Goodbye Party for Ms. Pallavi M

I recently had the privilege of being given a fond farewell by my well meaning colleagues. After they "facilitated" me with a bouquet and a book, the speech given in my honour reminded me of Nissim Ezekiel's poem Goodbye Party for Miss Pushpa T.S.

My very own "Goodbye Party" homily was just as farcical. Part appraisal, part insult, and part malapropisms, it redefined the “Send-off” concept. Indeed, we English teachers have much to applaud ourselves for. In our incompetence, we tend to convert everything into stand up comedy.

The goodbye speech evoked such strong emotions in me, that my lachrymal glands shrunk instantly and I could not produce the expected histrionics. I regret to say that I failed to shed a tear.

In hindsight, I wish I had recorded the momentous event. I am sure that that is the important stuff you share with your grandchildren.


Goodbye Party for Miss Pushpa T.S. :


Friends,
our dear sister
is departing for foreign
in two three days,
and
we are meeting today
to wish her bon voyage.

You are all knowing, friends,
What sweetness is in Miss Pushpa.
I don't mean only external sweetness
but internal sweetness.
Miss Pushpa is smiling and smiling
even for no reason but simply because
she is feeling.

Miss Pushpa is coming
from very high family.
Her father was renowned advocate
in Bulsar or Surat,
I am not remembering now which place.

Surat? Ah, yes,
once only I stayed in Surat
with family members
of my uncle's very old friend-
his wife was cooking nicely…
that was long time ago.

Coming back to Miss Pushpa
she is most popular lady
with men also and ladies also.

Whenever I asked her to do anything,
she was saying, 'Just now only
I will do it.' That is showing
good spirit. I am always
appreciating the good spirit.

Pushpa Miss is never saying no.
Whatever I or anybody is asking
she is always saying yes,
and today she is going
to improve her prospect
and we are wishing her bon voyage.

Now I ask other speakers to speak
and afterwards Miss Pushpa
will do summing up.


                                    ~ Nissim Ezekiel





About The Poet :

Goodbye Party For Miss Pushpa T. S. was written by Nissim Ezekiel, one of India's foremost Indo-Anglian poets. He was born in 1924 and was educated in Mumbai and London. He produced several volumes of verse and plays and was an art critic. Ezekiel died in 2004 at the age of 79.

Most of Ezekiel's poetry is for adults, as it is serious and quite difficult to understand. In this poem, however, Ezekiel uses simple Indian' English. Here he is making gentle fun of the people who cannot speak English properly by including in the poem common mistakes made by speakers whose mother tongue is not English. There are grammatical mistakes, strange arrangements of words and phrases and idioms which are direct translations of expressions in Indian languages - they all sound very odd in English. The poem is in the form of a speech made by one of Miss Pushpa's friends. It should be taken in the spirit in which it was written.

Courtesy : http://www.english-for-students.com/Goodbye-Party.html

Discontent...

..that is what I feel, all the time. What am I doing? Where is life going? Why am I so tired all the time? What do I want to do with my life? Do I have the motivation to see my resolutions through?

I think it is time to find out. There is no other choice left.

Pain is Good

Or so I am trying to tell myself. When you have no cure, you just have to endure, and I am going to try my best !!!

Procrastination Help

How did I spend my Saturday?

Watching 3 seasons of Desperate Housewives consecutively. Eating fried Gujju (to hell with being politically correct..) farsan (yeah yeah...don't remind me it's me who was eating it), two packets of Monaco biscuits slathered with cheese, and more than six servings of ice-cream. And yes, after this rather sinful day, I feel I am in hell.

I can't think. I can't move. I am in this catatonic state. It is nothing short of paralysis. Is this what I want to do with my life? I realised I am just procrastinating. Physical ailments apart, this is the most dangerous disease that I am suffering from. And what is worse, it seems to be chronic.

When this realisation dawned, I turned to God. I googled "procrastination help". That was the clearest manifestation I was capable of in my paraplegic state.

Thank you God for answering my prayers...there's actually a site dedicated to people like me. I'm not alone. And what a relief that is.

I am going to defeat this Goliath by taking a year long sabbatical in God's own country. :) Sounds good? Or is that a paradox ?

Hmm....

Ok...I'm rambling.

Goodnight.

MVP

Well well...after worrying for a month or so that I was going mad and that it was all in the head, the above mild Mitral Valve buckling is the diagnosis. I have to take betablockers and take is easy with physical and mental exertion. And yes, I must also keep my teeth clean and be careful if I am undergoing any operative procedure. Easy enough !!!!!! :)

Now I know why I get palpitations, hate inclines, get headaches and feel dizzy and arrive in class breathless after climbing one measly floor.

I am ever so relieved.

***
Thought for the day : A known evil is better than an imagined one.

 

Mensuration....

My maid has hepatitis, so she's resting. This means in spite of a humungous amount of paper correction, the kitchen is my domain. Hmm....I overcome this difficulty by nibbling on Parle Digestive Marie and adipose cell enlarging banana chips. Voila....no cooking. :)

***

Freshly grated ginger added to tea makes for a divine combination. And that's what I set out to brew. 2 tsp tea + 1 tsp sugar + 4 cardamoms + etc. etc. Sigh.

If you look at cook books today, the art of cooking has been reduced to a chemistry experiment. We are assaulted by all sorts of measures - tsp, tbsp, 1/2/3 cup + ml + grams + etc. etc. Did our grandmothers and mothers cook like this? What happened to intuition?

***

Some water + a handful of tea leaves + some sugar + some spices + etc. etc. :) Now I am happy with my intuitive cup of tea.

Inspired, mensuration free cooking...here I come.... :P

***

Thought for the day :

We are so caught up with measurements, that we tend to forget what we are measuring.

In Memoriam

When it's dark ahead

When it's dark ahead



At times when


it is dark all around ,


all paths left behind


disappear


and nothing


seems to exist ahead


it's best to


stay still ,


and face


anything


and everything

that happens .

                  ~ Manaswini Paladugu

The poem above has been reproduced without the permission of the poet since she has gone where I cannot reach her anymore. But yes, memories still exist. Memories of a spontaneous person with child like enthusiasm for everything that surrounded her. Someone who did not hesitate to go on solitary rambles, or to wander off into the wilderness.

Another sky? Another horizon?

There is another sky



There is another sky,

Ever serene and fair,

And there is another sunshine,

Though it be darkness there;

Never mind faded forests, Austin,

Never mind silent fields -

Here is a little forest,

Whose leaf is ever green;

Here is a brighter garden,

Where not a frost has been;

In its unfading flowers

I hear the bright bee hum:

Prithee, my brother,

Into my garden come!

    ~ Emily Dickinson


I wish I could write poetry too. I mean REAL poetry (not that we postmodernists believe anything is "real" anymore ) !!! The few lines I churn out are too Modernist to be poetry. In other words they are highly symbolic pieces of writing with a profound subtext and with encoded meanings which only make sense to me.

I always feel the urge to write when I get emotional about something. Old Will Wordsworth did get something right when he called poetry the "spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings". Unfortunately my "feelings" are not as idyllic as his.

I generally consider the 13th of any month a good day for me (since I am born on Friday the 13th), but today has been an exception. Today has inspired me to write an epic, or maybe direct a reality show (I am sure that would be more politically correct in 2010). To cut a long story short, today has been a tragedy.

What is literature made up of, but conflict? And washing particularly dirty linen that assualts the olfactory senses is the stuff that reality shows thrive on. I have all the ingredients for a New York Times' Best Seller. The TRPs would be great too. Any takers?

To be honest, I don't want any. I want to go into hibernation. I want to repress ugly memories. I want to forget. I want to explore another sky. Gaze endlessly at a less begrimed horizon. I want to set sail for new lands. I want my ideals back. I want idols too, and without clay feet. I want scintillating ideas. I want devotion unsullied by incertitude. Hope, compassion, understanding, forgiveness - I want it all !!! I want T.S. Eliot's "Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata./Shantih shantih shanti".

***

January is the cruellest month, breeding
Depression out of dead resolutions
Newspaper headlines heralding student hangings
Accusing three well meaning idiots
Hope faces the gallows

"Hurry ! Hurry !
You will miss the rat race
The show must go on"

The burial of the breathing
Multiple games of chess...

The horror! the horror!

***

Another sky, another horizon? Please !!!!

Amen !!!




Poem Courtesy : http://famouspoetsandpoems.com/poets/emily_dickinson/poems/5212

Saline Water

Drops wend their way.
It is loss of hope.

Can you stop this nautanki? People can hear you wail.

The deluge continues.
Stormy sighs. Gulped down gulps.

And then that long silence...

SOS.SOS. No response.

Indifference hurts more than one can imagine.

My Experiments with Tea

After savouring tea which costs more than gold in Darjeeling, I seem to have found myself a new obsession. It is 2.00 am in the morning, and I have brewed myself a cup of "Masala Chai" with cinnamon, cardamom, cloves and ginger.

The phrase "storm in a teacup" has taken on new meaning. This brew does have potential.

Cheers !!!!

Mirroring my Mind

Despondency - Matthew Arnold

The thoughts that rain their steady glow
Like stars on life's cold sea,
Which others know, or say they know--
They never shone for me.

Thoughts light, like gleams, my spirit's sky,
But they will not remain.
They light me once, they hurry by;
And never come again.

A Beautiful Mind..

It’s all in the mind. Or so they say. I only wish mine were not so full of chaff. Pessimism seems to be choc- a-block. I am so tired. I wish I could put mine on autopilot at times. Friends, family, fiancé – with a mind like mine, I’m a bane to them all.

A sabbatical is what I really require. I need a mental break. I need time to rejuvenate my fatigued grey cells. Why else would migraines attack me so? I need time to think about what I want. I need good books, and I need good company. Paradoxically, I also need solitude.

The bottom line is that I need help. SOS. SOS. SOS.

Our Car

Ivan Aivazovsky - Landing at Subashi

Ivan Konstantinovich Aivazovsky (Russian: Иван Константинович Айвазовский, Armenian: Հովհաննես Այվազովսկի - Hovhannes Aivazovsky July 29, 1817 – May 5, 1900) was a Russian painter of Armenian descent, most famous for his seascapes, which constitute more than half of his paintings.

Aivazovsky was born in the town of Feodosiya, Crimea, to a poor Armenian family. His parents family name was Aivazian. Some of artist's paintings bear a signature, in Armenian letters, "Hovhannes Aivazian" (Յովհաննէս Այվազեան). His talent as an artist earned him sponsorship and entry to the Simferopol gymnasium №1 and later the St.Petersburg Academy of Arts, from which he graduated with the gold medal. Earning awards for his early landscapes and seascapes, he went on to paint a series of portraits of Crimean coastal towns before traveling throughout Europe. In later life, his paintings of naval scenes earned him a longstanding commission from the Russian Navy.

In 1845, Aivazovsky went to Istanbul upon the invitation of Sultan Abdülmecid, a city he was to travel to eight times between 1845-1890. During his long sojourn in Istanbul, Aivazovsky was commissioned for a number of paintings as a court painter by the Ottoman Sultans Abdülmecid, Abdulaziz and Abdulhamid, 30 of which are currently on display in the Ottoman Imperial Palace, the Dolmabahce Museum and many others at various other museums in Turkey.

Due to his long life in art, Aivazovsky became the most prolific Russian painter of his time. He left over 6,000 works at his death in 1900. With funds earned during his successful career as an artist he opened an art school and gallery in his home town of Feodosiya.

As of 2006[update], Aivazovsky's works have been auctioned for as much as $3,200,000, and his international reputation continues to grow. On June 14, 2007 his painting "American Shipping off the Rock of Gibraltar" sold for 2,710,000 pounds, "the highest price paid at auction for Aivazovsky". He is also said to be the most forged of all Russian painters.

A minor planet 3787 Aivazovskij, discovered by Soviet astronomer Nikolai Stepanovich Chernykh in 1977 is named after him.

Aivazovsky is referenced in Anton Chekhov's play Uncle Vanya.


From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

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I am tempted to reproduce this artist on my wedding card. I don't want a typical gaudy one. I was something simple and elegant. And Aivazovsky seems to be a very good idea. And the best part is that the copyright has expired !! Yay !! View of Kerch (1839) is my selection.

Once the venue has been booked, I can contact the printer. Sigh. I seem to be getting old. It's time to get married now. Am I happy, am I sad? Am I looking forward to it? I don't know. If only life were stereotypical, I would not have to indulge in this catechism.

Gratitude

Being grateful is the key to happiness. Or so say a number of self help books. Hmm hmm hmm...so here goes..

1) I am grateful that everything is alright now.
2) I am grateful for the 28th of March. It was one of the best days ever.
3) I am grateful that I can now pat dogs without cringing.
4) I am grateful for the love that dogs can bestow.

Hmm..hmm...rather canine, is it not? But then again Cleopatra is the loveliest bitch I came across. I am quite reconciled to dogs now.

Else, all is ok with my humdrum life. It goes on as usual, and yes I am grateful for that as well.

Such a long journey...

I've come a long long way since the last post. I have one hospital trip, and a surgery whose details are too gory to share behind me. On the other hand, December 2008 ended cheerfully. 21 December was a joyous day. Praise the lord.

New year was good too, and today is the new year according to the Hindu calendar.Hmm...a day for new resolutions? I don't think so. But definitely a day for being grateful. My life seems to be so much happier than that of those around me.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. :)

Barium Meals : Medieval Torture

Who says medieval torture is only medieval? Barium meals are just as bad. I should know having ingested 5 glasses of flavoured chalky stuff recently. Arrrrrrrrrgh !!!

Humiliation

Besides the n number of things I need to confess, this is the one that humiliates me the most. David Lodge just made the confession a little easier.

***

He taught them a game ... in which each person had to think of a well-known book he hadn't read, and scored a point for every person present who had read it.

**
'What d'you call the game?' Melanie asked Philip.

'Humiliation'

***

Now how difficult is that? There is no time. No leisure. I feel intellectually redundant. All this must change, and soon.

I am making a bid at amelioration by "Changing Places" with Lodge, but I hope I don't end up on square one what with the holidays coming to an end. Boo hoo. Where did Diwali go ?

Otherwise, I wait (not so patiently) for good friends to return. Come back, will you? Patience is an expensive commodity, and I cannot afford to run out of it.

Arbeit Macht Frie ? I sincerely doubt it !!

Mushroom Fried Rice

Yippee....it succeeded !!!

The President is Coming

Written by Anubav Pal, and directed by Kunaal(numerology anyone?) Roy Kapoor, The President is Coming is a superlative theatre experience. One of the best performances I have come across to date. The script was scintillating and investigated all the cliches our culture imbibes. It was critical, yet sympathetic. Profound, yet comic. It truly makes you laugh at 'us'.

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