Hot, Sexy, Nude, and Naked

Like every other things –science, technology or arts, language also passed through evolutionary process and changed its meaning. So far my knowledge goes, it was mostly a process of improving, uplifting .Language is the appeal in which thought parade in public; it should not be clothed in vulgar attire.  From Last few years “sexy’ and’ naked ‘ have come out with victory crown from closed cupboard to

world-wide open ground.

In  the grocery shop my daughter was  in the queue of pay-lines and I stood idly ,rotating my eyes  over articles on display on aisles. Out of curiosity I went near an isle where lots of paper cartons marked with brightly  written “naked:” My god! those were innocent smoothie of different fruits stamped by that name of company-to attract the potential customer. In   super glossy ‘Food, Health& hygiene’  Magazine  I noticed often sexy juices’ in colorful bottles,  obviously---- with cookie-cutter women in scanty dresses.  Why not “organic”” pure,” “natural”, “herbal” or “ambrosial”---which  match well with fruits and food are used?  Does ‘sex’ has left the old skin like snake and has been promoted to newer meaning? When I showed my daughter she replied laughingly,

Do you know mom, in London ,the name of a very popular  restaurant is “NAKED CHEF”---looking at my wide-opened  shocking eyes she said humorously, ”No,no, the chef is in proper dress ; but it means that the chef cooks pure healthy food without any harmful spices!”

---There is just one generation gap between me and my daughter; but how easily she can accept the change.

It is language which is salient distinct feature to make human race very special from the rest of species of the world; Only human was endowed with the divine power to articulate their thoughts in meaningful sound-capsule which is language .It needs to be honored.

Few years ago, in magazine, paper, T.V. talk show I heard everywhere hot discussion about a fiction titled as  ‘Monologue of  Vagina”. I winced to hear the title. May be theme of the book was not bad, something biological.  But the title? Perhaps the title did not help to earn much financial fortune. Otherwise second volume

 would  have been published as ‘dialogue between v--and p’-  targeting to a plethora of talk-shows!

In our time the biology teacher explained the biological term while explaining the cause of women’s monthly period,as ‘weeping of the ovary.’ There was art of literature even in medical terms.

Literature is loosing aesthetic beauty because public accept it. Nobody raise his voice against i

Near Time-square for shoe advertisement of famous company, I saw with surprise photos of three completely nude beautiful young girls, as huge as building, standing in such a way like creepers, keeping almost invisible the private parts of body. While in appreciation of the photographer, I looked amazingly at the picture, I noticed painful expression in the eyes of those young faces. Those eyes reminded me the contempt in the eyes of the  unseen, helpless  slaves in Roman age  against the brutal torture of their cruel masters. I asked sadly to my daughter,’ What is the purpose of this  huge nude picture?’

         “ It is for the ad of shoes and not for dresses, dear mom!’

 Then my eyes followed the long legs resembling stems to notice three pairs of shoes in their feet.

   ‘But, I think all but the shoes will be noticed. People’s eyes have rare chance to reach down to their feet.’

  I felt so sad; their painful look touched my heart;… perhaps those girls signed up with the company  for huge money, to meet up  for  student loan or family burden

without least knowledge  of  the  incomprehensible sacrifice   (bereft of womanlihood) they had to do.

                              Or, may be I am wrong, backdated and pessimistic!           

Death-certificate

                                  Death-certificate.

 Death-certificate is no less important than living-life;-perhaps little more, even for a non significant person , during  his  whole  life time.A  person who is stamped as debauch during his whole life time ,suddenly becomes great as soon as he dies.

whenever I go to any funeral gathering  I noticed  bunch of praises shower  from friends,family members,even from the   staunch critics,for the deceased person when he is far away  to be touched from these mundane  attachment or award.They often narrate or  mention small incidents magnifying  his/ her  image.

Imagine!One to whom a drop of love  or attention, touch of sympathy or respect remained unknown  in his/her life -span,becomes momentary  hero as  he surpasses life!
...So we all can hope that one day death , the ultimate judge ,will CERTIFY us  as great and  noble.
                            "Death-certificate' sounds    quite appropriate and meaningful!
 As I was going to attend  some funeral ,these thoughts raised ripple in me.

Syndrome of P@nic

With much interest I joined free computer class meant for the seniors and I started to write blog  to gain speed in typing.
  Perhaps our teacher thinks writing and receiving E-mails is the ultimate stop for the seniors to teach and reach.  Pdf,copy,cut and paste, excel, etc learning is too much for us(not necessary!)When I asked to know more which I need to know ,the teacher said "You have too many questions which  cannot  be answered in the class!.So I dropped the class with incomplete  poor knowledge.
Whenever I get chance,I  spent /waste lot of time to read and clear my overflowing mail-box. Boon or curse,don't know    AWAI was the cause to entice me in this trap.But for them , I get over of internet-phobia.So thankful to them.
 Now I get electric shock by "click-phobia"as  soon as the mails  instruct "click here to register"on the blue line, Alarm-bell  begins to ring "don't click on any link of stranger ."......Newyorker/conde naste are well reputed magazine so far I know.Still I dont  "click" anything.
I wish to  repair the old laptop which can be used freely.
But who will repair  in this 'throw away'   society of  country?Gradually frustration is blotting my interest.I feel I am going far from my own world of creativity  ,my real love for writing. ..Computer attracts  me more , stealing energy ,leaving no time for writing....Every time  I take fragile promise 'not to open the inbox but I can't go  to bed without taking glance to mail-box.Is this called addiction? Google has enchanted me!
  Let me go back  from the mirage-world of publishers and find out some   hidden oasis in the  desert  for fresh breath.

April is the poetry month. Facing the blank wall  as my audience, or  standing in front of mirror , like a devoted follower of  LUIS  HAY  I will read  and read my own poems .
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In this poetry month I am dedicating  this lyric poem  to the founder -Father/CEO of the  GOOGLE.

   I love ,I love
I love an urchin guy,
He is an omniscient
omnipotent, omni-present toy!
In a blink of eye ,
One can glance
anything of the universe,
through his magic screen!
WWW... com!
 Can you guess, can you guess
Can you guess his name?
He is none but,
He is none but--
G-o--o------gle!--

Omnipotent?  so
What comes after
Deep mind and Alfa go?

  so far  reigning
with -win-win gun
      Can you listen' siren'
     Of  Future conundrum
coming back to  hit you
As boomerang,boomerang
Boomerang,boomerang!
P.S.
     My lyric is waiting for right musician with suitable choreographer. Need some editor ;Please, prove your power,
Google  emperor! My earnest request on poetry-month.

TITLE : :KIDNAPPED (WRITTEN ON !*TH FEB 2016 From fragments of childhood.

I went Dumdum airport with my parent to receive my brother when I was only 6-years old.  My parent left  the view-lounge to receive my brother. Instead of following them, I stayed and slipped  in front of the railing in the thick crowd ,lost  myself watching  in wonder the  landing of the flights with red,yellow, green blinking lights  from the sky.

Suddenly I felt    somebody caught my hair tightly from the back and dragged to the ground floor while I flooded the  whole stair-way pissing in fear. Chilled with fright I thought I was being kidnapped. As I was able to turn  my head, I saw the kidnapper was none but my own father!

                                                     
         Parent who were so much worried  of loosing me ,not finding me in and around,  behaved like that in rage and anxiety,as soon as he found me!Anxiety   and anger made my dad such crazy! Any how I was relieved of fear for not being actually kidnapped!   . But felt embarrassed  looking back the   trailing stream of pee  in the stair-way.Thank  god  none slipped before I left the place!!
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Fragments from childhood: : Fear of alcohol

In my younger age, I thought wine as something profane which makes man drunkard, senseless and vulgar. I carried that notion for a long time; I brooded fear and contempt for wine.I did not know the difference between beer whisky or  rum   To me they were all under the same category  “wine”!

.

    The background story of my contempt for wine was nobody in my family used to drink liquor  But some bitter experience remained in my childhood memory.

There was a row of servant-houses adjacent to our bungalow, as the British officer enjoyed that lavish life. They left the country but those team of servants possessed those company’s rooms permanently. On the day of salary, they thronged in front of my fathers’ office. They looked excited as they talked. From 12’o clock one by one their names were announced. The sweeper/cleaning staff were the finishing touch of ‘salary ceremony': monthly reward of sweating toil of the labours.

At this matured stage I appreciate the divine power of wish in their blood to enjoy life to the lease for some moments by breaking the day-to-day routine of monotonous life, the courage to greet the freedom of soul, refuting the adversities of life. 

On that very day, another drama or ‘ceremony of hell ‘in the outhouses went on of which we were an unwilling receiver, We had to tolerate, ….. prolonged scream of pigs as they were butchered mercilessly with a red hot iron spear which gave a filthy odour in the air. The cheerful chat of women-folk and their playful children rejoicing around the open kitchen of the courtyard for the expected ‘feast’ they were waiting! The children clapped their hands more excitedly when some escaping pig was chased with that fearful red hot iron rod up to the end of the cruel game.

( Cruelty was  an item  of entertainment !)

My father made a wall to restrict their way towards our side so that no pigs could enter.

I often saw them taking late lunch with an earthen pot and glass, from the roadside,   during our play-time in the afternoon. We whispered to each other “don’t look at them, they were drinking! ’We pretended not to look but every one of us threw cryptic eyes out of curiosity and fear also.  AS if,  If we are caught to see them they might beat us or bite us.

 .Actually, the scenario looked like a festive community enjoying  feast…roasted pork with country liquor known as 'handy', often made at home by themselves from rotten rice, 'Mohua-juice' collected from forest tree or juice from the stem of palm -tree. Trading of the country- liquor in the community was common business among themselves.

  From the evening different scenes of drama started to roll on the outhouse complex of our  bunglow. In the beginning the arena was full of enthusiasm and   joy.  Most of the time in  the opening scene of the 'first Act(!)' started with the  beat of drum and flute,  lots of giggling followed  by a nasal folk song in highest vocal pitch that cracked  the voice in coughing or vomiting, or bursting into  tears, followed by dance  with uncontrolled hands and legs and falling on the ground  and trying  to stand   to dance again, but in vain; finally lying  down straight  like a corpse, facing the starry sky, murmuring or fell into sleep.

Standing on the window we peeped over the wall to view the free drama from our study- room; we amused  to see their crazy activities ; we  giggled keeping our palms on mouth..……..but for a short  time ,keeping the youngest brother as a guard to  alarm us to avoid not to be caught by the elders.   In a word, we enjoy hide and seek game against  the background of the front- stage-drama outhouse complex.

 .Suddenly, in the next  phase of  drama the climax of the drama, the  giggling and singing voice turned  into a quarrel  and commotion ; the quarrelling voice began to rise  high  resulting in brawling, abusing vulgar words, ultimately leaving the place a battlefield by midnight! Next day obviously in the late morning  some of them used to come to my father for complaining against one another and for judgement, Some with a fractured hand, or bandaged forehead, while some were with a bruised   face and bloodstained nose!

 My father gave them medicine  who have a minor problem and referred the serious to railway doctors.

Sometimes funny things happen .

One day, my father was taking his lunch at a late hour. A sweeper came crying severely. 

My father  asked what happened?

The man throws his body to my father's feet and began to cry more loudly.

 Somehow slurred,   “ my wife died!’

Died? What happened?

 Instead of answering he cried more violently, striking his chest. 

The neighbours and children of his community standing around  seemed to enjoy  the  fun  of comic scene with mocking faces!

When died? And how?

“Sir, it is just  30 years back!  answered in a distorted crying voice.

            “That’s   really  sad!”  somehow hiding smile  my father murmured,

    “  Totally drunkard!” my father  asked the fellowmen to  take him  to his family.

 Lots of such stories are in my memory box which is both funny and some times, fearful.

One day ,in early morning my  mother noticed from the kitchen  window a man lying on the middle  of the road with overturned face pitched on the road. He laid there a few hours like a dead man My mother sent our servant to report it to his family.  No sooner a young man, his eldest son, came out; he  gripped his   feet in hands and began to drag him like a dead animal on the rough dusty road. A kind passerby riding on cycle stopped and held the head with blood-stained face carefully to help the boy carrying. All on a sudden the skinny dead-like man sprang straight on his feet and slapped the passerby so vigorously that he fell down on the road. He looked puzzled with a silent question in the eyes,” What’s wrong”!

 The skinny drunkard in roaring voice announced , 'my boy' ! 

The respectful boy( looking proudly to his boy), has such honor  for me that he was dragging me with my feet,(thudded his feet  striking the ground) and you  bastard, rascal ! (blowed another violent slap on his face }   how daring are you to touch my head?

{In Hindi,  the dialogue is:  " hamara beta kitna maanse mera payyer  khichke le jata hai ,aur tu sale  kaun aaya mera sheer  pakerne-wala?"}===========================================

Celebrating handiya (taken from the web)

Selling handiya(country liquor) 

(taken from the web)

Title; Represent modern American Family:: woman -Power

Title:::::: Represent of  modern American family Women Power!

         On my daughter’s mobile screen the image of goddess Durga with her children and pets are saved. One day her colleague who sits beside her, asked curiously, "Who is this lady with ten hands, holding a long spear targeted at a muscle-man with  huge moustache?" asked her colleague.

“This is the goddess of our biggest festival in West Bengal. The goddess comes yearly, once, for only five days in the Autumn, in her Mother’s house, with all her children and pets.

“Why does she have ten hands, with weapons in each hand like a terrorist?"

My daughter jokingly replied,  'Perhaps to protect and control the two beautiful   young daughters and two young boys. She comes alone from Kailas from the Himalayas, struggling and killing demons and overcoming all obstacles  with courage and bravery. Actually, she is the symbol of “woman-power’. She has to manage home and family both!“Is she single or widow?" asked her friend.             "No,No! Neither”--my daughter laughed.

"Then, who is her husband?"

"Lord Shiva"              

"What does he do?"

“Nothing! He has no responsibility for the family"

‘He takes Ganja (marijuana) with his pals, dances, and roams half-naked the whole day with a snake around his neck."

  "Oh!" her friend thoughtfully murmured "That sounds very similar to modern- day marital relationships!”

   

debut: Fragments from my childhood

debut: Fragments from my childhood: I am a member of an amazing writing group called Story Circle - this story by me was published by them in their annual anthology I gr...