Home'.

Anyways, Shamal arrived that funny sunday noon with a small scrawny kitten held in his HUGE giant like hand. Shamal is truely a gentle giant. The little kitty was filled with life and immediately began exploring the house.... into the kitchen, up the guitar, under the futon, on the curtain and the kid's eyes had not yet lost their baby blue shade !!!

Mitzi - an apt name for the gold and white cat who resembled a bob-cat because of his large ears and huge blue orbs...post prancing about the new home - zzzzzzz on a tiny painting of Claude Monet ' The water lilies'. Later post 3 months of him coming home, the name 'Mitzi-Claude Monet' was officially given. By the way, Mitzi would not have been called Claude Monet if I did not care enough for him and get him take his shots diligently.
Manna - as I still call Mitzi in my most endearing manner - was about 2 months old when I had to call the vet home.
Like your first born, your first pet cat / dog / bird or whatever it is, is always someone closest to your heart. Not that I have experienced parenthood in a true sense but I am sure that tomorrow if I were to give birth to my own flesh and blood, I'd be just as tentative with many things as I was with Manna. My day would and still starts and ends with this particular kid. Manna was and is my problem child as well. On the first week of arrival in Purva Graces, I found this fur-ball with a swollen eye. I am still left baffled on how he had hurt his eye. I called up my boss and told him' My cat is ill I can't come to work'. Now, any boss in his sane mind would say, 'ok, so your cat is ill - so what ?' Not in my case. Call my furball a cat and be assured that your face shall have some scars, your car, a dent ! They are my babies. So, Mitzi was my first born ( or rather my first feline baby). All that Manna needed for his eye, was a normal eye drop twice a day for 3 days. This being over, on the second month, I had to give him is vaccinations. The vet came home and caught the scrawny one dimentional golden fur ball. Mitzi had a temper even then. He spat and fought the poor vet and ensured that both, vet and I had bloody hands. His shots given, I learnt how to trim his claws. They were ( and still are) tiny pink ones.

Once the vaccination card was being made and the doc wrote Mitzi's gender as male, I had a sudden sinking feeling... I thought that the vet was a fraud. How could my Mitzi be a male...was my baby not a girl? Oh well, pink bowls, pink bed, pink towel, pink collar ...noooooooo this can't be true !! I retorted and asked the vet if he was sure that Mi was a male cat. My poor vet was surely not prepared to be cornered for this. He promptly caught Manna, lifted his tail and told me with a straight face 'those are the balls'. I died a double death - one out of a heartache and second out of sheer embarassment. I had to have a sudden accpetance of a gender change of my only child and then it struck me - Mitzi is actually Mitzi-Calude Monet. The only cat I know off, who loves Impresionism Art.

Mitzi was a handsom kid and before I could spell 'jack robbinson', he was a quarter year of age. Manna has certain traits though, that shall make him a perpetual kitten. He loves to knead me and suck my t-shirt.... not a normal kid !! Also, he usually usually licks his tiny pink paws at the crack of dawn and puts them on my nose to wake me... now how can one ever be angry with such an endearing fellow.

Nala - The beauty of Rantambore

India, an incredible land that has a rich flora, fauna and heritage is slowly, but surely loosing out on her wildlife. 5 decades ago, there were nothing less then 3000 tigers to be found across the country. There have been other animals who, along with the tiger also need some attention. These are leopards, wild cats and panthers.
The untamed growth of human race has become an absolute threat to the wild. Yet, neither are WWF, National Geography nor other NGOs able to do much.
Nevertheless, I must give kudos to Valmik Thapar and his efforts at doing something for the tigers. I am much impressed in the manner that Rantahmbore has worked on saving the tigers. I was there recently and had the wonderful opportunity of seeing 6 tigers spread across the jungle. My favourite is a tigress called 'Nala or Lady of the Lake'. This furry lady is a true beauty and she knows how to instill the mortal fear in all creatures both living and dead that fall under her territory. Seeing her and her freedom was wonderful. She is indeed a lucky cat. Imagine being born in a zoo she would have never known what freedom were to be.
Most of the time its criminal to confine these huge creatures in cages. No matter how beautifully the landscaping is done, it is nothing close to being out there in the open and in the wild... nothing like hunting down your food, nothing like facing the furies of the nature, locating crevices and caves, having secret routes, hiding the kill.... freedom is so important to anything living.
Plant a tree in a forest and the same species of tree in one's courtyard. There will most certainly be a difference in the quality of the fruit and the growth of the plant. Even stationery living creatures need freedom. I managed to enter Nala’s head…and with her permisson managed to capture below some of her thoughts.

I am ‘Nala’ - 'Lady of the Lake' and Ranthambore is my home. Unchartered, unbridled, free from realms of human intervention - I saunter across the plains and the grasslands. This is my land; these are my creatures - all of them - air borne, water borne and those who eat the grass of my land. I am permitting humans to come and learn from my kinds - let those lesser mortals learn how to live in harmony and what it means to be content. But let me tell you, human beings have no dignity, they trespass my privacy and misuse the hospitality that I have offered. One day one of them will shoot my cubs, kill my kinds and decorate their homes. Yet, let me just live in peace for now. Let me live for the moment, let my silent pugs usher the free spirit of my soul and for now, let me drink the cool water from my lake and sleep under the shade of the sisal tree. I can hear the monkeys chattering and the Sambar baying .... they need not fear for now. I am content and thus languid.