Monday, July 27, 2015

Mumbai Commuter Life

I pray that one day I will become a rich man. I will have a car.

I will miss my card games on the train

I will miss, the shared Dhokla and Rice. The singing by some. The instant shopping.

Saturday, July 25, 2015

Why a poem for my father

The odyssey begins and ends with a poem.Thoughts that tell you in rhythm and rhyme what the pilgrim couldn't find in words. Words that we are too frightened to say to each other. A requiem for lost fathers.( From a play by Peter Khoury)

Art by Paresh Maity

Holy Month in Vadodara (Baroda)

India has a different calendar to the west which means every 3 years we get a spare month. This is regarded as a holy month(Adhik Maas) and all regular annual festivals are celebrated in this month. So imagine two indian xmases, easters etc etc. Pics from our temple in Vadodara - Baroda celebrating

Friday, May 29, 2015

Meals on Wheels India ( to rooms full of memories)

We are all frail-Some of use our sparkle wand and some of us don't.

life after 60- devote half to meditation- language of the other side- the other half takes care of itself? 

cooking for someone is different to meeting them for coffee 

Thursday, April 30, 2015

A poet attempts, sometimes captures RED FISH winking

Watching me…. Curls and twirls. Swoosh. Eyes wide open, smile almost coming. The... GLIDE... is what I need to learn from them, maybe I should live in water? This one in an aquarium

Red Fish Cafe gallery, in Brooklyn, still but gliding, a swish of art, a magic of music. You can… GLOW… gold here; with coffee, with superb eats, with that dash of mind of matters, do they call it harmony/intelligence (emotional?) I call it essential sparkling air or is it water. Can only be done with the love of water. Liquid and warm and certainly no jerks. By a river.

Clear/ water/ bubbles/ soothing sounds/ humid air/ wet whoosh/ salt/ ease/ refreshing/ BLUE GREEN/ rocks/ rock face whispers/ chatty mangroves/the soft Sun ferry/pink beaches/duck nests/ dogs in caves/ flashy pelicans/ story nodding reeds/ river-fog/ moist/ pebbles/ moss/unknown/ near Red Fish.

When finally stuck in a bed I will think of red fish gliding (no beds for them). Perhaps I can add red fish to the end of every poem I write. To make it stick. To have a place, in my meaningful memory folder if there is one

Will orange and yellow striped fish join- seeking truth, will green fish watch= spreading WOW wonder, will there be light blue fish coming in with rain. Every orchestra pit may have a watery spot of indigo blue fish. Navy blue pink gold fish will follow red. As red fish lead.

To that purple gold white. CACOPHONY/SECRET/ books. Words. Conversations. Children gathering Ah Red Fish Ps the Red Fish gallery (on the ground) is run by Myff Sharp, Peter Davis and ORIGINAL  thoughts in  Brooklyn on the watery strong Hawkesbury River. 
                       Art by Gerd Schmid

Monday, April 13, 2015