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like about now

Miss u ….like abt now….coffee does that to me….makes me feel full of beans….infact spillin them all over your moss green carpet, the one with grape juice stain…..there is so much we have to do….write shitty poetry in an olive field….trudge up a winding Tuscan road..pick wildflowers and sleep the afternoon under a twisty ol tree….drink cheap wine and eat plump pears with sticky juice dribbling down our wrists and argue over what place to travel to next….. sleep in a cold tent with holes in the roof with starlight streaming down on us…..make love in a slow chugging train with the moon peeping in thru the window slats……watch the sun climb up a pink sky….there are places to go to….stories to make….new worlds to imagine…..with you


The right to eat

IMG_6815.jpgIn the past few days there has been so much hue and cry about the slaughter ban without any real understanding of the situation. The ban is not going to prevent the poor animals being slaughtered in slaughter houses, but only prevent their indiscriminate slaughter, often done through the most cruel, outdated and unhygienic methods (usually done in back alleys of slums, polluting the surrounding areas as well as exposing children and people to abject cruelty, which our middle and upper-income classes are conveniently spared from witnessing).

At least in certified slaughterhouses, the use of stun guns or other methods are enforceable by law to prevent cruelty. But in unregulated places, no such laws! And that too the ban is only prevalent for milch animals. The poor chickens, sheep, pigs and goat will still continue to be killed for our archaic religious practices and food (read Gadhimai massacre).

People who are against this ban generally have no ground understanding of how much cruelty animals undergo at such places or how many of our native milch species are now seriously endangered or how much of ground pollution is caused by these practices. They are most bothered about their right to eat meat. (Don’t worry your right is fully protected).

Those arguing that their eating meat is maintaining natural balance, please get your facts right. The world is facing mass extinction of species, this time because of human beings.
Roughly 30% of the crops we grow are fed to animals. The latest UN Food and Agriculture Organisation reports (mind you, not some vegan hilly billy) livestock are responsible for 14.5% of man-made greenhouse gas emissions – the same amount produced by all the world’s cars, planes, boats, and trains. So nature sadly does not want you to balance anymore, thank you!

Those arguing for the right of economically poorer sections being denied their right to the meat and cheap food, please wake up and look around. Almost all their rights are denied because we are simply too many greedy people chasing too few resources. They dont have a choice, but we do.

And for the gaurakshaks, the exploitation of cows will continue till we consume dairy. Face the hard truth, the cow does not want to be your mother. So go back to your own mommy. She only wants to mother her calf who is snatched only days old from her and killed. She too is then dragged when only 5-7 years old to be slaughtered because she does not give milk anymore (her natural age span being 18-20 yrs). Otherwise, the billion dollar dairy industry would not be viable. So stop the hypocrisy. But while you are at it, start protecting the buffalo too. She should be your mother by the same logic.

To conclude, if we the middle and upper-income classes stop consuming so any resources, especially so much meat and dairy, we will be doing everyone a favor.

Anyone wanting to pull your head out of the sand and know the truth, please develop the courage to watch films like

For the rest of us, we can keep intellectually discussing the abject tragedy of losing our precious right to eating cholesterol and hormone riddled junk over copious amounts of milky coffee and chicken burgers.…/articlesh…/58861631.cms

My river so deep

The waves tiptoe gently over my river so deep

A river longing to speak

Of a shining sun trapped below the rubble

A torrent of thunder rolling under the sea

A song of joy now stifled in the silent creek

And while the vastness of me trembles under the heap

Life calls out to the shores beyond

Lingering, pulling, waiting for me to seek

I could drink up the sky, breathe in some forest

or soar alongside a mountain peak

But to break the cocoon, it takes willful might

Treading a trail uncharted and steep

So I choose the comfort of herds

While my fingers cloy at my grief

tearing some skin, blistering a wound

of failed loves and new hurts

The pain reeks of remorse and retribution

Accustomed, familiar and cheap

So while my heart throbs with an ancient song

to un-cage the spirit from its sleep

I choose to look away

And lie still with my river so deep

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Top 3 Things To Make A Great First Impression

Top 3 Things To Make A Great First Impression

One Art

One Art

  by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant 
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied.  It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

A Girl Called Tipu

I met Tipu one rainy, breezy afternoon in Pune. She was standing all by herself, on her spindly long legs, in a lonely corner of a dirty, crowded crate.  Squawking loudly to be heard amidst the steady din of her fellow inmates.

I would not have noticed her, but for her feathers, or rather the lack of them. In a busy cage of colorful parrots, she was the only one with a naked pink body. Her thin skin stretched tightly over her shriveled frame. A few wisps of yellow, clung doggedly to her head and wings, her only claim to her feathered origin. But it succeeded in making her look like ET with a funny head-dress.

Her cage was outside the pet shop, under an awning, exposed to monsoon and other elements. A cat sat patiently close by, awaiting her chance.

Miss Mighty No feathers (her name till then) trembled in the wet breeze, but never stopped chirping. As if only by chirping, she could convince herself of her existence. The other birds seemed oblivious to her plight. They had probably long abandoned her cause.  Fighting for survival, amongst a crazy bunch of frightened noisy, fellow companions, doesn’t exactly put you in the mood for compassion.

I stood there a moment, watching her, wondering what to do. But then chided myself and marched inside the pet-shop.

I was there to buy food for my fish and that’s what I would do.

In defense of my decision, I had taken sick birds home in the past and had miserable experiences. It’s because the vets in Pune, though ever helpful, were unable to diagnose or treat such tiny birds. The only birds who merit some attention in India are either too high up in the food chain, like eagles or some fancy endangered species, or downright, les miserables – poultry destined for slaughter.

So every time it would be a slow and long trudge for my fellas to bird heaven, prolonged only by my desperate attempts to cure them.

Plus there was the additional risk of infecting my own birds.

Yes, its true. For all my talk of love for animals, I am guilty of curtailing the freedom of a few, to show them that I love them. Lol, I know the irony is inescapable. But coming back to her…

After making my sensible purchases of some potent fish food, which promised to make my fish super colorful and happy, I walked back calmly towards my car. I was careful to avoid any sideward glances, lest I weaken my carefully constructed resolve.

But all through the day and night, Miss Mighty No feathers kept interrupting my thoughts. For those who know me, given the complexity of my pointlessly busy mind, this was a mean feat. And it was always an apparently casual, but carefully orchestrated sort of interference.

There I would be dreaming about buying that yet again, To Die for Zara Pants, and in she would walk by, on her spindly legs, squawking away the futility of pants and all other forms of cover-up.

So after lots of inner dialogue and guilt trips to bird fairy, I sheepishly went back to the shop, and brought her home.

The pet shop owner had put her in a small cardboard box for the ride back and seemed relieved to have got her off his hands.. By the constant litany of scuffling noises, you could be sure, the lady was not too pleased about it.

Back home, I placed her box gingerly on my study table and opened the flap.

As if on cue, Ms. Miss Mighty No feathers came out, furiously stomping and squawking away, complaining to all and sundry about the gross injustice of being shoved into a box.

In a bid to prevent her fall (because Ms. Miss Mighty No feathers was too busy to see where she was going), I tried to straddle her in my hands.

In response, she gave me a sharp little nip on my pinkie. And she continued to hang on to my finger, till I hurriedly surrendered her back to the table. As I glared back at her, mumbling angry unmentionables and nursing my finger, she scowled right back at me, all her twenty grams, standing resolutely on those awfully long legs apart, calling my bluff.

It was at that moment, I named her Tipu. Given her gender, maybe Rani Laxmibai would have been more apt.

But there was something about those gangly legs, scrawny body, funny little headdress, all rallying around a tiny but mighty spirit, which called out to the one warrior, who stood up against the entire British army.

And Tipu she was…

Next chapter

Tipu makes Peace….