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FEATHERS

  If you folks recall your childhood days, we used to love to collect all kinds of feathers. If one could get hold of a peacock feather, it was ultimate. By the way, that colourful “eye-like” part at the tip of a peacock’s tail feather is called the “ ocellus”.   I had one and placed it in my math’s textbook. They said ‘vidiya aati’ hai. (It means you gain knowledge and wisdom). Feathers gave you some ‘supernatural powers’ to learn was a belief. Math was my weakest subject. Psychologically, keeping that peacock feather helped.   My Granddad was a great ‘shikari’ and always used to have a “Black Francolin’s” (Kala Teetar) feather in his hat. We used to long to touch it and have a closer look. But it was taboo. He used to have various ‘trout spinners’ hooked to his hat too; dare we touch them.   Having stayed in a huge campus of the HH Maharaja of Kapurthala, collecting feathers of birds was not a big shake. Over the years, while accompanying dad on his ...
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Ellis' Garden

 New Adenium Colours in our garden  🧡 Dil Khush ❤
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THE COMMON MAN SAYS

    I had gone to pick up something from the market, when I overheard a conversation between two people as I was opening the door of my car. That place is a busy intersection and serves as a pick-up point for labourers. I could make out that they had come to that shop to buy their daily quota of Kheni, Gutka and Chuna, before someone hired them for the day.   Both had touch screen mobile phones. I could not make out what brand the phones were but rest assured these guys were not only connected with the world through the internet but were very well aware of what was happening around.   What caught my attention was their discussion on the increase in ‘tobacco prices’ which the panwala charged them due to the effect of the war in the gulf. The way they “bakoed” Doland Bhai Tump with explicit terminology which only a Marwari can coin, was music to the ears. Their awareness to global problems and assessment was much better, rustic, straight from the heart, abs...
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MOTHER’S DAY SPECIAL

  It was Mother’s Day yesterday. A belated “Happy Mother’s Day” to all mothers, grand and great grandmothers, would be mothers, unwed mothers, and even mothers-in-law. A big salute to mothers of martyrs who laid their lives for Mother India. Also, to all the wives, who are looking after “kids” who now are veterans and behave like toddlers.   Having said that, today, I want to bring to the fore certain mothers who cannot speak but can sing. Who instead of walking, fly and hop. Their home is not built by bricks and mortar but by twigs and grass.   Mothers who get up well before dawn and sleep only after dusk, working tirelessly to feed their babies. Their clothes are their feathers and they don’t need a closet full of clothes. They don’t throw a tantrum for food but eat what they get, with no greed. They wear no makeup but look so beautiful.   They do not crave for chocolates or pizzas. They drink from ponds and puddles. Their babies do not need straws, t...
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NEAR MISSES

While I was working with a steel plant, we had to report “near misses” every day. In the morning, all HODs would go over the events of the previous day and we had to submit our near miss observations. It would initiate a process to avoid such accidents.   Let us come to the Indian roads for discussion’s sake, where every road is dug up with no markings.   Traffic is terrible. Road sense is totally missing. Road rage is at its extremes. Driving on the wrong side is a birthright. Blaring horns and flashing lights are there to flaunt. Meandering is routine. Helmet gives a headache. Traffic lights are for show. Pe destrian   crossings! What pedestrian crossing? The list is endless. Yet the traffic moves.   Traffic police are seen occasionally checking vehicles which have other state numbers. “Ek Chalan to banta hai, because you padharoed mhare desh”. They sit and watch traffic snarls all day but do not move their butt an inch. The sabzi wala/fruit wala ha...
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MEALY BUG ATTACK

  “If winter comes, can spring be far behind” was written by ‘Shelly’ in a poem called ‘Ode to the West Wind’. Let me modify with due respects to the poet, “if aphids come, can mealy bugs be far behind”.   Plants are delicate and have to be cared for. With the onset of summers, the heat starts to take its toll. It is not only the scorching sun which causes burns, but the water in the pots evaporates faster than one can imagine. Besides, most of us who use plastic pots, the contents inside reach high temperature, half boiling the roots. Shade does help, but the plant has to fight its own battle. ‘Hot West Winds of Rajasthan’ need not have an ode written for them.   A week back, we had a massive Aphid attack on our waterlilies. So, during my morning/evening inspection, I make it a point to shuffle through the leaves of all plants for a thorough check. This is the time when insect attacks take place. They are called “Mealy Bugs”. Aphid’s sister.   Mealybug...
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BLEEDING HEART VINE

    Some of you must have heard the name of a flowering plant called “fuchsia” also called Chinese lantern/dancing dolls. My wife and I had fallen in love with this plant when we were posted at a remote place called Chakrata during my Army tenure.   It is a plant of the hilly region; the poor plant did not survive one summer when we moved to the Sun City on posting. This was around 1993.   Time went by and we returned back to the Suncity after retirement in 2021. Our hobby of gardening continued and we established a small garden. One day while scrolling the net, I found a seller selling this plant called fuchsia. Without even reading any review, I ordered it.   It came as a weak plant and battered plant. However, it was not the one we were looking for. The shape of the leaves was different. I raised a query with the supplier, who refused to replace it. Being a plant lover we welcomed the new plant in our garden. It was not fuchsia but a “bleeding...
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FRESHLY MOPPED FLOOR

Having done my time both in the corporate and the Army one tries to maintain a few routines. Besides keeping fit and indulging in hobbies of reading, photography, gardening and writing.   I could never write during my Army days except for some ‘service writing’ but in the corporate world, one used to find time.   Those days reaching the office in time was a ritual.  We would then get busy with the office chores. Housekeeping of the office was done before you entered it. If things are neat and clean then one gets time to think, reflect and concentrate on topics which touch your daily life.   Now, the scene is totally civilian. My dining table is my workplace. The whistle of the cooker in the kitchen adjacent, keeps reminding me of that. Once I am free from the morning chores in the garden, it is time to key write my blog.   Our maid times her arrival perfectly as I sit down to write. I keep an ear on her “cling clang” which she does while doing the dishes. Moment...
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