Realisation dawns in the form of leopard play

I saw a leaopard cub playing with it's mother's tail lazily while lying on the branch of a tree.

It pushed and pulled it this way and that, and every time it tried to keep the tail down it would rise up again.

I saw that, smiled with my entire being, and said to my mother

"When I see this, I know why I am alive and what is the meaning of my life"

Those who are confused, it might help to see this.

The lovers behold your limitless beauty, where a thousand idols fade away

Guftam elaaj e zindagi
Gufta ki deedar e manast*

"And what cures life of all it's ills?"
"To behold my beauty," He said**

* Hazrat Amir Khausrau

**(Translation by Muzaffar Ali)

Take a step back, and ask yourself...

What your priorities are.

I have liked being the self appointed pointer-outer of what we as a race need to stop and take a look at, introspect and reflect upon etc.

Here is one more.

This horrible and extremely eerie system of a six day working week.

Does it not make you stop and wonder about what you prioritise? What we as a nation prioritise if we have so many people working six days a week? Since when did work become the be all and end all of our existence? Why are we going in the wrong direction rather than the right one? By which I mean from greater freedom and chances to live, to stricter deadlines and too much stress about making a living.

Of course, I am not disregarding the rising prices that make making a living a difficult dream for many to realise. What I am saying is that there should be some sort of rule that makes it punishable to work more than five days a week.

For everyone- regardless of age, caste, class and religion.

Recently, discussions with colleagues who have children etc. led me to discover the ugliest of ugly facts. That children are going to school six days a week now, instead of five.

My thoughts on the education system can wait for another time and another post, but six days a week for kids? This should be enough to make us stop dead in our tracks, isn't it?

What happened to our ideals of life being about doing things you enjoy doing, being with people you enjoy being with, surrounding yourself with books, beauty and melody?

If we do not wish to examine our lives individually, let us at least look at the fact that we are all , collectively, tending towards this despicable habit.

We are turning ourselves into working drones people.

Our actions say a lot about who we are and what we stand for. Raise your voices against a six day week. Be home. Be with your family. Be with your children. Be with what you cherish and love and what makes living worthwhile for you.

This can only work if we work in unison. If I start protesting along against working on the sixth day, I will just get fired and there will be plenty of other drones waiting with hands raised to take my place.

Can it happen? Perhaps. We will only know if we try.

It's a bit like the custom of dowry. If all the women say no, the greedy men will have to either change, or stay single.

The dog who found sleep on my feet

Hum aapke kadmo par
Gir jaayenge ghash kha kar*






(Taken using a friend's cellphone camera)

*What is ironic is that I was the one khaoing ghash and nearly fainting from joy that threatened to kill me, because of him.

The Maina Series- The Fifth and Final Part

See parts 1, 2, 3, and 4.

Some anecdotes not captured photographically.

Throughout the time they were around, I did not need alarm clocks as they would create a racket with the million different types of sounds that mainas make. They also caused me to sometimes wake up and smile, without even opening my eyes. Just the knowledge that they were around made the whole world better.

The building is quite a tedious process. They actually do jodo-ofy the house, tinka-tinka ikattha kar ke ( putting it together stick by stick). During this process, the female maina I think, is in the driver's seat. She would be present constantly, like a supervisor. Her partner would bring a stick, look at her and bob his head a little as if seeking approval. She would then make a "trrr" type sound after which he would make his way into the shoe-box to fit it in somewhere. It was real teamwork. And also extremely cute.

Once the eggs had hatched, the male didn't just fly off to find another mate. He stuck around, and often came and stood just outside the shoe box calling to his female. She would then come out, and let him go in to see the eggs he had helped make. Most lovely.

Mainas who choose to come and live near me, are bound to get five star treatment. They were given fresh water in a small clay diya every morning, and spoilt senselessly with various delicacies ranging from light and not very sweet Marie biscuits, to coconut cookies, to butter cookies, to chocolate cream filled cookies. Also, they didn't seem too impressed with me when I gave them brown bread. Who would be, after all this?

They also managed to, a number of times, tilt the diya over causing all the water to fall all over the cookie crumbs making a sick little mess on the ledge of the window. And yes, I scolded them a little for the same. Not the first time, not the second time, but the third.

All the eggs did not hatch. Only one did. There was some noise and squeaking for some days after which there was silence. One fine day, they were all gone.

The shoe-box remained though.

And we are most delighted to share that it is now home to another maina couple, and three fine little pearly white eggs.

PS- Turns out it didn't end there. Story continues here