when summer comes, can monsoon be far behind

when anguish comes, can tears be far behind?
and when winter comes, can sprint be far behind...

==
very crazy, very crazy about you
yes, believe or not, love you I do
the whole entire time
at compiling and at runtime

===
Jenny is jennifer. Jenni also indeed
the one who could ride a horse at speed
i am a mere cavalier, a liar
a rogue and a layer

my donkey sally was good-looking
and chic. She derived from the bible
Rosy M Banks wrote romantic novels
rosy the elephant drank beer
==

and gutter water?
Nah, not Rosie, who likes it with soda water
and the moon shone and all that - the solitary clock in the sky
a pain in the heck and in the eye

==
Now let us translate afreen, afreen...

let me see if html tags work

Not possible to praise her beauty in words
the body is like ajanta; like a poem, a fragrance
a blooming garden, the first ray of dawn; sandally
and marbly. Sandali sandali, marbly marbly...

are they eyes or dreams
it is night when the eyes look down
and dawn when the eyes look up

and what is nargisi?

oh wo weilest du mein doktor tak?
remembering salah before I go on to tell another tale.
==


==

when you speak plainly of your father...

so when I speak of my father, should I not tell you about my ma. Cool as a cucumber, ever.

two things - both funny.

Ma had a cerebral haemorrhage, a mild attack. Dr Lalli (of whom you will hear more in coming blogs), my sister, was at hand. She administered the appropriate poison, and they shifted Ma to Hyderabad nursing home. Lalli was then working there, I guess. The doctors told Lalli that she did the exact right thing needful at that minute, and that ma is safe. Cool as cucumber, as you will see.

The doctor comes to check ma the next morning. Ma is drowsy after a night of sedation. The doc wants to check her alertness: "Who is this?" (pointing at my sis). Ma says, proudly: My daughter! The doc says: What is her name? Ma turns to sis, saying - Eh, you tell him your name. Well, as it happened, there was no one on record in the hospital who did not know the charismatic Dr Lalita (and it was ma's snub to the doctor: if you don't know her, then you must be a total clown!)

Or so I think she meant. She does not explain herself. Like most mothers. Like all mothers?

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Then there was the time when Dr Tak and I were working at good ol' OL. We had two flats in the same block in amrita enclave. The big Ashwin, then a toddler, was with us. Ma went onto the terrace, and the door got locked. She goes to the neighbors and calls up office: I confer with Tak saab. It was around 3 pm. I wrote about this before, but what the hex - I will repeat it. "Pandit," says Dr Tak. "I have to meet a printer in panjagutta at 4 pm, so I will go give keys to ma and then proceed to the printers." So he was to leave after an hour or so. A few minutes later he comes around: Hey, I will go now. Ma is locked out on the terrace and it looks like it may rain. I give him the keys and he is off.

Later that evening, Tak is rolling on the floor laughing. "You know what, pandit? Ma is so cool. When I came here, it was drizzling on the terrace (ma was under cover). Little ashwin was playing and she was watching amused. I said I got the keys. [Ma knew no Hindi or English.] She told me in Telugu to keep the keys there - indicating the top step leading to the terrace."

Dr Tak did not stop to show his concern that achwin was getting wet. Oh well, into each life, some rain must fall - right? he thought, and rolled down the stairs into his flat, forgot about the printer he was supposed to visit, and was laughing - until I got there and restored him to his senses with a bit of old monk. Then he sobered up.

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my ma's son

I am fond of telling this tale, of my unshakable spirit. It was a month after the Latur earthquake. There were tremors (aftershocks) in Hyderabad. In some parts, people came onto the streets - I was told. I was shaken, too, out of sleep at least. It was after the men, women and children of the house left for their pursuits of the day. I was pursuing nothing in particular, so I was alone at home. Waking up, I remember looking at the roof wondering if it would fall. The next question was whether to get out of there or wait for some imponderable collision of plates to fall upon me.

The important thing is to give yourself time. Before I could think of logical and efficacious plans, to deal with the situation, the tremors stopped. Now, all that is moot?

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Often have I been stirred into thinking
but never into action. never emoting

Ma tujhe salaam