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Yogamaya

Yogamaya is an embodiment of three goddesses: Saraswati, Laxmi and Parvati. As Saraswati, she is the goddess of knowledge and she is depicted as strumming Veena, a stringed instrument, while as Laxmi, she sits on the laps of Narasimha, the half lion and half man avatar of Lord Vishnu, often giving illusion that she is riding pillion to a man(her husband Narasimha) on a lion. While as Parvati, she rides a lion parallel to Shiva- who prefers riding on his favorite, Nandi cow.

The Yogamaya Wikipedia has a rough sketch of her personality, she is much more deeper with multifold forms.

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Padmashri Shri Anup Jalota Ji endorsing my book Yashoda and Krishna. https://www.instagram.com/p/CIdcIaylZFASlzqbPLdPY46UoQ_ArVebqkIzU00/?utm_medium=tumblr

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Padmashri Shri Anup Jalota Ji endorsing my book Yashoda and Krishna. https://www.instagram.com/p/CIdcIaylZFASlzqbPLdPY46UoQ_ArVebqkIzU00/?utm_medium=tumblr

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Dear Poly...

On a bright summer day, when the sun had been brightening the blue with its tangerine fire, Rose planned a ride to the countryside on her horse, Poly. Separating the soft pillion from the tough saddle, she placed it on the horseback for a solo ride.

Poly raised itself on its front legs immediately in excitement and as soon as it took the pillion (pillow) rider on its back. Rose pulled at its reins to a start. And off they drove towards the open fields.

Riding past the vast stretches of unkempt wastelands, a reasonable part of which grew subterranean cleistogamous and chasmogamous flowers together with wild grass, on self-pollination, they rode on the long, narrow road towards the irrigated paddy fields.

Spring seems to have never been so generous in the last 24 years since Rose had brought Poly home as a calf; the vast blooming beds of colorful orchids at the far end swayed smilingly as a testimony. And, they had covered every corner of the countryside riding almost every single day since then. Rose patted gently on Poly's right face fondly in reminiscence of their friendship. Poly neighed in the excitement in reciprocation of her master's loving gesture.

They rode across the countryside the whole afternoon, enjoying the beautiful picturesque until the sun started to set behind the tall mountains signaling them to go back home.

Taking heed from the ball of fire, Rose turned the horse to go back.

On their way, they stopped by a creek for some water.

As Poly started to drink from it, a squall of placid breeze started caressing both of them, turning Rose's cheeks a shade of crimson while also giving them a much sought-for respite from the summer heat at the same time. And, in the mirroring shadows at the crystal clear water, casting alongside the gumshoes of the twigs of the tall coconut trees that had bordered its side, Rose realized that Poly had become old, very old in fact. She patted on her drooping jawline in thankfulness for being her ferry for so many years.

Suddenly, Poly sat down on the ground with a jerk, almost throwing Rose off her back and towards the river.

"Hey, what happened?" Rose jumped to catch a big milestone at the bank to save herself from drowning in the river.

"Are u crazy?" Rose wanted to know what had triggered that behavior as she asked her further.

Poly's pupils had started to close down, she seemed too tired. Rose came walking towards her and started to wake her up, to stand up. But to no avail. Rose shook her further, wiping off her tears which were refusing to stop as she started to fear the worst for the horse. But Poly didn't oblige. She passed away, sleeping on the ground, and breaking off their 24 years of comradeship.

At the far west, the sun had finally set behind the mountains, leaving a trail of orange glimmer on the river, a reminder of their last sunset together.

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Lalitasana, and the Gods

Have you ever wondered why Indian gods sit side-saddle on animals-their vahanas (vehicles), with their body occupying the second ( pillion) seat, as their right leg rests folded on the first seat? Be it Lord Shiva on Nandi cow, or Goddess Durga on a tiger/lion, or any other god for that matter. The reason is simple. Riding an animal for long hours sitting frontways, tires the pelvic muscles and legs. Sitting sideways is a pose of relaxation, ease, synonymous with the kings. Named Lalitasana, it is also popular with cowherds and other village professionals /passengers who use animals for either work or simply as a means of transportation from one place to another.

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Hi

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Yashoda and Krishna gets International acceptance

It is a bestseller already in Holland, as BOL.com gives it 5 stars.

France online store gives 3.7 stars.

Denmark gives 4.4 stars.

"I am not at all surprised. I had created history for the Indian cinema in 1982, after getting recognized as the most photogenic actress by French and American film festivals in that particular year for a short film which had been shot by a team of enthusiastic college girls from Delhi; First of a kind-a special mention for a teenager, was unfortunately not publicized at all for security reasons.

With many International firsts to my credit, I can easily boast that I have been ahead of my time, as well as other Indian actresses. But politics hindered my branding.

I hope that my book will reach other countries soon as well and get accepted in a big way".

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Please vote for my daughter https://www.instagram.com/p/CKLrlnTlApGPBdbFjpkKg2RSTRAn6urv5-nJS00/?igshid=17tj30aqi6h3x

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A conversation on my new book Yashoda and Krishna with Padmashri Anup Jalota ji.

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No news is good news. I have been away from Instagram, been busy. But all's well and it's great going for me... https://www.instagram.com/p/CIaD77PFvDFCLxpc1ETdYeLnUWbMRWlPtHDRl40/?igshid=909dy5i8bsbo

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Until Kohinoor Smiles Again

Excerpt 

It was a bright afternoon; the sun was at its peak. Mohanlal was out on the road driving taxi, while Roah on shopping and Alisha was alone at home.  Shonali, who had come back from the hospital, took out the duplicate key from the purse and opened the lock of the door. Hurriedly entering inside by flinging the door wide open, she ran towards the bedroom where Alisha was sleeping- all scared for her daughter's life! Someone had threatened to take away her daughter from her, "Ashi", she shouted, that was her daughter's pet name, "hide under the bed", she pleaded further in fear. Her poor daughter could not understand what was wrong with her.    

The whole neighbourhood gathered to see her. Roah and Mohanlal failed to understand what was wrong with her as she looked like a different person as if she had been possessed. Even though everybody tried to convince her, they could not calm her apprehension, her weird fear of losing her daughter.    

And that night nobody could sleep because a faint noise of somebody chattering or talking to the walls kept them all awake.    

Shonali seemed to have entered another world, where she had some new friends and acquaintances who she appeared to be talking to but they were invisible. She was involved in a soliloquy. She was talking to the walls."Itly, itly" she placed her first finger on her cheek and the second under her chin as if she was framing the latter, and kept on continuously taking out that noise. The pose started to remind others the image of Roah on the wall in Anarkali dress while she is holding the chin similarly. The sound echoed the whole night and their eardrums pained, not because of her glib-chatting only but also due to her pain that even they could feel; which seemed so profound and unending.    

As days passed, her condition started to deteriorate; the fear of losing her only child had taken root inside her mind.    

Alternatively, Roah started stalking Mohanlal to leave Shonali. "We will stay as a happy family without her", she tried to convince him but he refused to leave Shonali.  

"Why should I leave the biological mother?"    

One day Roah put her foot down and asked him to take a decision. Shonali had lost herself to insanity completely.    

"You have to decide between the two, either she will stay here or  

I will stay".  

Mohanlal could not gather guts to separate the biological mother from the child. Therefore, as a last resort to get her own way, Roah packed her clothes and left for the airport to fly to Pakistan.  

A helpless Mohanlal refused to meltdown before her tears and gave her some money and hordes of tears in the bargain.    

Shonali, who was then taken to many hospitals, could not be treated. Asylums refused to admit her as she would change her stance and behave properly whenever some officer came to check her condition. The whole day, she would savour tea and tobacco and keep on making sounds from her maw. "Itly, itly itly", while moving from one room to another-back and forth and to the point of exhaustion.    

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Until Kohinoor Smiles Again excerpt

Mumbaiites also survive on superstitions, a common one is, "asking for a mannat at a mosque" that will beget them their deepest desires. So, adhering to a selfish agenda, Moti visited a mosque after ages. As she had failed to study at all during her last exams, so she went there and prayed in with a mannat that if she gets a first class she would donate there. Alternatively, she prayed at Mahalaxmi as well, thinking, "Lest one god fails, the other would come handy", while also believing in the adage, "Being smart means having a backup plan" at the same time.    

Fortunately, with so much preparation and boot licking, it seems, God had no escape route and no choice, so he listened to her, and surprisingly gave her a ‘just’ first-class rank(with the help of 3 marks added as grace); Consequently, she was saved by the bell. This triumph reinstated her belief in God, and after that, she became a regular there, often relying on both the gods to give her the smallest of things, while also teaching Sweety to do the same.    

As Nanaji lived a retired life, he liked to indulge children a lot. The king of fruits, mango Alphonso pronounced Alfonzo, in multiple wooden boxes from Crawford Market which is in close vicinity to Mahalaxmi, forever filled the storeroom in summers. They would replete with strawberries and cherries in winters. A wooden attic at the kitchen ceiling that served as an extra space in most of the congested rooms of Mumbai would forever be the storing space for his last mangoes of the season, which she, along with other kids would steal once he slipped into slumber.    

On waking up, as soon as he would discover the reduced bulk, he would rap them up and hoot on top of his voice, and also cane them some time, but they refused to learn their lesson ever. And when they would still not get scared, he would reach up to his big riffle that always hung on the white wall between two frames of his memorizing old family photographs in that two-room dingy house as an assortment to meet his hunting passion and as a proof of his cavalry. And when in good mood, he would narrate long tales of how he used to hunt turkeys in jungles with it for a good meal. He also shot at the aluminium boxes and doors sometimes to practice his shooting skills. The sharp noise of shooting baffled the neighbours, but thinking him to be an old man with no real past time at his array, they always pardoned his eerie pursuits.    

Nanaji survived on paya- soup of mutton leg, as it is supposed to heal joint pain. He also cooked turkey which was supposedly a rare buy and available only in Crawford Market, as it was getting extinct and its glory preserved only for Christmas. Next to which is the famous Chor Bazaar. The catchphrase for the market is synonymous with its merchandise that sells old and stolen goods, but faithfully, and antiques and things, which one can never dream of ever getting from a normal market. Furniture, vehicles, toys, clocks etc; you name them and they will arrange anything for you. Nanaji always advised them to be careful of the pickpockets who wait at the ambush for their trap. Sadly, the area is infamous for its notoriety and only those who are daring can set their foot inside the area.  

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Until Kohinoor Smiles Again An excerpt

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Until Kohinoor Smiles Again An excerpt

The lingua (Mumbai has its language, a slang called Mumbaiya, Bombaiya or Tapori) of the city will shock a novice to no end, and the names of the places will undo some real split second (and a banana peel) laughter. Churchgate is famous for Gateway of India and Oval Maidan besides other things. Its nearby tourist attraction is Elephanta Caves. It is also a shopping hub and a trading nerve with Nariman Point, Colaba, Fashion Street around its periphery. Touching it is VT now CST, where you will find maximum courts. This is  real Mumbai, the starting point of Mumbai, but mind you, is not named after any church's big foyer. Andheri, the western suburb, meaning blackout, we better left to imagine as some pessimist's discovery. Sandhurst road, people pronounce as Sandas, which means shit. Masjid Bandar has no monkey business. Khar means sour, and Borivali (Borivali is a far suburb and has the famous Sanjay Gandhi Park)and Kandivali; the names are just too confusing. Off –ho- gaya {His life got switched off} is a common phrase to describe someone who died {I don't know how to answer them back, maybe I can ask in response, "Kitne din On the?} How long was he switched on?” Cutting chai is half tea, Kanda is onion and Batata is a potato. Juni is old and Mori is gutter. And the most commonly used abuses are Halkat and Yeda. Bhangar is garbage and Bhangi is a beggar. Hakal is throwing someone out. Jugaad is finding a flexible approach to a problem with cheap alternative means or having a solution to every problem at the last minute, Shanpatti is cunningness, Chikni is popular with the eve-teasers which means a fair girl, Lafa is a slap, Pakya is a pet name for Prakash, Bhaji is vegetable/s, Aakdu is egoist, Tapori is a rowdy etc. To cut the story short, one would hear a lot of bizarre slang and wonder at their implementation. Impromptu, for an outsider, the complex language will sound very improbable, harsh and as tough as old boots on soft feet.               

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When A Great Marketing Idea was Ignored…A Nobel Lost…

By: Seema Seth

Corona Virus has punched hard in the face, and our economy has tumbled down. As we spend more and earn almost nothing, the pandemic continues burning a hole in our already worn-out pockets.

Corporates furloughed their work-force and slashed the salaries, and top it all with the unemployment of daily wage earners, the plight of landlords who survive on rent, small businesses and the deferred payments of loan beneficiaries and many more…

Some famous international medical research institutes had estimated right in the beginning that the vaccine might take 18-20 months roughly to develop.

As the tempest took us into its grip, a few of us sat together to work on innovative ideas to fight it out.

The idea of an innovative  screener thermometer door was worked out by my team in April, 2020.

But we came to know later that a similar infrared gate had already been installed in an Indian airport.

After a few days, I received a food packet from a restaurant with thermometer readings written on a note with hand, of all the staff that were involved in the delivery, starting from the cook to the delivery boy.

I got an idea and gave it a technological turn. I suggested a display screen attachment to the machine with temperature readings of all the visiting footfalls along with attendee staff of particular establishments and Marketing it in a big way in banks, schools, malls, factories, hospitals etc where ever there are good footfalls.

But why was this Marketing idea not adopted in a big way?

This could have not just saved human lives but our economy as well  by maintaining functionality of so many industries with caution!

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Rahim and Laila

Not so long ago, lived two friends, orphaned by the devastating Syrian Civil War, in a refugee camp, on the outskirts of Jerusalem, in Israel, where mountain ranges overlooked plantations of grape and coconut, on marshy land. All of six, the boy named Rahim and the girl named Laila, imagined, what would it feel like, to have a home they can call their own, made of brick and mortar!

And, on one of the regular, cheerless nights, Rahim and Laila, walked out of their respective ripstop nylon tents, for the adjoining Dead Sea's shore, to have a small chat, after a humble dinner, consisting of boiled vegetables and cheap porridge.

Sitting side by side, on a big slimy rock by the shore, they looked up towards the dark sky, where the stars and the moon had been revelling in rhapsody, without a care to the miserable occupants of the refugee camp.

Under the torching, incandescent moonbeam, "When did you last see your parents?" Laila popped a question in curiosity, about Rahim's family.

"I was two, when they were killed in the War, I fled for my own life, and landed up here, ferried by a truck, along with the other survivors", fluttering his eye-lids innocently, the lanky boy answered, trying hard to remember the exact incidents.

"How sad?" comforting him, Laila replied immediately.

Intervening in their heart-to-heart conversation, were the roaring sea-churns, and the agonising tides, accelerated vehemently by the full-moon night. However, undeterred by nature's rumpus, they continued talking.

"And what about you?" tossing a question towards the sweet girl, he asked Laila, at his turn.

Revealing with sombre eyes, "Exactly, the same age as you! And they have been missing since then", the girl replied, trying to hold back her falling tears.

And he started to sketch a beautiful house, on the wet sand, with his finger. "This is my home", and completed the picture, with a moustached man and a beautiful woman.

Smiling, she bent on the illustration, "Is it our home, sweet home?" she snooped, scribbling a dog at the door of the house.

High tides danced in the sea, their gushing sound, ricochetting in the environment, a big wave crashed against their rock and drenched them in the seawater.

Springing to their feet excitedly, they scurried towards the pavilion, "What do you miss the most?" Rahim asked her a question, on the way.

"School", wringing out water from her pink and white, flower print frock, she countered.

"Hmm!" wishing he was big enough, Rahim sighed-for his ability to fulfil a woman's most cherished desire was not within his reach.        

                                         I

Welcoming Rahim the next day, ushered in a festive morning, loaded with chocolates and gifts, from a noble couple, aged, somewhere closer to their mid-thirties, and looking no less than brimming with the milk of human kindness, "We are here to adopt you", and justifying their visit to the camp, they said!

"No", Laila broke down, "I will wait for you", she added teary-eyed, as Rahim followed them to the car, carrying his belongings.

The furious sea roared in discontent, the juicy grape vines screeched in fury, and the ripe coconuts whimpered in wretchedness, "Bye, my love", Rahim bid her adieu for the last time, waving out to her from the window of the long, black Limousine.

Picking up speed, the car wheeled, over the last night's illustration heartlessly, disbanding their dream home, and towards another city.

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