Limo Wreck

Harsh drama lays to ruin
Soul scatter run adry
Adrift on the waters of doubt
Self service night eternal desperate flight
Long ago scene anarcho
Walk the plank, cross the line
Lay to waste Operation Mindcrime
Insane halls of pleasured principles
Lies the bounty that pushes the greed
Of cheap messiahs and divine messengers
Lathered horses, rabid dogs eat away
Casket of glory soon to fade
Desperation will give you wings
Take the fight to the next monster
Right next door...

_______

*Have borrowed the title from the Soundgarden song of the same name. Song link below.

Translated from Papa...

The Dancing Earth

Wrapped in a warm, radiant shawl of the Sun

You kissed me when the morn rose

And I gifted it to the breeze

The breeze lightly kissed the sunshine

The trees, the earth, the rocks, the water

And the water cried, “Oh my beloved sky”

The ecstatic sky spoke, “Oh my earth, laden with dreams”

And he showered the shimmering rain of love

At the fairs of Surajkund, virile men painted a picture

On her alluring heart, of a beautiful romance

High in her spirits, all the men and women

Many colours, many rhythms, many tunes

A pilgrimage, my India

Timeless, endless, my dancing Earth

My translation of Dad's work...original work enclosed below.

Original Version

Rodor umxona chador exon meriai

puate tumi muk suma eta dila

hsei sumake moi botahok upohar dilu....

botahe hsei sumake khale rodok

gosok, maatik, xil aru paanik

paaniye kole-aah

o' mur binondia aakax

aakaxe kole- o' mur xopun xuwoni maati

motolia aakax

aakaxe suma pai boroxile mou

piritir rimjhim boroxun

Surajkund'r melat xutham puruxe

aakile ekhon chabi

Surajkund'r rupohi romonir hiyat

nisat maataal Surajkund'r naari-purux

koto rong, koto chando, koto xur

punyatirtha mur Bharatbarxo

anadi anantakal mur nrityarata PRITHIVEE....

Anyway Whatever – a day in the life of Panjim

Part 1: Written – 09 March 2012, sitting on the pavement near a street café in Panjim

Sitting on the sidewalk, reading my newspaper and slowly watching the city come to life is like watching it wake up from a dream.

Goa has colorful people; at least they seem so as they go about their daily, regular lives. Their regularity today is my irregularity. This is a place I have never known before, simply because I’ve never been here, in all these thirty years that I have been alive. I was half expecting to see ‘different’ people in this ‘different’ place – as the picture that I had conjured up in my head. Now as I sit and observe these people, sitting on the steps in front of a shop door on the pavement, I see that my Friday is somewhat different from all my other Fridays. I see old gentlemen, old dogs, young people and aliens. I was dazed when I crawled out of my bus in the morning. Smoking a cigarette, I walked about in the streets; watching a different morning in a different place.

I was thinking Goa like the way I had been conditioned to think Goa. And as I sit here, scribbling in my notebook, I can see the glances that a few curious passersby are turning on me. Some writer, perhaps…seeking himself, or something they wouldn’t know, or perhaps wouldn’t want to know. I have been comfortably sitting on these steps for over an hour now, reading through my paper. Over the course of time, one young boy borrowed two sheets from my notebook, a young man asked me for the ‘classifieds’ page and just now another guy joined me on the steps with a newspaper of his own. To my side is the café where I had had my breakfast, about an hour back. Its doorway serves as somewhat of a discussion center – old chaps discussing things animatedly, and then moving on to their daily lives.

It all sometimes seems strange – how so many things seem to change when regular life situations change. In Bangalore, my mornings are frenetic and confusing; and then they segue into a routine work day. But today, it isn't…

Picture perfect: QT Luong/ www.terragalleria.com