Friday, November 17, 2017

Thursday, November 16, 2017

Sexual Harrassment - # Me too versus # Not Me at all

The # me too and the talk of 'being victimized' brought up an important question to my mind.. . How many women or girls who presently occupy this earth can clearly and unequivocally say that they were never victimized in any form, not preyed upon, not violenced against or had a molestation attempt made towards them.
I for sure cannot stand under that umbrella. But I am not going to take it sitting down either. Years have gone by , even decades. I interact with those  attemptor ones on many an occasion, in family, friend groups and some even professionally. But it still  come as a surprise when in this ripe old age  of mine ,a man purposely brushes up or grabs, and  this still shocks me  into silence .
The most recent event occurred while  standing with a peer at a dinner event , my peer's husband grabbed me as he made his way to her side. what do you do...first you stare, in shocked surprise, then you recognize you have been muted, by the event and the fact that it is your peer nearby and there is no way to do much about it , its just awkward...
The occasion  of the  day and the public nature if it all further mutes you, even as you seethe over it repeatedly. I am grateful for a hawkine  hovering  by both my parents, ( even as I resented it so much at that time )so I was really spared these occurrences of untarnished sexual aggression that is laced with physical and emotional aggression until later in life... (even such a possibility did not cross my path until I was sixteen, when I yelled all the curses I could gather  at the boy  who ran to grab  me on my way back from school  and continued his run. I ran after him , threw whatever I  could grab from the road side  and then went and told my parents and the school--sixteen is elderly by the subcontinent gauge according to what I have understood from the lives of my friends at that time ).That subtle secure feeling  may have helped me to go forward despite all these and many more  that got  piled on me , sometimes I think more than a lifetime can ever handle...

Yet there is more for life, more to worth measures in our lifetimes . I say power to the rare women who can say..."not me at all". For the others , more power to them to hold their heads high and go forward ,for there is so much to be done , to make even the slightest ripple  in this oceanic vastness of powered aggressors and their deeds.
There is no time to rest, indeed .
 I just saw the news item about sexual misconduct is discussed in the capitol hill, which gives me further hope.
All of us, mothers , grandmothers, aunts  sisters and daughters  have work to do...WE ALL NEED TO STAND UP TOGETHER  , use our collective effort and make the change to change those around us , we ARE NOT victims, but powered ones who start that change ....

Saturday, October 21, 2017

SPRKS IN CSF: O so important (a poem by Pc3)

SPRKS IN CSF: O so important (a poem by Pc3): So important I feel, I am  a snow flake Floating the web, As it floats down ... Oh so important I flutter, In the Far corners of cold,...

Tuesday, October 17, 2017

SPRKS IN CSF: Life , History and ...all ours?

SPRKS IN CSF: Life , History and ...all ours?: (I write for those whose voice is stilled or who cannot speak...(Peace crane 3)) My voice, my thoughts , all mine,yet for how long ... F...

Monday, October 16, 2017

Life , History and ...all ours?

(I write for those whose voice is stilled or who cannot speak...(Peace crane 3))

My voice, my thoughts , all mine,yet for how long ...
For the voices stilled, for the thoughts bound,
Thoughts that find no anchor, that they just  are, wandering,
Bubbling  in  , untethered voice, with no vessel to place ,
Is this what all abuse costs,
    Some mute with thoughts bound,
    Fears just keep rekindling,
    For all ,dances with no end,
    Into act and react and all to dance again,
    Yet in others' constant embers burn,
    Stained memories that don't tether,
    Kynuerins and toxins accumulate,spills into words,
    Into a dance of steps, non-steps,missteps all,
    Bereft of rhythm, of music,
    All call it life, yet forget life it is not...
My rooms are  in disarray,
Reflects my mind , my brain..
Chaos the theme of the times
I am no artist , but I dance and call it life...
In the shadows bears prowl and snakes slither,
Shadow deeds go on endless, disdain its aura,
Their ilk knows to bind,endless
Knows that  dance, to humor all fears,
For one to survive, for life,it all remains the same...
   Through centuries, through generations,
    Them faltered steps never cease to amuse the powers,
   In despair, human souls, they crumple,yet shadows prowl, persists...
Rising from the sea with their shining marks,
We, the masses stare, adore even,
As our eyes burn holes into our brains,
   Leaning in, into "just fears",senseless and bound,
   Yes, we repeat and replay and call it always- history...
   They remain  a bit varied; we all act our parts,
  Yet again that replay  is but our lives...

(poem by pc3- 10/14/17)

Thursday, October 12, 2017

SPRKS IN CSF: SPRKS IN CSF: circadian Rythm-at last your time

SPRKS IN CSF: SPRKS IN CSF: circadian Rythm-at last your time: SPRKS IN CSF: circadian Rythm-at last your time : Three scientists who unravelled how our bodies tell time have won the 2017 Nobel Prize for...

SPRKS IN CSF: SPRKS IN CSF: on Rape and molestations

SPRKS IN CSF: SPRKS IN CSF: on Rape and molestations: SPRKS IN CSF: on Rape and molestations : "The future of nations is echoed in the footfalls of its women..." In the past few day...

SPRKS IN CSF: on Violence to every step

SPRKS IN CSF: on Violence to every step: Gender violence is one of the world’s most common human rights abuses. Women worldwide ages 15 through 44 are more likely to die or be ma...

on Violence to every step

Gender violence is one of the world’s most common human rights abuses. Women worldwide ages 15 through 44 are more likely to die or be maimed because of male violence than because of cancer, malaria, war and traffic accidents combined. The World Health Organization has found that domestic and sexual violence affects 30 to 60 percent of women in most countries.

Rape and domestic violence are words that once removed from the immediacy of the event , whether by time or  a mind set in emotional distance, just becomes just too clinical, almost devoid of all that went with it , attached to it. Hence it becomes mere words at some point and yet  at other times unreal. The Indian student's death sparked an outcry few years ago , and then it quieted down.There was a celebrity serial molestation buzz for a while, in the US and it too went quiet .
Now something is again awakened  of  the culture of rape,and its trails into  lives of someone else...It may fizzle out with time, but the directed violences will continue . That is almost a given , assured outcome, about lives...with another outcry at the next expose'  or next event that comes to light .
               All those who are harassed, go through the spacing , almost ritualistically, pushing it out  with time. You are lucky if you have done something in a retaliatory fashion , however small, because that alone gives you a certain sense of wholeness.
              How-ever, when it is repeated violence , at home,or what surround you,nay follow you in society,  then  the fabric of self gets worn...gradually shredding your identity. Thus you are no more a whole,but only pieces, as if they are all different in someways, and  the person that is you become some flyaway bits you are always gathering up.
Sometimes pushing back can be more damaging, so you wait for a chance and selectively defend parts of your integral self. Some just push it all into a sac that grows wearisome with time, then gets scarred over and your soul gets a little bit darker, as you go through life, never again consciously touching that scarred over foreignness...just barely knowing it , just barely being.
Then, some thing stirs and you remember, your wholeness, almost with the uncertainity of a dream... The memory of a whole follow you , a shadow that evolve, as the scars scale up and fall in trail through like with the shadow a constant companion, even as you seek that elusive wholeness...

SPRKS IN CSF: on Rape and molestations

SPRKS IN CSF: on Rape and molestations: "The future of nations is echoed in the footfalls of its women..." In the past few days I have read, about rape --recent , past...

Wednesday, October 4, 2017

SPRKS IN CSF: circadian Rythm-at last your time

SPRKS IN CSF: circadian Rythm-at last your time: Three scientists who unravelled how our bodies tell time have won the 2017 Nobel Prize for physiology or medicine. Circadian rhythm.....

Tuesday, October 3, 2017

circadian Rythm-at last your time

Three scientists who unravelled how our bodies tell time have won the 2017 Nobel Prize for physiology or medicine.

Circadian rhythm...
At long last your time is here
The universe turns, its measure,
All measured in small steps,
Defined , on this side of the sun,
Yet many have discounted,
Sneered at even when spoken of...
Such a wonderful state of measures;
Of the thorough status of
The Circadian rhythm, the seamless flame ,
That runs through us all, making our DNA sing its tunes ,
All to the core , all to the end and beyond..

-10/02/2017-Poem by P c 3

Sunday, August 13, 2017

SPRKS IN CSF: Then,there...

SPRKS IN CSF: Then,there...: There, stare hard, into a morning... There, the sun still rises, but where?  Then, is it my eyes that sees, or my dreaming senses;  Then...


There, stare hard, into a morning...
There, the sun still rises, but where?
 Then, is it my eyes that sees, or my dreaming senses;
 Then, do I stare, at the unformed edges,
Or is it the foaming edges that quake, nay  wither?
Again , what is it that my eyes behold...
If they behold at all?
At the edges ,bubbles form, in frosty specks,
At the edge of conscience, freezer burns,
They  were there, silent , waiting,sheathed,
Silent in the hearts, in the minds, bubbling,
Yet deform , all despite  time , cold and hardening...
The days , they still form, but the inner sanctums,
To all deities lay defiled,freeze burned consciences that scatter...

Poem by P c 3 ---(08/12/17)

Saturday, March 4, 2017

SPRKS IN CSF: Is it Our Mutations...

SPRKS IN CSF: Is it Our Mutations...: "The last woolly mammoths to walk the Earth were so wracked with genetic disease that they lost their sense of smell, shunned company,...

Is it Our Mutations...

"The last woolly mammoths to walk the Earth were so wracked with genetic disease that they lost their sense of smell, shunned company, and had a strange shiny coat"

As I read the article , questions swirl in my ancient brain-- Are we going the way of the woolly mammoth, but in an altogether novel path to self extinction. Can we just blame our genes for all our follies, and selective destructive tendencies.(just like many  a criminal in collusion with their lawyer or any one who shirks their responsibilities selectively - 'my genes made me do it , or made me  avoid it'

Well it appears that the genes are self selectively expressing a moral code of conduct of  'lying, conning, destruction and cruel unempathetic self aggrandisation ' as a measure for success.
Hence it is no surprise then to wait for the destruction of the environment , gradual or quicker genetic miscodes , and then humans' own  decline and extinction.

    All around are emerging short sighted  planning and divisive constructs ...these along with a war mongering mentality , and creation of a cruelty de-sensitised  future generations , I believe has struck the gong of our decline and that final phase . This can be reversed only if we are to take a resource saving, compassionate ,sharing  attitude, ie. sharing with all our fellow humans, with a far sighted solutions to protect and care for that which surround us and with those whom we share  our space with (all beings and objects, including our fellow humans ). The question remains always the same... do we have the capacity to forgo an urge for short term gains , or the wisdom for caring...hope the genetic miscodes have not taken hold in the majority of humans, so that the wise counsel prevails.

If not.....adieu homo sapiens.... and before that ,adieu earth's fauna and flora...

Tuesday, January 31, 2017

SPRKS IN CSF: The Day after tomorrow

SPRKS IN CSF: The Day after tomorrow: Yesterday I dreamt of the coming of spring, Birds singing in the trees, And flowers dancing in the sun;      Today, I wake, and go to wo...

The Day after tomorrow

Yesterday I dreamt of the coming of spring,
Birds singing in the trees,
And flowers dancing in the sun;
     Today, I wake, and go to work.
 Carry my day in routines,
      Tomorrow I balk and stare,
  Into the day after,
  The day after tomorrow, I see,
   I see the future,
   I see it all crumble and shift,
   All my future children,
   Crumble into civilization's demise,
I see the day after tomorrow,
Rising into oblivion;
All life and time glide and lurch away,
All into the great oblivion, oblivious all still...
Into the day after tomorrows...

(poem by Pc3--01/30/2017)

Monday, January 30, 2017

SPRKS IN CSF: despite KAOS wins- the letter to my children

SPRKS IN CSF: despite KAOS wins- the letter to my children:  I look at my initial thoughts, and I am not so sure any more. But one still has to act.In the shifting sands of time , all become irreleva...

Saturday, January 28, 2017

SPRKS IN CSF: In the event of a KAOS win- a letter to my childre...

SPRKS IN CSF: In the event of a KAOS win- a letter to my childre...:  I look at my initial thoughts, and I am not so sure any more. But one still has to act.In the shifting sands of time , all become irreleva...

despite KAOS wins- the letter to my children

 I look at my initial thoughts, and I am not so sure any more. But one still has to act.In the shifting sands of time , all become irrelevant, even the revered spots have a way of being erased of its values. As  some in the world  take a moment to look into history , and memorialize a horrid past point, we stare aghast at a future of horrors. I for one feel the whole world should act , in quest of freedoms, beyond the pinking of last week and may be this time cover our heads in a scarf in remembering all old traditions that started with a scarf , now as a symbol for resistance to persecutions .

Lost freedoms have a snow ball effect, hence it is essential to stop it before it gathers momentum.

Let freedom win, and hope that  ACLU  and similar right thoughts go with the right actions

Lets remember and act on the holocaust memorial day and beyond...

I had prepared rather reluctantly(almost ill-prepared) -ie. for an eventuality of a KAOS win.... an attempt despite agent 99' efforts for world order..and  a KAOS running about trumping about loud" take over the world"
Oh.... Maxwell smart,and 99- all efforts to nigh
so here is what I was  writing to that blighted future....( excerpt from my dairy, 10/29/16)

'My dear children,
I have to advice you all not to loose heart, despite the much feared event-a K presidency.
You are all blessed with wisdom that life gives..the values of moderation.
You have gone past the rigors of an education system that advises you to think , while abhorring your questioning and thinking minds...
You have managed to get into the adult world, where nothing is fair, yet with your determined souls you have made each of your environments a little bit more fairer for all.
You have witnessed the closet racism, the bigotry, and even the master mentality of someone a few occasions and have risen above it all.So with these experiences have come wisdom.It may seem like desperate times, but now is not the time to despair.This is the time for thought and there is much work to do.
THINK , because thought is not controlled by any, besides it allows you to bounce various ideas, stretch and contract things in your mind without any restraint.Out of thought is born actions, and clarity.
You may be quiet, which is alien to the majority in this nation, especially because the process of contemplation and thought are somewhat alien here as well.
Hence we have this  new president((not surprising ..)
You have experienced many a conflict...conflicts of identity,ideals and the external conflicts of power that is inherant in every community, including its smallest unit- the family and the individual...
It gives me great hope for the future as you all manage your lives,I am sure you will negotiate change, including your efforts to change policy, even beyond your areas of expertise into the outer world far beyond your comfortable niches.
You will also learn much about adaptability and creating change without loosing your inner selves, as I did over time.
So my advice to you all- make the change, just as the gentle waves do,but assured that your efforts will produce change. The tsunamis may have usurped the beaches, but the gentle waves persist and round out the jagged edges,where they break...
So go forth with clarity and the efforts that persist , joining forces with the many moderates out there just like you, ones with clarity and goodness in their souls, who strive for change,in the midst of a mindless robotic prattling lot...
Do not despair, loud bangs do not carry the weight of clear thoughts, it's just noise and remains brief...'

Saturday, January 21, 2017

SPRKS IN CSF: reflect I on (a poem by pc3)

SPRKS IN CSF: reflect I on (a poem by pc3): I want to take this space to reflect, as the future  and past draws to a close..lost to a present, almost like the inconsequential feeling ...

reflect I on (a poem by pc3)

I want to take this space to reflect, as the future  and past draws to a close..lost to a present, almost like the inconsequential feeling to life when hurtled through the skies to the dark force,
not the force of balance but of insatiety... for lives, for all that render meaning to life...!!. .

First things first ...I say again , with more conviction now ...

I am  still afraid to reflect,
For fear if my thoughts spill out here, then can I walk with nary a care?
Or should I at every step feel smaller and weaker, in a new year...
But again, that's not in my nature,so-
I sigh with relief, for some oceans ,and many such cares
Have saved hope of being  that, oceans ...
Thank you ,president Obama, for caring, for being,
Beyond gains of now,for trying ,on the many ways...
For keeping values, reflected , and reflectives,
For thoughts, in a land that shun thoughtfulness,
Where loud matter,to keep right action,beyond all clamour...
An office, a title, not squandered,but honor kept,
For the few amongst many,valued thoughts ,
So a kindred in spirit, for our own thoughts ,values reflected here and there...

as we hurtle to the land of dark forces and lost sights,
we have to try not to be swallowed by the dark,
yet land with our antennae, in our new world order,
our antenae - evolutions' gift , just sprouting 

Saturday, December 31, 2016

SPRKS IN CSF: O so important (a poem by Pc3)

SPRKS IN CSF: O so important (a poem by Pc3): So important I feel, I am  a snow flake Floating the web, As it floats down ... Oh so important I flutter, In the Far corners of cold,...

SPRKS IN CSF: reflect I on (a poem by pc3)

SPRKS IN CSF: reflect I on (a poem by pc3): I want to take this space to reflect, as the year draws to a close. First things first ... I am afraid to reflect, For fear if my thou...

Monday, December 19, 2016

O so important (a poem by Pc3)

So important I feel,
I am  a snow flake
Floating the web,
As it floats down ...
Oh so important I flutter,
In the Far corners of cold,
Fetted by the chill,
Still valued by the icicle,
For I add, beyond my very knowing...
Somehow,my value calls
To the wilderness,
To the bear to trample,
Ample fruits of a shine,
Flakes of truth to a trawl,
I float,a tiny glimmer, a hope-
Ever so brief,yet so important,
I am a snow flake,o"so important'...

Friday, November 11, 2016

Trump's wins -a loss? ???

Now What...

Emptied souls,surely not.

      Not mourning, but......
Just - Being quiet
            For a moment
                   To recharge
                          To act...

                                  Yes , Much rests on our shoulders,

Hence WE MUST,

MOVE , UNITED,we must

         A threat is to humanity's core,
             Nurtured values.............................
                      Assault is to our essence ...
           Hence , MOve ,
              Act to stop,
                   Yes, to indeed stop....
                    The Death to all  progress, that looms,
                  To stop before it blooms,
                    Consuming all in a cloud of hatred.....
    Yes, we are destined to act,
In the face of  'Dementors', before our souls are gone............

Saturday, November 5, 2016

on Rape and molestations- ( a repost for our present times)

"The future of nations is echoed in the footfalls of its women..."

In the past few days I have read, about rape --recent , past, date rape ...all kinds of rapes , all those which almost got squished to 'non'.
I go back again and again to review life, times,events. One thing is clear to me. We have moved, but just stay shifting  in the same spot. Faces and people have changed but the focus has been and still is on the victim. Be it in the US, Nigeria, syria, India, Pakistan or anywhere in the world. Some how those accusatory  raised sharp pointed finger is static...pointed to the victim always .
Be it intra-marital rape, date-rape or stranger rape , incest, or any molestation, it seems that the all powerful fingers points to the victim.  some of us , we just  re-live the traumas yet again as another story is unlocked.I believe the worst of it is the apathetic response by the surrounding world.
That first time you slink into the fold of society, that has normalized your role as prey,especially when you are a child.It is always about power and control struggles in a society...why disrupt those  functioning system indeed?
all those questions that drown out the event....
'what about that other person who did try to prey, what about his life,his societal stand'... Then you remember, and you  recognize the one who questioned that norm, who stood up and would not back down, when the normalizors all said 'it was an accident, or was someone just being playful,or the child just got scared... after all nothing happened...blah blah blah'...I had forgotten one of the many such event last night ,(the details are now fuzzy, lost to memory) but it came as a shock, how my grandmother went to confront my neighbor,with me the reluctant child in tow...I wanted her to do what all those others were saying, leave it be. Their chorus still rise as a loud din- he won't do anything again, what about his mother, why cause a stink, what about his marriage prospects, blah blah blah.... in our quiet village.
Well then again that is why  people always sought her wise counsel in all sorts of matters, I guess. She never backed down from what was right ,even if many considered only the discomforts of upsetting a staid system ... I got that strength which never left me, may have laid dormant at times though...   Is the current statistics of some form of sexual violence say 'one in four girls or one in five women?'
What about those of us who slide in and out of your daily lives, wearing our daily masks  , never acknowledging any of it...tucking away our hurts, our fights all to a corner of our memory boxes..
what about those of us who go to sleep and wish we could escape the nights terrors... what of the children who carry that weight as a mantle of shame and set themselves up for a more brutal future in their silence.
They say silence is golden, I believe it is a golden cloak for the perpetrator..such a glow from all the silences  that lay heavy just for the victim. Each choice of silence I am sure is a decision in the face of the chaos that stretches into the uncertainity of future, in a condemning society that is ready with their pointed fingers, be it at Stanford or anywhere else...yet we find our voice some times , beyond the heaviness and the din...
so what is the real rate ,for being victimised,worldwide...could it be  more like one in two or may be near  ten out of twelve.Or is the reality more close to one out of one... Whatever the numbers, next time you look at  your mother , your grandmother,your sister, your friend, a minister, even a queen, ...look into the depths of those eyes and for a moment wonder what secret pains had crossed them... you may never know... you may never be told of their courageous actions either...
so much gets quiet over time, yet so much courage is around us

Wednesday, November 2, 2016

Saturday, July 9, 2016

SPRKS IN CSF: america imploding -

SPRKS IN CSF: america imploding -: Ethics lay by the wayside, Compassion has died slow... In its ashes has sprouted dominance. I breathe the moral implosion, As breaths a...

america imploding -

Ethics lay by the wayside,
Compassion has died slow...
In its ashes has sprouted dominance.
I breathe the moral implosion,
As breaths are extinguished...
Questions  struggle askance, for quests undefined-
Yet extracting lives, strife to live's horizons,
 Stars and gods gaze down insentient...
Words  disconnect, they are lost to me,
meaningless , they have become chaff now.

peace crane 3 ( july 2016)

Monday, July 4, 2016

SPRKS IN CSF: Elie Wiesel

SPRKS IN CSF: Elie Wiesel: "We must always take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormente...

Elie Wiesel

"We must always take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented.

There may be times when we are powerless to prevent injustice, but there must never be a time when we fail to protest."

Peace at last , beyond memories ,
those that never can rest,
rest at last , to a dear soul,
that touched many ,
wisdom that helped,
beyond our days , 
even as hope dims ,
a ray that guide...peace at last!
                                  copyright @peace crane 3

Saturday, June 18, 2016

SPRKS IN CSF: thoughts on fear unleashed

SPRKS IN CSF: thoughts on fear unleashed: I go to chaos theory and butter-fly effects, to explain the fear unleashed on us. But that does not stop me in my tracks, quite contrary......

Wednesday, June 15, 2016

thoughts on fear unleashed

I go to chaos theory and butter-fly effects, to explain the fear unleashed on us. But that does not stop me in my tracks, quite contrary... I want to go back and write even when day to day life upstages me with a variety of activities to be tended to , pushing for attention, even as the children call out to be attended to. Despite all this I feel this urge... I want to put it into words. Fear is that which has no form, the unknown...
But I for one cannot say I am afraid. I may be more cautious, but you cannot push me to be afraid and I was never a coward. I am cautious, but no, do not mistake it for cowardice. I lost fear  to an almost impulsive urge to face up to any threatening situation so long ago , in my early child hood...yes it was gone when I first met a snake, face to face. Instinct made me walk away, even as I was spell bound , all curious yet with pounding heart.Some days I still hear that pounding if I listen for it in the stillness of the night.
Yet with age and wisdom I do not run into threats, Instead I still go on with my mind clear and my head held high, even as I stoop with age. The acts of violence, that was unleashed...they just make me think more, for you cannot rain fear on me, nor can you steal my thoughts.
I will still go to the cafes , clubs, to the malls and beaches. The few that have darkened their souls with their acts do not  make me afraid, for they are inconsequential blots in our time , they too will get erased...corrupted ideologues, in any religion or policies will add to the chaos theory like a butterfly effect, but the goodness in people will have to appear to counter that alternate trace left by some distorted minds...
So you will see me on the streets, stores, crowds, unafraid,my mind clear , and my head held high despite the stoop in my frame , my sluggish gait, despite all that age does to my physique, or the bounding distracted appearing youth , with all hopes intact....yes I am each one who  you see, without the taint of fear, seemingly unassuming, average ,but the one you cannot taint, be it with the unleashed violent acts or the rhetoric from somewhere there...the one you should really fear is each one of us,ones like me... 

Saturday, February 27, 2016

SPRKS IN CSF: Japan-images, fuzzy yet may be clear

SPRKS IN CSF: Japan-images, fuzzy yet may be clear: As the dawn creeps along on the tail of fading darkness, I lay somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. Some images come floating by again....

Japan-images, fuzzy yet may be clear

As the dawn creeps along on the tail of fading darkness, I lay somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. Some images come floating by again...vivid, more bright, full of life than life itself.
I connect these and recognize the dots, the dots of fire that dance all around me, flickering,little tongues and comma-shaped worms ...all curling up along the wall.  The repeated theme of my nightmares before I was even four...nightmares that came with my birth, pieced into my awareness , may be even before birth. I would call out  and some-one  get me down from my  be,or soothed me. they were there even  before I learned to stretch  and crawl up the steps at my grandmothers house.
They stayed even on the day I heaved myself grasping at the hard cement step, holding to the edge of the stone that jutted out a little, enough for my tiny fingers as I hauled up scraping part of that four year old abdomen.I had scampered after my grandmother as she went along to feed the goat somewhere under a  low tree.I followed her foot steps that stayed as fleeting depressions on the wet grass.I followed these depressions gingerly as I wanted to see her awed joy at my new and unexpected ability..
Jewels of the first dew drops smiled at me and at the morning sun that peeked through the leaves. Fear had stopped me briefly as I neared the top of the stairs...the vast expanse of the universe in front  looked scary and different from all my previous reference points.  As I climbed that last step  the yard seemed smaller yet big, but  an attainable expanse. I had brought along my friend, invisible to all others, talking to him,the encouraging words and looks keeping me busy and with that courage I had made that epic climb.Of course he would become very quiet if any body came by, but would look at the adults and blink the eyes to tell me to be quiet. The only exception was my gandma, some-times..
When  finally I caught up with my grand-ma she had that surprised look...for "there i was...indeed"...both of us excited about -growth catching up.
Despite all these landmarks , the nightmares came. They came nearly everyday. My invisible friend could not do anything...but just watched, powerless.
  I never really understood then, nor paid much attention to those dreams  for most of my life, those nightmares stayed in the back up stack of memories...until I visited Japan. As I walked through Hiroshima, there was one picture by someone who had seen it, the horror, the awful depth of the horrors  at some far off time...
He had  seen it and lived it...My nightmares , exactly as I had them, so exact, so clear,yet he drew them, lived that ,with no way to escape ..... The flickering glow of fire worms, against the gray orange of the days, the all enveloping heat and the hazy orange gray of evening.... I used to wake up screaming "puthan, poothan' , then I could hear a jumble of conversations as a faint murmur of sounds , and it just repeated  night after night
  Then as I walked out to the park by the  river it came, as a vision , the recall merged into something I could not express...just profound fears next to past horrors..the fear of water in my little river where the ground shifted, algae that felt to my child hood mind as grasp by hands,all pulling me down.I had tried to tell my mother,she just said" it is just algae, it cannot catch you or pull you", all matter of factly.. My fear of that algae was so extreme, that I could not  step in without checking for the green algae in the water,but I loved the river so, yet feared.I understood that feel of silt on the quite side of our small river which I had tried to describe to my cousins as they wanted to play in that part...tried telling them how it felt like people, like a doughy yield of skin,but they just laughed and splashed water at me. I stayed to my safe area where the gravely sand was never soft,but cushioned my feet pressing gently against my tiny arches,my tiny feet.
In the park I sat on a bench, thirsty,parched throat that refused to be hydrated despite the water and milk tea...
The stone lanterns in the park, the carved stones- there it was again, what I had obsessively drawn,tracing the outline,despite the annoyance in  every adults' glance. Finally my grand-mother bought me a slate and slate pencil,so I could draw with a clean washed surface each time as the pictures filled up that board. Yet it remained the same picture..over and over. It was one of those lamps in silhouette....I had forgotten about my constant drawings until I saw that lamp  , just as I passed by it that evening.. my children stared at my tears and were concerned, rightly so....then it all came to me as a flood of memories, all locks broken, from some unknown past pieced into my present life...
It had never crossed my awareness that rebirth may be possible, but now I am not so certain. I do not have clarity about my imaginary friend, but one was by me all that time...may be still is,or will come...The nightmares are still vivid in my memory, so is the feel of the algae and the silted riverbed. I can close my eyes and feel those, same feelings. They rushed through my mind again this morning as I moved into wakefulness,thus that uncertainty has taken form and spilled out as words.Now that it has found some clarity,the disquiet has calmed itself again. In one sense I only belonged to my grandmothers house, yet the only other place I felt happy and really that same sense of belonging  was just in Japan. How can I explain that sense of "not quiet right" even when I build a home, even through the many countries I have been to and yet never felt 'I know the place, that I was fully part of it in any way', with a disquiet, a longing...
     May be this is where my affinity for Buddhist philosophies came into being-or may be it was there all along waiting to get out into my conscious thoughts,despite another religion that enveloped me always, that I have passed on to my children, along with some life principles that I strive to ...I will never know with certainty,will I? Instead I will continue to course through life trying to cause the least damage all around as those principles advise......

Monday, December 7, 2015

SPRKS IN CSF: problems , problems..

SPRKS IN CSF: problems , problems..: I read the editorial , the gun epidemic and then i go out and get some groceries. Incensed I return, and put away the groceries. On any ave...

Sunday, December 6, 2015

problems , problems..

I read the editorial , the gun epidemic and then i go out and get some groceries. Incensed I return, and put away the groceries. On any average day it is easy to push away the looks, the checking and re-checking of my name or whatever the cashier whom we secretly call the 'racist' to get on with the day.I can easily shrug away the race and gender biases, for I know my strengths and that many carry biases unaware, just as another aspect of life's ripples...I can usually take comfort in my assessed  knowledge that she is in her sixties or at least look it, has a bad case of disdain for any 'off-white' skin tone, and may be , just hates her job. I would then smugly walk out thinking of the many roots of her envy partly grown out of her ignorance, the possible health issues she may have , her lack of alternate skills,etc.  Today these little irritations make me more annoyed. May be it was the car(with a burly male in his pompous polluter) honking at me on an amber light turning red that addled me further.Yet there it had stayed longer , as an itch , longer than I would care for ...effectively wasting some of my energy into an irritation.
I can't turn on the TV for it will have all punditry going full blast and after yesterday, I dare not watch news, as I do not care for the sensationalism of an event where news is porned out to a reality TV circus .I have to say, shame on you - 'all who call yourself journalists'... What happened to knowledge, that is a merger of good sense and education?
Then I think of the American dilemmas...multiple problems that are going to be compounded by the looming elections when politicians are left with what they do, politicking- a purpose less act of stirring the pot to boil over ,their effort ,all of it  just to get elected. Then there is the 'genie' that is out of the bottle and growing wild, under an umbrella of an amendment...add to it the ignorance of the masses -you see how the problems grow and grow.
Oh the problems that no one cares to address, and they just grow wild , drowning out the ones who try to address even  parts of it, out of control like the  Hydra of Lerna  and just grows as a cancer on the society...some things need addressing, and fast before we are swallowed up by it all.

Wednesday, December 2, 2015

SPRKS IN CSF: mirror effects-with in us

SPRKS IN CSF: mirror effects-with in us: I come across a piece on mirror neurons, and wonder. Is it what we claim at points we are above, yet may not be. I remember learning how to...

SPRKS IN CSF: Nature- lost( help to prevent earth's demise)

SPRKS IN CSF: Nature- lost( help to prevent earth's demise): This seems  more relevant today than a while back , when it was written, after a walk. The coral reefs are dying at a higher rate, and the ...

Monday, November 30, 2015

Nature- lost( help to prevent earth's demise)

This seems  more relevant today than a while back , when it was written, after a walk. The coral reefs are dying at a higher rate, and the death of nature continues. The most destructive species-humans. Being the greatest pest of the present, are we gearing for our wipe-out as a species. very likely...or is it.. definitely- very likely..........
Even as the drips of rain splatter,
Taking me yet again to a land,lost and gone,
Alive in my mind, ever so briefly,
Drops splatter there on fallen leaves,
   Coconut trees sway, shower the ground,
   As the wind spy on another humid morning,
   Drops fall and clink on a stained jack-fruit leaf,
   I lie there,watch the jack fruits, marvel and dream...
   Open doors, open air and quiet days,
   A childhood stored in memories...
Yet it comes un-announced,
Sweetness of  water on a hot , dusty day,
Mangoes falling with the rain storm,
Dropped in their juicy ripeness,
Sweetness on my tongue, the pureness of joy,
Un-hurried life, now gone, never to return,
   Thus I pray, nature take over please...
   Even at a morn's walk, scrape the rubber soles,
   Forgotten , the milky sap and all before,
   All felled trees , dead to grow soured sap,
   Axed to all future diverse flora's hope,
Even as I sip my share of BPA, exhale to exhaust,
Harried run to a volume practice, hurried minds forget,
Of all unhurried days stored away,
Of nature lost , forgotten long, all losses
Endangered lists,dismissed,discussed into oblivion
Yet I still pray, nature , take over please...
For my efforts are borne to the wind,
I wearily pray, lost, hopeless,in dismay;'Nature take over please'...
(looks like nature is trying a little, may be nature is doing its work naturally)

Saturday, April 25, 2015

mirror effects-with in us

I come across a piece on mirror neurons, and wonder. Is it what we claim at points we are above, yet may not be. I remember learning how to trick monkeys, using mirroring. Once you threw something, they would throw what was in their hands. In a village  with the adults all doing their thing, for a four year old , it was some kind of a fun interaction with the surrounding nature. In a time when the fruit trees tenderly cared for by the farmers were being used by the monkeys  to feed them selves ,(may be the monkeys felt like the executives of today...  their right to be paid  and given bonuses) paid workers would go about making noises to scare them away .  Any occasional wandering monkey was a target for my experiments, especially as some would scamper over the trees at the back yard, with half eaten fruits, on their way to the untended areas of the land, still awaiting planting to the west. However a few of them  did not allow their mirror neurons to act, or may be they did not attend to my actions and hence failed to imitate it .
Many years later , as those villages and quieter lives have become non-existent, even as the proximity of chaotic order of  nature is fiercely encroached by man-made order to decimation of wild life and nature itself., I sit at a computer wondering. The article brought to surface a long ago memory of childhood that had stayed dormant for decades, barely ever recalled in that period. Today if I close my eyes some of that is as clear as in those free wonder filled days, where monkeys, some with their babies lived nearby, hopping about, where all the noise of nature just brought wonder and joy....
Mirror neurons seem fascinating . These days I  look at my dad wandering back and forth repeating the same thing over again, forgetting the pieces about that same event few minutes before.Gone are the days we would walk those forest paths, he and mom figuring about plantings, workers, monkey problems among other things, and I would look for fireflies, or  fallen soap-nuts in the path...His present wanderings with its sticky quality make me wonder, is it the mirror neurons gone wild, by mirroring his own action, as his memory has cast shadows , illuminating only parts in his brain. Has his GABA systems shrivelled in parts, releasing the brakes that held his mirror neuron activities,just to create repetitions ...his actions  are meaningless to me, but would have channeled meaning with the Gaba working ,-his ligand gates in good condition  , not creating spilled toxins, that cloud his neurons.
Do the GABA system faults drive the echoes for an autistic child, is that too a Gaba switch  not turning on, not letting things to make the right sense as the rest of the world around them visualises and understand events .I see the GABA neurons sparking, burning some, setting at some spots, and dark in other areas their evolving brains. I hear the sizzle of error connectivity. But then again what makes the Gaba to start its work, the ligand gates to go at  different stages, all according to some ' turn on' command from the genes. We may have , even when we deny the various pollutants we have put into our enviornment, deny  again that these have in  any way affected our very futures, bring ease to let us collectively blame some thing else  but our own actions...say "May be it is after all in the GABA system faults" and ignore the antecedents and contributing factors  to those faults.Let us ignore again , all signalling going on within us, ignore everything and go pollute more , so our signal transductions  go crazy within us and for generations that follow.
Ah, our need to mirror find some thing to latch on to...even if it is the greenest lawns and the things we didn't know we needed until presented through those  beautiful ads...

Thursday, January 15, 2015

A new year-hopes and aspirations

December has moved to January,one day to another with a lot of meaning for some and some meaning for a lot. In one fell swoop humanity moved through a cascade of counting the minutes as if it indeed was  the last act to perform.
Then, there it was...done.
What of the expectations, all those hopes...that never really take leave,
 nudge even when you sleep,
what of the resolves overlooked , as the days move...
as if these are only for a specific date that changes one year to another.
Really, is it all that different, if we resolve to change some small bit on the next day,or the day after,
even as life tumble forward with not much kept under the controlled plans;
there- all so carefully laid out.
So, here we go with individual ideals and plans, one day to the next...
some lemmings, others octopus like and yet others ostrich visionaries.
In between there lies a bit of all that in everyone-
Attempts at maintaining some form of resolves finally...
hopes and aspirations bloom and fade, to care, to change we strive..
these defines us, by the time and efforts we garner


Wednesday, November 26, 2014

Unjust actions, the world in ferguson

Let us all stand tall and walk with silence,honor all who are silent,forced by the times, by moments that arrest voice--  stand up against injustices, be it in Ferguson, Missouri, Florida, Palastine, pakistan, Borno or anywhere else in the world... The world is ferguson, it is every place ...  Let us stand up against injustice, united; to be louder in our moments of silence, in solidarity with all who are silenced-to protest , with honor , with dignity and valor ... Let us  with quiet  dignity , stand together, come together across all divisions, and fracture the unjust institutions, shake them to their core..Never by chaos,not by destruction, but by a strength that pulse from our depth, from our integrity, for cowards with their unjust modes, can all but crumble, thus...

Monday, November 24, 2014

Stolen childhoods

I turned on BBC news, and arrived at switzerland's stolen child hoods. My eyes avert itself from the screen, as I try to  focus on my cup of tea. I stir the cup of tea and it spills onto the table. Even as I push the swiss childrens' plight to my minds back screen, I tear up ... from the dredges of a past that I cannot out run or throw out, comes a name- 'selvam'... I cannot recall any image, just his distress..
I am at a place and time ,a child...yes I was just a child , walking ,  the coordination required for maneuvering doors  still alien.Today I am crying silently as I sip the tasteless tea, for 'selvam'. I cannot remove the innate empathy of those days, nor the reality that because of that compassion I caused suffering....
Selvam was also a child, sent by his poor and hungry parents to this big house, all to labour away his right to a childhood...on hopes he will be fed, and some cash would flow into their burdened lives for his labours..
There are child labourers all over this world even as I write this.Nothing has changed much for the children, just new facades and new names for the exploitations of children. Some think it is justified to cheat another of their time, their rights trod over,-  willfully negated in front of their own children..but to what end....
I still remember that day when the sun's slanting  rays cast its orange glow , stretched lines on the wooden floor . In an upstairs room slanted shadow of a window grew long on the floor. I slid a peice of bread through the space at the bottom of the uneven door to Selvam's room.I cried with selvam, who was beaten that day. I could  not think of my parents as bad or especially cruel then, yet I stuggle to forgive them of what cannot be forgotten, cannot be undone.... I can understand that  they too were the products of their time.
Now even as their memories fade, at times I feel the urge to force them to remember, but they will not remember anything anymore, only  the memory of that day breaks in me in sadness and shame, a sadness that envelops me in thick oppressive guilt...Yet, I cannot be held guilty, instead it should be my parents , and the society at large... they should embrace the weight of the shame, they should  wear this cloak of guilt suffused sadness.
I wonder about Selvam....what became of him? Did he make it in the world okay.....Did his burdened days rob him of all that we call 'life value" for ever? I know that I will never have answers
Every child soldier, every child who labour, be it in the tobacco farms in the vastness of american south, be it in the brick kilns in India, or cocoa farms of Africa... every child is another Selvam... 
There is also your child who  lives with the  heaviness of guilt... carrying the burden of stained lives. stained by the suffering of the selvams all over the world.
Changing shapes, or the color or the label  will not remove the disparities , the injustices that divide us,...all of us those with or without  will continue to struggle  for the tainted  childhoods... washing away the stains  unto the  unto the end....

Sunday, October 12, 2014

Through a distorted lens,viewing ebola

As the Ebola  outbreak continues unabated, the sad plight of nations bearing the burden is mostly pushed aside in our scramble in the west, to contain it from touching us, consuming us. ..
I for a moment wonder if this is how in some unforgotten past an ancient culture brought about cremation , in its effort to curb some catastrophic disease. Did the nidus for caste evolve thus, as a communal effort at isolation, but  like all efforts that grow rigid and at times deadly with time, they did too, just  to become a vehicle for suffering, sans any reasoning...
Are all the screening and possible isolation measures going the same way, with time we will know ,-how much divisive attitudes it will drum up, how the suffering of  communities will be increased by rigid distancing and over-played biases , the cause for more suffering overall.
An offshoot thought, wouldn't it reduce the risk for all the people involved in the burial of  those who died with the disease, if they could be cremated in a safe space.If  faced with new challenges we can, all of us, can change our rigid beliefs and practices. As it was possible to move away from ritual bathing of the dead ,I am certain other practices can be changed in time, especially in dire circumstances.
     Some other old beliefs come to mind,eg. 'when did turmeric become an all protective  object in various parts of India'. Did it come out of some viral-bactireal killing property and such use ...reasons that  got lost in time, just to remain as a cast off shell of an original active use, post catastrophy through generations, losing all the original rationale....
Looking through distortions ,some of past practices now take on a different hue.

Friday, August 29, 2014


Anxiety is fears without any clear  resolution,
fears that leave a  trail of  shadows in its wake

Tuesday, August 19, 2014

SPRKS IN CSF: Unjust actions

SPRKS IN CSF: Unjust actions: Let us stand in silence  for a minute  @ at Noon on this day and every day  to stand against injustice, be it in Missouri, Florida, Palasti...

Saturday, February 22, 2014



Wispy tendrils of yesterdays
Rise from the snow,
leaning, lifting up,
To hug the air, yet again.

Sunday, November 24, 2013

Dementia -some thoughts of a GPS trying to reset

I took the picture that fell out of the book and turned it over. Out side the wind blew in cold air from the north. I had been quietly  remenescing as I sorted through the childrens books, some to give away and yet others to keep.Some faint memories without a time stamp hung in the air , 'of reading to my children at bed time' and then the picture fell out.
It must have sat there for over a decade.There sat my parents, in their active life , involved, energised by life, smiling back at me...I do not recall taking that photo, but the energy that was them still enliven the picture.
The years in between has aged them,-- cells that broke down,  acting out , coursing through time as their improper repairs gatherd into clumps of waywardness, all slowly, quietly as all cells age.The biggest change had been that they lost  themselves too- slowly , quietly. I want to forget the present but keep the memories of the past alive , but how can I when the present is the reality.
Hence, despite the present reality I delve into the past and wonder what had been different, what changes over the years got us to  here.There are many  questions in my mind,but  most though evade any  answers.
        Why my grandparents and great grandparents seemed to have an easier course in their old age? Are my memories fixed in some skewed perception of the past that is causing the recall of the past to be faulty?Why do my parents' generation seem to have more debility? Answers to these questions are all too elusive.
Yet as I delve into  my memories, what do I have the easiest recall for, ...not my high school or middle school years, but they are of  my childhood, my early years, then some for my pre-adult and early adult years. The rest all stay mixed in with a lot of fluff..There are bits of my own children's early years that stand clear as well. I am glad that most of the fluff stay as fluff....
As I ponder over this, it does make sense-- these are survival sensitive periods and carry emotion charged memories, hence are  easily laid down.  There are also  hormonal shifts that ease the storage and retrival of these memories, probably triggered by emotion driven cues, that set the whole recall process in motion.(this then  may also  explain how some PTSD circuits are set to a constant cycling set of cues and can't re-set itself )
      In a far away past during my grand parents' time and generations prior to that , families grouped together into small communities.... small villages, stayed small, with a static rythmicity to life.Children grew up , settled near-by , change being almost imperceptable... when you look further back in time the community was further condensed, with groups of extended families under one roof, additions added to the family home . Lives stayed almost set in one place, with its set pace. Changes were only those of time marked by seasons . An assigned child , usually a son and his family cared for their parents in the same home that many generations had passed through.
The way to the church/temple/mosque remained the same, the foot-paths long worn too remained unchanged,except may be, widening with time, as generations  trekked through...all neighbors were known--so and so's child or someone related , hence almost unchanged. Thus communities thrived on the known.
Unknowns by  itself  produce stress, and stress is not conducive to well being.Where change becomes  synonimous with progress, one forgets what this causes to an aging brain and body. The youth progresses into that  range of aging/ages and in that span they forget the cost.They see possibilities in change and charges ahead until they too progress into time...
The memories that settles into time stay and these may be what were stored. I picture them being sorted tagged and settled  into boxes , scattered there with  emotions, mostly pleasent ones that come along as one grows.May be that is why I can recall to the smallest detail where I have wandered at ages three and four; may be these memories, they store well .
What the past generations embellished through-out their lives , being in the same community, interacting with the same group of people, their three and four year old memories maintained with additions(almost as add ons to the same strand)may have helped them.No new damaging  stresses, no severe changes requiring  shut down of the systems all the way  from brain to the periphery.
I realized how disorganising change can be for one, as I drove up the path to my grand parent's home, on my last visit to India.I searched for landmarks... the giant jack-fruit tree,the sound of the brook, the big boulder by the side of the road, the glint of the evening light through the trees. At some point I too realized the simple fact- I was lost. The script that my brain had safely stored away was not compatable with what was there in front of me. Yet it was just only minor changes to my known path, just a new  path few hundred feet away from what I had known and saved into memory.
Even though at five or six yearsof age  I could trace my paths , eg to the mainroad, to aunts house, to church and back , from my grandparent's home( about 5 miles) I felt utterly lost this last time right in front of the house.The changes that came with time confused me and distressed me. Like all stressed plants and animals,  that may fail to thrive, or even fail to survive in a new locale I see how distressing and disorienting  the repeated stress tend to be.
          Imagine how shocking it would be for an older person, to be re-planted thus and expected to adapt ...
Let's take my father for example, who preferred to walk when-ever he could, yes with his charecterestic long stride..he-a social being , now living in a newer house, where everything is suddenly different. To him all that surrounds him is changed,and his internal construct now just causes dismay in the face of these  acute changes . The stress of change causes distress and furthers his confusion.. These stresses further compounds his memory impairments ,all stress being neuro-toxic. The lacunae in his memory in turn furthers his stress, and he enters a vicious cycle of loosing memory and function
In the progress modelled after presumed  modern societies, there is a dismay at aging, a lessened regard for aging as an asset.In a past where age was venerated for wisdom and the care of the aged was a required social norm,it may not have been a burden as it is today just because the societal construct of that period was more forgiving to the process of aging itself. It was probably more supportive just by reducing the destructive stress of change..

At times I wonder how if we projected the progress of changing societies, eg in India  into the future, what will be the result. I have no answers, just more questions.In India we have a population that is migrating even when it is static, migrating because of changes that occur all around.One cannot ascribe an economic cost to it, because stress cannot be measured in straight forward economic cost.The cost is going to be multiplied and multi-layered.-regrets for some, the disregard that results to mitigate those regrets, the growing  frustration for children, neglect for some, all in all a vicious cycle that ends with suffering all around, especially as the Indian society moves forward with lesser self reflection or any tangible long term planning for the care of its aging population.It can only further lead to fractures to the society at many levels.
Hence the question is what can we do to this growing  tide of distress?

The distress for the child in me is two fold,one I can not ease my parent's distress and then, - how will I manage when my memory starts fading.
          Yet I try to remenesce with them, hoping that a spark will catch sometime to spark a little bit of memory and hence some comfort. Mostly for my dad his memory is set at his childhood now as he has progressed further into his dementia.It helps me to use my imagination to describe his own home and its surroundings,because I too remember it as it used to be, before those distressing changes all around. I try to ask some questions, and sometimes a spark catches and I see him smile and engage.I am so glad for skype and he seems to wait for my calls. Some times it is only dis-interest that I face on these calls. If only I could set time back to a place before everything started shorting-out at the neural-circuits and spinning out error messages in the memory codes in his brain, if only....

Wednesday, September 25, 2013

A tribute to Ruth Patrick

Ruth Patrick, 105, a Pioneer in Science And Pollution Control Efforts, Is Dead


Dr. Patrick, one of the country's leading experts in the study of freshwater ecosystems, or limnology, was an innovator of a number of environmental practices and principles

Even as the drips of rain splatter,
Taking me yet again to a land,lost and gone,
Alive in my mind, ever so briefly,
Drops splatter there on fallen leaves,
   Coconut trees sway, shower the ground,
   As the wind spy on another humid morning,
   Drops fall and clink on a stained jack-fruit leaf,
   I lie there,watch the jack fruits, marvel and dream...
   Open doors, open air and quiet days,
   A childhood stored in memories...
Yet it comes un-announced,
Sweetness of  water on a hot , dusty day,
Mangoes falling with the rain storm,
Dropped in their juicy ripeness,
Sweetness on my tongue, the pureness of joy,
Un-hurried life, now gone.
   Thus I pray, nature take over please...
   Even at the morning walk, scrape the rubber soles,
   Forgotten , the milky sap and all before,
   All felled trees , dead to grow soured sap
Missed  giants, some forgotten in moments
Be it an enampechi,or leech, 
Be that the Panal bush or the mud-swinmmer fish
Long gone before the scientific giants, 
Some  who braved before the masses
Liberals,Like grand mother, 
Like science  freind to child through news snippets...
Enough to inspire, no-less..

PS... the river flows now barely, fully blocked up by debris . The water , nor the ground can reclaim its purer state again, in the new rubber  growing era. I had been read to about some enviormentalist lady who worked with river water, which added to my fantasy of my friend the river.  

Saturday, June 15, 2013

Memories - fading shades of time

On a recent phone call to my father , I had skimmed through some days of the past, what once had been bright now sitting dappled in shadows of fuzzy memories.I tried to re-ignite some sparks, pushing on recall- on events, sounds ,  then on to scents,and then finally giving up. It left me with just a sense of all permeating sadness, glancing at life, how it is , how it had been...
As a child I had dismissed and mostly disliked my great grandmother, for her need to repeat the selfsame stories, her critical and restrictive nature not sitting well with the little child that was me. Now I see the same nature shifts in my father, a shift I see each time I visit,as time stretch long  in between.Yet depending on his shifts, I too reach back and recall , understanding anew  the aging mind , the aging brain.
I compare notes in my mind and see that after all, none of it is all that different, be that my great grandmother or my father. the similarities stand out dwarfing the differences...
I see again the stooping stature of my great grand mother, her critical rants, soon forgotten giving way to the  need to  consume my attention with her stories from the past while all my tiny legs waited was to follow my mind to a run in the sand.
I see my father doing identical things, slight stoop indicating his bone loosing itself as gravity works on his body.  I picture tendrils of plaques clouding  over, probably firing away on his neurons sending off error signals that come streaming as annoyance at my four year old nephew for rushing off before his repeated stories are done...Through the years the changes are there, pendulous arcing moments that track some of the past.
Irritability laced stories giving  way to some slight , real and imagined, which then had given way to an exacting mode with a need to control every one whom he perceived to be a child at some point in time,telling us all how to do day to day activities the right way. This then was replaced with a certain pleasantness phase , when all the stories became humorous and goodnatured. Yet with each of these phases part of his memory had slipped away,dissolving quietly.
Of course there are moments of clarity, brief and momentary, may be as another neuron sparks, bringing into sharp focus another stored away memory, another sliver of protein , and then it goes pulling of all connections.Now memories are mostly defined by their absence, everything has become vague and undefined and hence lost....I imagine the plaques hiding in the shadowy deeps of the brain like an octopus, spewing ink over memories and grasping the neurons one by one in its tentacles. I picture the neurons sparking at  their dendrites,lost in a  confounding ocean of memories of a lifetime , igniting one faint event with that  misplaced spark, as it is disabled and then the memory can not be retrieved for it is lost, not to just one neuron, but to all association areas and hence is gone...all gone to rest in that amorphous amalgam as the ink spewing octopus swim along....we all , the children watch, some cry, some get annoyed, some ignore it all, some times we do all these together, yet none of us can bring back the associations, because we do not hold anything to trigger these memories.No key words, no RNA, nothing , nothing
There are no shared memories now, they have become just ours for now, and we have waited too long to share them and now they have become for us a burden, by not sharing them earlier...we have let the plaques win, we did not even notice them, we tarried and now we hold regrets, not knowing where to put them down, for now its ours to hold forever....

Monday, May 13, 2013

Thoughts on mothers day

Some times the celebrated  mothers day bring distress into sharp focus. I know aging happens, yet the hardest part of aging is that , even when it is inevitable , there is nothing you can do about it...not for the one whose life is shearing off in small threads, nor for the one left watching it helplessly...
you remember your aging parents, quiet moments of regret trailing you , for their infirm state, welling up in your eyes at times, yet you cannot do anything about it.
Even when you phone them , you realize oceans separate you and options are limited in every way.When you visit, you want to stay, yet each day ,your adult life pull at you a little harder and you know of the limitations that call itself --'responsibilities'.
Moving away from the place of your origin tugs at you the most, and then every progress become a constraint and in the end a useless endeavour, or it feels so.
You wander, lost , bereft of tethers that attach and hence bind, mourning that loss even as you tear at all restrictive dream , yet searching, in secret yearning for those binding tethers, even as you tear up the tethering forces that are invisible.
Here progress becomes its own failing... you "skype", marvel at the technology that gets you close, yet swirls of a vaccum deep inside robs you and in its wake, leaves shadows of distress..
You wish time had stood still, in one sense it may have quashed progress, but in yet another sense, inevitable losses would have been easier, may be...there you could visit your parents , frequently, comfort and ease their aging selves, taking leave as the day wears on and they wear on you.
Maybe they would feel the stability of living in the community they  identified and became part of, from birth, delaying their whole aging process...they would have been happier, with less(owned tangibles), but active still with random routines, that in itself would have delayed illnesses and limitations ...
They sacrificed much for their children, mis-percieved as progress, so today you too continue in  that same line of honorable mis-perceptions...
So while the communities have marched onto its current global form, at one corner  of that information superhighway, you are caught between two worlds...oceans apart, with an ache that persist just like the waves, marking time, making it relevant..Yet you try to hold on to remembered bits, hold on to fraying connections , with the fraility of your mother on one end, with her memory that lurches between static and random recalls , and on the other end impatience in your daughter scraping at time for clear still moments of thought....

Thursday, March 14, 2013

Bangalore,Once garden city...water free gardens ?

Recently I  visited India, and for the first time in a long while, I felt cheated...yes ,by  the garden city - Bangalore. I searched in vain for landmarks in a place that once held many fond memories. As the travel to the airport stalled to a crawl, as the dusk smelled of exhaust fumes and future smogs, I think I saw a piece of history...may be of significance only for me.There was the piece of wall/fence that still look like it was a forgotten piece from  the edge of MG road once... I had earlier seen  the identifiable signs of schools on residency road , and had thought my lack of cognition was due to pure fatigue, but it was not so. I searched in vain for the rain collectors,ponds and lakes that years ago had dotted  the state ,those large aquifiers, a hall mark of a state that knew water scarcity. That land where once  we walked swatting at mosquitoes by the lake, now stand apartment buildings and the insanity of traffic .Ironically, here  I come across tankers-the new water carriers..My friends described the water scarcity in the city as  we pass yet another tanker ...may be here they can try some thing akin to UTEC of Peru, but how to fix a man made calamity, that is being fed to grow further....
     The boulder that had few wilting flowers at its base ...a hope  to assuage the daily struggles of an occasional  villager from some  past, not too far ... has grown into a full fledged  temple with much religious fanfare now. The boulder still stayed weathered and hence identifiable. Few trees peeking from the walls of another compound and the wall of the Dairy had aged but remained sentinels to a graceful past. It could be just my sentiment that calls it graceful, when every one who considers construction as progress will disagree.
As the dust hung low in the garden city, and the traffic crawled to a stop, I sadly recognized the death of a city that grew beyond itself... growth defined by poor planning , almost like the bacterial colony-lysis inside a petri-dish...when progress out paces resources and decline sets in sliding to death. May  be the planners could take their cue from nature...possibly the lowly plated agar plates, or an ant hill, just learn  of resource management, planned layouts,community  growth , development of satelite colonies etc...well one can wish and  just sigh, at this  slow slide to death....

Monday, December 17, 2012

Gulf war syndrome, a prespective

Reviving a 20-year debate over illnesses of veterans of the 1991 Persian Gulf war, a new scientific paper presents evidence that nerve agents released by the bombing of Iraqi chemical weapons depots just before the ground war began could have carried downwind and fallen on American troops staged in Saudi Arabia.

The paper, published in the journal Neuroepidemiology, tries to rebut the longstanding Pentagon position, supported by many scientists, that neurotoxins, particularly sarin gas, could not have carried far enough to sicken American forces.
The authors are James J. Tuite and Dr. Robert Haley, who has written several papers asserting links between chemical exposures and gulf war illnesses. They assembled data from meteorological and intelligence reports to support their thesis that American bombs were powerful enough to propel sarin from depots in Muthanna and Falluja high into the atmosphere, where winds whisked it hundreds of miles south to the Saudi border. 

As I  read this, I sigh with a sense of relief.. I think "finally".. yes it is past the time  when we who had symptoms were made to feel that we were delusional, somehow... less than , or mentally challenged and physically deficient...yes finally... But still a debate , Really...
A little late for the children who breathed that air on the nearly week long shamalls that followed. Yes they cried,not then, but in the years to come, through the nights with burning feet, who had random tingling all along the periphery,  all these showing up at random points in their childhood .... yes, a bit late  after years of  pain ... indeed... 
 Denial is a great river that perpetually drains insight and hence knowledge. After years of circulatory problems that pop up at random points, skin that is reactive with no reason, joint and musculoskeletal rage by the body, varying degrees and variety in each family member who had the probable exposure ....with no back up of data.Of course there can be no doubt / possibility lest that opens up a Pandora's box...Really....when our bodies broke down, bit by bit, loosing temperature regulatory capacity, hormone balances and burned with sparks of neurologic  fires and circulatory mess ups, it would have eased that pain just to be acknowledged, by saying " it was possible"....why was it scientifically an impossibility to hypothesize that may be some interactions got  going making the body react.That is not how any progress was ever made in the scientific community, and surely not in the healing arts....surely there has to be questions to spark curious minds to debate on possibilities before conclusions are drawn...however with conscious efforts the body regroups, sort of....the aware exercise and nutrition ,along with regular sleep patterns are paramount I guess. The body is always trying to repair within its limitations, I guess.
Yes, now despite rising risks of environmental pollutants, rising risks of illnesses that cause morbidity  and a slow paced march to death , or may be more of a crawl to death  ...with what ends up in our water and food every day.... May be that is delusional thinking least for now surely-- especially when viewed as a convenient position of readying ourselves for complacency.....
Most died at the very start of their young lives, tiny victims taken in a way not fit for anyone . Others found their life's work in sheltering little ones, teaching them, caring for them, treating them as their own. After the gunfire ended Friday at Sandy Hook Elementary School, the trail of loss  ..............................

viparitha kale viparithachittha, aham manye, aham sahake, bodhi chittho bhave

( I hope i have the right expression and hope bodhi chittha stay and grow deep where most needed)

Tuesday, October 30, 2012

Dragon's breath

Dragon's breath

The dragon's breath came in puffs of humid wisps and smoke rings. There it stayed warm, frosted against the cold window ever so briefly and fell in droplets splattering on the old worn deck.
The majestic oak stood, his mane drenched in dragon sweat and condensed breath. The acrid fumes of the battling dragons drenched the earth beneath and soaked into his immobile feet. He stayed up, his gaze grazing the moving scaly tail, avoiding it with a backward arch of his trunk. While lesser oaks swayed with every puff of air from those flaring nostrils, majestic oak stayed guard, stern eyes blazing in the moonlight. It simply was not in his nature to quail or swoon, so instead he shook his head to dry his long mane, to rid it of the dragon's breath and moisture streaking the air. Yet the night crawled by in minutes , or was it centuries...
The majestic oak stood, a lone sentry to mark time as the moon came up behind, her silken veil trailing by her side. She , always a shrouded mystery, not coy, just her gaze averted , to avoid the confrontation... of the titans of the air and water...
Her magic pulled and stirred, her gaze held in their depths the powers unknown.
As the battle raged , the majestic oak stood rooted, shocked , yet stayed silent seeing it all , mute before the dragon's brawl ,their brute force and  the lunar gaze that  fluttered and danced deep inside like singing tides that lapped at his feet.

(legend has it that storms come when dragons fight and wrestle) help those in need now, go to

Saturday, September 8, 2012

dead fish at lake eirie,Guaymi ,The Riverbones and other things

I wrote this last year, or some where in the beginning , but the relevance is still so much there. The news reports repeat the same themes...dead fish,oil spills, people on two end of a spectrum , human war with nature or progress....The relevance of news item today was-"

Fish Kill Lake Erie
The Niagara River empties Lake Erie into Lake Ontario. This water has just passed over Niagara Falls.
Well, it certainly is eerie.
Tens of thousands of dead fish, along with dead seagulls, washed up on the shores of Lake Erie on Wednesday afternoon in yet another mysterious mass animal death.....
Officials are still awaiting more intensive lab analysis results on the dead fish found at Lake Erie, which included carp, sheepshead, perch, catfish and suckers. "

 Reading the pages of "The Riverbones" had started out as a space filler for times spent waiting ... at places and points when I wished  to feel less of wastage,still  it got me right  back to the topic of wastage. This is what surrounds us--costly ineffective recycling paths in the developed nations, more as an afterthought, or costly preventative measures as a band aid after disruption of entire communities.
The guaymi tribe in panama are protesting...a brief headline flash over the BBC news , meant to be just a barely consequential mention.yet it caught my eye,so there it was-the guaymi angry over copper mining  and protesting.
In reality do we care at all, other than to possibly  have a brief twinge of regret once in  a decade or so ; but then it is easy to forget that discomfort , for who would choose and want to deal with discomfort after all.
My last visit to my child-hood village had caused such a brief twinge, with a tinge of longing for a past, longing for the thick darkness surrounding our house with tall  trees -- all varieties and sizes. The reality of a time as I recalled, where resources had value, not as timber or pest... is long gone from even the subconscious memory of most .Now there are trees with a green canopy but of even height  and of the same genre,all with their milky sap caking the curvy cuts on their bark.
The creek bed is littered with plastic bags and bottles that drag at the oil streaks and muddy bottom. There are no streaming array of fish ready to swim away. In fact it is all dying...the creek, the land ,everything. there are no animals or birds, there are no snakes for me to fear, nor the giant millipedes that disgusted me as a child, which lived on the forest floor,recycling the waste of a tropical forest. Now by the creek bed there is no worry about the suckers of a leech, for there are no leeches. They are all many things-all gone.Some type of things  have gone completely extinct including my favorite wild fruits.The sparkling creek has lost its sparkle , instead it transports pollutants  in its shallow gunk-the runoff from the rubber estates that surround and shrouds its life.
As disillusioned as I am, I know there is  very little I can do as people will not change without an inherent awareness or being forced to do so ,especially when it comes to putting nature above their  immediate gratification need, be it financial or just comfort.
I hope that we come together to respect and support all who try to prevent the death of beauty and nature,as yet others continue to unabashedly rape the forests all over the world.
My heart aches as there are no identifiable bits left of my friends, be they the trees, a bat winging in the dusk, a kingfisher on a dive ,  turtles peeking from spongy marsh, the old mango tree that leans with  its bounty of tiny mangoes, the jack-fruit tree with basketball fruits....the list just goes on. I will miss them.The people of the village have morphed but I just want to remember them as they were, for now their new form is bound and limiting like the land .