Revisit Destination

This weekend really seemed idyllic with MrD in far away Bhubaneswar attending one of those events where people with cranial cavities enriched with grey matter met, to let other people with similarly filled cranial cavity know how much more they know and of course intercepted with loads of food that is created by fusion of local food and the Punjabi cooks know how learnt when his mother dandled him on her lap. So at the end of the day all food across the country tastes the same.

When Anita from BNLF club decided to whip some frenzy about the place that I would like to revisit… like all Indians who have had formal education my English is challenged and so is my kannada, I have no recourse other than to consult Messrs. Merriam-Webster and then Messrs. Wren and Martins.

One does miss Jeeves at times like this when I could get all feudal and ask for his opinion or instead of “leave it Psmith” I do the normal Ekta Kapoor daughter-in-law and proclaim, “Leave it MrD” well that is not to be either, so I have to answer this..

Place I would like to visit.. What do I answer? At one point in my life I used think I know all the answers, and then I thought maybe a few answers, and now that I have finally reached dotage I am not sure I understand the question… Nobody seems to know anything… okay lets take a grid analysis that might help me answer the question.

To revisit is visit again  it could be a place, an incident.

While place is like an onion with many layers, when to add revisit to a layer we might land up with different flavours, I know I have the look of Stunned Simple Simon, well it is just because Messrs. M-W have let me down rather badly I am placed in such a situation that I do not want to revisit the homepage of M-W for a while.

Sometime back I met up with a friend who told me about a Buddhist writer, who lived of course after the Buddha but BC—I mean before Christ and not Before Coffee who said reading a book for the second time is a new experience altogether, for the second experience comes with the your first experience, like wise no matter where you go, and how you go that is walking or going by train the experience is different beginning with the journey seeming shorter the second time than the first… and you realize that we are measuring distance by time and miles and yards.

Through my life I have been to lot of places, some historic places, some romantic places, some depressives places, then are places full of new developments with double car garages and characterless flats with its underground parking and over head pools, surrounded by pastorally trimmed lawns and dotted laughing children, the town have lost their unique identity.

Then when we revisit a place there is this confusing development in the geographic expanse called “Development” things that changed seem out of place, and the things that have remained the same make us feel out of place!

We’ll make mistakes but one of our biggest mistake is continually to revisit the past, for when we revisit a place we are revisiting our past in that geographic expanse, at is bound to change, for we have we are older, the town is older too.traveller

If you ask me the place I would like to revisit, well there can be no other like the Castle of Blandings, the residence of Lord Emsworth and his prize Pig the Empress Of Blandings.

Like Dejan Stojanovic —

“I visited many places,
Some of them quite
Exotic and far away,
But I always returned to myself.”

written for Indispire edition 175 proposed by Anita



The Spring and The Cloud

On top of the hill on small rock bowl is a little spring, this spring gushes out. She was very weak and found it difficult to come out, with great difficulty she came out of the rocks and started to explore the hills around her.

Small and dainty, other springs loved the little spring, and gave her generous helpings of their water, slowly the spring grew into a strong but gentle stream. She would meander down the hills, helping creatures along the way. she would gently touch the roots of the tree to quench their thirst, little animals would come to her banks and sip water, down the stream at the village came to wash clothes and collect water for the day.

In the days of yore farmers came to bathe their cattle, now the truckers came to clean their trucks, but trucks were not like the cattle that ate grass, they were man made monsters that guzzled a dark, poison called petrol, they would then throw out black smoke, unlike the cattle that threw out dung the dung in turn fed the trees, the black smoke could nourish no one, infact they would only kill.

As the summer grew stronger, the tired clouds, would begin to drink water from the bubbly little stream. The sun unable to bear his own heat would take in sips of the water too. the clouds would take in so much of water,  the heat on one side made them tired, and water they drank made them slow, instead of moving briskly with the breeze the clouds began to amble.

Slowly being in the sun and too much of water turned the clouds from bright happy white to a darkish cloud, the vibrant warmth turned in cold heaviness.

One morning as the clouds ambled along, the weight of their body was so much, the eyes puffed up they could not see what was ahead of them, the sky god tried to warn the cloud, he kept flashing lights, but the poor cloud could see the flashes either and the inevitable took place the cloud tripped, crashing headlong into the rock.

The noise was tremendous and scary, the little children in the city were scared. The little children in the villages came right out of them houses with cheeky grins to see what was up, they saw the cloud trip and drops of water fell right on them.

A drop first, and then another, until water came down as continuous stream.

Up on the mountain the little spring who was drained by the heat, saw the flashes too, she wanted to warn the cloud but she was too weak her voice could not be heard, she called for friends but they were tired too, they the frightening loud noises, and were terrified, there was nothing they could to save their friends, but then as the cloud tripped all the water that he carried but did not need began falling down,

Drop by the drop, the thirsty spring lapped it up, the parched tree lapped it up, the animals rejoiced as their friend the spring would come down to them again.

As she filled up the spring started visiting her friends and as the water went out of the clouds the cloud felt light and healthy again.

The Knight Writer

Sometimes life takes a very unpredictable turn. Like the day I discovered, Pigs Have Wings!!
This was one of those days, I was all of thirteen.
The world was against me, the teachers were eternally nitpicking… Mother had turned to a Monster who was on a Nag-a-thon. Amidst these trying dramas my senior citizen cousin wants to go to the Beauty parlour.
Of course it was not cool for senior citizens who are eighteen to walk about with escorts even in the 1980’s but thirteen year olds are visible to the adults and can be turned invisible with an incantation called, ”Mills and Boons” which is definitely a worthy remuneration since it cost a princely Rs.11/- from my non-existent pocket money and the Librarian took on the onus of informing my mother that I was treading scandalous territory by reading Mills and Boons and Barbara Cartland…OMG I am amazed that I was not doused in holy in water.
Reckon it was part of the perils of growing up in the 1980’s, but believe me it did trigger homicidal tendencies which were best overcome by reading a good Whodunit… if only I could… that set me on a journey of partnership with Agatha Christie…a journey of murder and intrigue. Well that was an eventuality.
But since we Neckhar’s have been brought up to value the power of the Impact of the ladle on the Gluteus Maximus I chose the incentive that my cousin offered.
I even pretended not to notice that she turned right instead of turning left to the Beauty parlour. Parlour we did go to, not the beauty, but the one where solidified cream and sugar and innumerable flavours …as they did not have the bitter flavour of my life that was experiencing, nor did the have flavour of oppression, I decided to opt for the only redemption of a depressed soul the Run and Raisin black current ice-cream with hot chocolate sauce on top not to mention the roasted cashew.
With the ice-cream reaching its intended destination, my senior citizen of a cousin joined by still more senior citizen of the male kind, I was relegated to the library next door. Which did not stock intelligent books like Archie’s or Amarchitrakatha… not knowing how to tackle the situation I decided to browse the books…
Photo-romance magazine not available
Phantom of Denkali not available
Amarchitrakatha not available
Mandrake the Magician not available
Agatha Christie not available
Mills and Boons not available
Barbara Cartland not available
Denise Robbins out of bounds
On the centre table were scattered randomly books returned by various readers I saw this rather tired looking book, with dog ears a cover with butler on job and the inner cover showed a genial bespectacled man with a pipe… this ladies and gentle men was my entry into the world where nothing bad ever happens, even if it did, it could be sorted. I picked up this book when I’m well, and when I am poorly, when I am travelling, when I am not, when i am eyesome, when i am a eyesore…
I had made a friend… I had discovered life support… welcome to the world of P.G.Wodehouse.,
PS Pigs have wings is a book penned by P.G.Wodehouse.
PPS: This blog is written for Indispire of unremembered number glive cast by Ruchi verma who blogs at http;//