Isles of contentedness

Isles of contentedness
By: Rajbir Deswal

I like condensation,
Balling into a drop,
Dripping down demurely,
But shyly and, carefully,
Looking for some moments,
Of happiness and contentedness,
At a world of its own creation,
To be part of it,
Before creating a deluge,
Even out of the frozen glass,
At its outer bottom.
I am waiting for some corals,
To smilingly metamorphose,
Into a smile,
Showing up for miles and miles.
Smiles-miles.
Isles
Of contentedness
Of a life
Well lived.
--RAJBIR DESWAL



Photo credits:http://www.intellihot.com/images/condensate.jpg
http://www.scottslumber.com/uploads/images/Condensation/Glass%20Condensation2.jpg

Kite flying lessons!!!

Kite flying doesn’t only break your leg but teaches you to छोडो छोडो (Release!) लपेटो लपेटो(Gather!), ढील दो ढील दो(Be liberal),पेचे लड़ो (Engage), गोता लगाओ(tuck low) चरखी पूरी खोल दो (No holds barred!) AND वो काटा ( U R the winner –V)

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Kabootar Lakhnavi, Maina Jaipuri

Chirpy verses

A Tribune report by SD Sharma
The poetic symposium or mushaira wherein poets recite their verses is a century-old literary tradition. But noted Urdu poet BD Kalia Hamdam gave a fresh twist to this literary genre by featuring birds as poets in his book Prindon ka Aalmi Mushaira on which a seminar was held at CL DAV Secondary School-Panchkula by the Ehsaas Adabi Society.
Here are the excerpts from an international poetic symposium by bird poets in progress somewhere as delineated in the book.
"Hameen Sur, Tulsi hameen Mir, Ghalib, hameen in mein rehte thhe chola badal kerr / Mili in ko jo daadh duniyan mein ‘Kumri’, Voh thi dar hakiqat hamaari ghazal perr……" sang poet Fakhta Kanpuri 'Kumri' claiming that birds are the primitive poets.
Twenty-two more 'bird poets' regaled the audience with their latest poetic creations. While poet Hans Maansroveri was the chief guest, Mayur Bharti presides over the mushaira. Poets like Teetar Haryanvi, Kabootar Lakhnavi, Maina Jaipuri, Bater Jallandhari, Tota Ludhianvi, Surkhab Panchkoolvi, the anchor, doled out their kalaams. "Hamdam has conceived the idea to capture the sweet utterances of 'bird poets' with wild imagination," observed SS Bhatti, the main speaker in the seminar. Noted poet Shams Tabrezi opined that the poetry by birds had the humour, poetic grammar and above all an ecological message.
The chief guest, Rajbir Deswal IGP (CID), Haryana complimented the author for giving a voice to the birds who spelt words of wisdom in their shayari.

Look Amitabh's looks in looking at me:Big B

A curious on looker told me that Amitabh Bachhan was all eyes when I was talking to Khushwant Singh at Le Meridian at one of his book launches. I also obliged the thespian later in letting him have a photo with me. We must repay good gestures and also the curious looks. Who knows Big B was jealous of me! Green eyed monster doesn't consume lesser mortals but Big ones too! Kidding. Not really. A kid, my son's friend suggested me all this.

Arrest Zulfi, Save Lives!

Arrest Zulfi--Rescue from high water!

By: Rajbir Deswal
The Yamuna was in spate. The ravaging fury of gushing and gurgling waters presented an awesome sight. The spill had inundated areas even beyond the man-made banks and, for miles around it was nothing short of a sea in itself.
Incessant rains made matters worse. Anxious villagers had gathered on a comparatively safer lagoon. A female voice vyed with thundering clouds in wailing, for her husband (and my friend) Zulfi who was marooned two kilometers down the swollen river. How to save Zulfi and bring him ashore, was the question.
It was a dark night. In the normal course of its flow, the Yamuna maintained a definite channel and on either side were the fields with standing crops. Zulfi’s six bigha plot was their with a thatch roof hut, a buffalo, two goats, a dog, a cat and some half-a-dozen chickens.
For months altogether, Zulfi wouldn’t come to the village and preferred staying on his plot. On that fateful evening, the water started engulfing the surrounding area, beyond the normal course. Zulfi could have fled to safety, but he stayed put like a sinking ship’s captain, to be with his buffalo, cat, goats, dog and chickens, without their being even aware of Zulfi’s camaraderie. Fleeing farmers around beckoned Zulfi, but to no avail.
As SOS was sent through the flood station wireless and the District Magistrate himself reached the spot with his Superintendent of Police. No standard rescue operation strategies seemed to work when a couple of cops offered to go in deep currents. Two more volunteers opted to run the risk with an equal number of villagers.
The DM sent for long ropes, torches, life-buoys and a walkie-talkie. A make-shift boat was prepared, with an inflated tractor-tyre tube on which a huge cow dung cake basket was kept and tied. Half the village youths exhausted their lungs in inflating the tube. The rescue party left amid ‘bon voyage’ from those present there. For sometime, the voices of the eight rescuers were heard but later on, it was only the rattling currents, spelling disastrous moods in the ‘boiling’ river that were heard.
The villagers arranged for cots and hot milk for the DM and SP. Everyone had his fingers crossed and Zulfi’s wife became a little calmer. Yet, with every lightning flash, scribbling ‘doom’ on the dark skies, her heart filled with gloom.
One full hour of anxious wait and none spoke except whispering once in a while, “Isn’t it too late! They should’ve returned by now.” Although putting their hearts to the operation of rescuing Zulfi, the villagers were engaged in cursing him. The DM and the SP, in their rain-coats, looked more worried since they had risked eight more lives.
Suddenly a light surfaced, twinkling on the waves. A villager shouted, “They are there!” More joined him yelling, “Yes, it’s them all right!” but just as suddenly, the light disappeared. Those on the shore were crest-fallen. Again some sounds were heard. This time, more clearly. Lanterns started glowing with lengthened wicks and torch beams were focused horizontally on the water surface. The group was in sight returning to the shore.
Many villagers plunged in knee-deep water and patted the rescuers on their backs. In the state-of-the art, boat, was sitting, sheepish Zulfi with his goats, dog, cat, and chicks—all seemingly frozen. The buffalo looked on nonchalantly! The DM and the SP hugged each other, “A hundred pet cent successful operation!” the DM exclaimed and the SP said, “Bravo, my boys!” Then all of a sudden, the villagers gheraoed the officers, shouting “Huzoor, whenever there is a flood warning in future, please arrest warning in future, please arrest Zulfi in advance.

Dishonour to Tricolour!!!

I wrote this (Tricolour flown upside down--news reaching us from Sirsa and Mandi Gobindgarh. Yes it is a dishonour. The news in text is welcome but what good are the newspapers doing in showing the upside down flag in pictures?After all making people see the reversed flag should amount to dishonour. And by visually showing it one more time is not a healthy journalistic practice. Two wrongs do not make a right.) on the Facebook and received huge response but an eamil from Mr S H Mohan, a DGP(Retd) of Haryana should be an eye-opener for us all. Thanks Sir.

"Yes the tricolour was seen flying upside down on Independence day,and duly reported by the newspapers. This has happened before, and will almost certainly happen again in our country - unfortunately.The last time I recollect I was in service then, an enquiry was conducted, The HC from the police lines had gone on leave so a havildar from the Armed police Mbn had been ordered to have the tricolour folded and strung up with rose petals etc. He did do the job but had never done it before [the enquiry revealed] and the result was the tricolour flew upside down. He was punished. The ASP I/C lines who should have checked the matter did not get even a verbal warning. The havildar swore that it was not his intention to insult the National flag. I believed him. His uncle - an Infantry Naik from the RR - who had just come home on leave from service in Srinagar appeared before me to plead his nephew's case. He stated that he had seen the tricolour stamped upon and burnt in public while men and women laughed and clapped more than once in Srinagar. I knew that what he said was true.Was that an insult to our flag ? Yes it most certainly was [as the intention was present ]. Which was not present in the HAP man's case.The difference in law is intent which either makes it a crime or doesnt'. So, do we treat the Sirsa case as an insult to our flag, or do we see it as a careless mistake ? I do not think our flag was dishonoured at Sirsa, but I most certainly would say that it was dishonoured at Srinagar.
As for the news paper reporting the incident - I think one may look at the matter differently. Weigh the issue up - Yes the news papers must give the people the news. It is their sacred right. And we are proud of the freedom of our press. But, who benefits from this piece about the flag fluttering upside down at the parade ? We Indians ? I dont' know if I do. I feel chagrined that the people who insulted the flag in Srinagar [and in other places too for that matter] will probably gloat and smile in glee.
I remember another incident in which our President stumbled while trying to get down to squat at an important function. He was old and probably a bit stiff from arthritis and couldnt get down as smoothly as a younger man would. And when he stumbled his leg lifted, and his dhoti came away showing a certain portion of his upper leg. Naturally the newspaperman took that photograph, and several papers carried it on one of the pages as a news item the next day. It was shown on TV as well. Now we are proud of the freedom of the press. It is one of our great freedoms. And the people of this country have a right to get the news and all of it. But, who would feel happy at our discomfiture ? The people who burn our flag and stamp on it, or the simple men from the police lines who stand to get punished for something they never intended to in the first place? And what about the keen men from the newspapers who we are proud of ? They stand for the freedom of the press. It is their right.
There are angles from where the matter doesn't look so simple."

Situations have faces too:Deepika or Aish?

I remember a classmate of mine reacting to our Games Sir’s pulling her ear, “Stop it Sir, I have come of age!” reacting to this though he gave her three slaps on her face repeating, ”O’ so you ‘ve come of age!” I don’t know if he was naturally enraged or annoyed or my classmate was naturally en(r)aged or Ann-Hoyed! On the face of it, it was not a happy situation though! Yes situations too have faces. Like a ‘fresh’ perceived Deepika Padukone and an ‘insecure’ perceived Aish. (Ref..An HT feature-- (http://epaper.hindustantimes.com/PUBLICATIONS/HT/HD/2010/08/14/ArticleHtmls/STRIKING-A-FAMILIAR-POSE-14082010106004.shtml?Mode=)

Happy Birthday Bau Ji! May you 'live' long with us!

Bau Ji would have been 81 today if all his birthday calculations told to us being--third day from Teej-- were accurate. We miss the zeal and fervour you celebrated your own birthday feeding village folks lined up at Mother's Samadhi in Anta. Will miss all that this year. And you too. HBD Bau Ji.

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I also remember a piece I wrote...for The Tribune

My father who was born in 1930, after the First World War and before the Second, was there informing us about the “wages of war”, in Sahir Ludhianvi’s inimitable style—Jung mashriq main ho ya magrib main; amano aalam ka khoon hai aakhir (War, if it breaks out whether in the East or in the West, amounts only to the murd...er of global peace). And that—Jung to khud hi ek masla hai; jung maslon ka hal kya degee (War does not offer solutions since it is in itself a problem).It was March 16 and as per initial reports pouring in, America was to attack Iraq on the seventeenth that year. All of us in the family, who were listening to father’s rendition of Sahir’s poetry, were then asked by him to hit our respective beds, since he too wanted to retire for the day. To the encore he recited the parting couplet of the evening—Is liye ai sharif insanon, jung talti rahe to behtar hai; aap aur hum sabhi ke aangan main, shama jalti rahe to behtar hai (Thus, O’ Noble men, if war could continue to be postponed it is good for all of us so that the flame of life keeps burning in our respective households).We passed a sleepless night. Rising early the next morning, I dashed to the door to collect my pack of newspapers, when I discovered two of them had not been delivered that day. I subscribe to four. Having heard me grumble and curse the vendor, my wife half in sleep said that she had reduced the number of newspapers from four to two, as part of the austerity drive in the household, which “we deliberated upon just a couple of days back”.“But whaaay....? Jaswant Singh has not been so cruel at least this budget season!” I nearly barked. We have survived innumerable squabbles all our married life but I don’t know what happened to my wife who immediately threw away the blanket and shouted: “So whaaat? I have cut down the quota by two!”I too sprung on my feet and shouted with heightened pitch: “But why have you done so without even asking meeee?” “Ask you, my foot!” and she too was literally on her feet and thumped on the floor in a more threatening gesture and did not stop even at that as if enough had not been enough. She let out here unilateral resolve:“If I would have my way I would stop the other two as well”. She threw a real challenge and dared my masculinity, or so I thought, I retaliated with a real suspension of disbelief: “Can you dare to...and do you really mean that...!” I started fumbling for words. Wife walked out and made it to the living room where father had already been sitting. Fuming like a bull, I also followed her.Father came out of his meditation trance quite unaware of our early morning wrestle. Referring to our last evening’s pondering on the inevitable and impending war, he asked us: “Has the war begun?” Reflexively, my wife’s and my eyes met. We burst into a peel of laughter. All the frostiness had gone when wife offered me my morning cuppa.I wish someone, a father-figure, could make the warring factions laugh. Truly war does not determine who is right Only who is left. Read more: http://rajbirdeswal.instablogs.com/entry/war-doesnt-determine-who-is-right-but-who-is-left/#ixzz0wYMAfHBT

My future pic !

I keep putting itno my profile's frame different pictures.
Some recent some old.
Now I think is the time to put my future picture .
Only I should live to be that old. Not bad methinks!

By the way my current profile pic has too many images of mine to choose from.

Take your pick and return me my Paan-Daan please!

My name is Barbie and I love to help in Leh!

Not only Khans lend a helping hand in flood hit Georgia, but Barbies and Johns too when they encounter a disaster in Leh. Milk of human kindness! Let it flood the dry lands of insensitivity.

टीटू दे मम्मी पापा

There used to be broadcast a programme लीजिये फिर सुनिए on विविध भारती
one of the episodes had a song..
टीटू दी मम्मी तू बड़ी निक्कमी तेरी जान नू बच्चे रोंदे ने तू पई एँ लम्मी...
then the female sings...
टीटू देया पापा, तेरा प्या स्यापा कुज खान नु बच्चे मंगदे ने तैनू मारूं लापा!
Another one was ....प्रिये जला कर आग घास के पास ज़रा कुछ गप-शप हो जाए...ज़रा ये मुन्ना सो जाए...!!!
No they din't have वाट लगाना stuff to speak then
O tempora O mores!
No I won't tell you its meaning except if you can understand the agony of the times and the people!!!

AND QUITE FLOWS THE RUSSIAN RIVER IN OBAMA LAND

AND QUITE FLOWS THE RUSSIAN RIVER IN OBAMA LAND
By: Rajbir Deswal & Chander Koumdi
From Los Angeles to San-Francisco, via the dry grass-laden yellow dunes, through a green-turning land scape, with thousands of white windmills, on to the blue water of the 39th Pier, with the striking-red Golden Gate in site, we were asked by Nazoo and Lakhbir our hosts to have a feel of the cable cars, Union Squire and Crooked Street of San Francisco, before our three days sojourn with them at Guerneville just twenty minutes drive short of the grey waters of the Pacific Ocean.
While driving from over the magnificent, awe-inspiring and one-time longest (1.7 miles) Golden Gate, we had thought that the excitement to see all that was seeable would take a backseat and a beating then. But the moment we crossed down the slope, from the engulfing clouds swamping on us, the view right in front showed the Sonoma County’s idyllic and serene landscape, largely dominated by vineyards and redwood groves. Close by flowed the Russian River which is all the year round good for swimming, kayaking, canoeing, angling, sunbathing, and boating, before it joins the Pacific Ocean at Jenner, just by the side of the famous and scenic Sonoma Beach, on the much touted(and really beautiful) Highway No. 101.
Our destination was the sleepy town of Guerneville where they have about fifty wineries and Armstrong Woods spread in an area of about 800 acres with Redwood trees which almost seem to be piercing through the sky. This small downtown on the Russian River has all the serenity, calmness and laidback lifestyle typical of holiday places though the regular inhabitants of the town love to be staying in what was historically called Stumptown since being a big centre of the then flourishing lumber trade almost all Redwoods were logged and freighted out for money in 1800s.
A railhead is still preserved here to tell the story of the transported lumber from the once famous ‘Big Bottom’—another name given to the Redwood Groves area. The local Pomo Indians named this summer camp as ‘Ceola’ which meant ‘shady place’. Present day Guerneville takes its name from a Swiss immigrant and a local businessman George Guerne who owned a sawmill in 1800s. Oxen driven carts to San Raphae, laden with lumber took 9 days for a round trip in those days. The original site of the station Guerneville was purchased by Korbel Brothers and has retained some souvenirs of the eras gone by.
Guerneville has the largest number of hotels, restaurants and eateries especially meant for Gays and Lesbian community locally called the LGBT. One can see the implicit signs as “Hate Stops Here” put up at many places on ‘interest’. Infact after the 1970s, people inclined to this genre of sexuality in San Francisco, started exploring Guerneville areas for their escapades and found a favourable ambiance for a recreational destination here. The Northwestern Pacific Railroad, once primarily used for lumber freighting having demised in 1930s, had left the place only to be frequented by illegal drug users and made worse by the floods in 1964.
Luckily for us it was ‘Happy Fourth July’—the American Independence Day, and the day began with crowding around of locals and tourists in the Town Plaza, where they had huge and fuming barbeques and steaming white dressed chickens, Pulled Pork Sandwiches, hotdogs and hamburgers lined up like bricks in a kiln. Orchestras and buntings galore of colours only a Rainbow could quantify added to the atmosphere when revellers thronged the Beer and Wine Bars as early as at 10 in the morning. We were also excited about the pyrotechnic spectacle of fireworks over the Russian River’s Historic Bridge. And for that we had to pick a spot early in the evening.
On our way to the Korbel winery we found vehicles moving at a snail’s pace and people enjoying their predicament of not-being-in-a-hurry for a change. It was a ‘five-minutes delay expected’ but what we could read from the faces of holidaying men, women and children was that they wanted to live every moment how-so-ever-slow or even stilled. We did some wine-tasting at the winery around which were the vineyards sloping down to Russian River making its white waters reflecting immensely against a green foreground. We picked Pinochet—a variety of wine—to be declared our favourite, then and remembered to impress the bartenders thereafter, everywhere.
One-O-One—the Highway at Bodega Bay showed up a plethora or cars stashed on the slopes leading down to the Pacific with white-rock-gates harbouring sea-gulls and other avian of the sea variety hovering and resting and snoozing and cooing and cleansing their own feathers with craned out beaks on their sides. Their squeaking and tweeting echoes from the skies to the vast expanse of blue waters. Vacation houses is another craze in the entire Sonoma County and mostly they are situated in a way as from one could watch a daily sunset or have the beach in reach.
Our last stop was at Jenner, where Russian River splits into sinking and surfacing delta streams, ultimately joining the Pacific, as if to give a feel to us the onlookers, of completion and culmination, of a beautiful journey undertaken, exploring life and liveliness, in all its varied shades and velvety textures—made only to give happiness and justifying its existence. The not-so-vast delta site offers an ambiance of laidback variety, which easily sinks in the holidaying mood of revelers and nature lovers alike. If Los Angeles and San Francisco are marked for men and their activities, then Guerneville and Jenner qualify their indulgences.