Peas sprouting from the seed in my flower-pot – life in Delhi
I’m like a seed that I’ve planted
So young and so strong
Needing to be watered
So I’ll grow strong and tall
Friendship is my water
My sun, the warmth of love
I’ll grow and grow and grow and grow
So let us sing!
Oh! let us sing
Let us sing and laugh and dance and shout for joy!
Remembering a stanza of an old hymn from school days back in Imphal: those days of green skirts and green ribbons fidgeting in the summer sun for assemblies only to be reminded by the Sisters of the convent that it was not as hot as in Delhi or Madras and the hushed retorts amongst the girls that she was speaking from the shaded corridor!
Those were the days – Little Flower School, Imphal!
Roses, marigolds, crape jasmine and daisies with camphor cubes, incense sticks and cotton ropes soaked in oil: all set to be offered to Ganga @Rs.20, Haridwar, India
‘Don’t send me flowers when I am dead. If you like me, send them while I am alive’ – Brian Clough
‘what sunshine is to a flower, smiles are to humanity’ – Joseph Adison
‘to me, flowers are happiness’ – Stefano Gabbana
‘if your heart is a volcano, how shall u expect flowers to bloom?’ – Khalil Gibran
‘Weeds are flowers too, once you get to know them’ – A.A. Milne
My second post from my Mashoodpur visit. As I mentioned in my first post, I had accompanied a friend to this rather large urban village of Delhi. As part of her own research, Supriya Singh is studying the available water resources and access to water in the village. As we walked down in the interiors of the village, we were welcomed by two ladies to drop by. Their house was a one-storeyed structure surrounded by three-or-so storeyed buildings from three sides with the one remaining side opening out to a small path that serves as an artery between the congested houses. On the roof of the house, I came across several items that were of little or no use value. In this corner is a pile of earthen pots which, I presume can still be used but is not of much use. Perhaps, a similar fate is that of the spindle on the side. The water cooler stand has perhaps been not of use this summer as it stands in the sunny roof.
The silence depressed me. It wasn’t the silence of silence. It was my own silence. ~Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar
the bell: experiments with light and shadow
A moment from the Kanglei Thokpa ritual of Lai Haraoba @ Imphal
The maibi calls on the spirit of Khoriphaba and takes it on to perform the search for ‘his’ bride. As the spirit takes over her, the maibi may become violent or at least display strong physical prowess.