Japan's Cherry Blossom


Click the image for an enlarged version.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Singing along

Addition: See the comments for this post. For the last twenty-four hours, I have been trying to hush the humming in my head. My head has been playing the Tagore song, Sakhi, Bhavna Kahare Bole again and again. I have been trying to distract it by screaming, listening to other songs, singing bad songs myself, but it refuses to go away. This song featured in Sriman Prithviraj , one of my childhood favourites. I have roughly translated the first few lines for you. Of course, I cannot bring Tagore's feelings into it. Dear, what is worry? My dear, what is pain? You all talk about love all day and night. Is it all pain? Is it all tears? Is it all grief? Hoping for what bliss do people then long for this pain? If you see through my eyes, everything is lucky, everything is novel, everything is good. The blue sky, the dark forests, the flowers – everything is like me. They laugh; they sing. They want to keep smiling and singing. They know not any ache nor tears nor any pain. It is strange ...
Read more

Being foolishly romantic about life

As a kid, I dreamt of a world without animosity; and I have brought along the thought in my growing years. This thought took a back-seat with me getting busy with my life. While I had stopped giving it much thought, I almost lived by the theory that one smile or good word could trigger a chain reaction of smiles. In spite of having the occasional temper spasms, I have tried not to be rude or mean to people. Friends and acquaintances have often advised me to become practical or cracked jokes on me, all in good spirit. Some have also attributed my behaviour to weakness, and there have been times I have believed them and cursed myself. But the kid in me always managed to take over and tend to the optimist in me. One of the areas my attitude has been a bone of contention is in the way I handled my maid while in Bangalore. In the five years she worked at our place, I shouted at her once. A smiled when I told him I gave the maid - Parashakti - a piece of my mind. He had overh...
Read more

Bringing Freud and Floyd in the same place

Image
Earlier, only my mom and brother were privy to my histrionics. Years later, A joined the club. As a child, I managed to give my mom a hard time, especially with eating, as my mom recalls. In order to put a morsel or two into my mouth, she had to tell and recount numerous stories: from mythology, freedom struggle, anecdotes from her life and the ones around her family and any famous, er, great person she had read or heard about (Though not explicitly told, my bro and I soon picked up the difference between the famous and the great). I was fed with food and stories. My meals could not start without a 'kahani'. Growing up, I always had a 'kahani ka kitaab' alongside my food plate. My mom would call it the most important 'sabzi' of my meal. While my mom's efforts had nurtured a curious soul and, of course, a reader, the world outside home made me realize my childhood was different. Not privileged, not deprived, but different. The difference caught up with m...
Read more