spring

 A solitary peanut , ashamed of its nudity 

new found freedom , springs sprightly 

from the shelling fingers,

rolls ,scampers swiftly 

and hides behind the microwave .

A thick carpet of dried peepul leaves 

in midday slumber , suddenly heaves 

feet scupper , the crisp dry  rustle

the babblers , browse in group , hustle 

Lifting leaves with their beaks , bustle 

Noisily feeding on invisible insects , 

seeking refuge 

in nature's refuse 

Sun will blaze shortly like a flame thrower 

every living thing will pant and perspire 

Then they gather around terracotta pots 

with warm saline water 

Left over 

from the days yester 

a whoosh of the myna 

rebuking from the tree top 

A whooping jackal , a mocking hyena 

A barbet sets up a racket 

talking to the spring air , perfect 

"I Love yous " from the apex 

a beetle dashes in futile masochism against 

the wire mesh door , humming hurtfully 

And a black and white great tit 

busy building a home , a nest 

in all earnest , sharing notes 

with a purple sunbird 

its beak buried in the hibiscus 

A red banner , protestation 

against the yellow abomination 

Both the sun and the tree , at war 

of colours , against each other 

 a drongo flies past , sashaying its glossy tail 

like a movie star at met gala , masked and caped 

A woodpecker is busy , hammering out termites 

from the trunks where hide they might 

Ha ha . we rhyme , finally , 

and the rose finch specifically 

chooses my window 

to throw down glass blades 

 challenging me to a duel 

of who builds   a nest in the blinking of an eye 

so what  if you can , from inside your glass see ? 

The bulbul , content mostly , 

is now complaining , for daily 

the pot is bereft of water 

the babblers , drink and scatter 

tree bullies . No manner!!

Sparrows hold urgent meetings 

inside flower bushes , and beetles 

in psychedelic colours fly 

 blink and miss . 

 

Rainforest rain

  It has been  raining since last night .

This is a tropical rain forest , and this is how it rains . A uniform bank of clouds forms overnight , regardless of the current weather . So , this layer of clouds prevents the usual escape of the heat waves into the atmosphere , and you sweat . This layer of clouds is totally oblivious to your predicament . Whether you are hiding beneath a thin 'chaddar ' or a thick mink blanket , you are doomed to feel hot . Momentarily . Then it starts . 

The drizzle . A tiny innocuous shower , that wets your verandah and the kitchen towels  you set out to dry the previous evening . Then it tightens its grip . The rain . Slowly , and imperceptibly . The rain goes on . Endlessly . The holes in your umbrellas are needlessly revealed . 

Your carefully grown petunias and marigolds , gazzinias and dahlias , chrysanthemums and bryophyllums take the beating . Some still stand tall , even after 10 hours of continuous pitter patter , other just throw in the towel , and lie down to hug the earth , flatter the better . 

"Phshaw ! This rain !! It is nothing , it will just go away "  This boastful remark from a son of the soil , product of the land , a local inhabitant . These words , spoken in the early morning , were eaten , soggy and dripping , in the evening . By this time , the so called local inhabitant' s jacket was sodden , the mood not -so-ebullient and shoes wet and clammy . 

The rain persists , and the jackals are quiet tonight . There are no war cries , no skirmish amongst the dog-clans , no protests amongst the babblers and the woodpecker has not been out to peck the wood . 

The forest is wet and muddy , silent and moody . By now , even the driest areas of the trees have been rendered wet . 

The hard to reach trunks , the soil clutched in the tenacious fingers of its roots , the innermost branch , the new born leaves , the insides of flowering hedges , where sunbirds make their nests , and the densest foliage , where the cuckoo sidles to , to swallow its last morsel of semi ripe papaya, all are damp . 

The cars spray mud along with the crunch of gravels and the bird bath needlessly fills up , with the water from the heavens . 

     

"Try "assic Park

(Dinosaurs existed in three periods of the Mesozoic era . One of them was the Triassic period ) 

 In our modern world , instead of the fang baring  giant beasts , we have snarling traffic jams : instead of Goliath foliage ,  we have towering skyscrapers , and instead of hyenas , foxes , and such slinky , cunning scavengers , we have equally wily , opportunistic human car owners / drivers , who try to out manoeuvre and outsmart you by placing their insolently purring  tin boxes in your chosen place /path . 

So , a visit and an overnight stay at parents' home in a  bustling city turned out to be quite an adventure for us jungle dwellers , who have the luxury of a roofed , designated car park , attached to one's dwelling . Even otherwise , there is plenty of space where a car can be safely parked . 

The real struggle is parking it , safely , in a city ; where lot of other people have similar ideas . More people , less horizontal surface . Struggle for parking , parking lot for the fittest driver , to paraphrase Darwin . 

We had started at dawn , on a Sunday , to beat the week day traffic . Also , to beat the weekend revellers , who wake up around noon , and raise cain around evening . 

A family friend had promised us a safe parking spot between houses D12 and D13 of a certain government housing colony , opposite the parents' building . 

At 1203 hrs , precisely , we entered the 4 foot broad , bricked lane , inside the said colony . The narrow road was lined by grassy land bordering deep drains , choked with polythene bags . A four wheeler didn't leave any room for any other vehicle or person . At the end of this perilous road , the path broadened out somewhat , and we breathed trifle easy . We still didn't know where to go . 

Finally , after 15 minutes of crawling along , scattering chickens ,getting frowned looks from aged grannies oiling their wispy grey locks , hunched up on the thresholds of their" quarters "( possibly leased out in the name of their deceased spouses ,  by the government ,for 99 years ) . Suddenly the gully opened up like a revelation , and there lay the imposing structure of a temple . 

Some kids , enthusiastically playing a Sunday game of cricket , were stopped in their celebration of a sixer , mid whoop by our sudden appearance . They too , frowned silently . 

Apprehension turned to panic when we saw a tiny , furry creature disappear underneath the car . Brakes were applied jerkily , and a teenaged boy , heroically stationed himself in front of the engine , arms outstretched . The puppy was unhurt , and we had to make a U turn , after many , hasty consultations, on phone , with the said ex resident of this colony , who had offered us a "nice , safe , parking spot " . The latitude and longitude of this parking spot wasn't clarified even after prolonged conversations , hastily held over the phone , jerked from my sweaty palms by eager people , and continued in three different lingos . Neither were the landmarks . Considering it a diplomatic and a communications failure , we proceeded back onto the main road , cautiously and slowly , this time , dodging roosters , goats , dogs , cats and pedestrians . 

The main road had been reduced to a mere broad lane , due to the extent of encroachment on its precincts . There were slow poke totos ( e rickshaws ) , drunkenly honking , lurching , and rushing private / government buses , and myriad two wheelers , swanky new cars . All honked , swerved and lurched in your path . 

Positioned at the gate , I went to argue with an insolent watchman for a piece of parking spot . 

"My father lives here . We need a parking spot ." 

"Does your father have a car ?" 

"No , not now . But years ago he did. A series of cars ."

He smiled at me . A pitiful , sickly smile . Plus , he just had two front teeth in his grimy , wrinkled face . 

"No . no parking place . " He said decisively , and shut his toothless mouth , clamping his gums . 

"Come on now . My father was the president of this housing colony for so many years . " I swept around with my outstretched arm in a grandiose gesture . All it captured was dereliction , peeling off plasters , dying , dust coated trees , grimy houses. Before finally resting on jeering faces of men as old and crumbling as the buildings themselves . 

Another old watchman , trifle younger than the one at the gate , came up at us , and asked what the commotion was all about . He identified himself as Shukla ji from Barauni . 

He , with extreme compassion , allowed us to bring the car in . My daughter had , in the meantime , got out , and had raced three floors up , to meet her grandparents . 

We , with the aid of a very doubtful Shukla ji , parked our car at the side of a building marked "H " Block , narrowing the narrow road further , almost hugging the perimeter wall . He kept up with the ambiguity of our safety , by reiterating 

"Someone might come to park here , or someone might not . I do not know . In any case , you will be informed ." 

We exchanged phone numbers and were about to part company , amicably , when Shukla ji looked over my shoulder , and changing his lingo , burst into broken English . 

Telling us , how we were welcome here , any time etc . I looked over my shoulder to find my nonagenarian father , still standing tall , having come down from his home , smartly clad in pants , shirt and trousers , looking every bit the housing president he was , twenty years ago . My daughter chafed her hands standing next to him , whispering to me , "I told him not to come ." 

Seeing Baba , our toothless Buddha ran  to us from his watch post , and lied glibly " I told them , they could park wherever they wanted Sir . " 

Later that night , in the midst of cake cutting and gleeful chatter of a family reunion , we again got a call from a car owner , who claimed that the place we had parked our car at belonged to him . It was a "lawaaris " spot , up for grabs as Shukla ji had repeatedly and rightly warned us . 

We reached to find a well dressed person , apparently distressed at having his slot gone . However , my hubby launched into his full charming mode , like a true Sagittarian , asking his antecedents , revealing his , and exchanging phone numbers , shaking hands , dispensing  free ( mildly unsolicited ) medical advice , hence making (possibly for posterity ) staunch  friends out of mild foes . The cars ( his and ours ) remained unmoved , parked nose to nose , ready to pounce on each other like sparring wrestlers , and we retired to our respective homes for a night of fitful sleep . 

Next morning , when we arrived , his car was missing and our car was unharmed . 

Before we could breathe a sigh of relief , we had to manoeuvre the car from in between 5.6 feet broad road , hemmed in by sharp edged concrete buildings , with a road bump at every intersection . 

There was a group of teenagers , loafing at the lonely spot , who decided to film our distress the moment a bunch of resident pariah dogs decided to rebel against our presence . 

It was a nightmare , and that we managed to reverse a car which is roughly 5 and a half foot in breadth itself , with giggly boys videotaping us on one side and angry dogs barking at us on other , without scraping the sides , speaks volumes .

 Hats off to the people who do this nerve wracking manoeuvring everyday . 

We emerged unscathed and sped off to our jungle with a sigh of relief . 

An ode to upma

 Upma is a salty porridge of sorts that has slowly but steadily, grown in popularity all over the nation . 

Made of semolina, broken wheat , vermicelli, bread , etc , it is a heartwarming dish on a cold Monday morning , when life appears forbidding , and the spirits are as down  as dew drop covered grass . It warms hearts , fills bellies and tiffin boxes , and brings good cheer to grumpy people. 

It is easy to make, therefore manifesting promptly on dining table before people can utter " no breakfast".

Some , arguing against, would say it is a humble, peasant dish , with nothing great about it .

It has been however, seen , like a chameleon, to take on the hues of its surroundings. One may find it , ghee - slick , studded with dry fruits glistening with loaded calories at a wedding feast ( for instance) . Or , in the Spartan company of rustic vegetables . 

What one craves on a rainy cold evening , however ,is the plainest , almost grey ( echoing the sky outside) version with minimal accompaniments , but with warmth ample enough to keep the sun glowing in your heart. 

ChatGPT

 "Artificial Intelligence will have a more profound effect on humanity , than fire , electricity or internet . " - Sundar Pichai .

The single most , relatively quiet , revolutionary moment in the field of robotics , in 2023 , was the launch of Chat GPT . Launched on 14th March by Open AI , a robotics research institute in the US , GPT4 ( Generational Pre trained Transformer 4 ) is a multi modal large language model made available to the internet users , via a the chatbot called Chat GPT . 

It has taken the world of computers , internet users , students , all , by storm . It can process 25, 000 words , and can respond to images . 

It has revolutionised home work , classrooms , presentations , and our literary  expressive abilities . 

Though the users have fallen for it , hook , line and sinker , for you can write your essays , speeches , presentations , and articles , in the blink of an eye , there is a word of caution , for the over enthusiasts . Slowly , and certainly , we seemed to have entered a dangerous realm where we have given our ability to think , to a machine . We will be spoon fed words and phrases , and somewhere on the way , our creativity will take a beating . Our minds may yet emerge winners , but it is a shaky possibility . 

Like a wise man once said 

"By far , the greatest  danger of Artificial Intelligence is that people conclude , far too early , that they understand it . " - Eliezer Yudkowsky 

Good Morning" friends"

 On every Android phone , except that of my nonagenarian parents , is an app called WhatsApp . 

It allows you to send and receive messages , to and fro, from " friends " , families and acquaintances . 

There are roughly 15 of these so called " contacts " , in my list. I wish them every morning , and  , am wished back , in return . That is how this works . 

This early morning exchange of digital greetings has led to very interesting observations . 

There is a friend , who , in return to my innocuous ( or so I think) , roses and posies , sends me a short homily . On how I should conduct myself  , the ways of the world , and such like , similar philosophies . The gems read " " You are punished if you have common sense . For then, you have to tolerate all those people who don't have it. " 

" All the wealth in the world cannot buy you sight , if you choose to shut your eyes. " 

Another class ,( there are a few of them) do not reply regularly . After few days, when your overtures go unanswered , you clam up . That is when they reply .  A game of digital hide and seek. Like a drop of monsoon , in a desert . Tad too late , and frankly dangerous . They are known to scrape off top soil . But I can't say that to them . 

So I answer . And the cycle repeats itself . 

Another class , over indulgent , want to share every waking moment of their lives with you . From the photo of the early morning tea , to the paintings made by their normally tantrum filled daughter , to the food cooked that day , places visited , family get togethers , birthday cakes , wall decorations , new pots and pans , everything is posted . 

Another group is the religiously - replying class . Either through words or from pictures borrowed from other inboxes , they will never fail you. 

A last group posts religious good mornings . Either Lord Krishna , Rama or Shiva grace your screen in the morning. There is no option but to fold your hands in reverence . 

Some others are fond of Gulzar , the poet . A bit too much . In fact , most non rhyming  words and ugly poems are attributed to Gulzaar. That is  leaning on the sacrilegeous , if you ask me . 

However , the conclusion is , I am the perpetrator of all these misadventures put together , hence I too am not above board . 

Hence I am my own good morning ' friend '. 

On writing a story

 Some days back , I began writing a story. 

A few characters born and christened 

Grew out of thin air , on vanity fattened 

Run amok amongst the pages 

looking for their place in the ages 

Hunting down their own history .

She , he and they , puffs of smoke , all 

God , did they make me hurry 

Behind their backsides blurry 

trailing the thread of narrative 

muddying the perspective 

sloshing through the swamp , spinning the ball 

I finally collected my own yarn 

lassoed all the  parties aberrant

bringing them to the forefront 

Tying all the loose ends 

frayed ones I did mend 

So much hard work , darn 

Weaving a tale , 

fat as a whale 

was a lesson for me 

henceforth , just tiny 

stories .teeny weeny