While preparing to compose a christmas wish for all my family and friends, I stopped at the reading for today in a book Sathya had gifted me (which I don't read as often as he would like me too, but when I do, there's usually something strangely wise in it).
"Let's avoid the temptation to make our Christmas worship a withdrawal from the stress and sorrow of life into a realm of unreal beauty. It was into the real world that Christ came, into a city where there was no room for Him, and into a country where Herod, the murderer of innocents, was king.
He comes to us, not to shield us from the harshness of the world but to give us the courage and strength to bear it; not to snatch us away by some miracle from the conflict of life, but to give us peace – His peace – in our hearts, by which we may be calmly steadfast while the conflict rages, and be able to bring to the torn world the healing that is peace.
Christmas is not a retreat from reality but an advance into it along with the Prince of Peace."
War is still an option on the table, unfortunately. Despite the unrest and unease all around, may we all still find the peace within, whichever route takes us there.
Perhaps this beautiful interplay between David Bowie and Bing Crosby, entitled Peace on Earth, could help. And that "my child and your child will see the day when men of goodwill live in peace again".
Friday, December 19, 2008
Tuesday, December 02, 2008
The terrorist
Amid all the bloodied battered images in the media these past few days, one stands out in my brain and in my heart - that of a scared and exhausted young man turning over a somersault as he fell out of a window, his body a broken burnt bulleted corpse that dropped to a mangled heap outside the Taj, signalling the end of the seige.
Terrorist, terrified. As death stared him full in the face, he reached for his AK 56 in one last desperate act to shoot aimlessly out of that window. A sacrificial pawn in the diabolical plans of mad men who stay safe in their hideouts, even as they train and despatch these men to kill and be killed, talented intelligent brave young men who could have done so much good for humanity instead.
Terrorist, despised. He is a mother's son too. Someday years ago, he must have been like the little Moshe, crying for water and his mama, playing with his nanny. Till the diabolical mad men went in search of him and found him. He is a father's son too. Like the father of Major Unnikrishnan who kicked the CM out of his home. He is a man who will be buried in disgrace in a strange land, while others are given a hero's farewell.
Terrorist, forgiven. If he asked God for forgiveness in his dying moment, there is no doubt that God would have done so. No doubt at all. If he believed he didn't need to, because he was doing God's will anyway, don't question him now. He is dead, let his soul rest in peace. Question the diabolical mad men who are still alive and more dangerous than before, hound them down, flush them out and question them.
Terrorist, avenged. Sadder for humanity than the deaths of the innocent, is the destruction of the souls of the living. Can we even bring ourselves to avenge such evil? Perhaps we can, but not by bashing countries and politicians. The protest marches, candles, white clothes, banners and emails, will all help to release the anger and assuage the grief, catharses all. With no effect whatsoever on the mad men, the root of the problem. Bashing the government is an act of supreme shortsightedness. Now more than ever the people in power need our help. Let's extend it instead.
Terrorist, terrified. As death stared him full in the face, he reached for his AK 56 in one last desperate act to shoot aimlessly out of that window. A sacrificial pawn in the diabolical plans of mad men who stay safe in their hideouts, even as they train and despatch these men to kill and be killed, talented intelligent brave young men who could have done so much good for humanity instead.
Terrorist, despised. He is a mother's son too. Someday years ago, he must have been like the little Moshe, crying for water and his mama, playing with his nanny. Till the diabolical mad men went in search of him and found him. He is a father's son too. Like the father of Major Unnikrishnan who kicked the CM out of his home. He is a man who will be buried in disgrace in a strange land, while others are given a hero's farewell.
Terrorist, forgiven. If he asked God for forgiveness in his dying moment, there is no doubt that God would have done so. No doubt at all. If he believed he didn't need to, because he was doing God's will anyway, don't question him now. He is dead, let his soul rest in peace. Question the diabolical mad men who are still alive and more dangerous than before, hound them down, flush them out and question them.
Terrorist, avenged. Sadder for humanity than the deaths of the innocent, is the destruction of the souls of the living. Can we even bring ourselves to avenge such evil? Perhaps we can, but not by bashing countries and politicians. The protest marches, candles, white clothes, banners and emails, will all help to release the anger and assuage the grief, catharses all. With no effect whatsoever on the mad men, the root of the problem. Bashing the government is an act of supreme shortsightedness. Now more than ever the people in power need our help. Let's extend it instead.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Touching history
The flight from London to New York enjoyed strong tailwinds. So we landed an hour ahead of schedule. This meant that we got the news of the new President while watching CNN in the immigration hall of JFK.
People everywhere were walking around with huge grins on their faces. The black staff at the place I stayed were dancing up and down the hallways. I switched on the telly just in time to watch Barack Obama deliver his memorable inaugural address, the goosepimples standing out on my skin. Lying on an American couch, sipping hot American coffee, drinking in the moment that the media believes will take its place in history while breathing in American air......wow!
The next morning the city of New York seemed exactly the same as before. Brisk, preoccupied in the streets, highly engaged in the offices, cool dry weather, petfriendly streets and shops (my favorite aspect of this magnificent city). Unfazed by the recent past or the present future. Just like Mumbai.
I read a rather unusual but apt desription of the city in Highlife, the British Airways inflight magazine, by the Sex and the City author, Candace Bushnell. You can find it here. "Everyone lives life in the public sphere. Apartments are small so life is led in the office, on the streets, in the restaurants, clubs and bars." Just like Mumbai, indeed.
Maybe I could live there.......and touch history again.......except that I like to live at home, wherever home may be.
People everywhere were walking around with huge grins on their faces. The black staff at the place I stayed were dancing up and down the hallways. I switched on the telly just in time to watch Barack Obama deliver his memorable inaugural address, the goosepimples standing out on my skin. Lying on an American couch, sipping hot American coffee, drinking in the moment that the media believes will take its place in history while breathing in American air......wow!
The next morning the city of New York seemed exactly the same as before. Brisk, preoccupied in the streets, highly engaged in the offices, cool dry weather, petfriendly streets and shops (my favorite aspect of this magnificent city). Unfazed by the recent past or the present future. Just like Mumbai.
I read a rather unusual but apt desription of the city in Highlife, the British Airways inflight magazine, by the Sex and the City author, Candace Bushnell. You can find it here. "Everyone lives life in the public sphere. Apartments are small so life is led in the office, on the streets, in the restaurants, clubs and bars." Just like Mumbai, indeed.
Maybe I could live there.......and touch history again.......except that I like to live at home, wherever home may be.
Monday, October 27, 2008
San Francisco, heaven on earth
San Francisco is small, quaint, lovable, unusual, friendly, happy, hilly, sunny (well, I missed the famous fog!).
I lost myself in the trams and cable cars, the cruise around the Alcratraz and Capt Nemo's introduction to the prisoners, the huge Petco petshop, the ride up and down the Golden Gate bridge, the undersea aquarium where I stroked a leopard shark behind his dorsal fin and similarly touched a couple of bat rays, and the wharf, the wharf, the wharf, where the seals barked and the gulls cried, and the clam chowder said to Oliver's granddaughter, "of course you can have some more".
I found myself in the Muir Woods, where the tallest and oldest living creatures in the world (the magnificient 2000 year old redwoood sequioas) wrap you up in a woody leafy herbal scent as the words of David Wagoner's "Lost" bring you back up to earth while the markets plummet further.
Lost!
Stand still.
The trees ahead and bushes beside you
Are not lost.
Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes.
Listen. It answers,
I have made this place around you.
If you leave it, you may come back again, saying Here.
No two trees are the same to Raven.
No two branches are the same to Wren.
If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you,
You are surely lost.
Stand still. The forest knows
Where you are. You must let it find you.
The purpose of my trip was professional. Hosting a client to meet the Chairman/CEO of IPG for breakfast, followed by a meeting and dinner with 25 agency heads from around the world, was a privilege in itself. However, the outcome of the trip is thankfully personal. I had been talking to the lady in the mirror for the past few months, telling her that I was not happy with the distance growing between her, and the image peeping out of the business pages much too often. She told me that I was being sent to San Francisco for a reason......
Within thirty minutes of landing at the airport, I found myself standing before the relics of St Francis of Assisi, the patron saint of animals, after whom the city was named in 1857 - a year after Italian and Spanish settlers in search of gold set up the chapel there, now the National Shrine on Columbus Ave.
A solemn simple church, not quite as beautiful or imposing as the 12th century basilica in Assisi, but enough to give me some much needed moments of peace and enlightenment. For those who don't know, St Francis of Assisi was a rich merchant's son who gave up a life of wealth and fun to live au naturel in the forests. Besides founding the Franciscan order, he was well known for his ability to communicate with animals and his love for all God's creations. On the left is a mural of the saint with the Gubbio wolf, whom he convinced to give up his ferocious ways and live in peace among the villagers of Assisi. Our Torda hospital was founded on October 4, his feast day, and is dedicated to him. I bought a parchment of his famed Canticle of the Creatures, where he tells the Sun, moon, water, fire, earth how much he appreciates them.
His sermon to the birds is depicted in the mural on the right.
My little sisters, the birds, much indebted are you unto God, your creator, and always in every place you ought to praise him, that he has given you liberty to fly about everywhere, and has also given you double and triple raiment; moreover he preserved your seed in the ark of Noah, that your race might not perish out of the world; still more are you beholden to him for the element of the air which he has appointed for you; beyond all this, you sow not, neither do you reap; and God feeds you, and gives you the streams and fountains for your drink; the mountains and valleys for your refuge and the high trees whereon to make your nests; and because you know not how to spin or sow, God clothes you, you and your children; wherefore your creator loves you much, seeing that he has bestowed on you so many benefits; and therefore, my little sisters, beware of the sin of ingratitude, and study always to give praises unto God.
Let me now leave you with his famous prayer sung by Sinead O'Connor in this version.
I lost myself in the trams and cable cars, the cruise around the Alcratraz and Capt Nemo's introduction to the prisoners, the huge Petco petshop, the ride up and down the Golden Gate bridge, the undersea aquarium where I stroked a leopard shark behind his dorsal fin and similarly touched a couple of bat rays, and the wharf, the wharf, the wharf, where the seals barked and the gulls cried, and the clam chowder said to Oliver's granddaughter, "of course you can have some more".
I found myself in the Muir Woods, where the tallest and oldest living creatures in the world (the magnificient 2000 year old redwoood sequioas) wrap you up in a woody leafy herbal scent as the words of David Wagoner's "Lost" bring you back up to earth while the markets plummet further.
Lost!
Stand still.
The trees ahead and bushes beside you
Are not lost.
Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes.
Listen. It answers,
I have made this place around you.
If you leave it, you may come back again, saying Here.
No two trees are the same to Raven.
No two branches are the same to Wren.
If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you,
You are surely lost.
Stand still. The forest knows
Where you are. You must let it find you.
The purpose of my trip was professional. Hosting a client to meet the Chairman/CEO of IPG for breakfast, followed by a meeting and dinner with 25 agency heads from around the world, was a privilege in itself. However, the outcome of the trip is thankfully personal. I had been talking to the lady in the mirror for the past few months, telling her that I was not happy with the distance growing between her, and the image peeping out of the business pages much too often. She told me that I was being sent to San Francisco for a reason......
Within thirty minutes of landing at the airport, I found myself standing before the relics of St Francis of Assisi, the patron saint of animals, after whom the city was named in 1857 - a year after Italian and Spanish settlers in search of gold set up the chapel there, now the National Shrine on Columbus Ave.
A solemn simple church, not quite as beautiful or imposing as the 12th century basilica in Assisi, but enough to give me some much needed moments of peace and enlightenment. For those who don't know, St Francis of Assisi was a rich merchant's son who gave up a life of wealth and fun to live au naturel in the forests. Besides founding the Franciscan order, he was well known for his ability to communicate with animals and his love for all God's creations. On the left is a mural of the saint with the Gubbio wolf, whom he convinced to give up his ferocious ways and live in peace among the villagers of Assisi. Our Torda hospital was founded on October 4, his feast day, and is dedicated to him. I bought a parchment of his famed Canticle of the Creatures, where he tells the Sun, moon, water, fire, earth how much he appreciates them.His sermon to the birds is depicted in the mural on the right.
My little sisters, the birds, much indebted are you unto God, your creator, and always in every place you ought to praise him, that he has given you liberty to fly about everywhere, and has also given you double and triple raiment; moreover he preserved your seed in the ark of Noah, that your race might not perish out of the world; still more are you beholden to him for the element of the air which he has appointed for you; beyond all this, you sow not, neither do you reap; and God feeds you, and gives you the streams and fountains for your drink; the mountains and valleys for your refuge and the high trees whereon to make your nests; and because you know not how to spin or sow, God clothes you, you and your children; wherefore your creator loves you much, seeing that he has bestowed on you so many benefits; and therefore, my little sisters, beware of the sin of ingratitude, and study always to give praises unto God.
Let me now leave you with his famous prayer sung by Sinead O'Connor in this version.
Wednesday, October 08, 2008
A morning to remember
Driving past the Bandra Talab this morning, I encountered a sight that stirred my soul as much as it chilled my stomach. A bespectacled young gentleman, dressed in a checked blue shirt and navy slacks was striding along the footpath, the blue water and green palms offering a picturesque backdrop to his confident yuppie stride. He looked like any young executive on his way to work, minus a briefcase.
His left arm was severed a few inches above the wrist.
As he swung his arms unaffectedly back and forth, a crisp white bandage at the end of the left stump (just above where a hand should have been) stood out in stark contrast to the rest of his dark blue draped persona. I looked down at my own two hands. This Sunday was celebrated as thanksgiving Sunday, and the sermon at mass was about counting one's blessings instead of sheep, as a good cure for insomnia. I do not suffer from insomnia, and I have hands that can write, play, chop, stir, massage, sew, and sometimes heal. Thank you God.
Later this morning, I went over to the Aaren Initiative office in Worli to participate in the traditional Dussera puja and blessing of all the equipment. An office full of bright young people, dressed in traditional dark blue, shared in the chanting and clapping while the arti was performed in a room filled with the sweet scent of camphor and incense, and warmed with the gentle glow of the burning oil. As I silently offered up prayers of my own for this resilient team who have displayed so much maturity and strength of character during turbulent times, just like the Pandava princes, I realised that despite the stock market crashing and the rupee getting thrashed, I really do have much to thank God for.
Lunch was with an old friend and a plate full of tisrios. We talked about his Mudhol hounds. After which I bought a skirt, a pair of trousers, a t-shirt and a blouse at Marks and Spencer. JLT.
I came back to office and sanctioned a midterm increment for 73 people, something that's never been done in the Lintas group for the past ten years at least. When you are grateful, you should show it. And share it.
Happy Dussera, readers, here's wishing you reclaim your kingdom as joyously as I did mine.
His left arm was severed a few inches above the wrist.
As he swung his arms unaffectedly back and forth, a crisp white bandage at the end of the left stump (just above where a hand should have been) stood out in stark contrast to the rest of his dark blue draped persona. I looked down at my own two hands. This Sunday was celebrated as thanksgiving Sunday, and the sermon at mass was about counting one's blessings instead of sheep, as a good cure for insomnia. I do not suffer from insomnia, and I have hands that can write, play, chop, stir, massage, sew, and sometimes heal. Thank you God.
Later this morning, I went over to the Aaren Initiative office in Worli to participate in the traditional Dussera puja and blessing of all the equipment. An office full of bright young people, dressed in traditional dark blue, shared in the chanting and clapping while the arti was performed in a room filled with the sweet scent of camphor and incense, and warmed with the gentle glow of the burning oil. As I silently offered up prayers of my own for this resilient team who have displayed so much maturity and strength of character during turbulent times, just like the Pandava princes, I realised that despite the stock market crashing and the rupee getting thrashed, I really do have much to thank God for.
Lunch was with an old friend and a plate full of tisrios. We talked about his Mudhol hounds. After which I bought a skirt, a pair of trousers, a t-shirt and a blouse at Marks and Spencer. JLT.
I came back to office and sanctioned a midterm increment for 73 people, something that's never been done in the Lintas group for the past ten years at least. When you are grateful, you should show it. And share it.
Happy Dussera, readers, here's wishing you reclaim your kingdom as joyously as I did mine.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Images
It's been a month since I last posted, a hectic month with a lot of travel thrown in, but all within India. With some free time today, but not much by way of inspiration, perhaps a brief description of some of the images I can resurrect in my mind from events in the past thirty days may interest you.
1. A young labrador walking around my CRV at the Four Seasons, sniffing out for bombs on a drizzly day. What was wrong with the long handled mirror all these hotels normally shove under the boot, that they needed to replace them with this voiceless dog?
2. A six foot deep half acre wide crater where a building used to be - the building where an old Jain lady fed hundreds of pigeons and crows every morning on her terrace. Now we have to do that.
3. My dad's face when I told him that I was required to spend the night on a bench outside the ICU at Holy Family Hospital after his angioplasty, by the uncommonly rude staff. He had wanted to go home soon after it was done and grumbled all thru his short stay.
4. Bessy's surly expression after taking away my slippers and protectively guarding them so that Kasey can't chew them to bits with her newly grown molars.
5. Shashi's tight purple striped shirt at the last BARC meeting, and his expression when we teased him about it. It suited him though.
6. Charles turning a bright pink with embarrassment when his cellphone rang out the Pink Panther theme in full volume at the Board meeting. And turning pinker and pinker as we all figured out his secret alter ego.
7. The long line of red painted intercity coaches at the new Bengaluru airport.
8. The shiny russet jacquard tablecloth that was laid out for us at the lunch hosted by Aroon Purie at the magazine congress. The food and wine and conversation flowed over this incongruity like clear ocean water over a bed of slimy seaweed.
9. Hormusji's pistachio green 1945 Ford something with leather seats and more leg room than Kingfisher First.
10. Large wedges of warm brown walnut cake from City Cafe, courtesy Mahesh Bhojne's birthday, with walnut halves on the top.
And yes, there's a sound that I remember too - that of a reassuring deep long distance voice just when I needed it most.
1. A young labrador walking around my CRV at the Four Seasons, sniffing out for bombs on a drizzly day. What was wrong with the long handled mirror all these hotels normally shove under the boot, that they needed to replace them with this voiceless dog?
2. A six foot deep half acre wide crater where a building used to be - the building where an old Jain lady fed hundreds of pigeons and crows every morning on her terrace. Now we have to do that.
3. My dad's face when I told him that I was required to spend the night on a bench outside the ICU at Holy Family Hospital after his angioplasty, by the uncommonly rude staff. He had wanted to go home soon after it was done and grumbled all thru his short stay.
4. Bessy's surly expression after taking away my slippers and protectively guarding them so that Kasey can't chew them to bits with her newly grown molars.
5. Shashi's tight purple striped shirt at the last BARC meeting, and his expression when we teased him about it. It suited him though.
6. Charles turning a bright pink with embarrassment when his cellphone rang out the Pink Panther theme in full volume at the Board meeting. And turning pinker and pinker as we all figured out his secret alter ego.
7. The long line of red painted intercity coaches at the new Bengaluru airport.
8. The shiny russet jacquard tablecloth that was laid out for us at the lunch hosted by Aroon Purie at the magazine congress. The food and wine and conversation flowed over this incongruity like clear ocean water over a bed of slimy seaweed.
9. Hormusji's pistachio green 1945 Ford something with leather seats and more leg room than Kingfisher First.
10. Large wedges of warm brown walnut cake from City Cafe, courtesy Mahesh Bhojne's birthday, with walnut halves on the top.
And yes, there's a sound that I remember too - that of a reassuring deep long distance voice just when I needed it most.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Catching 'em young
Recently two of my friends send me links to blogs started by their kids, with a request to 'encourage' them. So guys and girls, please do go here (happydogdayz.blogspot.com) to meet nine year old Aalia who loves dogs but not cats, and is such a compassionate little girl! She had the dubious honour of lighting the lamp at the inauguration of our hospital in 2002 when she was only three.
After that, go here (callmesuryan.blogspot.com) to meet seven year old Suryan who seems to have a motley of friends and likes snakes and betting and seeing that no one cheats. Reflecting on these two sweet blogs and the other adult ones I read regularly, here are some stray thoughts :
1. The cut and dried matter of fact quality of a child's writing - so refreshingly honest. Why do we lose that quality when we grow up?
2. I daresay today's kids are more tech savvy but less literary than us ancients were. I pulled out some old poems and "letters to the editor" written by my eight year old brother during the 1964 Indo-Pak war when we had to take shelter in Porbandar (yes the place where Gandhiji was born), and found the ideas and thoughts, formation of sentences, grammar, spellings etc, quite superior. I'd love to reproduce some of those here after he approves of it!
3. I wish Amanda would start up her own blog, but she loves to draw and paint, and hates the computer!
4. I like dogs and snakes too, but am too shy to say grrrr to a cat or drrrr to a viper.......oh to be a child again:-)
After that, go here (callmesuryan.blogspot.com) to meet seven year old Suryan who seems to have a motley of friends and likes snakes and betting and seeing that no one cheats. Reflecting on these two sweet blogs and the other adult ones I read regularly, here are some stray thoughts :
1. The cut and dried matter of fact quality of a child's writing - so refreshingly honest. Why do we lose that quality when we grow up?
2. I daresay today's kids are more tech savvy but less literary than us ancients were. I pulled out some old poems and "letters to the editor" written by my eight year old brother during the 1964 Indo-Pak war when we had to take shelter in Porbandar (yes the place where Gandhiji was born), and found the ideas and thoughts, formation of sentences, grammar, spellings etc, quite superior. I'd love to reproduce some of those here after he approves of it!
3. I wish Amanda would start up her own blog, but she loves to draw and paint, and hates the computer!
4. I like dogs and snakes too, but am too shy to say grrrr to a cat or drrrr to a viper.......oh to be a child again:-)
Friday, August 01, 2008
So long and thanks for all the fish
No I am not closing down this blog. Just posting a video that Youtube recommended I should watch when I logged in there today. Coincidentally, this blog got its name originally from the associations with the Hitchhiker series, and as I paste in the URL, it brings back fond and persistent memories of a special time in my life that was innocent, happy and a great deal of fun. Just like the dolphins playing around in this film and having a good laugh at silly humankind.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Impact and Hatari
Another lazy post.
First there's some gyan from the fourth anniversary special issue of Impact, published today.
And then, there is this baby elephant rescue that someone I don't even know sent to me on youtube. I bet you will rewind and play it over several times, each time wanting to reach your own hands into the water to help the mother and aunt elephants fish the little one out of the watering hole.
First there's some gyan from the fourth anniversary special issue of Impact, published today.
And then, there is this baby elephant rescue that someone I don't even know sent to me on youtube. I bet you will rewind and play it over several times, each time wanting to reach your own hands into the water to help the mother and aunt elephants fish the little one out of the watering hole.
Friday, July 04, 2008
Blogging about blogging
This is a lazy post. Am simply reproducing some stuff from the latest issue of Campaign India in which Suman Srivastava and I have given gyan on blogging. Read and digest. And comment if you dare.....
Monday, June 23, 2008
Living water
Last week I went to Cannes, for the first time ever in my overlong career, which would come as a surprise to many. It was most impressive, the event of events. Sponsor money drooling out of every pore in every orange carpet and tourquoise wall. Creativity shouting out from rooftops, pavements and beachfronts. Chic presenters. Happy recipients. Tired judges. Eager networkers.
I moved on to Lourdes within two days of experiencing Cannes, to fulfil an old vow. It's a picturesque village at the foothills of the snow peaked Pyrenees, where a young girl called Bernadette encountered the mother of Christ in a series of 15 apparitions between February and July, 150 years ago. In one of those apparitions, Our Lady asked her to drink from the dirt and grass on the ground beneath her feet, which she did, and a spring magically appeared from which millions of pilgrims now drink and bathe in and carry bottles of water back home with them (as I did), known as it is for its miraculous healing properties.
This is a picture of the Church of Our Lady of Lourdes taken at the entrance to the Sanctuaries of St Bernadette - as you can tell I had good sunny weather!
And this is a picture of the Grotto. Surprisingly, the statue of Our Lady is small and made in the exact size and place where she appeared, dressed in white and blue with roses on her feet, unlike the oversized statues in all the usual grottos we see.
I did take a dip in one of the baths, after a four hour wait, in which all the decades of all the mysteries of the Rosary were recited in five different languages, by the end of which I didn't really want to hear another Ave Maria.
Truth be told, I would go back to the 12 th century shrine of St Francis of Assisi in Italy, the patron saint of animals, again and again and again. Lourdes, where a candle costs 2 euros and a mass costs 18 euros, has become a place for the tourists and the rich pilgrims. Perhaps I should sponsor some needy person to go there, because I'm not sure I myself would go there again.
I moved on to Lourdes within two days of experiencing Cannes, to fulfil an old vow. It's a picturesque village at the foothills of the snow peaked Pyrenees, where a young girl called Bernadette encountered the mother of Christ in a series of 15 apparitions between February and July, 150 years ago. In one of those apparitions, Our Lady asked her to drink from the dirt and grass on the ground beneath her feet, which she did, and a spring magically appeared from which millions of pilgrims now drink and bathe in and carry bottles of water back home with them (as I did), known as it is for its miraculous healing properties.
This is a picture of the Church of Our Lady of Lourdes taken at the entrance to the Sanctuaries of St Bernadette - as you can tell I had good sunny weather!
And this is a picture of the Grotto. Surprisingly, the statue of Our Lady is small and made in the exact size and place where she appeared, dressed in white and blue with roses on her feet, unlike the oversized statues in all the usual grottos we see.
I did take a dip in one of the baths, after a four hour wait, in which all the decades of all the mysteries of the Rosary were recited in five different languages, by the end of which I didn't really want to hear another Ave Maria.
Truth be told, I would go back to the 12 th century shrine of St Francis of Assisi in Italy, the patron saint of animals, again and again and again. Lourdes, where a candle costs 2 euros and a mass costs 18 euros, has become a place for the tourists and the rich pilgrims. Perhaps I should sponsor some needy person to go there, because I'm not sure I myself would go there again.
Monday, May 26, 2008
This one's for M and P....
Last Friday, I had lunch with two adorable little people I met through this blog. Untainted by the passage of time, they are about to embark on a journey of love and discovery to the land where Sita met Ravana, and was subsequently rescued by the monkey God.
This one is for them - as a reminder that magic often happens when the classes meet the masses. U2's version of Hallelujah is like fine red wine to the grapes of Leonard Cohen's lyrics, but it took a middle-of-the-road midling-talented dreadlocked Jason Castro to deliver a bit of its rich bouquet to the 32 million people who watched the finals of American Idol last week.
Dear M and P, may the Lord of Song be by your side always.....
This one is for them - as a reminder that magic often happens when the classes meet the masses. U2's version of Hallelujah is like fine red wine to the grapes of Leonard Cohen's lyrics, but it took a middle-of-the-road midling-talented dreadlocked Jason Castro to deliver a bit of its rich bouquet to the 32 million people who watched the finals of American Idol last week.
Dear M and P, may the Lord of Song be by your side always.....
Monday, April 28, 2008
Tree gazing in China
Everyone warned me about China - 'they eat anything that moves', 'they won't understand a word you say and vice versa', 'they don't care about human or animal rights', 'they are big cheats, check everything you buy, and bargain down by 10 times the quote'.
All of it was true and all of it was false. I loved China, Chinese people, Chinese food, and most of all, Chinese flora. From the breathtaking beautiful peach blossoms and magnolia to the four hundred year old cypress and pine trees in the Forbidden City, my lasting unforgettable impression of China won't be that of the glass and concrete jungles in Shanghai or of the expanse of Beijing, but rather of these images below:
Two ancient cypress trees entwined into one - celebrating the union of everlasting love.
A sheep dog herding his family in a pine forest within the suburbs of Beijing....a strange mixture of rural living in urban confines.
Patchi line up against a backdrop of forests grown by man around the artificial Kuoming lake built three hundred years ago in the Q'ing dynasty's Summer Palace.
Magnolia (?) in our apartment building foyer.
Pine and peach in the Forbidden City, where someone told us there were "no trees".
Ancient leafless trees in the rock garden in the Forbidden City.
At last......a bird's nest, yes they do live here, they haven't all been culled off.
And the most beautiful one among them all ....a cypress in the gardens around the excavated Ming tombs. A place to leave one's soul behind.
Someday soon, San Francisco.........my patron saint must surely be waiting there for me.
All of it was true and all of it was false. I loved China, Chinese people, Chinese food, and most of all, Chinese flora. From the breathtaking beautiful peach blossoms and magnolia to the four hundred year old cypress and pine trees in the Forbidden City, my lasting unforgettable impression of China won't be that of the glass and concrete jungles in Shanghai or of the expanse of Beijing, but rather of these images below:
Two ancient cypress trees entwined into one - celebrating the union of everlasting love.
A sheep dog herding his family in a pine forest within the suburbs of Beijing....a strange mixture of rural living in urban confines.
Patchi line up against a backdrop of forests grown by man around the artificial Kuoming lake built three hundred years ago in the Q'ing dynasty's Summer Palace.
Magnolia (?) in our apartment building foyer.
Pine and peach in the Forbidden City, where someone told us there were "no trees".
Ancient leafless trees in the rock garden in the Forbidden City.
At last......a bird's nest, yes they do live here, they haven't all been culled off.
And the most beautiful one among them all ....a cypress in the gardens around the excavated Ming tombs. A place to leave one's soul behind.
Someday soon, San Francisco.........my patron saint must surely be waiting there for me.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Things that make this dolphin smile.....
This true story I read in today's Mumbai Mirror......renews my faith and implicit belief in the generosity of nature.
Wellington: A dolphin swam up to two distressed whales that appeared headed for death in a beach stranding in New Zealand and guided them to safety, witnesses said on Wednesday.
The actions of the bottlenose dolphin — named Moko by residents who said it spends much of its time swimming playfully with humans at the beach — amazed would-be rescuers and an expert who said they were evidence of the species’ friendly nature.
The two pygmy sperm whales, a mother and her calf, were found stranded on Mahia Beach, northeast Wellington, on Monday morning, said Conservation Department worker Malcolm Smith. Rescuers worked for more than one hour to get the whales back into the water, only to see them strand themselves four times on a sandbar slightly out to sea. It looked likely the whales would have to be euthanised to prevent them suffering a prolonged death, Smith said.
Then along came Moko, who approached the whales and led them 200 meters along the beach and through a channel out to the open sea.
“Moko just came flying through the water and pushed in between us and the whales,” Juanita Symes, another rescuer, told The Associated Press. “She got them to head toward the hill, where the channel is. It was an amazing experience. The best day of my life.”
Wellington: A dolphin swam up to two distressed whales that appeared headed for death in a beach stranding in New Zealand and guided them to safety, witnesses said on Wednesday.
The actions of the bottlenose dolphin — named Moko by residents who said it spends much of its time swimming playfully with humans at the beach — amazed would-be rescuers and an expert who said they were evidence of the species’ friendly nature.
The two pygmy sperm whales, a mother and her calf, were found stranded on Mahia Beach, northeast Wellington, on Monday morning, said Conservation Department worker Malcolm Smith. Rescuers worked for more than one hour to get the whales back into the water, only to see them strand themselves four times on a sandbar slightly out to sea. It looked likely the whales would have to be euthanised to prevent them suffering a prolonged death, Smith said.
Then along came Moko, who approached the whales and led them 200 meters along the beach and through a channel out to the open sea.
“Moko just came flying through the water and pushed in between us and the whales,” Juanita Symes, another rescuer, told The Associated Press. “She got them to head toward the hill, where the channel is. It was an amazing experience. The best day of my life.”
Monday, February 11, 2008
Friends and family
I spent an interesting weekend at home in Torda, warding off langur subadults who made free with the trees and leaves in my balcony. I tried unsuccessfully to get some pictures of them but the dogs and cats kept hounding them from branch to branch so it became quite impossible to get them still even for ten seconds. I have therefore made good with some of these.
This is PD, blind as a bat after maggots ate away his eyes more than once. He now gets around with the help of his nose and young Beauty, his personal guide dog.
Shadow was with us for four months with a large gaping maggot wound on his head. After full healing we sent him home to Moira, a week later he was back. We sent him home again, he left his owners and found his way back one more time. Last week, once again for the third time. Persistent chap. Here he is lurking away from my camera in my backyard, and later giving Stick a lecture in geography.
Kim was left with us by his owners at the ripe old age of twelve. Two years on, here is sunning himself at the top of the hill on a chilly Friday morning.
Boo has a sad story behind him. After treating him for repeated skin infection, his owners abandoned him at Betim after he was discharged. For three days he wandered around hungry and chased by the street dogs, till a lady spotted him and called us. We took him back, and have refused to let his owner have him again. Five months later he is fully cured and being adopted soon.
And finally this is Rita, daschund cocker spaniel cross who was brought in for sterilisation and discovered to have jaundice. She is less than a year old, fully recovered, had all her shots and is up for adoption. A real real darling, very tiny and playful. If any of you are interested please call us at +91 832 2416180, and speak to Dr Dinella (in the picture) or Dr Deby.
This is PD, blind as a bat after maggots ate away his eyes more than once. He now gets around with the help of his nose and young Beauty, his personal guide dog.
Shadow was with us for four months with a large gaping maggot wound on his head. After full healing we sent him home to Moira, a week later he was back. We sent him home again, he left his owners and found his way back one more time. Last week, once again for the third time. Persistent chap. Here he is lurking away from my camera in my backyard, and later giving Stick a lecture in geography.
Kim was left with us by his owners at the ripe old age of twelve. Two years on, here is sunning himself at the top of the hill on a chilly Friday morning.
Boo has a sad story behind him. After treating him for repeated skin infection, his owners abandoned him at Betim after he was discharged. For three days he wandered around hungry and chased by the street dogs, till a lady spotted him and called us. We took him back, and have refused to let his owner have him again. Five months later he is fully cured and being adopted soon.
And finally this is Rita, daschund cocker spaniel cross who was brought in for sterilisation and discovered to have jaundice. She is less than a year old, fully recovered, had all her shots and is up for adoption. A real real darling, very tiny and playful. If any of you are interested please call us at +91 832 2416180, and speak to Dr Dinella (in the picture) or Dr Deby.
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
Ash Wednesday
Today is Ash Wednesday. We had piping hot pancakes for breakfast yesterday, as is traditionally done on the feast of the Mardi Gras. For years as a child, Ash Wednesday meant queuing up to be anointed with ash on the forehead by a priest who recited, "Dust thou art, and unto dust thou shalt return". Then begun the 40 days of Lent, fast, abstinence and reflection.
I have long since stopped going to church on Ash Wednesday for the ritual annointment. On a working week day with all the travel I do, it just stopped working out. However, for the past decade, I have tried to use the season of Lent to reflect, repent, and hopefully recover from past wrongdoings.
One is supposed to abstain from the pleasures of the flesh - eating meat, drinking alcohol, etc - during these forty days. Since I don't do either anyway, my symbolic sacrifice is to give up on anything I really love and enjoy doing, whatever that might be that year. This year the sacrifice is going to be particularly hard on me....but what the hell, it could never ever match up to a crucifixion, so why not?
Let me leave you with this poem called Ash Wednesday, written by T S Eliot in 1927, the year my father was born. It's a long read, but if you have 5 minutes to spare, try it out. The words are haunting, some of them will stay with you forever.
I have long since stopped going to church on Ash Wednesday for the ritual annointment. On a working week day with all the travel I do, it just stopped working out. However, for the past decade, I have tried to use the season of Lent to reflect, repent, and hopefully recover from past wrongdoings.
One is supposed to abstain from the pleasures of the flesh - eating meat, drinking alcohol, etc - during these forty days. Since I don't do either anyway, my symbolic sacrifice is to give up on anything I really love and enjoy doing, whatever that might be that year. This year the sacrifice is going to be particularly hard on me....but what the hell, it could never ever match up to a crucifixion, so why not?
Let me leave you with this poem called Ash Wednesday, written by T S Eliot in 1927, the year my father was born. It's a long read, but if you have 5 minutes to spare, try it out. The words are haunting, some of them will stay with you forever.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Right and wrong
Last week we innocently released the 2008 Lintas Media Guide, in a pretty little pen drive in a pretty little case - all red and gold and christmasy.
While many media featured its contents simply and rather boringly, DNA took the opinions of several of our competitors and did this proactive story below, besides the usual report.
(Adspend...jpg)
We responded with this in today's DNA.
I understand from a reliable resource that Vikram wants to do a rejoinder. I am not sure why. But it will be a good one to read. Bottom line, TAM now captures only part of all that is spent in relation to tv, and it's high time we looked for ways to measure the rest of the spend too. Ah, maybe I should start sharpening my pencils.....
While many media featured its contents simply and rather boringly, DNA took the opinions of several of our competitors and did this proactive story below, besides the usual report.
(Adspend...jpg)
We responded with this in today's DNA.
I understand from a reliable resource that Vikram wants to do a rejoinder. I am not sure why. But it will be a good one to read. Bottom line, TAM now captures only part of all that is spent in relation to tv, and it's high time we looked for ways to measure the rest of the spend too. Ah, maybe I should start sharpening my pencils.....
Friday, January 04, 2008
Busy Bee
This is the 2008 me. Cute
Fat
Loads of attitude
Busy busy
(Multiple choice answers allowed here, but only one answer is the right one, the rest are false.)
I didn't get to write that last post, and after Ravi Kiran's stunningly written wake-up call, I don't even want to. A delayed Mumbai bound flight gave us five hours together in Delhi last week - with much much catching up. One more unusual gift to add to my 2007 list.
Back to my hive now.
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