Magnolia Grandiflora

I once had a tree of Magnolia Grandiflora growing in my yard. Everything about this particular tree was unbelievably dramatic, opulent, sophisticated - from the deepest green satin leaves, to its golden velvet calyx which held most breathtaking and deeply sensuous, fragrant white perfect blossoms.

About eight years back, when I went scavenging for plants, seedlings, pods in the IISc quadrangle,  I found a tiny sucker growing next to a medium sized, but a non blooming Magnolia grandiflora tree. I brought it home,  with great care put it in a pot and kept it alive. Recently, after moving to my new home, I put the plant, still only a foot tall, into my sunlit yard. Over the last week, I have watched in excitement, a bud emerge tentatively, swell and break open - into a large and a perfect white flower. In an instant deja vu, I am transported into my youth of perfumed and starlit indigo nights, with walks along boulevards lined with ebony shadows and moon blossoms.


While no photograph can ever capture the touch, feel, smell or the soul of perfection, nonetheless, here are some images from a besotted gardener.

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Small Wonders

Against a backdrop of many and shameful tragedies like the senseless violence in Assam, the impending, and totally unnecessary, loading of the nuclear fuel  at the Koodankulam Nuclear Power Plant, the violent moral policing by the Hindutva forces in Karnataka, all of which darken my days, there are small moments of startled glowing wonders that remind me to smile.

1.At the maddening and mad Mekhri circle which is a traffic nightmare at the best of times, the Rajasthani banjaras have started weaving between the clogged vehicles - blowing soap bubbles! Women with light skin, light eyes, dry, matted brown hair wearing men shirts, extravagantly billowing skirts and floral long head scarves smile peering into autos, gazing through rolled up air conditioned car windows, seeking upwards towards bus passengers, selling little plastic jumbos in pinks and oranges and reds that blow endless streams of perfect, rainbow soap bubbles that float way into skies. Their kids twist, jump, cart-wheel in a continuous movement of acrobatic wonders; while the men, with sleek hair, polished twirled mustache and gold studs sell everything from eyeglasses, to tinted shades for car windscreens. I stare mesmerised. Now on all my ways home, I tend to pass Mekhri circle, and hope for long traffic halts.

2. Last few evenings its been raining in Bangalore. Atul and I still go for our walks; we set off as soon as the rain eases. The other day, we were walking fairly late into the evening, on IISc campus, with a mildest, slivery, silver drizzle that goose-bumped us and made us smile. Suddenly all street lights went off. Pitch dark.
A little startled, we stopped on our tracks, peering into darkness...and slowly we saw that we were walking through a zillion fireflies; seemed like all the stars had descended right around us. Lights came on in a few moments; fireflies faded, and we continued our walk, magic wrapping our hearts.

A Morning Garden..

Today, first thing after coffee, I was in my garden with my camera. I had been inspired into action by Datura springing into bloom, each an eight inch creamy pink bloom, heady fragrance, opening to a full moon night. Once there, I wandered around, peering, framing, delighting in the time spent with my garden. Oh, the Joys of Spring!

On Dreams and a Drink

Several years back, on a trek in Colorado, my kids and I were crossed by an older couple. Many meters ahead, the woman paused, bent and picked something from the ground, turned around and approached us. With a smile she held out a Dandelion fluff ball and said "In my country, we blow on this and make a wish, to have a dream come true!"

Today, a walk through campus was lit by luminous, silken white floating seed balls parachuting idly between trees, across lawn, along tarmacs, all over in a dream-scape of wishes and desires. The fine fragile spheres became rainbow halos when lit by sun in a particular direction - a myriad brilliant possibilities, all within grasp, weighed by a seed, waiting to take root. I thought then that it was no different from my today - full of possibilities for a dream to take root - any or many dreams. The difficulty was in responsibility to fulfillment for a dream-sprout - the requirement to see a dream through. Or was this an artificial constraint? that it was ok for a million seeds to germinate and end - without purpose? that the burden of responsibility killed the joy of possibility of a million dreams simultaneously lived....??

I ponder on this with a drink:
1 fresh green chilli sliced lengthwise
4 cubes ice
generous decent vodka
a lemony fizz drink to top! YUM!

Munna Bhai and My Tailor - Manekam

Yeah, Yeah, Yeah...you may all laugh - and, you would laugh much more if you could see me now!!

We, the community of IISc, are blessed with a particular tailor called Manekam - the rare one, the jewel - that is what his name means - and he is a fine, fine tailor. Just to show what the competition has to offer, the only other tailor on campus has a strange habit of stitching clothes according to amount of material in front of him. So, for example, if the cloth he has is less for the project in hand, he makes it in anyway, of a size that he can - without once demuring that the fabric is insufficient. On the other hand, if the material turns out to be excessive, he still does not care and makes a garment that could fit two people - inside! So you see, if one is reluctant to leave the boundaries of this quiet, green campus in search of a tailor in the mad world outside- and I am very reluctant - then Manekam is the only option for our tailoring needs.

Also, Manekam, is always really pleasant, friendly, cooperative and has a hard time refusing anyone. He agrees to undertake tailoring orders and then attends to only those that can pressure him. Thus the first ones that can get their work done are the campus security weilding mustaches, and batons. The second in line to access Manekam's sevices are the campus staff union members. They have bent mightier powers than poor Manekam. After that, I suppose, come the campus faculty with authoritative stance and limited wardrobe needs....and so on. Somewhere at the end of this list come the hapless females that at times give in to shrieking at Manekam before festival times, family weddings and so on. Yes...you can take it in good faith that many have lost their heads over a pleasant, poor, person like Manekam - I can vouch for that - but lets not go into personal history.

Watching MunnaBhai has somehow changed my protest profile...

Manekam has pending orders from me from October 2009. I see him now and then, when I go to the Janata Baazar for shopping. To be fair, I have never seen him either lazy or unpleasant. He always urges me to go home, since he would follow me, immediately - with all these beautiful clothes ready for my wearing pleasure. I have never believed him, but have not been particularly inclined to either argue nor desperately needy enough. Today too, my position remains the same. However, I do have some free time.

So, here I am, a fifty year old vain female, dressed in shorts and T-shirt in the same cubicle (a 8'x12' tiny box) as Manekam, who stands a good half-foot shorter. I am at one of his pedal sewing machines, with my Acer notebook firmly planted, smiling and blogging away...

I laugh heartily inside, guffaws are barely contained, at his face! He is trying to insist that I can trust him and he will sew and bring my clothes home! I am mainting a very accommodating position that he should not let me disturb him, as he himself does not disturb my 'work'. He is all confusion, and has immediately brought out my fabrics and is working on them, even as I type this sentence -IT WORKS, IT WORKS!!! Hats off to Munna Bhai!

A Walk

For several days now I have been on a search...to search for hope, that invisible tenous thread that holds one's place in universe, a wispy idea that validates this journey. I have looked for it everywhere - in children's laughter, the rays of sun, the flowers that still bloom. And...it has been futile! I have been filled with gloom -that this is all transitory - this innocence, the rain filled clear light, earth on which flowers can bloom.

Usually I thrive on impermanence - lunge at fleeing moments, grab disappearing rainbows - to live on peak of pinnacles - in perfect poised balance of now. This time the monsoons dragged me in deeper- to their lightless, prussian, dense, dark depths. I have hung on teetering, striving balance on swinging see-saws, jumping between ends - between colossal falls, looking towards heavens for a smile.

And yesterday, the Gods smiled...

I was taking a forced, fast walk through our campus. It was late dusk, the dark period before night, before the lamps were turned on. The road was silent, damp, under canopies of trees with clumps of bamboos, and jungles of bushes on either side. It was then that I saw them - two Slender Loris moving with ease on a bent long bamboo. I stood still, in shocked delight. They were so tiny, so fragile and so sure! One of them quickly moved away, to hide and stare - the other was cocky, assured that I meant no harm...how did he know?? I had been granted a gift!

As I made my way home, with now a silly grin on my face, I saw in spotlight under a street lamp - a tiny beautiful owl. Barely 8", with a flat white face, huge glowy eyes...and definitely an attitude. The rains have seen swarms of moths canopying the street lights - they very quickly loose their transparent wings and fall on ground where they become dinners for birds, termites, other creatures. The owl looked at me in reproach and flew to a safe branch on a nearby tree. From here it played a 'blink' game with me, bobbing it head absurdly all the time. I tried imitating its hoot, approaching closer to see if I could pass off for a fellow friendly owl - only to send it to even higher branches...I had been granted a second gift!

Suddenly, Hope was a clear, visible thread, connecting me to all of life - to Slender Loris, Owl, children, rainbows, flowers, light, and yes, even the darkest monsoon clouds!

Pleasure in Small Measure

I live in the residential quarters of IISc., Bangalore. Home is a ground floor apartment in a three storey building, with a small garden space, in front and back. For four to five years now, the overhead water tank has been overflowing into my backyard. Routinely, around 5pm every evening, water gushes out from terrace plumbing, flooding my garden, backyard, completely, waterlogging, stagnating, breeding mosquitoes. A variety of complaints have been made, letters written, problem reported over these last several years. Still, we await Peter to usually ride out here on his rickety cycle, unlock the door to the machine room, and turn off the motor-then after all the accumulated water on the terrace has emptied out, the flow stops, till the next day.

Now, I have watched, fretted, fumed, cursed, barked, yelled, screamed at this horrible wastage, till I have turned hoarse, sullen, silent, accepting, and then quietly watching this daily drama. Over years, a new wet land ecology has slowly evolved in my yard. Irises have taken over and bloom in my marshes, anthuriums thrive, cardamom long thought dead have revived on their own and now liberally sprinkles my back yard- a pepper vine is ready for harvest.

Two days back, I had a thought - don't know why I didn't think this thought before....I decided to dig a canal system to channel water to the entire garden from this overflow. For two days I labored with digging till the back is stiff, arms are sore, and palms calloused with working big tools on hard ground. Now a circuitous canal meanders between my plants, halfway till the end
(I am taking a break today!) and yesterday evening I saw water filling and rushing past in blue curvy lines through my yard. I sat at the window, coffee in my hand, watching this in satisfaction, and pleasure, in small measure.

Golden Showers at IISc

As skies clear out, air crystallizes, temperatures drop, and earth changes from the monsoon range of inky blues and dense charcoal grays, to light translucence in regal reds, orange and gold, Bangalore sports its own celebration of this season with a burst of festival colors.

I walk down the forest track behind residences at IISc. and the ground is littered generously with gold - I look up at a canopy of tiny gold blossoms on an ancient tree against blinding clarity of blue skies. Smallest breeze bring a shower down, raining gold wisps on ground, shrubs, leaves, me...a sharing of the wealth it has amassed over this year from earth. Walking a bit further, I am startled by the the neon pinks, coppery sheens on a young peepul celebrating the return of the sun with a burst of new, young foliage. Almond trees on the Badam lane are changing shade too - here the dowager sporting deep shades in autumn of her age - maroon, crimson, ochre are favored after a year of youthful greens. Pride of India is similarly seen, abandoning shades of green, to colors of a richer hue, chinese reds and antique pinks set off coppery pods of coffee sheen.

Heart rejoices,
destabilizes,
poetic stirring,
murmur within,
life is beauty,
in autumn too,
I laugh at mirror,
my love renewed.

I Vote Non-Nuclear

India is on the verge of committing to a US alliance to meet its ever growing energy needs with nuclear power. I have been loosely following the very active and acrimonious public debate between the left and the center about both the value of nuclear energy in the Indian context, and also the US dependence that is necessary to push the deal forward.

I have wondered, at the same time, about my personal stance, if any, on the subject.

As has frequently happened to me in the past, yesterday, I encountered a real life situation, that
resolved my position on the much wider nuclear issue-at least in the Indian context. I was returning home after a long overdue visit to my farm. The day at the farm had been particularly satisfying-as usual, Muniamma's averseness to active labor had ensured that the farm was once again an Eden of weeds-butterflies danced, birds swung on tall grasses, tiny flowers played hide and seek-of course the mango, chikoo, jamun, gooseberry saplings were also choked with weeds which had to be cleared. The day was hot, bright, and very quiet-also very clean-no sight of plastics, garbage, filth, that are routine parts of our daily urban life.

I reached IISc. (Indian Institute of Science), a premier science institute of national importance, where I reside-happy again to be in its green environment and relative quietness, after a messy, long commute on public transport. There I once again encountered a sight that is a common part of our life here. A rag picker was going through the large garbage collection station, near the engineering departments, scavenging for things of value that could be sold outside. She was old, bent, and was going through the waste with her bare hands. Instead of moving on, as usual, I stopped this time-the garbage that she was going through were not the usual plastic wrappers, cartons, thermocols, but brown glass bottles of chemicals, glass specimen disks and, by and large,
lab wastage that had been disposed with regular garbage. Some of the glass containers were broken, liquid spilt in a mess that she was walking through-no footwear. I passed through, as did hoardes of faculty, staff, students...we have all learnt to turn a blind eye-to our own filth. I mentioned this incidence to my husband-he told me he knew the woman I was speaking of by sight-he had even stopped once and given her a pair of gloves.

What I encountered, is not about individual incidence, a solitary small act of kindness - but endemic to the society as a whole - we the people, refuse to acknowledge our waste, let alone deal with it. Maybe, the evil fingers of entrenched class and caste distinction percolate to our present day, developed, educated, psyche to silently accept barbaric practices of letting the 'non-people' handle our waste-human, plastic, toxic, hazardous.

There are far wider consequences to this common place incidence from yesterday-if a premier, scientific, community like IISc cannot, or will not, appropriately handle its chemical and possibly toxic waste-how can we as a nation of loose laws, and looser enforcements, rampant corruption,
expect to handle, safely, by products of nuclear energy. We have absolutely no credibility, historically, for ever dealing with issues of either safe guarding our environment, or our people,
from wastages of our speedy rush towards development. The regulations that safeguard the individual and national interests of the developed nations are missing- entirely - in India. In fact, we have proved, to be non-discriminatory towards our own self interest-we import hazardous wastes, by ship loads, from the same developed worlds that want to safe guard personal interests, and are now offering alliance for our energy needs, future progress.

So, as an individual citizen, who must hold a considered opinion, voice a viewpoint, maintain an individual claim to a side - I side with no-nuclear, for the energy future of India.

Grass Roots Impotence

Yesterday, CONCERN- a student organisation of IISc. campus, screened two highly disturbing documentaries related to globalisation, and development focusing on the "other side" of the great progress in free India - the victims who pay the cost.

"Development Flows from the Barrel of a Gun" documented the demonic, vengeful operations by our police force to suppress any local resistance to large development projects ranging from big dams and mining, to world bank supported forestry projects in the tribal areas within the country. With organised and ruthless use of state sanctioned power, the police in each instance resorted to the use of force and firearms to silence protesters, imprisoning many and causing several fatalities.

On a more optimistic note "The Bitter Drink" documented the people's protest in Plachimada against the Coca Cola plant that caused drastic scarcity of potable water in the area, and the subsequent closing down of the unit.

In the active discussion that followed the screening, the foremost concern that stood out was, " I care, but what can I do....???" There was amongst the younger generation, empathy for the plight of the victims in these struggles, but also a great feeling of helplessness, impotence about an individual's role in our so called democracy where the political will, social drive, corruption, ineffective judicial system all conspired to silence the voices of those most adversely affected by India's rush towards development.

So what can one do? What can I do? Can a country really be called free, democratic, when its progress is geared towards blind consumerism, for the already consuming- more malls, more cars, more roads, more airports, more , more, more....when the elitist institutes like IISc. parrot the popular middle class mantra of 'more'- more fundings, more buildings, and aspire only for higher international standards, better international facilities, agressive international competitiveness...when we fail to include , locally, socially, ethically, individual, personal, environmental, and national needs-and are proud at our own 'exclusiveness' what message are we sending out to the younger generation? Is it a message of any value, to all of us? of equity and equality? when did we stop pondering about all of this? who else will think about this, can think about this? except the well fed , free thinkers of our sabotaged society? You!

Horror of Horrors!

Last night, the first rains hit us in Bangalore-today the residence campus wore a sparkley look of a well scrubbed child-glistening, moist, clean-very clean. I decided to walk back home from one of those rare ventures out of the walled, green world that I live in...into the real world of chaotic traffic, noise, puddles from the afternoon rain. The mood was upbeat, almost daring - to wander out, far, in a drizzle full of evening light.

The walk back home took me past a campus gate thats usually locked-today it was open-I was happy to be able to reach into the campus, sooner than expected, anticipating a dark, drippy walk through the familiar forested areas-a quiet, meandering to the back end of my home. What I saw belies imagination, of the worst sort, a living nightmare-the forest had vanished! Large tracts now lay beaten, brown with large concrete frames rising from it. Monuments were being built, monuments to egos larger than mortal frames, egos seeking to imprint their transitory existence into concrete immortal blocks, of steel, glass-green now vanished, vanquished, scheduled to reappear- isolated into tiny islands of manicured lawns, well appointed bush, a correctly angled tree, imagined in the minds and offices of architects, city planners employed to creatively orchestrate this destruction.

What assumed rights leads to such behavior, the megalomaniac tendencies of human race, to destroy to create- more and more out-of-proportion with our rights, our race? With what callousness do we wipe out-the rights of life, of species, big and small-of trees that breathe? birds that sing? flowers that bloom?

Beyond the horror of destroying a living, green, forest, what does a scientific institute like ours hope to achieve? A large bill board advertises the nature of the project and its cost. Various science departments are being relocated from their old, functioning buildings of aged, mulled, stone, to swanky spaces-also a guest house for the foreign dignitaries. We must remember, that who we are, is not what we do, but how we clothe, the face we show - to an audience of 'international' (read first world) peers. The cost of these set of buildings-about Rupees 48 crores!!Will these new buildings enable/ guarantee better science, productivity? studies of more socially relevant, environmentally sensitive topics, which the nation needs? With what right does our government appropriate such vastly inappropriate sums of national funds to irrational, irrelevant, non-contexted science that does not raise us from poverty, illiteracy, inequity which grinds into the pores of daily life-grits the flavor of our existence?

To provide context, it requires about one lakh to do watershed development for a village, similar or less to open a balwaadi for primary education. Basic health care and a first aid centre between a few villages is still an unheard fantasy!
So, one can either have 4800 of such programs, or 4 fancy buildings for IISc!! And note, much more is being built for empire expansion within this campus! I am only talking about the project that I crossed today-other side of the campus is a bigger mess using probably, bigger funds!

The question is, how much of this activity has the attention of what fraction of our enlightened faculty?? Did they know and not care? or not know? or not want to know? Why do the students not protest? Are there no angels, sentinels to guard what we so wantonly destroy? To keep us off the destructive path? Who will save us?

Last Night-A Student Suicide

1. A suicide-
a young life
lost
to all generations
her pain
branding shame
on society
that does not care
give a damn
or share-
leaving us with
jagged lives
our maybes, and whys
just to forget
this sorrow
by tomorrow.

2. Shame

A corpse was wandering
an almost corpse
still breathing,
fighting,calling,
beseeching for help
imploring,
in a silent voice.

No luck anywhere,
hospitals cant accept
an almost corpse
a police case,paperwork
a duty, easy to shirk.

Finally,
the almost corpse
finds a resting place,
hands that agree to help-
strip her bare,
of jewelery and cash,
strip her of all
that could be sold
-maybe even her soul!

When it was a corpse,
they robbed her still,
demanding cash
from crying relatives,
to let her go,
whom they would not
accept before,
to a last journey
back home
and bid goodbye,
her spirit free
to roam.