This was the first post I ever wrote...and voila people read it..(http://shilpabugde.blogspot.com/2008/02/years-ago-we-learnt-poem-in-school-i.html).. I was looking for a poetry i learned at school, but couldn't remember beyond the second line...Thanks to the people who commented on post, I was able to retrieve the whole poem.. its a silly one but nevertheless, very good... we still do not know who the original poet is....here how it goes....if u have kids i bet they would love this one..

Okee Polee crack me crown
King of the island of Gulp 'em Down
Was thought the finest young fellow in town
When he dressed in his best for the party.

Okaa Pokaa Ching Ma Ring
Eighteenth wife of the mighty king
Loved her Lord above everything
And dressed him up for the party.

Satins and silks the queen did lack
But she'd some red paint, that looked well on black
So she painted her Lord and Master's back?
Before he went to the party

....and ships with sails
And flying dragons with curly tails
And so dressed Okee Pokee, without a coat or a vest
But yet, in his best for the party.

Friday, 3rd December 2010, around 8 pm in the night

I slump my bags on the concrete sidewalk on the sea shore. I face the sea and sit down. To my left is the sea merging into the vast darkness of the night sky and to my right is the glimmer of the city lights held by the curvy line of the sea shore. I feel like I am attending a concert. I try hard to ignore the vrooomm of the vehicles and chatter behind me. As I do that the humming of the sea becomes louder. Its the same note, it plays again and again and again till it seems like a chant..... The chant of the universe. ...I sit there in awe for about an hour, listening and absorbing the rhythm. Then I move, back to where I am condemned to be.......

Behind me, the sea plays its usually rhythm. The waves think 'No matter how much I try, I cannot hold on to the shore..how strong it must feel'. The sand thinks 'no matter what, the waves always govern where we move...how empowered are they!'. The shore thinks 'Is this it? will the waves lash me forever till I vanish?'....

I shall be back again the next day to listen to this rhythm and feel empowered..

Paint Art

The worse thing anyone can do after an exam is not to plan for any freakouts after. Times like these I have no option but to update my new ramblings. I shall try not to 'ramble' today.
It has been quite a task to give an exam after a gap of almost 2 and a half year. Its nice in fact to feel good, to still be a part of learning process, to feel the heat and the fluttering things in heart..it was indeed nice.. So here I am....in a better mood.....writing...hoping one day I will actually become good at it... :)

As I logged in today, the first thing I did was to browse my gtalk list...and as I was doing so I was remined a line said by Mr Amitabh Bacchan on some TV show,

'जीवन संघर्ष है और संघर्ष ही जीवन है'

And ...as I go through the whole list of people I know, I wonder how true this indeed is. I have a friend who is runs his own company, I have a friends who have 'never say die' attitude and years of strrugle with entrances did their MBAs from prestigious institutes, I have friends who survived broken hearts and borken relations and came out hurt but never stopped growing, grooming or getting there, I have friends who despite of coming from so called 'backward conditions' could go to the other part of world to be an indespensible part of technology revolution, I have friends who started their lives from support services and are now leaders in the very field, I have friends, who fulfilled their dreams of singing and acting and actually coming live on television.....I can keep counting....and it will take a while..There isn't a single person on the list, I cannot be proud of.

Life indeed is a strrugle...and each person a winner in himself/herself......no matter where we reach...how much we earn or how long our titles are..the point is its the strrugle that makes us winners not the winning..

I am reminded of an argument I have with a friend not many years ago.....I argued to him that, it took one Enstien to discover the relativty..but thousands must have died, tryin to get near it, or gettin near it and not realizing it..so whats the point? Today I stand corrected....each an every person who strrugles for his goals/aims and dreams is a winner.........No matter what happens in the end...no matter who receives the oscar or the Nobel...no matter weather we walk on a red carpet of a lonely road...no matter if we are lauded or not...

Anyone who has the willingness to strrugle and strrugles is a winner..and there is never one winner.....Each person is 'World's fastest Indian' in his/her own right and might.....and its ok to feel proud of oneself in a while..

So here's to tryin, falling, breaking, crying, ruining, screwing, wailing and strrugling......the point is we all win in the end....

Air

(childern's poem)

Of the windmills and the chimes,

of all the things that move by thy might

It' s only you, I cannot see

But do me a favour when you are free

Come and play with my hair
Touch my face with thy loving care

Make the sun, seem a little cold
Take that tree in thy gripping hold

Touch my palms and my little soles
Tickle them till, I laugh and roll

Lift the leaf off its feet
Let me see, what it’s like beneath

Give me a push as I run
Sweep my body, for some fun

Make those ripples in the pond

but we can't be here for too long

Then when we are done playing around

Dry my clothes, before mom comes around

If life was fair...I'd be screwed

This is probably the fifth time I have been stating at this plain white interface wondering, what to write. I know enough stories..mostly true and blue...and I have enough words, but most of them are askew and if I try to string them together, they dont make a great collective view. So i thought, let me just write about my writing blues...

I thought of a story and it was sad, wanted to write it but it would make people think that I am mad. So I thought that humour could add some spice to this blog, but though I know a couple of good jokes most of them do not rock.

So now I sit and wonder what the hell should I write, I am sorry for the h-word but my two minds are in a fight...and as one mind says "what you feel is right" and the other says, "make sure you feel the right..."

And as my two minds fight...i stare at this blank space..wondering what to write..

nuttier and nuttier day by day

my crazy bizze mind strays away
from the real and from the sane

till the sane is just a narrow little lane..
if you go in you are stuck..

in the walls of prejudice and false trust

so come with me and fly away..

where there is no real and all insane..

Stop!

Aren't you sad that I shall be gone

Don't you ever feel that you should hold me back

My eager feet walk to the gate

As my longing ears want your 'wait!'

Do you feel the weight, as I do in my heart?
Don't you want to hold..my hand and just say 'stop'?

Just say it once and I shall stop

Just call me once and I shall be back

But its all in my head as it always was..

And you won't be there even if I look back.

I waited for you all along...

and as I leave...I still wait for your 'stop!'

The Final Calling...

She felt the grains of sand making way for her feet to sink into them. She wriggled her toes to feel the sand play around her feet. Her lips curled in a light smile. Every night she stood at the same spot and every night he played his same soft rhythm, over and over again, without rest or a pause. Every night, she thought, she would go to him and every night there was one false ray of hope pulling her back. But today was different.
She stood there, not facing him….not daring to face him. She knew the time had come. The time, to finally rest in his arms. And now that the time had come, she felt weak and embarrassed. She stood there for a long time… till her breathing became the part of the music he played ..She felt the cool breeze of salty air make way from her hair. Guided by the wind, she turned around and walked towards him, with her eyes closed, still not daring to look him in the eye. The rhythm grew louder and louder till that was all she could hear. She knew this was the final calling…
His cold watery hands touched her feet for the first time. She opened her eyes and saw herself looking into the vastness of his existence. She smiled despite of the pain it cause. She did not feel week anymore. His existence was all around her and the only existence left was his…….there was no other world to think of and no other string to be held back with. She let her feet slide into his hands. With eager acceptance, his arms wrapped around her and took her away to be a part of him forever and ever.
The silence of the morning, was broken by the blaring of the horns of police vans. A body was found on the beach, a woman in her late twenties. No one knew where she came from. There were wounds on her face and hands. Most of them self inflicted. She lay sprawled on the shore. There was a slight smile on her face. One of her arms was outstretched towards the sea. The waves softly brushed her fingers, like they were trying to call her back. The ocean played his usual rhythm. And the world moved on as it always did.

A piece of my heart and a drop of my tear

A pint of my blood and an ounce of the fear

A spot of my shadow and a song in my voice

A couple of my broken dreams and a evening of my futile life

mixed in cup and it turns into muck

A Children's Song for Diwali

OH tonight! it’s the festival of lights.
Millions of us lit the lamps bright

Wore new clothes to welcome Lakshmi home
And she did come, in the evening, all alone.

And why wouldn't she as the sweets were made
Oh! how delicious did all of them smell

Dazzling lights shining bright
Night's just like day, in a colorful way

Children play with fire and light
But they may get hurt if not done right.

We play and we pray
eat sweets all day
Wear new clothes
and gift people all the way

And this is how this day shall pass
In the hope, that it would forever last..

But it only a year to go, till it shall again be so bright
This is Diwali the festival of lights.

Totally drunk in the spirit of Mumbai:

Local Trains (and memories of teenage love stories)

Monsoon

Vada Pav

Radio Mirchi

Mr Sood (Oooohhh my God...)

filth

crowd

pathetic dressing sense, yet the ability to look cool

Gujjus

BEST Bus

Ganpati Bappa

K. J Somaiya

IIT Bombay

Victorian Architecture

watery chai

tall buildings

unattractive and bindass log

freedom :)

Its 5 am in the morning...I cant sleep, and while language is a poor excuse for communication, it all I want to do right now...write....but I will spare my friends of readin it...there is no specific reason for me to write this one..it has no tilte and perhaps no aim..no rhymes definately....

I just like the sound of the keys clickin into the scilence of the night, they bring some peace to me..just like the smell of the printed words...and in so many words I have lost that I can hardly see the humans behind them...and not i sit into the night to pay for curse of seeing the things that no one can..for making a vision on the cloud...all my thoughts elude me right now..just like the purpose of my life has been...for years..and while i try to recollect my memories...i am so sure that this has been the best part of my life so far...thats I do not wish to remember anything at all...Mann its been ages since i have felt this way.......

Don't beat so fast my little heart

Don't beat so fast my little heart, your love is not to come
While you crave for a morning sun, it will just make you burn
They say you are made of glass, but I kno what art thee
You are but a paper which feeds, on the ink of my memory

You soak my thoughts and my dreams and my tears
and sometimes, faster you beat, for my fears
and when I have lived for many many years,
One by one I shall open thy layers,

to read of hopes and forgotten dreams,
of love and other really silly things,
of the people I met and work I did,
of sights I have seen and of places I have been
of poems I wrote, and hell this is the silliest thing

but when I have peeled off, all the layers
Ah! what a flower you would be,
but right now just don't beat so fast my little heart
least you would tear.

The Butterfly

I am but a butteryfly,
colorful, small and gay

Oh!!! Don't teach me to fly,in the straight way!!
I am destined to be this way,

to float on the spring
to go with the wind
to flutter on the flower in May
to live freely
and die in a day.

Children's song for Friday
(For kids like me too old to go to school and go to office instead)

There are poems about Monday blues
but there ought to be some bout fridays too

when I will go to office, in red and blue
don't bother much about coming home too

Tonight I will sleep like I never have to get up
And if you bug me much, I will just say "shut up!!"

Will watch movies perhaps three back to back
and get up late tomorrow to cook a real great snack
Then I will roll on my bed to sit back and relax

May be I will visit a zoo
or meet my friends just one or two
or just watch winne the pooh
or may be read a book or two

but there's also washing to be done
and cleaning wont be much fun

and these two days will be gone
like real short song
like the whoosh of the wind
or flower in the spring

Spotted!!!!!!!!!

New in the spotted series, after 'all types of water'!!

Painted on a bus just near hitech city

"Alpha ---- The flying boat"

huh?

The ugly doll

Among my toys was a doll
As ugly as she could be

She was taller than my pet giraffe
And she couldn’t bend her knee

While my toys could move and sing
She stood still in summer and spring.

So, I ripped her dress and punctured her face
Cried to my mom for a pretty face

Mom just smiled and said to me,
‘Though your doll can’t sit or sing’,
‘Didn’t you notice her deep brown eyes, How lovingly they blink?’

I cried and cried, but mom didn’t budge
And in fit of rage I grabbed my doll and threw her in sludge


Years have passed and time has gone,
I walked on the road
But the directions were wrong

I did sing but the song was wrong,
I cried in pain but voice was gone,
I called for you but you were long gone
I reached for my heart and the beating it lacked.
I looked into the mirror and an ugly face stared back

And though it couldn't smile or sing,
It had deep brown eyes that lovingly blinked.

The Perfect 'Batata Vada' Recipe.
(also known as 'Aloo Bonda' and sold as 'Vada Pav')

This is the way Maharashtrains make Vadas at home!!
These are simple, healthy and yummm..

Time to prepare 40 mins
Ingerdients:
The stuffing
Potatoes: 1kg
Green Chillies: 5-6
Garlic: 4-5 petals
Ginger: around 3/4th of the quantity of the garlic.
Mustard seeds: 1 teaspoon
Turmeric: 1 teaspoon
Oil: 2 teaspoons
Salt to taste
Coriander to garnish

Covering:
Besan (Gram flour)
Salt, red chilli powder, Water
Oil to fry

The recipe
1. Boil the potatoes in water.
2. Mash the potatoes in a container.
3. Make a paste of green chillies, ginger and garlic.
4. Heat the oil in a kadhai. Use very little of oil, we do not want the stuffing to be as oily as the covering.
5. Once the oil is heated, throw in the mustard seeds. They should pop and change their color to white.
6. See to it that the cooking is done on a low flame.
7. Now throw in the paste we had just prepared. Sautee it for sometime till the color begins to change.
8. Add turmeric to it and sautee it for some more time.
9. Add the mashed potatoes to this paste and cook for some more time.
10. Potaotes can be finely mashed or you may leave some lumps as preferred.
11. Keep mixing the ingredients as they cook. Add salt to taste and mix for atleast five minutes.
12. Taste the mixture and adjust the taste by adjusting the quantity of the chilly paste. I recommend, while preparing keep some paste and mashed potatoes aside so that they can be added to adjust the taste at this stage.
13. Add some chopped coriander and mix well again. The cooked stuffing should look light yellow in color, so keep the quantity of turmeric powder in control.

Covering:
1. When potatoes are getting boiled, mix besan and water.
2. Add red chilly powder, salt to taste. Mix well.
3. The consistency should be like whipped yogurt.

Final Step:
Make small balls out of the potato mixture we prepared above.
Dip them in the besan mix
Deep fry till golden brown.
Serve with pav, chutney or just salted fried green chillies.

Metrics:
1. Home made vadas are golden brown and not yellow as in the shops.
2. They do not taste like the ones in the shops. If rightly made they taste just divine.
3. While frying they do not suck in a lot of oil.

And finally they should look like the ones in the picture above.