SHADOW

There you are,

my mate of the soul.

 My companion

in weather, fair and foul.

The one to silently endure

my idiosyncrasies,fancies.

You delve into the deepest realm

yet, do not say.

You are my  ‘all,’

my Ego, my Alter Ego.

The one to walk through.

SURPRISE!

Surprise, a pleasant surprise,
is like a gust of whistling wind
to whose gentle rhythm,  leaves rustle
and branches sway.


Then, in no course of time
the gentleness howls,
swells with overbearing energy
and uproots the very trees that  danced the 'gentle' dance.


The land is then bare.
Arid and sterile!

Queen

Dampened floors and mildewed stores,
potholes, bumps and humps,
puny horses , rickety  rails,
houses upon houses,
cars upon cars,
and people upon people.
Screeches and stampede,
lean dogs and hungry humans,
sad state, sorry plight.
Stench and squalor,
anarchy, confusion,disharmony.
The Queen has lost her glory.

Country Way...

Fifa fever in purely South African style has smitten the world.  The ear piercing ‘vuvuzela’ and ‘waka, waka’ is music by popular demand. Kaka, Messi, Ronaldo, Rooney, Honda, and Henry are just a few from the list of role modals for budding soccer players . The Sun City is once more in the limelight drawing both live and passive spectators for the game that comes with the message of love.

Love and passion for the sport  has helped break physical barriers, cultural and social differences .  It is purely talent that draws attention. Die hard fans with painted faces, jerseys with  their hero’s name and flags support their team with fervor and zest no matter what. 

Infected by this fever, I go back in time to recall the experience of country football in my hometown that I visited every summer.  The neighborhood school, a ruined,  dilapidated two storey building with unpainted walls and broken windows quite surprisingly had a spacious play ground, rugged and uneven.  This pitch in due course of time became the much sought after venue for neighborhood football matches. Sunday was the day with spectators rushing to the venue in the early hours of the afternoon to book a seat. There were no galleries or seating facilities; it was one of the unlucky neighbor whose tilled land became the make shift gallery. People ruthlessly trampled over the potatoes and maize and rye and radish to find a place’ with a good view’.  They carried their own seats which were a locally termed ‘peeda’ (low wooden stool), cushions, mats or even sheets.

Of all the family members none were as enthusiastic as my grandma.  She had a special cane seat and a place reserved under a pear tree that no one could dare take. I don’t really know if she understood the rules of the game or for that matter any of the woman folk, yet, they made it routinely to the field . It was I suppose an activity that broke monotony and brought socializing, more a time to catch up with one another. For little children it was a fair, there was the ‘Balloon Walla' , the ‘Chana Walla’, the ‘Biscuit Walla’ and the ‘Ferry Walla’ competing and luring  to sell their wares. Little souls hopped around in sheer joy   and innocence. It wasn’t the game that they yearned for, like my grandma they didn’t understand the rules, it was just the pleasure of open space and freedom.

Players came in pick-ups and, yes, the crowd, except for the very old women folk and little children, had their favorites. There was cheering and loud applause when these small place heroes appeared on the pitch. They no doubt had talent and robust energy.  Come rain or shine  they played. Nothing could or ever deterred their spirit, not  the rugged field nor the unpredictable weather. They played and enthralled their fans in their own special way. There was no ‘vuvuzela’ to add to the frenzy but the claps and snaps were  audible enough to keep the moment alive.

The setting of dusk brought the event to a close . However, every heart  anticipated  the 'Sundays' that  spiced up their simple lives and made it eventful. 

The Noble Art of Teaching!

Teaching is considered a noble profession because of the immense responsibilities it calls for.  It is said that a true teacher is born not made. This statement is poignant with meaning because in spite of a number of trainings to be a real teacher one must have the qualities of selflessness and dedication that comes from deep within.

The job of a teacher is also one of the best because it keeps you at par with the changing time. As you teach you learn, there’s sharing, developing and growing. You impart not just knowledge from books but build character and shape personality. The learners in turn feed you with the latest in their world of mainly technology, trends, music and entertainment. In their presence you live your youth one more time.   You on the other hand help build a successful future generation . You help them aspire, dream and persevere and your achievement is when the learners succeed to their goal.

A classroom is a teacher’s window to the world. Through this window you see the myriad forms, almost psychedelic. It’s a view of the ‘ non symmetry’ that Virginia Woolf talks about in her description of life.  You see life in its youth, exuberance and enthusiasm. It is to this ‘non symmetry’ that you help find a shape, definition, recognition and identity. And what makes it interesting is how each attains a stark originality in due course of time.

A classroom at the same time is also a mirror, a reflection of you, of what you feed the tender hearts.

A teacher then is like a potter, moulding and shaping art every single minute or a painter giving meaning to colours. A teacher is ‘many’ in one.

 One way of learning is through imitation therefore a teacher’s word, action and thought matter a great deal. You are the center of focus for the learners who at times are almost blindfolded.  How often have we heard our children come home and say, ‘But my teacher said that …can’t be wrong.’

For a learner, the teacher is almost superhuman; he/she is all knowledgeable and can never go wrong.  However, rather than living up to this false notion, we must strive to make the learning environment natural and the teacher figure more human. Learning is an endless process and knowledge is not all comprehensible. A teacher therefore is not a ‘walking encyclopedia’ but a facilitator, the one who endeavors to help seekers find the right ‘key/keys’ to the world of wisdom. A teacher sows seeds that’ll better yield.

MORNING STARTS THE DAY!

Day breaks with Ani Choying’s soft chants, the purifying aroma of Tibetan incense and Darjeeling tea, these are three essentials that form part of the Tamang household ritual.  A perfect beginning to keep our sanity intact through the demands of the day.

Our balcony garden is another life force, a rejuvenator so to say. To see a bud transform into a vibrant flower, a seed grow into sapling brings forth not just    hope but a deep sense of achievement.  Plants like children need nurturing and tender loving care. They glow and blossom in love and the joy that each new bloom brings forth can only be experienced. 

TS Eliot was the one who referred to April being the cruelest month. It must have been in his part of England  (his childhood days) or America (where he lived for the rest of his life).  However, I say its June, July and August. These months don’t 'breed lilacs out of the dead', instead,  the rising temperature parches life.

Magically however, our balcony is evergreen, the love potion helping our ‘life force’ beat the summer heat.
The most important ray of hope  is our son. We strive, struggle and stress  all so that he shines. With these three ‘pills’ of life taken on time the day goes well. Nothing can deter because the morning that began with the chant, the purification, the nurturing and the love has set the day.  A good beginning leads to a good ending.

The journey of life is short and challenging but if one recognizes and centralizes what make the basic essence then it is worth taking the journey.

FUTILITY!

Insatiable dreams

 are  but steps,

in  life’s journey,

triumph and   fall,

  is a changing face,

the  cause of heart ache.

Yet we swell,

continue to dwell ,

though, knowing too well,

that our footprints are -

  but in  loose grains of SAND .