tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13013753225344082932024-02-07T09:04:14.470-08:00The Thinker's SpaceAnandi Gandhihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10925795643479062317noreply@blogger.comBlogger102125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1301375322534408293.post-64501658509342100392023-01-22T13:20:00.001-08:002023-01-22T13:20:13.759-08:00I am a daughter of the earth<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="334" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/iIlX_ggGNsE" width="482" youtube-src-id="iIlX_ggGNsE"></iframe></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhELXjfEU6Q_kfa_mfZknP5qTtaSNB76YwWzUJ9NNijxZ_ptBSOoY-n9wsUsvx4YE1akRkSm7pE7BhN6Hhgv8nAa5XzVqjt2YDRWNOVEHG4QW4ERQxE3F7IO26gCulAcq-DAo_0S2iFmoCgLBwlX8wYkiA0drc-Zg5vJlBDy6G_dl9yAeT-wkhXhk1OYA/s4608/Raiz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4608" data-original-width="3456" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhELXjfEU6Q_kfa_mfZknP5qTtaSNB76YwWzUJ9NNijxZ_ptBSOoY-n9wsUsvx4YE1akRkSm7pE7BhN6Hhgv8nAa5XzVqjt2YDRWNOVEHG4QW4ERQxE3F7IO26gCulAcq-DAo_0S2iFmoCgLBwlX8wYkiA0drc-Zg5vJlBDy6G_dl9yAeT-wkhXhk1OYA/w480-h640/Raiz.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br />Anandi Gandhihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10925795643479062317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1301375322534408293.post-55658153274804132622022-07-11T06:11:00.001-07:002022-07-11T06:11:51.728-07:00Whale Poetry<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2420" data-original-width="1870" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg3CdtdkVho4BOJ5NFgb1LCUB5GAD0DO8-jATW6vklscVAVAxCyIbC5piOh3I5zfHkLlgFIt1KcTiawcTnFLVL0179BvztzDotQrbVg4D_fiT2UETA3qDiwYQ0z71Vvrglj8HioxZEkmbK973ty0w9gw-8Hjd0pdaSV-uc2IifQa1b2kzsU0qEMUMaSw/w494-h640/Whale%20Poetry%20with%20poems_Page_5.jpg" width="494" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOgZpqrrmB8mpw4E-8t9fLIN2D1ZcSLnWeprQFonxhMXHPbbv5oQJfa7ciqY-GBGMJ7SBBp9yjKOTp-Vs0u5c5bXcva4MeOpr24_DlbDedjduOpp9WpD8e9fMQdMWtd-alDMuGwwEaujCcTQ13IqRZb5bY3oRC3T2tM5nK0Ru-609xUJEvKoxrwdExWA/s1254/Whale%20Poetry%20with%20poems_Page_6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1254" data-original-width="969" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOgZpqrrmB8mpw4E-8t9fLIN2D1ZcSLnWeprQFonxhMXHPbbv5oQJfa7ciqY-GBGMJ7SBBp9yjKOTp-Vs0u5c5bXcva4MeOpr24_DlbDedjduOpp9WpD8e9fMQdMWtd-alDMuGwwEaujCcTQ13IqRZb5bY3oRC3T2tM5nK0Ru-609xUJEvKoxrwdExWA/w494-h640/Whale%20Poetry%20with%20poems_Page_6.jpg" width="494" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>Anandi Gandhihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10925795643479062317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1301375322534408293.post-14605106039298236462022-07-11T06:03:00.002-07:002022-07-11T06:03:51.064-07:00On Becoming<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_U5ZiP2IWT4XKLf_tI4-lT7wN_ATufUhon5N08CFHdekdetpCBHMnC6BTkWvpRkXdEMKaF6yknZpyyFyXUyOFuRhsfJhJLFelDBhc50bhPDR5SvfCdHNPIsPnLMQZVP31SQzAzDUhQbNe53YDO24DzT9ZZrZdbAvIXblCkDqPK99OkGavVE939EhrZg/s1080/IMG_20220705_201301_637.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1080" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_U5ZiP2IWT4XKLf_tI4-lT7wN_ATufUhon5N08CFHdekdetpCBHMnC6BTkWvpRkXdEMKaF6yknZpyyFyXUyOFuRhsfJhJLFelDBhc50bhPDR5SvfCdHNPIsPnLMQZVP31SQzAzDUhQbNe53YDO24DzT9ZZrZdbAvIXblCkDqPK99OkGavVE939EhrZg/w400-h300/IMG_20220705_201301_637.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"> Should I become</div><div style="text-align: center;">Driftwood</div><div style="text-align: center;">Or the sea</div><div style="text-align: center;">The shore </div><div style="text-align: center;">Or the rip tide?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Should I be</div><div style="text-align: center;">The storm</div><div style="text-align: center;">Or the rain</div><div style="text-align: center;">The cloud</div><div style="text-align: center;">Or the wind?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Should I </div><div style="text-align: center;">Thunder</div><div style="text-align: center;">Or fly</div><div style="text-align: center;">Strike down</div><div style="text-align: center;">Or light up?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Won't you tell me?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Nature is not a metaphor </div><div style="text-align: center;">For my emotions</div><div style="text-align: center;">For capitalism</div><div style="text-align: center;">For meaning</div><div style="text-align: center;">For poetry</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">This emptied gulf</div><div style="text-align: center;">This plastic dotted beach</div><div style="text-align: center;">"Inside opening out</div><div style="text-align: center;">Outside opening in"</div><div style="text-align: center;">I am, at once, at once</div><p></p>Anandi Gandhihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10925795643479062317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1301375322534408293.post-12733665278577786152022-06-21T06:46:00.003-07:002022-06-21T06:47:33.639-07:00It's Only 4 Degrees<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="390" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Fi0q0O4V5Qs" width="470" youtube-src-id="Fi0q0O4V5Qs"></iframe></div><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span face="arial, sans-serif" jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px;">I wanna see this world, I wanna see it boil</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px;" /><span face="arial, sans-serif" jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px;">I wanna see this world, I wanna see it boil</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px;" /><span face="arial, sans-serif" jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px;">It's only four degrees, it's only four degrees</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px;" /><span face="arial, sans-serif" jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px;">It's only four degrees, it's only four degrees</span></span><p></p><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 12px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span jsname="YS01Ge">I wanna hear the dogs crying for water</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">I wanna see fish go belly-up in the sea</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">All those lemurs and all those tiny creatures</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">I wanna see them burn, it's only four degrees</span></span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 12px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span jsname="YS01Ge">And all those rhinos and all those big mammals</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">I wanna see them lying, crying in the fields</span></span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 12px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span jsname="YS01Ge">I wanna see them burn, it's only four degrees</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">I wanna see them burn, it's only four degrees</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">I wanna see them burn, it's only four degrees</span></span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 12px;"><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="margin-bottom: 12px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span jsname="YS01Ge">I wanna burn the sky, I wanna burn the breeze</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">I wanna see the animals die in the trees</span></span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="margin-bottom: 12px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span jsname="YS01Ge">Oh let's go, let's go it's only four degrees</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Oh let's go, let's go it's only four degrees</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Oh let's go, let's go it's only four degrees</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Oh let's go, let's go it's only four degrees</span></span></div><div class="ujudUb WRZytc" jsname="U8S5sf" style="margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span jsname="YS01Ge">I wanna burn them, I wanna burn them</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">I wanna burn them</span></span></div></div><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></p>Anandi Gandhihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10925795643479062317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1301375322534408293.post-46524329609897832262021-09-08T21:45:00.009-07:002021-09-08T21:47:21.587-07:00Elephant Hauntings 2010-2021<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKUrZyYykg9TD0JPJlz1P97lRUCr4H62IvdJwEY5_Ti4vzVbbp0jVsS6SY737XfTYILBonssVPGOrJX1EhqRQyqiw8m_S9KPAq8TSHw9FobEXGKpf9rOXvBkSJ_BgAVZXVN55rs8gqXVRp/s1474/Elephant+hauntings++2010-2021_1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1093" data-original-width="1474" height="390" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKUrZyYykg9TD0JPJlz1P97lRUCr4H62IvdJwEY5_Ti4vzVbbp0jVsS6SY737XfTYILBonssVPGOrJX1EhqRQyqiw8m_S9KPAq8TSHw9FobEXGKpf9rOXvBkSJ_BgAVZXVN55rs8gqXVRp/w526-h390/Elephant+hauntings++2010-2021_1.jpg" width="526" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Anandi Gandhihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10925795643479062317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1301375322534408293.post-1089779037366476432020-04-21T12:24:00.000-07:002020-04-21T12:24:05.623-07:00Daikaisho<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Anandi Gandhihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10925795643479062317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1301375322534408293.post-49617167025847333652017-10-25T08:48:00.001-07:002017-10-25T08:48:59.697-07:00अनोखी <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">अब जब में डरे बिना </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">तुमसे प्यार नहीं कर पाती </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">क्या में अनोखी हूँ ?</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">तुम्हारे तूफानी आंसू हर रात </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">में अपने हातोंसे मिटाती हूँ </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">क्या मेरा भाव अनोखा है?</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">उन्होंने जब मुझे वहां छुआ </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">जहां प्रेमी छूते है, मैने सोचा </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">क्या यह प्यार अनोखा है?</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">साल बीत गए है फिर भी </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">वह यादें मेरे बदन में गुप्त है </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">क्या यह कहानी अनोखी है?</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">कल में तुम्हारे रागसे अलग होकर </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">राह पर मुडकर अपने आपसे पूछूँगी </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">क्या मेरी ज़िन्दगी अनोखी है? </span></span></div>
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Anandi Gandhihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10925795643479062317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1301375322534408293.post-30118248028136363222014-04-04T16:58:00.001-07:002014-04-04T16:58:22.781-07:00It feels like this...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/CdDDY5nVA3A?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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Anandi Gandhihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10925795643479062317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1301375322534408293.post-31873043161709316592013-01-06T09:25:00.000-08:002013-01-06T09:27:31.559-08:00The Fake<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3KvJXq64K5E">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3KvJXq64K5E</a><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNxbKCEt2aoleXOzKCE_MWMHRiH5hqw4e3yDb00i9ZqY4cHHWTCi8ESvqSkqSmwdSCF8JQAGgP8FKRrhZr_65lXNVAP09tF7TazSHynXRUjAJ4Rc_3ga5R_2M4xBasgHq8R6QEZTfSF15o/s1600/301005_10150368032621189_1189561752_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNxbKCEt2aoleXOzKCE_MWMHRiH5hqw4e3yDb00i9ZqY4cHHWTCi8ESvqSkqSmwdSCF8JQAGgP8FKRrhZr_65lXNVAP09tF7TazSHynXRUjAJ4Rc_3ga5R_2M4xBasgHq8R6QEZTfSF15o/s400/301005_10150368032621189_1189561752_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At Qutub Minar</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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The Fake Empire<br />
Boasting your greatness<br />
For no one<br />
But his, to take and plunder<br />
Your savage rape<br />
Of me, tearing walls.<br />
<br />
The Fake Orgasm<br />
At home you know<br />
Behind doors<br />
What takes place?<br />
Your savage rape<br />
Of me, empty heart.<br />
<br />
The Fake Heart<br />
Your dark heart<br />
You fill it with dread<br />
As you plunge it within me<br />
Your savage rape<br />
Of me, broken flower.<br />
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The Fake Guilt<br />
I am filled with it<br />
Oozing out of my eyes<br />
No one caught them<br />
Your savage rape<br />
Dripping off my face.<br />
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The Fake Future<br />
Bleak onwards<br />
They will come lost<br />
Cannot protect from<br />
Your savage rape<br />
Nameless, countless, endless<br />
<br />
His forgotten, his lover<br />
Their slave, their disdain,<br />
Your disappointment, your insecurity<br />
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His to abuse, his to keep<br />
Theirs to discard, theirs to sin<br />
Yours to save, yours to forgive<br />
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You fear<br />
You nothing<br />
You crumbling<br />
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Anandi Gandhihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10925795643479062317noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1301375322534408293.post-6651145860081787922012-09-30T06:44:00.000-07:002012-09-30T06:44:10.887-07:00When I Grow Up<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4F-CpE73o2M">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4F-CpE73o2M</a><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When I grow up<br />I want to be a forester<br />Run through the moss on high heels<br />That's what I'll do<br />Throwing out boomerang<br />Waiting for it to come back to me<br /><br />When I grow up<br />I want to live near the sea<br />Crab claws and bottles of rum<br />That's what I'll have<br />Staring at the seashell<br />Waiting for it to embrace me<br /><br />I put my soul in what I do<br />Last night I drew a funny man<br />With dark eyes and a hanging tongue<br />It goes way bad<br />I never liked a sad look<br />From someone who wants to be loved by you<br /><br />I'm very good with plants<br />When my friends are away<br />They let me keep the soil moist<br />On the seventh day I rest<br />For a minute or two<br />Then back on my feet and cry for you<br /><br />You've got cucumbers on your eyes<br />Too much time spent on nothing<br />Waiting for a moment to arise<br />The face in the ceiling<br />And arms too long<br />I wait for him to catch me<br /><br />Waiting for you to embrace me</span><br />
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Anandi Gandhihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10925795643479062317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1301375322534408293.post-46602057751101487422012-08-20T21:25:00.001-07:002012-08-20T21:27:58.887-07:00On Farms and Forgetting<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">O come with me my little one, we will find that farm,</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">And grow us grass and apples there and keep all the animals warm,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">And if by chance I wake at night and ask you who I am,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">O take me to the slaughterhouse, I will wait there with the lamb</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">- Leonard Cohen, <i><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HLDHaGya-f8" target="_blank">Stories of the Street</a></i></span></div>
</div>
Anandi Gandhihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10925795643479062317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1301375322534408293.post-74085966244870730872012-06-28T05:31:00.000-07:002012-06-29T00:40:20.345-07:00The Pleasures of Being Home - Painting<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Some recent oil paintings. The elephant reminds me of a horrible accident that took place in India a few years ago where a train killed 7 elephants.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Gy8XW595-JyN-He9wsbuMDLM-CIjG0m_GAuHvUZmrRDCkV-G-HRl9PXOoFWYVdwb5yWlZWcnW5ekQUIfLvsuE6HznddIYneHI1pIA4H_qFkSpAv_whixNvtMpqZ6TqbU49anexzXTQEk/s1600/IMG_6887.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Gy8XW595-JyN-He9wsbuMDLM-CIjG0m_GAuHvUZmrRDCkV-G-HRl9PXOoFWYVdwb5yWlZWcnW5ekQUIfLvsuE6HznddIYneHI1pIA4H_qFkSpAv_whixNvtMpqZ6TqbU49anexzXTQEk/s400/IMG_6887.JPG" width="309" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Broken Flower</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT3asY92_saDhg3o4yssgOHo8mxcRSV2chEsdLfFL6COLDdhXShK46Y59r3NDZqCrhbljM-4q4EguKjgbMJPb665Rb9DOjb2Q0YoIW-oKfwN-ixcJ73NQhuR2vcketdIga_HknScFyMlfl/s1600/IMG_6891.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT3asY92_saDhg3o4yssgOHo8mxcRSV2chEsdLfFL6COLDdhXShK46Y59r3NDZqCrhbljM-4q4EguKjgbMJPb665Rb9DOjb2Q0YoIW-oKfwN-ixcJ73NQhuR2vcketdIga_HknScFyMlfl/s400/IMG_6891.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Broken Flower</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9KpQ-X_QWayusuD7rzdsIw2vxvec04qebPreuf_YFLi_wwu-QPCf5-4YCsEFV4daS2XsonL8Ze5Jt4yvz-f6exYehYG5EzG3nF8IptFvNH8RLmIYUx_BLA9qouqwoLaZWo_t6PoszJH_G/s1600/IMG_6894.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="289" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9KpQ-X_QWayusuD7rzdsIw2vxvec04qebPreuf_YFLi_wwu-QPCf5-4YCsEFV4daS2XsonL8Ze5Jt4yvz-f6exYehYG5EzG3nF8IptFvNH8RLmIYUx_BLA9qouqwoLaZWo_t6PoszJH_G/s400/IMG_6894.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elephant Memories</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGcpymt61Zcx6W9DVCDZuc8qM9MrquNXFG9S4uvmkdbNW46xDTZolRebeaaIUqOL65urudojPEVuH81gWM6vxcnztMAI2sKS2H1h4GYzUiZ389x4dXO72YyMUws9PEgmuXHxXgWO2ji-68/s1600/IMG_8035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGcpymt61Zcx6W9DVCDZuc8qM9MrquNXFG9S4uvmkdbNW46xDTZolRebeaaIUqOL65urudojPEVuH81gWM6vxcnztMAI2sKS2H1h4GYzUiZ389x4dXO72YyMUws9PEgmuXHxXgWO2ji-68/s400/IMG_8035.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Unsorted</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB3ldw9e69Se7WrCtwrOnVHgl455QUdSIymO5ULdH_bV7E6kV1fJ4QnKNvU15TBKpawBA339ywSEURQbgrgx8fwMjLBvG9NTE4e37a5t_k9v6xot8x7qKLVUp2QzMR_0EUqMJyyYT0WVo_/s1600/IMG_8039.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB3ldw9e69Se7WrCtwrOnVHgl455QUdSIymO5ULdH_bV7E6kV1fJ4QnKNvU15TBKpawBA339ywSEURQbgrgx8fwMjLBvG9NTE4e37a5t_k9v6xot8x7qKLVUp2QzMR_0EUqMJyyYT0WVo_/s400/IMG_8039.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Gondal Scene</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizvwNTbnPcHjyuFO5bZ9bt2rnL2JoQlT-mRfzHqk1pS252fvCrMOaitjrB5CNgB7Ff67xrBqlX84zit7srdrUypm3HFYuESg3ZbFOfjUjhOSZDoBKZJtg4eoAaJAYfkS1jhMFxDaPHj_IM/s1600/IMG_6886+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizvwNTbnPcHjyuFO5bZ9bt2rnL2JoQlT-mRfzHqk1pS252fvCrMOaitjrB5CNgB7Ff67xrBqlX84zit7srdrUypm3HFYuESg3ZbFOfjUjhOSZDoBKZJtg4eoAaJAYfkS1jhMFxDaPHj_IM/s400/IMG_6886+-+Copy.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Painting Life</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>Anandi Gandhihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10925795643479062317noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1301375322534408293.post-19512022409179180292012-06-03T11:13:00.002-07:002012-06-03T11:14:34.754-07:00To Belong<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Recently, I have been struggling with a deep desire. The desire 'to belong'. The strength of this urge within me reminds me of the relentlessness of the existence of gravity. Feeling the pull of the earth beneath my feet through its rapid, rotational, roamings, and the restlessness of my life form, seem to inexorably pervade my reality. What crude, hippified words does this desire coerce me into using to express what I wish to belong to?<br />
<br />
To Belong to a natural space that I am absorbed by<br />
To Belong to a project (despite its futile-passion tendencies)<br />
To Belong to an Environmental NGO or respectable Environmental thinker<br />
To Belong to a community (that values my values)<br />
To Belong to a lover (preferably mine)<br />
<br />
What can I make of this desire? Let me start with its history. Is it new? Not really. You probably heard me drifting through the corridors singing, 'I am displaced, I am displaced...' by <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_kQp1uxz5a0" target="_blank">Azure Ray</a>. How about psycho-analysing this feeling? Perhaps its another ego trip. 'Am I not special? Where is that place where I can find my dreamland, where I am the center, and will remain the center forever?' This may be partially true, undeniably. But I am not fully convinced.<br />
<br />
What does it really mean to belong? Our helpful dictionary points us in one direction, "To be in its right place." This reminds me of <a href="http://books.google.co.in/books?hl=en&lr=&id=3Eg51ozCTCUC&oi=fnd&pg=PA7&dq=adrienne+rich+notes+toward+a+politics+of+location&ots=9vagxesWbg&sig=3FMn23LM7CEuPvwNmH3gagqDFSk#v=onepage&q=adrienne%20rich%20notes%20toward%20a%20politics%20of%20location&f=false" target="_blank">Adrienne Rich's <i>Politics of Location</i></a>. To Rich, I am not merely a woman and identified so. But rather I belong to and I am created by the geography, race, caste, sex, political scenario, economic background, caste, facticity (things I cannot change about myself) etc. I suppose these make me and I am made by them. Perhaps I do not feel a sense of belonging, do not truly understand my politics of location because I have been lost in the sky of the abstract. A world of abstract ideas and concepts, where I became oblivious to even my being immanently an Indian and a woman. Feeling like a balloon trapped in an unclosed, container, I have floated away into the sky. Perhaps to escape unfathomable personal experiences.<br />
<br />
There is also another sense to this urge to belong. It is a need to blend in, for the sake of others and myself, to create, to communicate. To become a community that cares. Carol Lee Flinders in her book, <i><a href="http://books.google.co.in/books?id=U3aoB3eh2w4C&dq=values+of+belonging+flinders&hl=en&sa=X&ei=oKjLT7rFCc-qrAfgm83NDg&ved=0CDIQ6AEwAA" target="_blank">Values of Belonging</a></i> explores the value system of human communities before agriculture and the system that has developed in the post-agricultural world. The hunter-gather lifestyle was dependent wholly on the values of belonging to your community which included not just your clan members but nature itself which was not separate the way we perceive it to be now. This is the sense in which I wish to belong as well.<br />
<br />
Every damn thing within the ecological systems of the earth have their functional part. What is my part? How can I belong if I do not know my role or the habits I must cultivate to fit into my role? This is how I wish to belong.<br />
<br />
Wise words from my mother when I expressed this need to belong;<br />
"Everybody has a time in their life when they feel this urge, this desire, to belong. It is very important during this time to find something/someone you belong to. In time these things change and rigidity begins to creep in. Sometimes it is having a child that quenches this need for belonging because you find someone you want to live for. Rather than they belong to you, you belong to them."<br />
<br />
Hmm... time to make 10 children. That makes me belong 9 times more than if I just had 1. Bah! No. Nein. Nahi.<br />
<br />
I am going to do nothing for a while and see if belongingness finds me. If I am not lucky enough, can I create the belonged world for me? Perhaps. </div>Anandi Gandhihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10925795643479062317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1301375322534408293.post-66711828391061401362012-02-11T08:03:00.002-08:002012-02-11T10:39:30.953-08:00A Friend LostSweet friend<div>I have lost you</div><div>I am here now</div><div>Memories remain</div><div><br /></div><div>Who were you?</div><div>Who are you?</div><div>Who was I?</div><div>Who am I?</div><div><br /></div><div>I do not recognize you</div><div>Fire in your eyes</div><div>And in the mirror </div><div>I do not recognize myself</div><div><br /></div><div>I must live speechless</div><div>Without you</div><div>Your listening ear</div><div>And caring heart</div><div><br /></div><div>A river of pain</div><div>Can it be crossed?</div><div>A deep chasm </div><div>Can it be bridged?</div><div><span style="font-size: 100%; "><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: 100%; ">Emptiness remains</span></div><div><span style="font-size: 100%; ">You have gone</span></div><div><span style="font-size: 100%; ">A missing friend</span></div><div><span style="font-size: 100%; ">Learning to live</span></div><div><span style="font-size: 100%; "><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: 100%; ">Might I hope</span></div>Anandi Gandhihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10925795643479062317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1301375322534408293.post-14715694072573767642012-02-06T21:46:00.000-08:002012-02-06T21:48:50.955-08:00We made such a mess together<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sVxKZhw6uH4&feature=related">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sVxKZhw6uH4&feature=related</a>Anandi Gandhihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10925795643479062317noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1301375322534408293.post-84911580165018605472012-01-24T01:08:00.001-08:002012-01-24T01:09:32.695-08:00Running into Thorny Bushes...Wow baby<div>I am so proud of you</div>Anandi Gandhihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10925795643479062317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1301375322534408293.post-4193340959432763052011-11-19T23:01:00.002-08:002011-11-19T23:06:40.285-08:00Restless HeartWithout depth, I feel lost<div>I look back, and words escape</div><div>Emotions sweep through doors</div><div>That reluctantly creak open</div><div><br /></div><div>Words flow slowly and rarely</div><div>Are emotions offered the podium</div><div>Images from the past bring</div><div>Mighty mountains and deep valleys</div><div><br /></div><div>Deep were your thoughts, my dear</div><div>Deeply you looked at me</div><div>Through anxious eyes and</div><div>A restless heart, I looked at you</div><div><br /></div><div>Restlessness finds its way again</div><div>Searching for your warm palm</div><div>Wondering is your world </div><div>Just as it should be?</div><div><br /></div><div>To arise and fall and arise</div><div>They say, it is the way</div><div>To break and assemble again</div><div>But never the same vase</div><div><br /></div><div>You are beautiful, my dear</div><div>In this fleeting life</div><div>Your broken heart is pure</div><div>Your mended self is sacred</div>Anandi Gandhihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10925795643479062317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1301375322534408293.post-25531800847000574242011-10-29T10:35:00.001-07:002011-10-29T10:36:43.743-07:00DeepI look at you<br />And you, at me<br />But our eyes<br />They do not meet<br /><br />When I find them<br />Your green eyes,<br />They turn away<br />Saddened, denied<br /><br />Your eyes seek<br />The darkness<br />But it is lost<br />What should be<br /><br />I try to be,<br />I see the depth<br />I see the love<br />I ache<br /><br />I ache for<br />Your profound thought<br />Your deep emotions<br />Your salty tears<br /><br />But the land is barren<br />The grass was greener<br />The water was deeper<br />The sun arose<br /><br />The skin of the drum<br />Tears beneath my force<br />There is blood, but<br />Not the colour of loveAnandi Gandhihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10925795643479062317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1301375322534408293.post-73561128922034945162011-09-12T03:59:00.005-07:002011-09-12T04:10:58.297-07:00Where Did Good Go?Look back <div>At the blankness <div>The darkness</div><div>Naked emotions</div><div><br /></div><div>Did I miss a beat?</div><div>A lesson not learnt </div><div>Thoughts undeveloped</div><div>Molding myself</div><div><br /></div><div>Perfection beckons </div><div>Happiness evades </div><div>Futures bleed</div><div>Pasts scar</div><div><br /></div><div>Words tumble out</div><div>In the form</div><div>of words from songs</div><div>Creativity lost again</div><div><br /></div><div>An urge to remain</div><div>To never change</div><div>Within the ever changing</div><div>I deny my failures </div><div><br /></div><div>Unceasing restlessness </div><div>A curse or immaturity?</div><div>I blend into the world</div><div>And it into me</div></div>Anandi Gandhihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10925795643479062317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1301375322534408293.post-55947789470159765652011-05-08T20:52:00.004-07:002011-05-08T20:58:48.473-07:00YokeA stagnant center <div>A coming together</div><div><br /></div>Anandi Gandhihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10925795643479062317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1301375322534408293.post-69992089144032165082011-04-17T20:32:00.005-07:002011-04-18T19:46:24.297-07:00Brandenburg - Beirut<div class="deleteBody"><p class="postBody"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VxIIK7ZHslM&feature=related">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VxIIK7ZHslM&feature=related</a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"><span style="font-family:"Georgia","serif"">Send me now, the winter's over<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"><span style="font-family:"Georgia","serif"">A light turns out, the winds are colder<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"><span style="font-family:"Georgia","serif"">The love we've had will turn all over<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"><span style="font-family:"Georgia","serif"">Going south and we are older</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"><span style="font-family:"Georgia","serif""><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"><span style="font-family:"Georgia","serif"">On the one tightrope you waltz now<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"><span style="font-family:"Georgia","serif"">On a night like this you all turn around<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"><span style="font-family:"Georgia","serif"">No but I, I won't hold you anymore<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"><span style="font-family:"Georgia","serif"">No and I, I can't have you anymore, my dear<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"><span style="font-family:"Georgia","serif"">And some days we're all alone<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"><span style="font-family:"Georgia","serif"">On the banks of the rhine<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"><span style="font-family:"Georgia","serif"">And some days all we have was worth while<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"><span style="font-family:"Georgia","serif"">The salt and the sea brings us near, shows us what's to find<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"><span style="font-family:"Georgia","serif"">And some days we're all alone<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"><span style="font-family:"Georgia","serif""><span class="Apple-style-span">On the banks of the rhine</span><o:p></o:p></span></p></div>Anandi Gandhihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10925795643479062317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1301375322534408293.post-4712614684760707662011-02-23T20:14:00.003-08:002011-02-23T20:20:20.545-08:00LoverFlitting from one to the other<div>Only from one petal to the other<div>You rise and fall with my wings</div><div>Sweet nectar, gentle flower</div></div>Anandi Gandhihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10925795643479062317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1301375322534408293.post-35919172935961134112011-02-08T17:06:00.003-08:002011-02-08T17:12:15.893-08:00Measuring CupsI sit at the piano<div>My fingers move</div><div>Knowing what to play</div><div>The same tune</div><div>Again and again</div><div>I tilt my head and watch</div><div>My fingers move</div><div>Letting them play</div><div>Till I am saturated</div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>pum pum pa pum pum, pum pa pum pum....</i></div>Anandi Gandhihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10925795643479062317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1301375322534408293.post-90030077120827764612011-01-19T12:40:00.003-08:002011-04-18T19:48:56.780-07:00Flashes from IndiaNot the exotic India, not the economically booming India, not the slumdog millionaire India, not the colonized India, not the India with Gandhi. Just the India that I see. The India where I grew up, the India which I go back to, the India which I left, the India which it has become. <div><br /></div><div>What can I tell you about my time in India this time? A foreigner described being in India as a "sensory overload". But that is not how I feel when I am in India. However now that I am back from there, all I have with me are flashes...flashes of sensations. </div><div><div><br /></div><div>Stepping into tulsi baag and laxmi road, the busiest part of Pune the day after my arrival. The chaos brushing past my skin leaving me untouched. As if I did not see any of it. It was part of me as much as I was a part of it, without actually my being it.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>A midnight drive to F.C. road to eat some black current ice cream. Driving through corporation, under the bridge, flickering tube lights, two old men sitting on the ground, inhaling the pollution. My own face reflected in the window. Ah the taste of black current ice cream.</div><div><br /></div><div>The terrace so inviting, with its swing outside my room where I have spent hours upon hours, dreaming, thinking, and dreaming some more. I step out into the terrace that fills up with sunlight only for 3 hours in the afternoon because of the tall buildings all around. But there is no time to sit, I need to run up to the third floor to help my relatives.</div><div><br /></div><div>Practicing the song the three sisters sang. Treasuring every moment with my sisters. Only to be found during chores. Let us connect, share with me, don't leave me I urged. The tears would not stop that night. Then I sat in the terrace, looking up at the square sky, tears flowing down my face, shivering because of the cold and the deep loss.</div><div><br /></div><div>We made our way on the scooter. Me at the back. The insanity of the traffic. When I looked at the people driving their cars, their eyes focussed on getting through. The India with dreams of cars and lavish weddings. The India that says "me first, me first always". If this is what I call home, then why do I feel so alone?</div><div><br /></div><div>But I am under the trees now, in my cocoon. I struggle to be free even though I am allowed to be free now. I look at her, soaking in her words, allowing my words to be expelled into the air. They were received and embraced. A short hour of depth.</div><div><br /></div><div>Holding old age in my hands. Watching fear and life slowing oozing out. Watching myself watching a scene which I could not react to. I back away slowly from the unknown and inevitable. Who are you? I do not remember you. But I will still stroke your hair tenderly and tell you not to be afraid.</div><div><br /></div><div>Journeys in the bus are always more involved in India. As we rode towards Konkan, you can never be just an observer of all that is outside. No glass separates you, no eyes create distance. The smells and chaos of the people in the bus create a world that is both inside and outside. Yet I am within it and lost to it, as my eyes can only focus on the distant mountains, the fields near by, thoughtless, impressionless. Suddenly I turn to her, unable to grasp her physical reality, the present moment extending infinitely, but passing at the same time. I look all over, begging my mind to grasp the moment and its beauty before it passes. But instead I have forgotten to breathe.</div><div><br /></div><div>But the fields remind me of where I want to be and what I want to do. I will grow food. The red soil, I missed so much. What do I miss about home the most? The red soil. Red like blood. Get it on your clothes and it takes years to come off.</div><div><br /></div><div>Supporting my body with my elbows, I watch the waves. Soon I can only hear them. My tears blur my vision, but they empty my heart and make me grateful for what there is. Sand slipping through my fingers, there it is again, there it slips away again. </div><div><br /></div><div>Some connections remain, some are lost, some must be let go off. Remember me? I haven't forgotten you.</div><div><br /></div><div>I rode the scooter this time. Early morning and its cold. My hands are freezing as I ride, but my heart is warm because of the arms that embrace me and keep me warm. Another chance to reflect under the trees, under the peeping sunlight, another chance to change.</div><div><br /></div><div>As we sat in the bus, listening to music, one headphone in each ear, the school boys stared at us. Probably watching our breasts heaving up and down as the bus wound its way over the mountain towards the beach. Wondering who these girls were? alone? rich fucks? chatterboxes! </div><div><br /></div><div>We at food at the Great Punjab restaurant. Butter chicken. Full tummies and empty hearts. Anju will not come home with us today. As we say our goodbyes below the restaurant I observe the puppies playing with us, hoping to get some food from us. But nobody cares. There is no time. </div><div><br /></div><div>I touched so many hands. Hands with rings, hands with watches, hands with wrinkles. I wiped some tears. Not just my own in the bathroom with the towel. So much love conveyed through those loving hands. So grateful.</div><div><br /></div><div>Avoiding the gaze of a hundred people who stared at me in my hot pink dress, wondering what to make of me, how to reconcile my dress with who they thought I was. The make up gave me a headache. I am not very flexible. I could not cope with the role of someone who puts makeup on.</div><div><br /></div><div>The wind blowing through my hair as I weave my way through the traffic. Change gear. Beirut. Just me. Change gear. The night. The thick pollution like a fog that refuses to lift. At the beach there were stars. So many of them.</div><div><br /></div><div>But I will come back, I say to myself, as the plane goes higher and higher. Sleepy eyes catch glimpses of cities in the dark. A maze of glittering lights. Darkness. More glittering blurry lights. I close my eyes giving up the urge to stay awake. Satisfied with my share of experiences, looking forward to what lay on the other side. A west-coast friendship.</div>Anandi Gandhihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10925795643479062317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1301375322534408293.post-22590923113808635202010-11-30T21:42:00.003-08:002010-11-30T21:58:01.890-08:00Dread<div>While you did not speak</div>A thousand deaths<div>Reflected</div><div>In those eyes</div><div><br /></div><div>Feeling them</div><div>Cold envelopes</div><div>My heart</div><div>I am filled with dread</div><div><br /></div><div>But it sublimates</div><div>Into arrogance</div><div>As unspeaking eyes</div><div>Look through the mirror</div><div><br /></div><div>Death comes rapidly</div><div>Species after species</div><div>Individuals after individuals</div><div>Play after play</div><div>Life after life</div><div>We take away</div><div><br /></div><div>Kill! I do not care </div><div>Me! Always first</div><div>Our blank stares</div><div>For you, fleeting cares</div><div>Blind consciences</div><div>Care without care </div><div><br /></div><div>(A poem about the death of nature, and our lack of care)</div>Anandi Gandhihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10925795643479062317noreply@blogger.com0