Monday, December 19, 2011

Part-4....that never returns....

                   


The schools were located two-three kilometres away from the residence. Children from the neighbourhood converged at a convenient point before setting out for the school. The onward and downward journey on our two-wheelers (two legs) was much more interesting than any other fun. The sceneries and greeneries on the way, the tales from the fellow trekkers, the petty eatables packed in paper bits, and the such smoothed our movement to school through stony roads. The children carried their books as bundles tied with a broad rubber band. The boys took the support of the shoulder whereas the girls that of the left loin, just like, village-women carry their kids on journeys. School bags with the children were rare rather seldom, unlike today when even the playschool-goers must exhibit a desert-camel-like show.  

Fairs and festivals were indeed marvellous, as they provided mind-blowing curiosity to both of them, the little ones and grownups. These fairs and festivals, the siblings, cousins, friends, the other kinfolks and neighbours celebrated in unison with good spirit. Pond dip, new apparel, palatable plantain-leaf-feast, and the like were some of the main features. The tang of the Payasam (a post-meal sweet-dessert) used to linger on the tongue of those participants, who had their festivity feast till the next meal. 


A warm feeling of love a bond bound the children during celebrations. Onam being a distinct fair was attributed to numerous activities for the kids and kiddies. Floral decorations added magnificence to the festival, Onam. Girls moved round in search of flowers in the village, swinging flower-baskets in their hands. The very thought of flower gathering filled them with rousing cheer to come out of the bed with a bright countenance, even if lazy they were for an early rise. The swing area was another point of charm.  The heroic events of standing and touching high branches of the swing-supporting bough, exhibited by some expert male ones, during swinging, were lucidly adventurous. The girls, shedding their fret, also tried their level best to relish various methods of swinging like standing, leaving one hand, sitting in double or triple numbers on the same swing etc. 

 Coming to the cultivation mission-sowing seeds, harvesting, bundling, arranging, threshing, winnowing, etc. of paddy crops enthused the children much. Songs and tunes hummed by reapers turned the atmosphere admirably lovely and lively. The little ones spent all their might on troubling the workers, as their little limbs fell in every work and everywhere they came across.

 Besides all these, sleeping together on mats, spread on the floor of the loggia, beside the inside-quadrangle and falling during sound slumber on its sandy ground had their significance in our babyhood. A community-lunch type of action took place during the meal sessions. Some clever guys snatched the fish piece kept for the end part of the meal by some of the children, literally threw the latter into wetting their eyes. The rebukes from elders brought smiles to the tearing eyes and settled the matter.

 Sure, the children at that time had a joyous multi-hued childhood of lengthy duration, whereas now the children of today have the adulthood of a stretched extent, right from their childhood itself. The parents stuff their brains with academics to fulfil their unfulfilled aspirations and ambitions. The heavy load of books and works weakens the brawns of children. They might be loading much of academics and allied activities in their memory;  therefore, I suspect whether they can recall this much amount of infancy with this much cheer and pleasure. ,


Anyway, sights and scenes as currents of incidents from my reminiscences flow to the computer's monitor, in the form of words and sentences. If I continue like this, the conclusion will be difficult because the then village-young-ones had copious opportunities for recreation with burdenless study lessons. We can tap letters and letters on the keyboard if we want filling pages and pages, about our young age days. Nevertheless, now I seek rowing to the closure-shore and conclude and so, 'goodbye' for the time being.


 May the Almighty be showering the flowers of His blessings on all the readers.                         

                                                                                          [The end]


Part-3...that never returns....





                                                 Google Image







                        


We, the infants toddled and prattled through the verandas and compounds, picking whatever came on the way, generating gleam in elders’ eyes. Childhood bagged special attention practically nil from the guardians since the children were not the kind of spoon-fed category. We availed of more freedom than today’s children, who are entangled in over-parental care. And so we could be much more independent and self-reliant.

 Mostly the children used to get up before the Sun came with his long sticks to wake them up. Divine qualities such as obedience, discipline, honesty, affection, etc tinted with sincerity and hard work ornamented the villagers and so also their children. Therefore a wind of unwritten law and order blew everywhere spreading the scent of simplicity.      

 Boys and girls though had their separate modes of amusements and recreations, not many games segregated them. Recreations through gaming were stealing the hearts of children and hence their life during vacations sought grounds outside their abode for sports. So hardly had we formed any group or team, for playing together was the pattern followed.

Olichukali(hide and seek), Adichechottam (beat and run), King(catching and ousting a child from that round of the game), Kuzhippara(stones and pits), Kallukothu(juggling-picking stones in the gap of another stone thrown up), Thakku(throwing dice to jump on that without touching the columns drawn) and many more were among the games.

 Vattu(Marbles), Kuttiyum- kolum(a primitive form of cricket), Kite-flying etc filled the little male minds with thrill abundant. Little magical hands of girls gave life to various things as toys and playthings. The raw materials like leaves, nut-shells, paper-bits, rope-pieces, cords, strings, even mud, etc. amazingly, got shaped into chains, snakes, balls, crowns, cross belts and the like. The blindfolding game was also much sportive. Balls-from the market as well as those made from the Coconut leaflets-had played a major role in games. Chasing butterflies, dragonflies, watching antlions and ants and their kineses and the such were some other kinder games. 

 We, the children were architects of the first order as we designed and constructed temples and buildings(both bungalows and huts). We used sodden soil, twigs, coconut- stalks, shells, leaflet-midribs, etc. for construction and also we ornated our real estates with multi-coloured blooms. Sometimes we turned to be expert chefs cooking food with soil, leaves and flowers. Coconut shells were the wares, we used in our play- kitchen.

 Dancing, singing, one-act plays also had engaged the little minds at times, no matter they were of the accepted pattern or not. Fights and quarrels(mostly verbal), inherent or in-built in children's nature, had no dearth there but lasted not so long. 

 Summer vacation, the Mango season, was indeed the most spirited time. The thought of waking up at daybreak and running to the mango trees to collect the maximum number of mangoes occupied the little minds while going to the bed, the previous night. Sporting in vacant harvested paddy fields energised us to a greater degree.

Summer rains sometimes bathed the Earth in heavy showers and rainwater blanketed the whole terrain to the fullest. We, the children either remained home idle or engaged ourselves in some indoor games or galloped to the flowing water with paper boats. But the thud of falling mangoes induced vigour in us and then within no time we were under the mango tree. Grandma’s winnowers became umbrellas in children’s hands when it rained. Sticks jumped into grandma’s right hand whenever she understood about the missing winnowers.  
                                                     
Every house had one or more ponds that invited the children to play with. Jumping, Diving, Swimming-direct, upside down, sideways, backwards etc. were some of the games designed for our hilarity in the pond. Sometimes some plantain stems appeared in water for paddling games. Counting with a little bit of cheating by one person for another remaining under the water was carried out smoothly. Of course, an ample amount of pulling and pushing were the spices that made the water art interesting. This fun went on endlessly till some elders voiced angrily and loudly. 

At the age of five itself, all the children were at the track of swimming and not even a single child was there without having had mastery over the skill of swimming. Bath towels will become fishing nets when two children hold the towel on either side and dip under a shoal of fingerlings to fish them. And eventually, snowy white bath towels would have been dyed in a brown or black hue in similitude with the mud colour of the pond. 

                                                                                                            [to be contd.]
                                                              

Friday, November 18, 2011

part-2 .....that never returns...

                                           




                                          google image

The majority of the buildings were typical village type houses, befitting and fulfilling the little-little needs of the owners. The houses of haves were mostly a ‘Nalukettu-type’ with an open large quadrangle(Nadumuttam) in the centre, surrounded by spacious verandas . These sorts of houses allowed free flow of fresh air and entry of sunlight aplenty. 

These houses had annexes-some of them were exclusively meant for the cattle and the others for piling up logs, keeping agricultural tools, heaping up manures and so on and so on. At least two bullocks, three or four milch cows and their calves regally enjoyed the special care of their masters, as equal as the children did. 

The elders as well as the children took pleasure in fondling these cattle on their forehead and cuddling the calves. In fact, they bowed before the masters in order to get caressed. So everywhere one could smell the fragrance of a bondage of affection among the inhabitants. 

The oxen plowed and ploughed the fields and cows fed the children. And moreover, goats that produced nutritious milk also had their part to play  in  village-dwellers’ health matters. They all, swinging the body, blissfully filled their bellies with the foliages of the vacant lands and pastures. Cow-herds were the ambassadors of cattle-care, whereas the duty of   milking the cows was entrusted with the Cow-men. Mother Nature also had graced the village with ample grasses and greens for her offspring to graze stomach full.

 Besides these animals, Cats and Hens proudly occupied the interior of some of the houses. Dogs watched the houses as a reward for the shelter he obtained, though he wasn’t as fortunate as today’s ones. Today the dogs are VIP’s[very important pets] and hence they lead a majestic life and their locomotion is fully like that of the inmates inside the residences.

  Coming to the person in me, who had her childhood in that paradise, telecasts now her own experiences. The visuals of the early years of my infancy are not so vivid rather a bit blank for me. As I view that of my younger siblings and  younger cousins, I assume that I had had a similar profile. Almost all the childhoods of the neighborhood buddies resemble one another in the general mode. Procuring adulthood also exhibited a parity. So mostly I’ll walk through the path of  ‘we’ not ‘I’. 

Most of the families followed a joint family system and hence selfishness could not obtain its room there. The vacations collected all the grandchildren in grandpa's residence and therefore no draught for the children's number as play pals. Since the families were not of nuclear type, the elder children, may they be siblings or cousins, took charge of the younger kids, not necessarily the mothers

 Havenot's from houses around extended their hands to help the Haves, to a greater extent, in domestics as well as child-rearings. They were not paid any cash, but they enjoyed meals like breakfast and lunch in return. 

During the main festivals like Vishu, Onam, etc. the poor peasants gifted a part of their yields, to their masters, though their petite compounds provided only a wee bit of produce. Of course, these celebrations were occasions in which some amount of money used to migrate to the labourers' fist from their master’s pockets. In general, the pecuniary circumstances owned by the villagers were not so sound, yet they were content with whatever they had.






Thursday, November 17, 2011

part-1…….that never returns….....

At times knowingly or unknowingly a procession of childhood memories creep into people's minds.I am not an exemption but an example of that. And so is this write-up titled ...
 
                         .... that never returns...



        Part -1

There are a good many things that never return in their original forms. The time that we waste, the words that we speak, the food that we gulp, the objects that we burn, the money that we spend, the lives that expire etc. are a few of such things. There is one thing that everybody likes or rather loves to experience at least once more in life, but cannot, is nothing but his or her childhood. And that will never- never appear before us, once more and that is a paradox which we have to go by. Yet sometimes we wish we were children without any wish for achievements and without any chains for movements. But we can have a voyage along with our mind through the seas of our good old days of getting patted and pampered. There will be none who have not reached the shore of sweet childhood once more, without sailing in the ship of their memory. And so also no different I am, as many a time, the childhood of mine, once pedalled in my beloved village,  registers its presence in the ledger of my leisure hours.

  Yes, now I’m there at the panorama of my endearing village which is in the south of India. The southernmost part of India has a small corrugated leaf-like state called Kerala. The village with its picturesqueness steals the mind of its visitors as well as the dwellers. It was, yes, it was full of tall trees with swaying twigs and bushes with lots and lots of flowers(And now more or less concrete trees or jungles have displaced the very charm of our lovely village). Butterflies and birds fluttered by and visited their favourite nectar storage to feast themselves sufficiently. That was indeed a colourful sight. Wells quenched the thirst of peasants, while ponds refreshed them after the day’s work. Fields grew grains in abundance and trees and plants yielded fruits and flowers in plenty. They dressed up in the apparels of three crops annually, two turns of paddy and one turn of sesame or horticulture. 

 The cool breeze fanned the people in the hot sun. The sun never failed to attend to his duties and shone on all the stone pebbles and sand particles. The monsoons were real ambrosia for the villagers, as they awaited them, just like hornbills did for rains. Birds often turned to be great singers and sang melodious tunes for the villagers. They occupied their seats in branches to watch coolly the things going on smoothly in their jurisdiction. Nights also exhibited the luster and lure of her children-the moon and stars, whenever required.

 The landowners and the peasants kept a sincere bond of love and affection with each other. One could observe and feel a oneness between them. The peasants took care of the fields and cultivations whereas the masters cared for the workers’ welfare. Pretension had space seldom in the minds of both the giver and the taker. They understood the barriers that hindered each other and so they could overcome the impediments with a combined endeavor. In general, the occupants of my village possessed a light heart in hardships as well as in prosperities,which did not bless the villagers in plenty. At the same time they had no sky breaking dreams or ambitions. Innocence and earnestness ruled the minds of inhabitants, as a whole.


Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Preeta's Poem






             I had a loving niece, who had endeared herself to all her kith and kin by the way of both her deed and word. She was  an intellect whose thinking span was at a higher level. Her gait, looks, behaviour, manners and everything had a uniqueness that drew everybody’s attention. Alas! She is no more after the sweet age of twenty.  Though she fell into the clutches of malignancy, she left her footprints in the form of  numerous verses. Before publishing them  she had to depart from here. I would like to post some of them in the blog, as and when time permits . Most of her lines speak about love or nature. One of her poems goes thus…..[ I feel this poem is a prognostic.]
  Sarala

 
                                         A Sole Day

                                     Above is father
The heaven of peace
Below is earth
The maiden of trees
She has foibles
She faces ordeals.
But immune heaven
Has nothing bleary.
Minstrels of earth
Had much in count,
Nay, but the good
Has prayer, in spirit
‘A Sole Day’
To recline in peace
On Father in heaven
When will thee
Bestow your love?
Mine’s too an urge
A spotless day.


Preeta Nair


Sunday, November 6, 2011

Osama and Obama

letter-4

God only knows if Obama{I mean the U.S}was, much before, aware of the Hideouts of the ‘Bin’ ‘Laden’[Bin Laden] with all the rubbish to inflict suffering on the innocent and helpless. Rather the U.S may even have an approach towards the outfits of the Terrorists other than Osama. When the time becomes ripe for them to exhibit the power which they desire to exercise on all other countries, they will perform some circus on the beastliness of the extremists. India easily falls into the coaxing of theirs and they take the maximum advantage out of it. Will India’s leaders wake up and work for the motherland or only pack their pockets for ten or more generations of their successors? This is what some people like us have felt, maybe correct or may be wrong. Should the affected countries truly take measures to wipe off this evil, the innocent mankind can heave a sigh of relief.
sarala

Monday, October 31, 2011

Governance in Kerala

                  letter-3

                

 The election fair has come to a closure. The prominent among the victors have sworn in and occupied communal or political chairs. And now what is the main objective in front of them, is it personal or provincial? Those who were in the ministry many a time, should themselves elevate to chairs their followers, who own fresh knowledge and new ideas. The portfolios should be evenly and judiciously distributed among the rulers so that the deprived ones get their say. For decades together, except on a few occasions, the Education Ministry is in the hands of minorities who are in the forefront of everything in Kerala. So they are enriched with more than ninety percent of the educational institutions. Neither the Majority community nor the Congress party takes the needed steps to hold this important office.. Can we, the common mass expect clean governance by impeccable personalities and thus enjoy impartiality? It is the eleventh hour of Kerala being drowned in corruption. I hope the helping hands of some sensible persons will be extended at least at the twelfth hour to lift this state to safety.  

sarala

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

 letter-2           

Baba Ramdev- Genuineness?

We don’t know exactly whether Baba’s motive is enticing or encouraging the followers. But in his struggle of the situation,  in the viewer’s eyes he is in the path of unveiling
 the corruption. Corruption has taken strong roots in this soil,  as the big bosses of our country are manuring and nurturing this venomous plant. Even if Baba is not genuine in his mission the time and procedure of arresting him were solely brutal and barbarian. One cannot predict the aftermath of all these exercises. Only the days that will proceed can prove the veracity of all actions.
Sarala




  I used to write letters to editor for a ‘Daily’ which, by the mistake  of mine in timely sending or the lack of standard they expect, did not see the light. These were relevant to the social conditions prevalent at that time. So I thought of posting a few of them in my blog.                  
         Letter-1

       Bahujan Samajvadi Party

 I came across a photograph in the Hindu news paper today (page-10,May 30th). The picture depicts the fungi of slavery still sticking on Indians’ minds even after six decades of Independence. I really felt ashamed for being myself in the fraternity of  people who stoop down to any level to lick the leg of their leaders. And there are a few with folded hands as if they all were in front of a Godly Idol. The  leader Ms. Mayavati enjoys this drama with a tint of sarcasm on her lips. Ms.Mayawati is indeed  a politician who strives against and tides over adversities. Yet she promotes sycophancy, as she herself  considers that she is above everyone and everything. The party leaders ,may they be X or Y, should come down to the earth and feel the pulse of the common man. Will they work for the motherland instead of  playing ‘musical chair’ that helps them pack pecuniary packets meant for ten or more generations of their successors? Will the leaders scarcely encourage the art of coaxing and buttering? Only then our country can lift her head proudly.
 Sarala



Thursday, June 9, 2011

An Ideal Teacher!

An ideal teacher is idle never,

hardly violent and silent ever,

though the heart is even gloomy,

always on her face is glory.



In the soil of growing minds 


sows she knowledge-seeds in time,


unfurls the flag of grand slam


when with victory her pupils bloom.

 

 Grow, her pupils in her holiness,

and dims the sorrows, her own calmness.

Their wards merrily fly in the sky

And the parents hold their heads high,

 

A loving friend of all their colleagues,

a loving mother of the ones, she guides.

The horrendous word ‘quarrel’,

has no road in her mind to travel.

 

Her selfless ‘self’ has fabulous wealth,

a hearty heart for the child she helps.

The saving she has in her account

is her bond with warmth profound.


Children of all ages revere her much

as she is there to clear their hitch.

Heavy-felt subjects turn so light,

by the teacher’s tongue so sweet.

 

‘Great’ is the gift the parents award,

indeed worthier than any reward.

 ‘Honesty’ necklace they manufacture

for her neck that tames them to scholars. 

 

Though her hair in years gets grey,

remains her hand in work, evergreen.

Rays of the smile appearing on the lips,

wipe off the young ones’ all lapses.

 

The voice is quite smooth and soft,

yet very firm and solid and smart.

Never she spares any rod in class,

that may spoil a child, alas!

 

Clouds of troubles in the life of personal,

affect in no way her duty official.

When she opens her safe of experience,

Enjoy she can, her hard work’s price.

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Life !

                         LIFE

Life, O!,what are you? Could anyone say?
No, not a single person told it well.
Sometimes, it is smooth and soft
As a  lovely river, running slowly.

But sometimes! It is merely a roar
Pearcing harshly the ear of listener.
For someone life is calm and cool
 And for some others for work, a tool.

Some enjoy it as a soothing breeze,
For some, a lightning burning things on the way.
And for some it is a summer shower
Blooming  the flora in colourful attire.

On some days it is a flood of tears
And some days it is fun and laughter.
Some find it as a dungeon with chains
And some use it as wings to fly freely.

Some feel it as a path to walk for bread
And for  some a treasure for pleasure.
Some people make it a shelter to rest
And some take it as a work spot so vast.

Some build it as a mansion of love,
Some create in it a hell of hatred.
Some turn it as a road tarred to travel
And for some a cocoon for penance.

Some cook it as a dish delicious for eating,
For some it is a chance apt for cheating.
Some change it, for success, into a venture
And some turn it into a matter of adventure.

Some mould it into a ware designed skillfully,
Some destroy it as a glass, into broken pieces.
For some people it is a reason for depression
And for some, a medium of self–expression.

Sometimes it is a mountain to be conquered,
And sometimes a valley to be occupied.
But life is nothing other than all these
And  keeps on, life-wheel, rolling and rolling.

Always out of it, let your ‘self’ make the best,
 And allow never to be covered with rust.
Adopt steps that will lead you to be bold,
Reap you can then cent percent gold.









  









Saturday, April 16, 2011

TELECOM SCAM - A WAKE-UP CALL!






India stands on the tip of a volcano which contains Lava of common man’s burning fury. The worshipful crusader Mr. Hasare has just struck a match stick on the box and any time it may grow into a big flame to gulp all the atrocities.. The support expressed by the mass is a paradigm in this entity. The corrupt politicians, the monstrous mafias, the brutal terrorists and all such ruffians and rowdies have kept within their clutches the economy of our country. This economy amounts to countless multiples of the country’s actual currency. Whenever a scam arises, all sorts of actions leading to nothing will crop up and finally, everyone will sleep under hibernation. The election is another white elephant that does not attach any value to honesty and patriotism. Rather money, muscle and community powers pocket the candidature. Ungainly freebies, baseless promises, black cash for votes, special lifts for minorities’, etc. determine the success of candidates. People of the major community are treated as second class citizens here as they exhibit unity not. The malicious rulers and other members of the government make it a point to keep a divide among them at any cost. I don’t say that all the governing people are wicked. Maybe there some members having clean hands which are tightly fastened with the rope of others’ influence and indulgence. So if any scam not only the telecom one precipitates in the country’s affairs. it should be totally uprooted and all the atrocious men should be punished deservingly. All the citizens irrespective of religion or region should abide by the same civil law and enjoy the motherhood of this country equally. Otherwise, a day may dawn when the furious youths will demolish all the illegal palaces erected by the greedy politicians at the sweat of common man. So it is the ripe time all people stood in unity and acted in unison. It is a very humble request to people with a true heart to teach a lesson to the inhuman human beings.


                                                                                                                       Saral

Sunday, April 3, 2011

THE CRY IN THE AIR!


       [TSUNAMI]

 Hark! What is that noise we heard?
Is it a mountain’s breaking sound?
Is it the sky that is falling down?
Oh! It is a floating wall that drowns.

It is indeed a dazzling sight,
Water is rising to a coconut’s height.
 Oh! It is Tsunami, the rolls of waves,
Rolls, the mighty ocean’s muscles.

Where are the ones that stood on the shore
Making merry with kith and kin?
God! The harbour waves swept them away
Without leaving any, whether young or old.

Hid in clouds and wept the great Moon,
Ran away stars; wanting not to see the scene.
The ire of water and stormy wind, 
Lashed and hit the things in their way.

Screeches and cries resonated around,
Shrieks and screams echoed everywhere,
Rushing to vehicles  for life found there,
And rays of escape were felt nowhere.

Floods of blood reddened the sand,
Bodies of the dead filled the  full ground,
The beauty of the beach has totally disappeared,
The boundary of the land is wholly submerged.

Look at that old man standing in numb,
What he can do now is just to stump,
With heaviness in heart and tears in eyes
He witnessed sadly his dear ones' loss.
  
Mansions and huts many, men had built,
Money abundantly, he had hoarded,
Reveries and dreams covet, he had cherished
And articles in plenty, he had relished.

Alas! All the items favourite were perished,
And the lives entire, the waves swallowed.
The sand with multi-hued texture vanished
And things found on the shore got deformed.

Siblings of some people faded out of sight,
The sense of some others was lost in fright,
Homeless, foodless and cashless they turned
And waited in vain for the dear ones to return.

Fear and panic silenced the surroundings,
Arising questions in the minds of survivors.
Temples and churches dissolved in water,
And mosques also escaped not, they did wither.

What is the meaning of fighting for wealth?
Your might and money will in no way help,
Power and position will never give you a lift,
When you fall into the ditch of death.

Obstacles ample may hinder you easily,
Spectacles of far sight may save you really,
This life in fact is a God-given gift,
Use it fruitfully, before, a dearth, it comes to.

                                                         Sarala




Friday, March 11, 2011

Mother India Today!



 India , my mother is indeed wonderful
With full of breeze and splashing wind.
Hills and mountains of height very high

Guard her glamour without any harm.

Water sacred of Rivers, springs and seas
Prospers trees and bushes for her safety.
Scents of flowers and fruits everywhere spread
And please my mother’s children entire..

Gandhi,her great son had a great dream,
A dream filled with complete freedom.
Are we in truth independent?
O! Mother, we have free will nil.

Stand the rulers for their own policy
Carrying in carrier not any principle.
With currencies of corruptions in the pockets,
Dip they  their lip in lies and liquors.

Country remains no more of villagers,
Just it belongs to cruel villains.
Seeds of terrorism grow here fast,
Bombs in abundance fall here and blast.

Extremism waters the rivalry plants,
Creating covert havoc in places.
Lives of thousands leave this planet,
Wives of thousands lose their plans.

Little children with empty stomach
Wander here for food and bread.
Children rich from palatial abodes
Throw their eatables in ditches and drains.

Children’s celebration day in India
Pleases only the young of Haves.
The little sons of penniless ones
Stretch their hands for a coin in vain.

Vehicles costing lakhs and crores
Comfort the weights in silks and jewels
Bikes and cars carry the young in jeans
And lose they their sense even from teens.

Play their part well, drinks and Narcotics
And cheer youths’ minds in discotheque.
Looting and killing are the hobbies of the day
Shooting and stabbing follow on the way.

Steeling and pick pocketing travel in bus,
Snatching gold chain occurs at boarding.
Contagious ailments are the guests in slums,…….
The dwellers of this place, a lot, suffer.

Dollars, doctors though earn in millions
discard the destitute in  utter despair.
Flags of religions are hung on regions,
But flag of Nation burns in dejection.

Not a drop of courtesy we see,
Nor a ray of unity we feel.
Wickedness fills the heart of persons,
 And deception thrills the thoughts of people.

Where is ‘Ramrajya’ protecting rights,
A country devoid of terrible fights?
Sky-reaching preaching often we hear,
Practicing a bit, we don’t see at hand.

Still mother, you have sons a lot,
Who have attractive laurels brought
In fields of all kinds, like Science and fine arts,
And many spiritual and cultural acts.

The lining silver of cloud is very thin,
Mother, you weep with much deep pain.
May your children wipe fully your stain
And pray let us for the best to happen!


JAI HIND!
                                               Saral

Saturday, February 12, 2011

'Om!'

                                                              
   Om!
                                                              
He, who greatly I adore, he, who highly I revere,

He, who ardently I love and he, who I worship sacredly,

Eliminates the barriers I face, provides the bliss I yearn for,

 Clears the pavement I walk on, cares the family I belong to,

Grants the wishes I deserve, blesses with things I crave for,

 Fulfills the reveries I dream, brings the glory I look for,

Impels me to action from inertia, awakes me to light from dark,

Protects me to shade from heat, holds me to safety from danger,

Funnels me to courage from cowardice, leads me to shelter from theft,

Takes me to food from hunger, keeps me in health from ill health,

Drives me to virtues from vices, pushes me to alertness from ignorance,

Drags me to serenity from stress, slides me to glee from glum.

It’s me that prostrates before him; it is me that bows in front of him,

 It’s me that prays for his presence; it is me that pines for holding his hand.

 Oh! My lord, my beloved Ganesh; of my life, you are the guide

You are my spirit, you are my soul and you are my energy too.

It is you that lie here within me and it is you that to destination steer me,

And it is you that help me cover in completion all my mile stones,

It is you that through your compassion and concern channel my way.

 And it is you that pour in my lap comfort and peace ample

And it is you that forgive me, for in plenty own, apathy I may

And it is you that sees me in slumber comfy, when the day done.


  Sarala.