Beautiful Indian Sweets

Many of the Indian sweets are made from thickened milk (khoa) crafted into beautiful shapes and dyed. They taste amazing too!

Flower Garlands

These amazingly fragrant flower garlands are made fresh, by hand every morning.

Indian Market

Last summer when I was in Bangalore on an early morning walk I came across this alley market. There are certainly many American-style supermarkets but the open air markets with their fresh produce and regular visitors truly are a feast for the eyes as well as the mouth. There is such an unhurried atmosphere here. Look at that guy meticulously buying beans while the other one with the handlebar mustache is just stopping to watch.

Bhangra

Lately I've been very interested in Bhangra as my kids just did a play that had a couple of Bollywood dances that they really got in to. This great image is from vickysingh.us and it looks like it was originally a black and white print that was colorised by hand. Baisaki is a dnace festival in Punjab where the men perform Bhangra, an energetic dance that is associated with the ripening of crops.

Om Ganesha!

Even the miniature idols are beautifully carved. This one is made in silver.

My Grandfather

My grandfather used to sit
On a simple wooden chair
Outside his small room
In a dusty, ancient Calcutta tenement building.

Broken sunbeams lay on the ground, brilliant.
Interrupted patchwork of shadow and light in the open plaza,
Within enclosed cement and tile
umber and gold, muted.

My Dadu was a proud man
Era of Indian Independence in his blood
Freedom and veracious ideals.
He filled his chair with girth and authority.

With cane in hand and ominous presence
He would sit toothless
Central
Brooding
Observing.

Remember I a small child, running down the long dark crooked alley
That wove inside and through other crumbling buildings
Shifting and cutting angles. Abrupt.
Then unexpectedly huge
His dominion.

And I would stop in my tracks
and shuffle past. Quiet. From a different world, a different generation.
Afraid again to say
“Dadu, I love you.”

Uncontrolled my tears
The last time we said “Goodbye”.
In his perfect Oxford English
He said I would never see him again.

I wonder now what he used to think…
Perhaps about his youth
And how success had shown him
Her generous hand for a few brief years
And how in a game of karmic trickery
She closed her bright eyes,
Turning away from him
Leaving only the reminder of golden light
Intangible at his feet.

Welcoming Spring

Holi is also called the Festival of Colors. It is a popular Hindu spring festival and is celebrated by people throwing colored powder at each other. Observed on the full moon day in the month of Falguna, it usually falls in the later part of February or early March. This year Holi was on 11th March.

Poison in the System