tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42553100555664458912024-03-14T01:47:58.506-07:00Life's Little BitsTraditional, sometimeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12206716304194197964noreply@blogger.comBlogger32125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4255310055566445891.post-44030227590201104432019-04-15T06:50:00.000-07:002019-04-15T06:50:15.979-07:00The Pariah Dog<b>Street dogs and their caretakers are the stars of the film Pariah Dog. While we wait for the movie to be accessible to the Indian audience, UMA KARVE CHAKRANARAYAN talks to director JESSE ALK to find out more...<br />
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It took a Canadian born American citizen to make a film on the Indian Pariah dog. He spent months in Kolkata making friends with the dogs and their care givers, invested hours observing and recording precious moments to create Pariah Dog, a film that recently won the best feature at the Big Sky Documentary Film Festival.<br />
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Uma Karve Chakranarayan talks to the director Jesse Alk. He says, "Making this film and living in Kolkata has been a defining moment in my life, I've back in the USA, and I miss Kolkata immensely. I'll be back as much as I can afford." <br />
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For a shorter interview look up www.facebook.com/TellTailMagazine</i><br />
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<i>Why did you think of a documentary film on India's street dogs?</i><br />
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A frequent visitor to Kolkata, what really drew me to street dogs was how lonely they seemed to be, and how they still craved human affection, despite living for generations on the street. I thought the film would be more experimental, strictly from the dogs' perspective. But as I met interesting dog feeders, it shifted to becoming more about the human caretakers and their lives. <br />
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<i>Why Kolkata?</i><br />
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I shot in Kolkata because Kolkata was where I knew, and I was invited to stay with friends there while I made the film. These friends also became my local collaborators. I didn't pick Kolkata for any particular reason -that it had more or less street dogs than anywhere else, for example. But really the film is in some ways very much about the city itself, and Kolkata is a really special place, so I never thought about shooting anywhere else.<br />
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<i>What is the message you want Pariah Dog to convey?<br />
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Pariah Dog isn't really a "topical" film in that it explains issues surrounding the street dogs, or gives solutions. I wanted to observe, and to give my take on what this moment in time is like, for these specific people who love street dogs. If there is any message, it might just be that compassion is something that can fill up and give meaning to someone's life, although it isn't always enough to do so.<br />
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<i>How did you decide the name?</i><br />
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Actually, the name was one of the very first things that came to the film. As soon as I read that the official breed name for the majority of street dogs in India was the "Indian Pariah," that was the name of the film. <br />
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When we set out to find human participants to be in the film, we kept this idea of "pariah" in mind, and looked for people who didn't quite fit into mainstream Bengali society themselves. I wanted some parallel between the people and animals in the film, that maybe both were a little lost and overlooked. <br />
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Are the dogs the stars of the movie or are the humans caring for them?</i><br />
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The humans took over the film at some point. The dogs are always there, but unfortunately to make the film work and to move quickly from scene to scene, I had to remove some beautiful dog footage in the last stage of the edit. <br />
I originally wanted to pepper the film with stand-alone vignettes of the dogs' lives on the street, and some of that remains, but less than I had originally intended. When you get into the edit room, things always shift, and that was one thing that happened with this film, definitely. <br />
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How easy or difficult was putting the film together, shooting on the streets, convincing people about it and the fact this is very real.<br />
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It was definitely a struggle. Being an outsider, it took quite a bit of time to develop meaningful relationships with the people in the film. I knew I wanted to get very intimate footage, and doing that with people from a culture so different than my own took quite a bit of time and patience. I had some advantages as a foreigner, in that people generally took me seriously, despite being a first-time filmmaker. Many seemed surprised that I came so far to make a film about street dogs, as well as that I stayed for so long. <br />
The film took three years to shoot, so I think I earned some respect by proving that I was dedicated to getting it right, no matter how long it took. I think people may have started thinking I was a little crazy, actually. But the support I got was generally overwhelming. Shooting on the streets was a challenge, as crowds naturally form very quickly, which makes capturing dog scenes very difficult. We learned to move very fast, and travel very light. Usually we only had fifteen minutes somewhere before we had to stop shooting and move on.<br />
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Dogs with their individual personalities would have been interesting to interact with.</i><br />
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Despite the press about the "street dog menace," I never had a single scary moment working with the dogs. We were barked at a lot, and even surrounded by a pack now and then, but I'd studied some dog behaviour before I began to work on the film, and learned some basics of nonverbal communication that you can use with dogs. If we were able to make them feel that we were not a threat, they almost invariably calmed down immediately.<br />
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Just simple things like looking away as if you are disinterested, relaxing your body, not holding anything the dogs might view as a club, and especially finding a place to sit down. Doing those things calmed nervous dogs down immediately most of the time.<br />
Indian street dogs are highly intelligent, in my opinion much more so than foreign breeds, so they were very quick to perceive the situation and to change their opinions of us.<br />
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<i>Who is your target audience?<br />
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I think the film will appeal to people interested in street dogs, in dogs in general, and in animal welfare, and also people who love or are interested in Kolkata. It's definitely an "art film," but I think it's one that can be enjoyed by a larger audience than films that normally fall into that category. <br />
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Where will you be releasing Pariah Dog?<br />
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Right now we are focusing on film festivals until December, after which we will try for commercial distribution. We don't know what that will look like yet, but I'm assuming it will be heavily focused on online distribution. <br />
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We are trying for Indian film festivals, and hope to work out some sort of commercial distribution that will make the film accessible to an Indian audience.<br />
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In your travels, have you come across any other country with similar dog issues?</i><br />
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I was surprised to see how great the conditions of the street dogs in Nepal were. I had a hard time telling which dog was a pet and which was a street dog, that line seemed much more blurred there than I was used to. In Thailand I saw street dogs that seemed to be much more tolerated than they are in India, wandering in and out of shops, shopkeepers giving them water. That all happens in Kolkata as well, of course, but it just seemed to be a different atmosphere. <br />
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I am told that every film teaches you something new, what did you learn from this? Considering it is your first, it must be extra special. Can you share your favourite parts from the film? </i><br />
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It's impossible to say it in one quick answer. I went to film school, but shooting this film taught me exponentially more than I ever learned studying filmmaking. The most important things I learned came from just staying in India so long. I lived with the family of my executive producer in Kolkata. Becoming part of that family, watching the kids grow up, being involved in the family celebrations and family dramas, I got a look at life in another culture in a way that I'll always be grateful for. <br />
There are a lot of tricky issues surrounding cross-cultural representation, but living in India and shooting this film in Kolkata for so long was one of the great experiences of my life. I expect the connections with people I made in the process to last the rest of my life. <br />
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<i>Tell us something about you, where you grew up, why you like dogs (I'm assuming you like dogs) what pets you have or have had, what movies you want to make, what movies you have made etc. <br />
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I was born in Ottawa, Canada, but spent my childhood in Southern California and Washington State, in the USA. I always had dogs as a child, but as a single adult who has always had to work, it's difficult to impossible to care for one, so I have missed out on that for years. This is my first film. I did go to film school, but never released any of my short films. This is really an all a new experience for me. <br />
I want to make lyrical films that are heavily tied to a sense of place, with a feeling for the small moments that puts those moments on an equal level with plot or character development. I want to try to transport people to a specific moment, in a specific place, with specific people, and try for an hour or two to put viewers in the shoes of someone completely different than themselves. Maybe that's why I was so drawn to making a film in Kolkata. I want to try to understand people different than myself, and as I filmmaker I want to continue to look outward and try to understand experiences that are different than my own. Hopefully that translates to viewers, and they get a bit of that from my films as well.<br />
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Did your father, Howard Alk, influence your work?</i><br />
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My father was an editor and documentary filmmaker, but unfortunately he passed away when I was still a child,. So I didn't get to learn anything about film making from him directly. I think I inherited a strong stubborn streak from him, and a determination to do the kind of work I wanted to, even if it was the more difficult road. I'd like to think he would have enjoyed the film.<br />
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I'm guessing you have a strong connection with India. Would you like to tell us what it is?</i><br />
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My father actually made a film in West Bengal in the 1970s, LUXMAN BAUL'S MOVIE, which was never released, but some of those connections were still waiting for me when I first came to India in 2010. I was shocked to encounter old men who did not speak English approaching me as I travelled around the countryside, who recognized that I was my father's son just from the physical resemblance. I kept coming back to India for several years before I started making PARIAH DOG as I was involved with a website devoted to Baul music, www.baularchive.com. Through that project I made several friends who were crucial to making the film, and without whose invitation and encouragement I would never have had the courage to come and follow this crazy dream of a film about Indian street dogs. As I said earlier, making this film and living in Kolkata has been a defining moment in my life, I've been back in the USA for six months, and I miss Kolkata immensely. No matter what happens with the film, I'll be back as much as I can afford.<br />
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Have you planned any other movies in India?</i><br />
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Not at the moment. Unless I can seriously improve my Bangla (I studied for a few months when I first began the film, but stopped when shooting got very busy, and never started up again) I think I would prefer to make my next film in English. Dealing with translations was one of the biggest obstacles I faced making the film. As an independent filmmaker, there is no guarantee I'll get financing to make another film, but I would love the opportunity to keep working in West Bengal, and India in general if the opportunity arose. But as a filmmaker with limited means, I think my next project will most likely have to be based in my own country, where I can try to earn a living and film at the same time.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAwMgLSkLnQEHu5UMWlGEsJaNZ8BuP_xNKGHWF397tRfQ4HbgAt2L1BDJyYAbAtvHSLfiSP88xgiAZqLbDjKfONLWYuTVLyXLXrvpUlSNHqv3bfWiNPp8KNf-4RZEBIsSRGXSm5OuEu88/s1600/20190415_152926.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAwMgLSkLnQEHu5UMWlGEsJaNZ8BuP_xNKGHWF397tRfQ4HbgAt2L1BDJyYAbAtvHSLfiSP88xgiAZqLbDjKfONLWYuTVLyXLXrvpUlSNHqv3bfWiNPp8KNf-4RZEBIsSRGXSm5OuEu88/s320/20190415_152926.jpg" width="320" height="320" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1600" /></a><br />
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Traditional, sometimeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12206716304194197964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4255310055566445891.post-1603735588503190712015-08-18T01:20:00.000-07:002015-08-18T01:20:34.264-07:00Most people would prefer to get home a healthy pet. For us it turned out to be quite the opposite. My son Arin Chakranarayan was five-years-old when we befriended a scrawny puppy who lived outside my in-laws society in Pune. A darling for all of us, the little fellow was a must in many of our conversations. As Arin interacted with him, I could see a bond growing. I for one did not want a dog till Arin was about 9 years old - at a better age to take care of the dog instead of having me shoulder the entire responsibility. Also, he had been diagnosed with asthma.
Fate, however had better plans. One fine day we found Black (as we christened him) limping. Turned out a horrid watchman had hit him badly. We further found out that they would do worse to the poor puppy who was doing zero harm to anybody. And that is how my husband got him home one sunday morning.
A visit to the vet confirmed that not only was the five month old's hind leg broken in places, it was also dislocated, but age was on his side and he would be able to walk, though with a limp.
Along with his bad leg, Black also had a bad heart. He was unable to go for long walks, he could not jump around like others his age and he completely disliked being hugged, cuddled or pet for more than he wanted. We don't know what lineage he came from, he was a great guard dog, not a sweet friendly one. For a naughty six year old in love these were difficult things to understand and accept.
So Arin understood but worked around them to get some fun time with Black. He woke Black when he was fast asleep, insisted on hugging him soon as he woke up, and on getting him in his blanket only to get a big bad growl in return. Did that deter him? No. It didn't, not even when he got a nice nip for trying to take away his bone.
Were we bad parents? No we weren't. We let them both be. Black was intelligent, and he knew Arin was the baby of the house. One of them had to learn not to react or how to act. Arin is bright so he knew where he was going wrong.
"Mama, I love him, he is mine," the big round eyed boy explained very simply when I tried to explain for the nth time that Black could not be pushed.
So did we do the right thing by letting the boy and the dog stay together, inspite of the health issues which caused discomfort to the dog and so reflected in his behaviour?
Black lived for three years. In the last few days of his wonderful life, we found his ventricle wall had a hole so the good and bad blood was getting mixed. We also found that he had dextrocardia, i.e his heart was on the right! And we also saw a little boy very very sad that he could do nothing to help his buddy.
We knew death was inevitable. But to see Arin soo concerned with Black, to watch him spend time quietly talking to him, being very very gentle, running his hands calmly through his fur and never asking questions about what would happen next told me that we had done the right thing. That adding a neat mixed breed dog to the family had enriched our lives in more ways than we can tell.
My son had a wonderful friend, somebody who gave him strength, love and taught him more about life and death that we never will be able to.Traditional, sometimeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12206716304194197964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4255310055566445891.post-71415171810730337862015-03-01T20:59:00.002-08:002015-03-01T20:59:53.389-08:00I want to be<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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As an adult, there are so many things I miss. The chance to disturb anybody anytime, to make the door creak coz the sound was so delicious, the occasions to dress up being any day any hour any time, the reason to scowl being that I wanted to, to smile because I wanted to, to scream and shout for the heck of it, to look into the mirror and only see my reflection, to play dr coz I was discovering.
As an adult, things have changed. I can’t call on friends homes in the middle of the afternoon coz its not welcome. The creaking door makes me jump out of my skin. The reasons to dress up are parties, only. A good time is not about being on the ground, but playing the field. I scowl when I think of nightmares. I smile at the memories-of good times. I dream of the interesting hours to come. I scream coz it can’t be what it used to be.
My discovery each day is how my three-year-old sees life. And that is the most beautiful experience ever. Yet, I wonder what if things were another way and I could head out rafting, travelling, becoming a beach bum as and when I wanted. If I could sky dive and sunbathe and snorkel and bungee jump. Or read books and laze by the fireplace and listen to music with a whisky. But they wont be. Coz I'm an adult and have responsibilities. But my life is fun. I'm at that age when relationships are what adults call stable or mature. Commitment issues are not a problem-I'm already married. I love the man who along with my son make the world a good place to be in. And I have great friends. Just good friends included. Don’t smirk at the quote.
I want to be a butterfly, sometimes. So I can look pretty. I want to be a pig at times so I can roll in mud. I want to be a tigress on the prowl, an elephant to easily get my way, a hippo to just wallow in a pool all day, a dog so I can bitch (legally), a penguin so I don’t feel bad about being fat, a giraffe so I can reach for the stars, a whale to see the world under the ocean, a bird only to learn how to fly and a preying mantis so I can chew up my man. I also want to be a good mother so my son becomes a good man, a good friend so my friends don’t ever have to think twice about calling me at anytime just because they wanted to chat or because they need me, a good daughter-I'm not good at that, a good wife-well the husband can talk about that, an acceptable daughter-in-law, a good sister coz I love my brothers and sisters…
But what I really want to be is good. As good as my Black thought I was. As good as I hope my Wag thinks I am.Traditional, sometimeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12206716304194197964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4255310055566445891.post-81904370393276555322014-01-30T08:59:00.001-08:002014-01-30T08:59:08.117-08:00Out of the window
My kitchen has a window that faces the West. Come Summer, the window and my kitchen get so hot that the swampak process is shut from 11 am to 6 pm. A couple of years ago, I noticed a pair of pigeons, sometimes a trio, roosting on top of the grill to this window.
Skeptical initially, of their choice of accommodation, I learned to accept their invasion in the simple hope that lizards would be deterred from using the window for their grand entrance.
It worked well, barring the two daring giants who creeped in under their wings, I suspect.
So there was a healthy respect where I ignored their repeated attacks on my potted plants and cleaned their poo in their shitty corner. And time flew.
Till about a month ago, I saw them collecting and spreading sticks in my window. I grimaced, collected the lot and chucked it. Not deterred, they let the day go and got to work with as much interest the next day. And so it has continued over the last four long weeks. Every afternoon, I open the window, pick up the days collection, throw it out.
I tried to dissuade them by tying shiny paper to the grill. Then I tied plastic bags to the sides. But nothing scares them. The last few days, I have been pouring water into the tray they are keen on settling in. This too has not stopped them in their tracks. They ignore my feeble attempts, flutter their wings, kiss each other goodnight and wake up to a new day with new sticks for me to collect.
So the doubt has begun creeping in. Am I a house wrecker? Am I a wicked person? Am I being cruel? And then sanity returns, pigeons are terribly dirty nesters. I don’t want to see their poo when I’m cooking my veggies. Should I let weakness creep in even for a day, the egg will be in place and once it hatches, I won’t be able to water the plant in my window. I don’t want to sacrifice that thing of beauty for a bird (who isn’t a joy to me) who can nest somewhere else. I definitely do not want to clean their mess or add to the marauding lot who attack my little lotus pond and hurt my guppies with strange gusto.
I do love all things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small. But, you see, for this species of feather brains lodging is ok. Boarding and laundry banned.
Traditional, sometimeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12206716304194197964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4255310055566445891.post-50987493143606652552013-08-14T03:31:00.004-07:002013-08-14T03:32:54.394-07:00In all earNest!They took a year off from making themselves at home on my terrace. I thought Black’s presence meant their last babies here (read my earlier post) were it. I wondered aloud, sometimes mumbled about it to Blackie, Kunal, Arin and whoever else listened.
This year, just before that totally wet spell, I had seen attempts to stitch up the kardal leaves in my terrace. I was whooping with joy inwards when it poured cats and dogs for days together. Gloomily I would poke around in my pots hoping to see signs of life in the leaves.
Then one day, I was poking around as always and I saw her sitting in what was now a nest! The bottom bit of the leaf all dried up, the top is green and tied up precariously together in this green-brown bit in delicate threads of cotton is a tiny nest.
The cotton comes from a giant tree right outside the terrace. The tree has its share of guests. Every year there’s a beehive, colourful birds, shrikes and an occasional bird of prey basking in the sun or gorging on the insects hovering around. The bee catchers are a delight to watch at work here. And then come the bats, just before the rains when the flowers are blooming and the cotton pods r coming up. They come in dozens and swoop onto the tree to eat the fruit. Fighting, talking and walking upside down, they entertain many of our evenings.
This tree is also where my little bird friends hang out chattering when dear Blackie heads out to sun himself and when I water the garden. I feel terrible to get their little hearts beating so fast at least once everyday. More so coz I am responsible for creating a happy place for them to call home- with the hibiscus flowers and all that. But I’m also like a proud clucking mother who shows off the nest – from a very safe distance – to all who visit.
They birds take turns in getting worms to the little ones flying in and out quickly. And they look so adorable with their long tails and fat tummies. But this cute couple is slightly crazy, I’m convinced. They have seen Blackie and I’m wondering why their fine tuned senses did not encourage them to look out for nosy neighbours. Their bird brains didn’t tell them that should Blackie bother to sniff higher than his nose, he can reach the nest and have a delicious snack or two.
So, like a responsible god parent or grandparent, I’v done the needful and put a pot between the nest and the dog. Of course that’s all just a lot of pot luck....
In the meanwhile, Blackie is allowed out only when he is supervised.
Traditional, sometimeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12206716304194197964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4255310055566445891.post-26263163088015831252013-06-04T04:10:00.003-07:002013-06-04T04:12:24.198-07:00A bite of a lesson<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It’s already over a year since Blacku a.k.a Black a.k.a Blackie a.k.a Daku came home. Just last week, he did what I had been dreading for the whole of last year! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He bit Arin. Right next to his eye.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’m not angry, nor am I upset. Strange you'd think, considering I am Arin's mom and I do love him so. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Let me explain how it happened. Since we got Black home, he was teething and invariably he found my ankles and Arin's legs the most delicious chew things. So we no-no-ed him and pushed him away and on the rare occasion even gave him a thwack. He eventually limited his chewing of my ankles to the time he wanted to take me for a walk (ahem).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Arin, however, was treated like just another puppy. Definitely not a master or a peer, just an insolent brat. Thus began the games of Tom and Jerry (Arin and Blackie/ Blackie and Arin) at home.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If Black was on the floor, so was Arin. If he was asleep, Arin would put his face in his face, if he was resting, Arin would make him jump. If he was bursting with energy, Arin would challenge him to a game of "you catch my pants-I will outrun you" and so on.... of course the boy and his dog are inseparable. The first thing Arin does when he opens the door is pet the dog and the last thing Arin does before he heads out is kiss the dog. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The last few sips from his cup of milk are kept for Black every day and the days Blackie's hind leg (broken in places and dislocated sadly) hurts, the conversations between the two are full of love. If we are going out, he tries his level best to ensure that the dog comes along and if we are going to be late, the dog is told that. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Entertaining at some points - especially when we saw the bond between the boy and his dog growing, we quickly realized that the gay abandon with which Blacku was troubled everyday was unhealthy. So we sat Arin down and explained germs and rabies, injections and the top dog philosophy. All in vain. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He continued his 'playing' and having realized that he wouldn't listen, we took the bold, and in hindsight maybe even foolish decision of leaving him with warnings of an impending bite every single time it got tooo much for the dog. We figured that if he was going to learn a lesson the hard way, we couldn’t do much else. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Please note that we did try to threaten him with sending the dog to another home, but at 7, he recognizes empty threats quite easily. Daku did his best to control his temper over the last year, ignoring, growling threats and mock biting Arin – every afternoon that his sleep was disturbed, every morning that he was in dreamland and found a familiar face staring into his eyes, every evening when he was pushed to play against his creaking bones. You would think a little boy would figure that a bark is better than a bite. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Arin apparently wanted a little more.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So one afternoon last week, when I was in the bath, this little boy troubled the dog and the dog reacted. When I came to check on Arin, he was reading, the dog was asleep, and I didn’t wonder. Just that I saw a bandaid going from the top of his cheek into eyebrow. "Just like that," he explained quite convincingly. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was only later that night after his bath that I saw a scratch and realized what must have transpired.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then came the anti rabies shots. With much thrashing of legs and loud "I don’t want any injection" shouts, he hopefully has learnt his lesson.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But when it’s about Tom and Jerry, the peace, as we all know is only temporary. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We watch with baited breath :D </span><br />
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Traditional, sometimeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12206716304194197964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4255310055566445891.post-83437575807489114962012-04-25T04:06:00.002-07:002013-06-04T04:22:59.249-07:00The first 24 hours<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had never seen such gigantic ears on such a small head. I had never found the patience to say noo nooo noooo…to the sharp teeth as they chewed my ankles with acute interest. I knew those ears that heard the car horn and got the four legs running towards us. I knew the loving face that bounced along with the wagging tail came to me because I was venturing in his territory and hence a perfect teeth practise target. He counted me among the kind souls who tolerated and even played with him. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And he enjoyed chasing Arin as much as Arin enjoyed chasing him all around Sai Niwas, where my in-laws (and the providers of his spartan meals then) stay. That was till some HEARTLESS IDIOT beat him so bad that he started limping and having heard his life could be in danger, our hearts, weak as they are, melted. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But, being a cautious mom, or maybe a responsible parent, I had warned/informed/suggested/implied/insisted to my dear husband that Blackie - the stray who had made his cosy place in our lives - would not be allowed home without an anti-rabies shot. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That was till I saw him at the doorstep, scared, shy, apprehensive and yet trusting, limping a step behind Kunal, all google eyed. The choice of keeping him out did not cross my mind. Instead he was welcomed with a bowl full of rice and milk. That is how, Balckie with his all trusting eyes and always alert ears came home. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Agog yet comfortable in his new surroundings, he didn't even venture to check out the house! His territory for the first few days was limited to the living room, the dining room and the kitchen, where one of us always was. From worrying about his next meal, he now was on a full belly. From drinking drops from a leaky tap, he had his own bowl full of water.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Later that afternoon, while we were gloating in (and about) his presence, he fell asleep, curled up into a tight little ball in the middle of the living room. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Evenings in the Chakranarayan home largely mean music. There was Blacky's first surprise. Try as he might, he couldn't figure where the noise was coming from! Ears cocked, head moving to speakers across the room, he walked around looking, sniffing, wondering about the source and managed to get even more confused. Stupefied, he gave up and settled with a little thud near the stairs. Watching his ears twitch and his face express his dislike, we were in splits. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then the TV came on. And Boy! Was that another shocker! Moving pictures were another first for the fellow. He managed a weak bark and turned to us for comfort and assurance. We were amused again. It took him quite some TV time to figure he could do nothing about it. Much later that night, he had relaxed considerably and chewed up my legs (I have scars to show for it :( grrrrooowllll...) and the night saw me getting up at midnight spending an hour with him on the terrace...so that I wouldn't wake up to a wet stinky morning. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The next morning, we were with the vet. Two hours, an Xray and two shots later, we were lighter by Rs 2000, richer by vitamin and calcium medicines, some shampoo and a confirmation on the fracture and dislocation. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">While we wait and watch and wish that the bone cures itself, Blacky licks us and chews our shoes and socks, sofa and more. But we aren't complaining, dog people are like that only.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Arin of course is over the moon (I’m guessing). As for me, well I can see that I won’t go out as much, will have to manage 3 kids in the house and keep them from tearing each others hair, shoes and egos apart. </span><br />
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Traditional, sometimeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12206716304194197964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4255310055566445891.post-73595130643567092212012-04-25T03:40:00.003-07:002012-04-25T03:40:35.225-07:00Black and brown with a bit of white and some fawn and some more shades of brown...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He came home limping out of the car. His first car ride. Followed Kunal blindly to the building, hesitated to get into the lift (his first lift ride) and walked into his home. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Sunday mid morning, April 22, 2012, Blacky travelled all the way from Modi Baug, near Mhasoba Gate- Agriculture College, Shivajinagar to his new home some 8 kilometers away.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Thus far, we had seen him around the in laws home. Found exhausted and malnourished by Ketan (the brother in law), he gave him water and Blacky found hope.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Back then, none of us guessed that hope would change to home a few months later.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">That was sometime in December 2011. By January, he slowly gained a tiny bit in energy and found a following begining with the garbage collector who brought him biscuits when she could to residents nearby. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">We visited often and Arin, took a fancy to him. Shortly thereafter, he christened him Blacky and declared he was his.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Proud that my son was following in my footsteps (somewhere), I encouraged the loving feelings. Sadly, Blacky started limping one day. We figured somebody had hit him. Disgusting humans, na? He was just a pup, not even atthe barking /chewy teething stage. Why oh why did they do that/ I was sad, but pushed all thughts of taking care of him out of my mind. Arins Dr (treating him for asthama) had suggested against bringing a dog home for "some more time." I wanted a Jack Russel - when we could bring a pooch home- to get Arin to spend all his energy on the dog, rather than on me. Or then a Beagle or because of HTK, a Golden Retriever...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Then one fine day, people in and around the lane where Blacky stayed started complaining about him! when he actually did nothing. Thats when we started wondering what to do with him. And before I knew it, he came home!</span><br />
</div>Traditional, sometimeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12206716304194197964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4255310055566445891.post-87858673632186203112012-04-02T00:42:00.015-07:002012-04-03T00:22:00.525-07:00H & B: Hot (under the collar) and Beautiful (in every way)<span style="font-family:arial;">That fellow na is quite a brat. Agreed he’s the typical roadside ruffian. He’s even named – Baburao – to match it. But she’s no less. All fur and mischief, she’s got a pretty face and a temper that flies off the handle when B is around.<br />Moving their tails almost in unison, the trio (gorgeous mom K, handsome brother T and she) walk - oops march - right through his territory every morning. Striped like a tiger, this skinny, jumpy, loving dude has figured that of the three, she’s the biggest threat to his authority. Which she isn’t! Houdini’s (H) just Barbie in fatigues. Not possible you think? Here’s how I found out:<br />On every walk that I’ve seen them, when B is around, the three try to rip their wanna be alpha male’s (we shall call him S) arms out. Imagine the kind of arm twisting that goes into it. One man, three big dogs in two hands. Yep, its tough. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Should push come to shove, B has his pack to back him up. H's pack has not been put to test yet. </span><span style="font-family:arial;">On most days, H has seen S get angry and shoo irritating B away. Perhaps what H figured that her pack, S included will tear into his. But there came an exception to those days. There was this one-day when S wasn’t in the city. So walking duties were handed over to his always-smiling better half R. She got H and bro for their walk that morning.<br />Now before we go on the walk, I must mention that B loves me a lot. He walks with me up and down the road when I’m alone, doesn’t let any dog come close to me and talks to me about what he’s done since I saw him last. Yes, we actually do have a dialogue. He totally dislikes, abhors and hates me petting any other dog. So much that he gets upsets and growls and prowls displaying his annoyance. I feed him breakfast sometimes and bones on occasion.<br />That morning, I saw R with H and went quite delightedly their way. I forgot all about the rascalicious B hovering in the background. Before I knew it, H was snarling growling tugging at her leash and B was frothing, lips curled teeth out. And R had after a particularly sharp tug let H loose. There I was, watching B chase H who was running circles around us, leash flying behind her. R was standing quietly watching the crazy dogs and bro T was just ho humming minding his own business.<br />In that instant, I flipped. I forgot my own “let the dogs sort it out” logic. I forgot the other crucial rule – never get into a dog fight. I turned into H’s protector. And I overlooked the love that B had for me. There I was trying to shoo B while trying to grab H’s leash. After much no no–ing and bad boy ing, I got the leash and handed it over to R, who was as calm as the Budhda. (Wish I was half as calm for all my talk...) In the many seconds that all hell broke loose, I saw B grab H’s posterior and walk away with a tuft of her coat as his trophy.<br />And I realised that she is really just Barbie in fatigues. Totally Chic-ken. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">As for me, I was totally a wuss at that time. I should have let them "sort" it out. Instead, I gave up on walking down B's road. Decided I was mad at him for being what he is - a dog. That was till yesterday when I felt awful, missed having him chatter nineteen to the dozen and took him bread and egg for breakfast. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"><em>Disclaimer: </em></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"><em>All references to dogs are truly intentional.</em></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"><em>Names have been reduced to alphabets to protect identity<br /></em><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span>Traditional, sometimeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12206716304194197964noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4255310055566445891.post-51370203844674679652012-01-10T01:27:00.001-08:002012-03-31T02:20:22.558-07:00Barking mad<span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size:100%;">I love dogs. Those of you who know me would know of the lengths I go to to make friends with them. And you would also have experienced my clucking and conversations with dogs –stray and the ones on a leash. </span><br />Short shrift</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">We buy fish from this shop on Sus Road. Not much of a shop, it is basically a big courtyard that has been walled with tables that are regularly loaded with pomfret, prawns, surmai, bangda, crabs, halwa, tisrya and varieties I am not familiar with.<br />There below the tables lurks this 12 inch tall black dog. She’s tiny, really innocent to look at and always seems to be well fed. Normally, she wags her tail and comes happily to look at me. If she’s asleep, I wake her up and she comes to sniff my hand, always.<br />That day was no different. For me that is. I bought my pomfret and noticed the black baby dozing under the table. As always, I clucked her awake and as always she woke up and groggily looked at me. And so I did the next in our series of associations-I put my fingers in front of her nose so that could sniff and I’d give her head a pat. Nervous about these small dogs I have always been, simply because they are known to snap for the sake of it. But this one has desi blood in her which thus far had me imagine she was different from the rest.<br />That was till the bitch snapped growled and gave me a disgusted look all together. Now I’v decided never to talk to her again. Kutti, you see!<br /><span style="font-size:130%;">The big one</span><br />Later in the day, I was to go for a haircut with a friend. She’d recommended this hairstylist who was starting out on his own. We reached there and in an area cordoned off under the staircase I saw a big warm face – of a Saint Bernard.<br />Disappointed yet again to see the breed in Pune – our temperatures are nowhere close to what the dogs are meant to live in- my heart melted. More so since the poor thing was in a cage slightly bigger than him. And I couldn’t help but talk to the mutt. When he got up, I expected the gentle giant to be either amused or at least tolerant of my cooing. Hairy beast showed me his teeth and barked. I jumped, startled shocked and sad.<br />Mr Red eyes is named Bruno and lives in that excuse for a “home” day in and out. Summer rain or winter. Don’t blame him for being disagreeable to humans. But hello, I love dogs.<br /><span style="font-size:130%;">The first family</span></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Just you ask Houdini, Thele (pups), Kiara (mom) and Krunk (old uncle) and they will tell you about the mad woman who keeps a look out for them on their morning walks. And having seen them, runs down six floors of her building and out of the gate only to get them to lick her face off and to have her hair filled with dry leaves, those sticky fruit, hair and of course dog breath – everything they carry rather generously on them.<br />But I don’t complain. The pleasure is to see mom and kids walking with their gorgeous pink tongues and wet black noses, even from a distance. As it is to see old man Krunk now heaving through a smaller walk yet obviously delighted with himself and the world around.<br />The fun is when T H K meet Krunk who is walked alone since he can’t keep pace with the monsters. Though they stay in the same house, and have met maybe 40mins ago when they left on their walk, they go making noises and licking each other like they haven’t met in days. As they do when they jump and meet me twice on the same walk!<br />That’s the fun of having a dog. Its only love.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"></span>Traditional, sometimeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12206716304194197964noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4255310055566445891.post-76850759005492193902011-10-04T05:36:00.001-07:002011-10-04T05:42:41.160-07:0010 pointers for when you decide to do up your home<p class="MsoNormal">Hire a contractor/interior design person who will ensure none of your things are stolen and few (if at all)<span> </span>are broken.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>Decide milestones you will pay pre decided sums at. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>Approve designs before commissioning them. Get the designer to show you a picture of what it will look like-complete with colours, wall art, upholstery, furniture etc.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>Once work begins, cook in the morning and head out. Return only for dinner.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>Make one room your fortress. Stuff it with books, music and lots of good food to see you through the days you cant go out.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>Tune yourself out of cleanliness routines. The dust will accumulate minutes after you finish dusting.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>Live without the telly, as an experiment. Will help you reconnect with fly.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>Pick and pursue a hobby and an exercise routine.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>Talk as little as possible with the workers. Ultimately they will listen only to their boss so catch him/her for the tiniest detail.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>Don’t feel bad about correcting an idea you have or a mistake you or they have made. After all its your house and you will have to live with the mistakes. <o:p></o:p></span></p>Traditional, sometimeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12206716304194197964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4255310055566445891.post-59054455023364025142011-10-04T02:31:00.001-07:002011-10-04T02:31:45.001-07:00Confessions of a part time housewife:<p class="MsoNormal">Breakfast of brinjal bharit</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>Snack on bacon egg and bread<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>Couple of spoonfuls from a tin of condensed milk.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>Bites of<span> </span>chocolate cake made at home over pages of good reading<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>Toss in some banana chips<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>Dig straight through sandwiches<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>Break for an orange<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>Work feverishly on mail, online shopping and <span> </span>facebook<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>Tired of sitting on posterior. Walk to the terrace, check on clothes upstairs.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>Coffee/tea and count the minutes till 4 o clock that brings with it the five-and-a-half-year-old terror.<o:p></o:p></span></p>Traditional, sometimeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12206716304194197964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4255310055566445891.post-84861890251035174542011-08-09T02:42:00.000-07:002011-10-04T02:30:45.976-07:00<p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span">Pune was happily nuzzling under the monsoon some days ago. Lost in thought, on a luckily sunny morning, I was, as usual, staring into my collection of pots and plants that morning. Happy with the very green leaves and the bright red tomatoes that needed to be plucked, I turned to weed a particularly dense corner where my pink-red hibiscus and Kardal plants grew amicably with the Gladioli. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span">What is his problem I mumbled when I saw my regular guest, a perky tiny green and yellow sunbird, disturbed at my presence. Not wanting to irritate the little fellow who I knew visited that corner for the nectar from the Kardal (Canna indica) and Hibiscus, I moved to the far corner and continued my pottering. The smart fellow, I observed, was making frantic frequent trips to that corner of my garden and it wasn’t for food. Naturally intrigued, I kept watch.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span">His mission I soon happily realized was to build a nest in a fold of a kardal leaf. Through the day and over two more, he flew in and out, muttering sometimes quiet at others, sharp beak filled with bits of cotton and something I like to call twine. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span">Thus a nest was ready in a corner protected from the rain and from prying eyes as I discovered later. The Mrs okayd it and moved in. I never figured when the eggs were laid, but I knew they were when I saw my little friend flying in and out, fast as always, with insects in his beak.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span">I spent many minutes every single day staring at the nest hoping to see a teeny head pop out or at least hear a cheep. Rainy days and thundering nights came and went, but not a tweet did I hear nor a movement detect. With the days, my curiosity grew and I went closer and closer trying to squeak into their little home. Unfortunately, I never figured how many had hatched. For, every time I went to the nest there was not a squeak. And that with kids around, as you may know, is a tough call indeed. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span">I realized I would have to wait, albeit impatiently, till Mama and Dada decided it was time for the little ones to take flight. My wait was rewarded one overcast Sunday evening. Upset at Dadas persistent loud chirping, hoping he and his family were not being heckled, I snuck a look at the terrace. And somehow knew the time had come. I ran in and got Arin. Together we peered into the terrace trying to spot the little one. “There it is,” cried Arin and after all these anxious weeks of waiting, I couldn’t see it! “Where where where,” I cooed. “Just there mamma. He has almost no tail,” he replied. And there it was in the middle of the terrace, a scared tiny fluffy little-tail baby. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span">The chirping got more frantic as they saw us watching. Being a protective mom, of even their brood, I encouraged Arin to watch the flight sequence through the glass door to the terrace. Though the five-and-a-half-year-old was all dressed and ready to leave for football, this one of nature’s gifts was too much to deny, so mom and son continued to gaze adoringly on to the terrace. And discovered there was another chick. This one had no definition of a tail! And yet, with the shrill calling of its parents, it too was trying its feathers. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span">Delighted, both of us giggled at our discovery and continued tracking their every move. From the pots where their nest was to the curry leaf plant, the lemon tree (of which it looked like an extension) and the small railing made for the money plants, the babies were flapping furiously or then hopping. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span">The bulbul, nosey brat that he is, walked in to check out the commotion. Thankfully the pigeons stayed away and the mynahs observed only from a distance. The terror, for me, came in the form of crows. Worried sick that one of my family was to be picked up, I told my able footsoldier to shoo them away should they come close. Law of the jungle be damned. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span">With all the cheering and yelling from their parents, <span> </span>they learned to fly. Tomorrow, I’m hoping to see them, give them a little smile and to tell them they are welcome back with their grandkids, to nest, eat and rest.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>Traditional, sometimeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12206716304194197964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4255310055566445891.post-24196082254602659832010-06-07T01:13:00.000-07:002010-06-07T03:35:06.739-07:00Things that make you go hmmmAt twilight almost every evening that he was in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Pune</span>, the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">roly</span> poly man would appear <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">sure</span> as the sun at my home. And on most evenings, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">hed</span> take me for a mini walk - with me on his <em><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">kadevar</span> </em>to the corner. A chocolate perhaps or just the walk was what we did to become best friends.<br />On the way back, we would unfailingly play <em>He <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">ahe</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">ka</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">tuza</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">ghar</span>?</em>....where, he would point to all gates and ask me if that was my house. Bursting with giggles I <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">woul</span>d say no and he would say <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">ok</span> then it must be the next...<br />My favourite game with my favourite <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">kaka</span> - <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Khi</span> - <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">ravi</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">tilak</span>. I spent the most amazing, secure, fun evenings of my early childhood with him. He indulged me and I loved him. But then time changed and distance set in when we moved house and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">couldnt</span> meet...till he came and cried like a baby at my dads death. the years flew faster and I became a mother...and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">khi</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">kaka</span> was <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">buried</span> at the back of my mind. Sadly, I never attempted to get in touch. I wish I had. He passed away.<br />As I thought and cocntinue to think about him, the way he was part of my family, I see a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">lacuna in my sons life. He doesnt have an elder aunt or uncle who dote on him like I was doted upon. He doesnt have any adult currently inclined to attempt to create a fantastic bond with him. </span><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error">I was lucky. I had a bunch of kakas who would give their life to see me smile, hear me laugh and to watch me play and to teach me things while we played. Khi was the first among them. </span><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error">but most children today dont have uncles like that... wake up people. Kids need us, just like we do them. I'm hoping arin gets luckier than I did.</span>Traditional, sometimeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12206716304194197964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4255310055566445891.post-70934655922557345002010-06-07T01:05:00.000-07:002010-06-07T01:40:02.373-07:00whooosh...its a tsunami<p>You know they say everything changes overnight and you nod your head along in conversation? And then it actually changes overnight for you one happy morning and you know exactly what they are talking about. And then you become part of them. A them you strongly believed you will never ever have to belong to. </p><p>what happens next is steady stream of thoughts. A cascading gigantic waterfall of emotions which ends in a deep-dark whirlpool. And while you go round and round and round and round, who do you go to for help? who do you look at for support? where do you look for answers? what do you do to keep a straight face? </p><p>if you have seen a close one die, a friend lose her/his way or been cheated in any way, you will know how that feels. Many would have been told by the wise that time heals everything. Just give it time. I have decided to wait and watch. </p>Traditional, sometimeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12206716304194197964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4255310055566445891.post-47778358944644255982010-04-16T07:27:00.000-07:002010-06-07T01:40:28.591-07:00Mama Mia<span style="font-family:arial;">It comes straight from Abba - how can I resist him?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">To start with, hes really cute, intelligent and extremely cuddluscious. Of course im prejudiced, im in love. I can (and do) spend hours with him eveyrday. We share beautiful moments-anger, frustration, irritation, hugs, kisses and lots of chatter (some bordering on gibberish). But that's the beauty of this relationship. And we love it. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">It induces jealousy from certain quarters, but I have learnt to deal with it, its part of life. Of course being around him is not easy, for he makes me tear my hair in utter dispair with his ways but then, sigh, sigh sigh...I love him...way too much.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">We fight and some mins later, we r back to being the best of friends. Somwthign like what I had when I was about 5. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">Since he was born I have been telling myself that he will grow up, go out in the world, that I will have to let him go to let him grow. But its easier because what we have is ours forever. It will go through changes of many a degree but the strong love will remain constant. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">That's one of the pleasures of being mom to Arin.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">The others are when he smiles, sleeps, runs and shouts and scoots off on his zipper counting every single loop around the garden his biggest conquest of the moment.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">Why would I resist him?</span>Traditional, sometimeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12206716304194197964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4255310055566445891.post-85815553042427343182009-11-03T01:54:00.000-08:002009-11-03T01:55:46.805-08:00Why did Nayana Pujari die? Because she was a woman (which probably was her only disadvantage) in a hurry to reach home where her husband was waiting? Because she wanted to cook him a great meal, smile and spend a few quiet moments with him before she turned in for the night and woke up to another bright day?<br />Or is it because we are such an insensitive society that there are eyewitness to the atrocities committed on her?<br />The inhuman witnesses who turned a blind eye and deaf ear to the atrocities being committed on a woman are also to blame that Nayana is no more.<br />It pains me to think of her husband and family who have to live knowing how badly she died. Of her friends and colleagues who will miss a smiling face in their company. Of other women who travel to and from work after sunset.<br />Of course the offenders are to blame, but shouldn’t we the people be ready to take part responsibility for the society we have in some way shaped? We who look only in front like we have blinkers and ignore the screaming from the neighbours house-night after night, and we who overlook the Std IX kid we have seen smoking behind the building, we the uncles and aunties who disregard or even cover up the bullying child in the family as a person who is strengthening the younger ones to face the real world, We friends who don’t tell on our good friend’s cheating spouse and we the people who see a man beating a woman on the road.<br />And we the very people who know something is amiss in a car where a woman is being violently violated.<br />It doesn’t require an education for us to differentiate between right and wrong. It only requires a conscience. And that is where we are lacking, maybe that is where we have failed. Completely.<br />But, all is not lost. These terrible deaths have at least made us sit up and think. We could save another Nayana, if we all vow to change just a tiny bit.<br />I have made that change and told the parents of the 18 year old rash rider that he needs to wear a helmet and requires a strong warning. I have also encouraged my rickshawalla kaka not to spit on the road and I am trying to keep my husband’s temper from flying from behind the wheel.<br />What have you done? If you haven’t, start now. If you have, do some more. Immediately. Please.Traditional, sometimeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12206716304194197964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4255310055566445891.post-5746530914060958032009-11-03T01:52:00.000-08:002009-11-03T01:53:50.013-08:00Just the other day, it was 12.30 pm, I had bought my groceries from Food Bazaar which is at Central on the University Road in Pune. I was waiting at the bus stop just outside Central for a bus when the strangest thing happened.<br />A huge black car came in reverse and parked just behind the bus stop. Intending to board a bus that would come from behind the car, I had both eyes in that direction. Audaciously, the driver would blink his lights at my every glance. It continued and I disregarded it for over 15 mins. Finally he chose to drive away. Only to go ahead, close to Little Italy and wait. Now I was really irritated. I had two choices –ignore or react. I chose to ignore.<br />But the thoughts that rushed through my head were plenty. What if he had got down and tried to push me in? Or if he had “friends” along. I wouldn’t have been able to do much. And I doubt anybody would have come to my rescue. So I did -the next best thing-I took down his number – and called my husband who unfortunately wasn’t in the city. For a second I considered hopping into a rickshaw and going my way but then realised that would be plain stupid.<br />Theres a slightly lonely stretch before my home which in the event of “friends” would be dangerous. And hell if he did chose to follow me, id have lead him straight home.<br />Obviously waiting and going by bus would have been a better option. Thank god good sense prevailed.<br />In a little while he pulled his sorry ass big black car away. But there will be a time and day when im at the same place at the same time. I hope hes not going to get blatant, coz this time, I’m armed. You see, my safety is my responsibility and I take myself seriously, many a time.Traditional, sometimeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12206716304194197964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4255310055566445891.post-38386063133139139702009-06-21T23:00:00.000-07:002009-07-23T21:58:16.273-07:00I know whyI have one very important question – WHY DOES HE NOT UNDERSTAND A NO?<br />I already know the answer- BECAUSE HE IS A CHILD.<br />Sigh…<br />The story to this recurring enlightenment goes thus:<br />Children are not allowed in hospitals. “Ok, so we will wait out,” I told Arin as I lead him away from the elevator towards the door so we could stand outside and he would have plenty of distractions to occupy himself.<br />“But I want to go. I want to go inside mamma,” he said. I told him children are not allowed so we will wait for <em>Dada</em> to get back. Also that I was not going because only big people were allowed.<br />So he howled and he began to kick the steps, found out that hurt so tried the railing and that hurt as well…smartly he moved to little plant patch and began kicking up dirt . All this mind you with tears streaming down his face and his voice rising higher and higher. Naturally, people around were staring at the bad mom who was not letting the little darling do what he wanted…If only they knew…<br />I had to get him away from the wet mud kicking activity so I tried very hard to pick him up-unsuccessfully-and settled instead on walking him six steps away. Of course he was howling louder. I asked him to keep quiet, shushd him, made him stand (coz he wouldn’t sit) and he kicked me and hit me.<br />I held his hands. I wouldn’t lose my temper, I reminded myself and called Kunal to come down asap.<br />Then I moved him six steps further and he howled louder and longer so I lost it I whacked him, hard.<br />That should have shut him up? No way. It added to the tempo. Hmmm… Time to summon all my strength and pick him up and struggle ahead.<br />The stares were penetrating more than before. The looks were getting angrier or more piteous. But what was I to do?<br />Got it! “Will you have chocolate?”<br />“No. I want to go in,” wahhhhh…continued Arin.<br />Huh. I had had absolutely enough. I called Kunal, “Come now. I am upto my gills. Can’t take more.” He of course said very calmly, buy him a juice or something….Hello? Preservatives, emulsifiers, added colours blah blah?<br />With Arin’s arm under mine, I marched all three feet something of him bawling like he was being whipped to the ice cream stall. “Will you have ice cream?”<br />“No. I want to go inside..waaaaaaaaahhhhh”<br />I bought a Vanilla cup and assured the salesman that the child was absolutely ok. “Its white ice cream. Open your mouth.”<br />And so the licks began. And everything was quiet. I wished very hard I had given him a proper licking to make him stop instead…<br />This was a bribe.<br />Corruption begins at home.Traditional, sometimeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12206716304194197964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4255310055566445891.post-35058217570398456432009-06-20T08:36:00.000-07:002009-06-20T08:46:42.264-07:00Wake up!“Just look at the time Arin, its 2.30 pm. If you want to play football with dada in the evening, you must sleep now so that you can wake up at 4 have your milk and run,” I tempted him for the nth time, on yet another Saturday.<br />Every weekend’s a whirlwind of lunches at home, one dinner at a friend’s place and the resurgent urge to make up for the lost sleep and energy of the week gone by. Naturally, the soothing afternoon siesta is topmost on the mind. Hmmm…life’s settled into much of a routine.<br />The trouble you see begins when on one of these afternoons he just refuses to sleep. After three stories, a couple of rhymes and the favourite <em>Oh Susana</em>, he announces, “I’m not going to sleep mamma. Play with me.” Very sure of every word that comes out of the sweet little brain, Arin grins or conveys straight faced.<br />Uff! I hit my head mentally, and, physically when the night before’s been especially long.<br />He wakes up around six, often times before 6 am. Wouldn’t sleep be a natural need for any three-and-a-half-year-old around 1 pm post a heavy lunch and perhaps a bath, then?<br />While he rubs the sleep straight out of the system with his beautiful little fingers, I sweat over the afternoon and evening looming large. Kunal manages his forty winks through it all. Football, cricket and colouring later we settle down to milk. “TV. I wont have milk without it,” he declares. Why? Coz <em>Dada </em>dear has taught him that to give something, you have to get something. And milk in this kids parlance is obviously not a hot or cold favourite.<br />Lets not get into how much or how the milk went down the gullet and skip straight to the next bit. I point out after the milk that he’s not going for football with <em>Dada</em> because he’s not slept. “Ok. Let’s go down to play with my cycle mamma,” he decides. With a cycle under his control – without brakes – the evening happily flies by.<br />Of course it’s a TV dinner at 7 pm. And the bundle of energy finally falls asleep by 8 pm. The day’s done. I’m bushed. And ready to call it a night. Now if only the older boy would eat his veggies on time, not watch angry movies and talk, I could be in bed by ten, snoring.Traditional, sometimeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12206716304194197964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4255310055566445891.post-32693357406989612492009-06-16T03:07:00.000-07:002009-06-16T03:10:05.909-07:00Free, at lastI took my time. My own sweet time actually. And I have mastered it. Well not enough to win an Olympic medal as my very dear sis-in-law very inquisitively questioned, but enough to do a full half lap!<br />For those uninitiated in the world of aqua sports, swimming is a refreshing, addictive, fun exercise. You get to splash in water, wear itsybitsy clothes and you don’t have to give a damn to who is exercising along with you. Aunties and uncles, grandpas, bachche, college kids whoever are all doing their own thing. Yes they may check you out, but if you’re good or dedicated, you get respect.<br />I can now do a hugely improved version of the freestyle. My legs manage to kick as they should, my arms take care of their bit most of the time. As for the breathing…it’s like a breath of very fresh air. I can breathe and kick and swim as I should, about 95 per cent of the time.<br />It took me two loooong months but in the meanwhile, I’v managed the backstroke, strengthened my breaststroke.<br />A huge deal it is, let me assure you, this freestyle business. It all looks easy and smooth. But get into the water and you will experience how tricky it is to keep the air in them lungs. One hand-other-hand-ten kicks while this happens breathe one side. One hand-other-hand-ten kicks while this happens and breathe from the other side…whewwwwww.<br />So I cheat. I don’t count the kicks, only the hands and breaths. And when I’m reaaalllly tired, I don’t roll the shoulder as I should. Instead, I semi lift the neck while I look one side and take a nice deep breath. Works ok, except that mam sees me whenever I cheat. And we are the only two who know my secret in the pool. But shes a sweety, she won’t tell a soul who can’t figure it out for himself/herself.<br />Till then, I’m the cool pool aunty. What more could I want? Oh yes a flat stomach. Maybe sometime later…Traditional, sometimeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12206716304194197964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4255310055566445891.post-43739713285038501342009-04-02T05:13:00.000-07:002009-04-02T05:16:13.515-07:00I love, actually I looooove, the water all around me. Swimming has been a favourite for ages. So I joined swimming class. Yes people, I am learning to swim. I do the kicks and the breathing and I do manage the laps as well.<br />What then am I learning? Freestyle. Why that? Coz over the last ten years, I’ve seen all those slim and healthy people on tv and all they seem to be swimming is free style.<br />My poor breaststroke pales in comparison, I’ve convinced myself.<br />Ten swims later, I’m not even half a leg there. Stamina =10/100, breathing and swimming=3/100, breaststroke=75/100. Where does that leave freestyle?<br />You see, Vinaya my teacher demonstrated how I should rest my pretty head on one hand and kick while keeping the other hand straight by my side when I roll over for air. At other times, the head stays underwater and the bubbles come out of the nose.<br />Problem 1: The nose, better than Cleo’s, is small. How much can I breathe in?<br />Problem 2: When the head comes up, how does one rest on one side and breathe in without water rushing into the mouth?<br />Problem 3: It works on neither hand. I can kick but I can’t kick-roll-breathe.<br />Problem 4; We haven’t even reached the hands yet!<br />Problem 5: I feel like such an ass.<br />That said, I can glide pretty well, and I’m learning to dive-not off the boards-just from the side of the pool. But it’s a good start!<br />And I feel great, I’m actually quiet excited about getting to the pool everyday! And Arin’s going to start swimming as well! Yahoo!<br />Maybe by the end of May, I shall be a chic swimmer, and look as cool as they look on tv!Traditional, sometimeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12206716304194197964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4255310055566445891.post-91936848918426080182009-03-22T05:53:00.000-07:002009-04-02T05:17:23.934-07:00The mirror looked most inviting the other day, especially since I wanted to preen before it. The reason being the new haircut….ok bad English….the haircut.<br />Its not very different from the earlier one, just that its an incy wincy bit shorter than before. (Women, you’d understand that, men - it doesn’t matter anyway)<br />So I twirled and hummed and posed and smiled. And then I went upclose.<br />THERE it was, glaring at me, quite straight. But, three months is a long time, it had grown. I could deal with that. Then I flicked my hair and was shocked. I did a double take. Where there was one at my last haircut, there were now FOUR.<br />White hair…………… Time and white hair wait for no woman.<br />Face it…umm I was FACING it alright.<br />No choice…I realised.<br />I’m suddenly older…ufff!!!<br />Not a problem. I still had the haircut and I look pretty. Even with the tyres that I pretend to battle at times. Plus the brain does work well.<br />And so the day ended with a party that was already planned and it was the next day. Hair forgotten, I actually looked in the mirror, again. Yes yes, for those of you who know me, you’re wondering whatever happened that the mirror summoned! Wasn’t to preen, was to look for the fairest of them all…you see, search for the unseen unknown unheard of other(s) one had begun.Traditional, sometimeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12206716304194197964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4255310055566445891.post-85650193575751285052009-03-20T03:18:00.000-07:002009-03-20T03:32:11.127-07:00Our generation was lucky. We as kids heard melodious lullabies that prominently figured the moon (Chandoba) and the Neem tree.<br />With concrete jungles marching all over, there is little space to view the moon and worse still, there few big Neem trees left. In a typical urban setup, everyone is after superfast growing delicate trees like Gulmohar, Peltoforum, Kashid, Jakaranda etc.<br />So why are we talking about the hardy Neem? With Gudipadwa celebrations just around the corner, unfortunately, a lot of Neem trees get lopped or cut, so that they can be mounted with the gudi. But, the neem (Azadirachta Indica) is a precious tree indeed. It can withstand drought situations, is recognised as a good insecticide, is not too choosy about the soil type it grows in and in the rural set up, is acknowledged as `nature’s dispensary.’<br />Our ancestors had recognized the medicinal importance of this tree. In the Padmapuran, this tree was identified as the one that gives longevity. Besides in Ayurveda, the Neem’s healing properties are also recognised by Unani medicine. Be it seeds, leaves, flowers, bark or gum, all parts of the neem are useful. It is also being looked at as a biofuel.<br />This year, a small attempt is being made by the Social Forestry department to give back to nature some Neem trees. Hence, about five lakh seedlings of Neem raised in various nurseries in our state will be kept on sale through 300 retail outlets covering all the districts and most of the talukas.<br />A research by the Gujrat University concluded that Neem is the best tree because the total value of Neem fruits, fodder, firewood and timber outweighs other tree species like Shami, Babul, Sissoo, Shirish etc. It is an excellent plant for agro- forestry.<br />So lets try and adopt a neem, nurture it and give a bit of nature back to nature.<br />So that our kids will not sing Chandoba chandoba ruslas ka, buildingchya mage laplas ka?Traditional, sometimeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12206716304194197964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4255310055566445891.post-40851538678313238672009-03-14T08:31:00.000-07:002009-03-18T21:42:00.174-07:00The days in my life<span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em><span style="font-size:130%;color:#000099;">Good day</span><br /></em>Smile that stays<br />A grin that goes on and on<br />Giggles (u will love them if u hear them)<br />Puns and jokes on the tip of my tongue<br />Spring in my step, face, actions, talk<br />Halo, of course around my head<br />The need to do 3 thousand things instead of usual 1500<br />Pondicherry, Gokarna, a coffee plantation, the need to travel and stay in Europe for at least a year in the head<br />A good book, music, sandwiches, pizza, butter chicken, cake and ice cream, lassi, milkshake, tv and the sofa<br />Somebody to pamper me – from the time I wake up till I fall asleep in the night<br />Thoughts going here and there<br />A good workout<br />My cellphone charged<br />Internet on my laptop working ‘properly’<br />Good friends in meeting distance<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em><span style="font-size:130%;color:#000099;">Hopefully, a day sometime<br /></span></em>Kunal cooks breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner<br />Kunal looks after Arin all through the day<br />Kunal puts Arin to bed at 8 pm<br />Kunal takes me out to party – with friends<br />Some t/v/b52/w – depending on the company<br />To bed by 3 am<br />When arin wakes up at 6 am or whatever time, kunal takes him down quietly so that I can sleep till whenever. Neither creates a ruckus. I sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep<br />When? When? When?<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#000099;"><em>An interesting day<br /></em></span>Wake up after 7 am. Both boys eat whatever I cook, happily<br />We head out with friends to some place close by, yet far enough for the day.<br />Lots of laughter, good fun and happy food later, its time to come back. Enroute collect wildflowers, village madhun bhaaji and fruits. Grab a bite somewhere.<br />Reach home, Arins asleep. I’m in the land of nod by 9 pm…Hasn’t happened in a long time….should sometime soon.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#000099;"><em>Lack of sleep = Bad day<br /></em></span>Dry eyes<br />Bored replies<br />Sparkle less smile<br />Far away detached look<br />Constant irritation<br />Eyebrows that say read between the lines<br />Pondicherry, gokarna, a coffee plantation, the need to travel and stay in Europe for at least a year in the head</span>Traditional, sometimeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12206716304194197964noreply@blogger.com0