Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Standard Bearer-Asian Games


The Standard-bearer in each integrated competition would become a hot topic. Yao Ming is a standard bearer in the past Olympic Games opening ceremony. Requirements for the standard-bearer is rather restrict, in addition to the outstanding performance in the field, the certain image, temperament, and social influence would be taken into consideration. Under the special situation that Yao Ming, Yi Jianlian is not in China, Liu Xiang is suffering the disease. Many people speculate the current standard-bearer of the Guangzhou Asian Games would be chosen form swimming world champion Zhang Lin and badminton Olympic champion Lin Dan.

 Companied with Lin Dan, Zhang Ling would be more likely, as the last Standard-bearer was chosen from badminton team. Zhang Lin is hot now, shortly in the Asian Games torch relay, Zhang Lin as the first torchbearer took the torch from Chinese President Hu Jintao. The media stated this moment as the change of sports idol form Liu Xiang to Zhang Ling. Zhang Lin recently rises not only as national sport idols, also the most anticipated King. So he was chosen to be the Standard-bearer in this Guangzhou 2010 Asian Games.

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Bengali Dish...

The traditional society of Bengal has always been heavily aggressive; hunting, except by some local clansmen, was uncommon. However, cattle rearing has been common, as reflected in use of milk primarily for sweets and desserts. Also, as one would assume, ordinary food served at home is different from that served during social functions and festivals, and again very different from what might be served at a larger gathering (e.g. a marriage feast).
An abundant land provides for an abundant table. The nature and variety of dishes found in Bengali cooking are unique even in India. Fish cookery is one of its better-known features and distinguishes it from the cooking of the landlocked regions. Bengal's countless rivers, ponds and lakes teem with many kinds of freshwater fish that closely resemble catfish, bass, shad or mullet. Bengalis prepare fish in innumerable ways - steamed or braised, or stewed with greens or other vegetables and with sauces that are mustard-based or thickened with poppyseeds.


Bengalis also excel in the cooking of vegetables. They prepare a variety of the imaginative dishes using the many types of vegetables that grow here year round. They can make ambrosial dishes out of the oftentimes rejected peels, stalks and leaves of vegetables. They use fuel-efficient methods, such as steaming fish or vegetables in a small covered bowl nestled at the top of the rice cooker.

The use of spices for both fish and vegetable dishes is quite extensive and includes many combinations not found in other parts of India. Examples are the onion-flavored kalonji (nigella or black onion seeds), radhuni (wild celery seeds), and five-spice or paanch phoron (a mixture of cumin, fennel, fenugreek, kalonji, and black mustard seeds)



The trump card of Bengali cooking probably is the addition of this phoron, a combination of whole spices, fried and added at the start or finish of cooking as a flavouring special to each dish. Bengalis share their love of whole black mustard seeds with South Indians, but unique to Bengal is the use of freshly-ground mustard paste, which is used to make fish curry gravy or in the preparation of steamed fish. Mustard paste called Kasundi is an accompanying dipping sauce popular in Bengal.
          Being a Bengali I personally think that its the best cuisine of the world. If any one who is a true food lover tastes these, he or she will surely fall in love with it.
                                                                                                                                               -rajorshi

Thursday, October 28, 2010

For Sonai...

Your cheerful smile
Your caressing hand
It's the really simple things
That make your life look so grand

You're a special woman
It's in your eyes
I see the truth
There is no disguise

It's your spirit
Maybe your soul
But my life without you
Would feel painfully old

You've been a true friend
I hope you stay
I would be so very empty
If you ever went away

Monday, September 13, 2010

A Special Gift...


The Jabulani is an Association football ball manufactured by Adidas and developed at Loughborough University in the United Kingdom. It was the official match ball for the 2010 FIFA World Cup.
The ball is made from eight spherically molded panels and has a textured surface intended to improve aerodynamics. Nevertheless, the ball received extensive criticism from players and coaches before and during the World Cup who said that the path of the ball through the air is unpredictable.

Saturday, September 11, 2010

A dream you dream alone is only a dream...



Sometimes we get what we need and not what we want..........

Once there were 3 trees on a hill in the woods. They were discussing their hopes and dreams when
the 1st tree said, "Someday, I hope to be a treasure chest. I could be filled with gold, silver and
precious gems and be decorated with intricate carvings. Everyone would see my beauty."

The 2nd tree said, "Someday, I will be a mighty ship. I will take kings and queens across the waters and sail to the corners of other world.
Everyone will feel safe in me because of the strength of my hull."

Finally, the 3rd tree said, "I want to grow to be the tallest and straightest tree in the forest. People will see me on top of the hill and look up to my branches,
and think of the heavens and God and how close to them I am reaching. I will be the greatest tree of all time, and people will always remember me."

After a few years of praying that their dreams would come true, a group of woodsmen came upon thetrees. One came to the 1st tree and said,

"This looks like a strong tree, I think I should be able to sell the wood to a carpenter," and he began cutting it down. The tree was happy, because
he knew that the carpenter would make him into a treasure chest.

At the 2nd tree, one of the other woodsman said, "This looks like a strong tree. I should be able to sell it to the shipyard." The 2nd tree was happy,
because he knew he was on his way to becoming a mighty ship.

When the woodsmen came upon the 3rd tree, the tree was frightened, because it knew that, if it cutsdown, its dream would not come true.
One of the woodsmen said, "I don't need anything special from my tree, so I'll take this one," and he cut it down.

When the 1st tree arrived at the carpenter's, he was made into a feed box for animals, placed in a barn and filled with hay. This was not at all what he had prayed for.
The 2nd tree was cut and made into a small fishing boat. His dreams of being a mighty ship and carrying kings had come to an end.
The 3rd tree was cut into large pieces and left alone in the dark.

The years went by, and the trees forgot about their dreams. Then one filtered day, a man and woman came to the barn. She gave birth, and they placed the baby in the hay in the feed box that was made from the first tree. The man wished that he could have made a crib for the baby, but he has no money and have to do with this. The tree could feel the importance of this event and knew that it had held the greatest treasure of all time.

Years later, a group of men got in the fishing boat made from the second tree. One of them was tired and went to sleep. While they were out on the water, a great storm arose, and the tree didn't think it was strong enough to keep the men safe. The men woke the sleeping man, and he stood and said "Peace," and the storm stopped. At this time, the tree knew that it had carried the King of Kings
in its boat.

Finally, someone came and got the third tree. It was carried through the streets, and the crowd mocked the man who was carrying it. Finally, the man was nailed to the tree and raised in the air to die at the top of a hill. When Sunday came, the tree came to realize that it was strong enough to stand at the top of the hill and be as close to God as possible, because Jesus Christ had been crucified on it.

The moral of this story is that, when things don't seem to be going your way, always know that God has a plan for you. If you place your trust in Him, He will give you great gifts. Each of the trees got what they wanted, just not in the way they had imagined.

We don't always know what God's plans are for us. We just know that His ways are not our ways, but His ways are always best Keep it moving...pass it on, so it could inspire more people.
 
Sometimes the heart sees what the eyes can't.

(P.S- Thanks mom for bringing me in this world. Its the best gift I ever had.)

                                                                                                                        -by Kutu

Eid Mubarak...


Eid is celebrated thrice a year by Muslims all across the world with full dedication and enthusiasm. One of them marks the end of the holy month of Ramadan and is observed on Shawwal. The full name for this Eid is 'Eid-Ul-Fitr'. Eid-Ul-Fitr is celebrated in around the months of October-November as per the Gregorian Calendar. The other Eid is to show the happiness of Muslims after they complete their Hajj (pilgrimage) successfully.

This is 'Eid-Ul-Adha' and is celebrated usually in the month of January. The major ritual of the festival includes sacrifice of a lamb and distribution of it's meat to all devotees. The third Eid is celebrated as the Birthday of Prophet Muhammad and is known as 'Eid-e-Milad-un-Nabi' falls on the 12th day of Rabi-Ul-Awwal. 

On this special and holy day of Eid I wanna dedicate a poem to all my Muslim brothers and sisters...


                                                         Eid is fun and great
                                                       It's time to celebrate
                                              Eid Mubarak to everyone come on
                                                       Let's have lots of fun!
                                           Everyone's going to the mosque to pray
                                             People are grateful, it's a special day.
                                         "Mmmm"... the taste of the delicious food
                                                  Really puts you in a good mood.
                                           Everybody's wearing their posh clothes
                                                And the guys are cruising in their
                                                      Flashy cars on the roads.
                                           Children opening their gifts with smiles
                                              On their faces and having fun going
                                                      Out to different places.
                                           All of a sudden the day comes to an end
                                                        Well what can I say...
                                                  Thank you for a lovely day!!!

                                                                                                                -by Kutu

Friday, September 10, 2010

Metro at 9.15am....


For the many untold stories that I have witnessed happening in front of my naked eyes daylight.
           People will tell you many things about commuter trains that go from place to place. But with me is worse than one could think. Today I can smile and hug someone that I met within those so called bad trains, this is the love of my love that I m referring to here.
It was one of those busy mornings, I saw her coming all the way running to be on time for the train, firstly I thought she was going collapse as soon as she got in and I also had doubts that she was going to be in the same train but surprisingly she got it and indeed it was the very same train I was on.
          At the door it was me and the other three guys, she came running and threw her self to me as if we new each other, I nearly felt down but lucky I could balance for both of us, she was breathless, powerless but still holding on her files, that’s when I got enough time to look at her and show my tender care my gentleman ship.
I steped backwards and she allowed me to get a well balance position than we sat down both somerwhere in the corner ofcourse because there was space there.
We were both giggling to each other and smilling as if we met before, as for anyone who was watching at us they might have thought we were old lovers but nope!
The guys standing at the door were badly stering at us with enxiousness of willing to know what was going on with us. They were all suprised when I was asking for her number.

(P.S- Am still waiting for her coz I lost her no. When ever I visit Kolkata I make it a point to travel once in the 9.15am metro from Prk Street to Chadni Chowk.)

Thursday, September 9, 2010

King of Kings...for the true Ruler


                 

The King of the Polar Bears lived among the icebergs in the far north country. He was old and monstrous big; he was wise and friendly to all who knew him. His body was thickly covered with long, white hair that glistened like silver under the rays of the midnight sun. His claws were strong and sharp, that he might walk safely over the smooth ice or grasp and tear the fishes and seals upon which he fed.
                 The seals were afraid when he drew near, and tried to avoid him; but the gulls, both white and gray, loved him because he left the remnants of his feasts for them to devour.
Often his subjects, the polar bears, came to him for advice when ill or in trouble; but they wisely kept away from his hunting grounds, lest they might interfere with his sport and arouse his anger.
                 The wolves, who sometimes came as far north as the icebergs, whispered among themselves that the King of the Polar Bears was either a magician or under the protection of a powerful fairy. For no earthly thing seemed able to harm him; he never failed to secure plenty of food, and he grew bigger and stronger day by day and year by year.
Yet the time came when this monarch of the north met man, and his wisdom failed him.
He came out of his cave among the icebergs one day and saw a boat moving through the strip of water which had been uncovered by the shifting of the summer ice. In the boat were men.
                 The great bear had never seen such creatures before, and therefore advanced toward the boat, sniffing the strange scent with aroused curiosity and wondering whether he might take them for friends or foes, food or carrion.
When the king came near the water's edge a man stood up in the boat and with a queer instrument made a loud "bang!" The polar bear felt a shock; his brain became numb; his thoughts deserted him; his great limbs shook and gave way beneath him and his body fell heavily upon the hard ice.
That was all he remembered for a time.
                When he awoke he was smarting with pain on every inch of his huge bulk, for the men had cut away his hide with its glorious white hair and carried it with them to a distant ship.
Above him circled thousands of his friends the gulls, wondering if their benefactor were really dead and it was proper to eat him. But when they saw him raise his head and groan and tremble they knew he still lived, and one of them said to his comrades:
               "The wolves were right. The king is a great magician, for even men cannot kill him. But he suffers for lack of covering. Let us repay his kindness to us by each giving him as many feathers as we can spare."
This idea pleased the gulls. One after another they plucked with their beaks the softest feathers from under their wings, and, flying down, dropped then gently upon the body of the King of the Polar Bears.
Then they called to him in a chorus:
               "Courage, friend! Our feathers are as soft and beautiful as your own shaggy hair. They will guard you from the cold winds and warm you while you sleep. Have courage, then, and live!"
And the King of the Polar Bears had courage to bear his pain and lived and was strong again.
The feathers grew as they had grown upon the bodies of the birds and covered him as his own hair had done. Mostly they were pure white in color, but some from the gray gulls gave his majesty a slight mottled appearance.
The rest of that summer and all through the six months of night the king left his icy cavern only to fish or catch seals for food. He felt no shame at his feathery covering, but it was still strange to him, and he avoided meeting any of his brother bears.
               During this period of retirement he thought much of the men who had harmed him, and remembered the way they had made the great "bang!" And he decided it was best to keep away from such fierce creatures. Thus he added to his store of wisdom.
              When the moon fell away from the sky and the sun came to make the icebergs glitter with the gorgeous tintings of the rainbow, two of the polar bears arrived at the king's cavern to ask his advice about the hunting season. But when they saw his great body covered with feathers instead of hair they began to laugh, and one said:
"Our mighty king has become a bird! Who ever before heard of a feathered polar bear?"
Then the king gave way to wrath. He advanced upon them with deep growls and stately tread and with one blow of his monstrous paw stretched the mocker lifeless at his feet.
              The other ran away to his fellows and carried the news of the king's strange appearance. The result was a meeting of all the polar bears upon a broad field of ice, where they talked gravely of the remarkable change that had come upon their monarch.
"He is, in reality, no longer a bear," said one; "nor can he justly be called a bird. But he is half bird and half bear, and so unfitted to remain our king."
"Then who shall take his place?" asked another.
"He who can fight the bird-bear and overcome him," answered an aged member of the group. "Only the strongest is fit to rule our race."
There was silence for a time, but at length a great bear moved to the front and said:
"I will fight him; I--Woof--the strongest of our race! And I will be King of the Polar Bears."
The others nodded assent, and dispatched a messenger to the king to say he must fight the great Woof and master him or resign his sovereignty.
"For a bear with feathers," added the messenger, "is no bear at all, and the king we obey must resemble the rest of us."
"I wear feathers because it pleases me," growled the king. "Am I not a great magician? But I will fight, nevertheless, and if Woof masters me he shall be king in my stead."
Then he visited his friends, the gulls, who were even then feasting upon the dead bear, and told them of the coming battle.
"I shall conquer," he said, proudly. "Yet my people are in the right, for only a hairy one like themselves can hope to command their obedience."
The queen gull said:
"I met an eagle yesterday, which had made its escape from a big city of men. And the eagle told me he had seen a monstrous polar bear skin thrown over the back of a carriage that rolled along the street. That skin must have been yours, oh king, and if you wish I will send an hundred of my gulls to the city to bring it back to you."
"Let them go!" said the king, gruffly. And the hundred gulls were soon flying rapidly southward.
For three days they flew straight as an arrow, until they came to scattered houses, to villages, and to cities. Then their search began.
The gulls were brave, and cunning, and wise. Upon the fourth day they reached the great metropolis, and hovered over the streets until a carriage rolled along with a great white bear robe thrown over the back seat. Then the birds swooped down--the whole hundred of them--and seizing the skin in their beaks flew quickly away.
They were late. The king's great battle was upon the seventh day, and they must fly swiftly to reach the Polar regions by that time.
Meanwhile the bird-bear was preparing for his fight. He sharpened his claws in the small crevasses of the ice. He caught a seal and tested his big yellow teeth by crunching its bones between them. And the queen gull set her band to pluming the king bear's feathers until they lay smoothly upon his body.
But every day they cast anxious glances into the southern sky, watching for the hundred gulls to bring back the king's own skin.
The seventh day came, and all the Polar bears in that region gathered around the king's cavern. Among them was Woof, strong and confident of his success.
"The bird-bear's feathers will fly fast enough when I get my claws upon him!" he boasted; and the others laughed and encouraged him.
The king was disappointed at not having recovered his skin, but he resolved to fight bravely without it. He advanced from the opening of his cavern with a proud and kingly bearing, and when he faced his enemy he gave so terrible a growl that Woof's heart stopped beating for a moment, and he began to realize that a fight with the wise and mighty king of his race was no laughing matter.
After exchanging one or two heavy blows with his foe Woof's courage returned, and he determined to dishearten his adversary by bluster.
"Come nearer, bird-bear!" he cried. "Come nearer, that I may pluck your plumage!"
The defiance filled the king with rage. He ruffled his feathers as a bird does, till he appeared to be twice his actual size, and then he strode forward and struck Woof so powerful a blow that his skull crackled like an egg-shell and he fell prone upon the ground.
While the assembled bears stood looking with fear and wonder at their fallen champion the sky became darkened.
An hundred gulls flew down from above and dropped upon the king's body a skin covered with pure white hair that glittered in the sun like silver.
And behold! the bears saw before them the well-known form of their wise and respected master, and with one accord they bowed their shaggy heads in homage to the mighty King of the Polar Bears.

(P.S- I was watching a program on Discovery channel on 9th of Sep, it made me realize that it's not only human who have  their eartly egos but animals also. So please do respect them and their feelings.)

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

My Erotic form of Love...


(P.S- This is an erotic expression of my mind about what I dream of to do after I get married to my love. The pic above is taken from my roof-top at 3.15am at night.)

Here in this crowd
We've both been feeling
So very alone
Now babe I think it's time we both turn around
Look at one another
Maybe even take each other home
Falling in lust with you and me
More and more everyday
This time
Don't think that I've gonna tear myself away
From the man bringing the stars and the lights
To my steamy dreamy nights

Here on my terms
I would love to feel you
Hard
Deep inside of me
And I will be whatever fantasy you want me to be

Feels like we're making love on the moon
Nothing could be any hotter then
Making love on the moon
Feeling our clothes and the earth just drifting away
Desire through and through
Sweeping us away
And I know with you love is gonna be better then ever
When we're together
Making love on the moon

Floating off the ground
My legs wrap around you
My lungs gasp for air
As your hands explore me everywhere
I'm so wet and you're so hard
Could't be a better combination tonight
Fit me just like a glove, you do
So right, so tight
Laying with you lover
Side by side

Here on my terms
I would love to feel you
Hard
Deep inside of me
And I will be whatever fantasy you want me to be

Feels like we're making love on the moon
Nothing could be any hotter then
Making love on the moon
Feeling our clothes and the earth just drifting away
Desire through and through
Sweeping us away
And I know with you love is gonna be better then ever
When we're together
Making love on the moon

Getting lost in the lust of your atmoshpere
The love in your eyes soon reflects
To become the stars in mine
And here alone with you in this room
That's when and how I know
Nevermore will either of us have to sing lonely alone

Feels like we're making love on the moon
Nothing could be any hotter then
Making love on the moon
Feeling our clothes and the earth just drifting away
Desire through and through
Sweeping us away
And I know with you love is gonna be better then ever
When we're together
Making love on the moon

And here alone with you in this room
That's when and how I know
Nevermore will either of us have to sing lonely alone

And here alone with you in this room
That's when and how I know
Nevermore will either of us have to sing lonely alone
                                                                                                                   -by Kutu

Saturday, September 4, 2010

Something to share...

Note: This is a true story, I was in IMA Dehradun for a short time training in the year 2003, the guy about whome I wrote was Capt. Mahesh Joshi from  13 Grnd. Regiment posted in Dalhousie. We were sent for a patroling mission on 22nd June 2003, when we were attacked suddenly on the Nurpur Highway. One of us died and two got injured, Capt. Mahesh Joshi was one of them.

Hi,

Please read it guys, Hope u all like this........

This story is told about a soldier who was finally coming home after having fought in Dalhousie. He called his parents from Dharamsala base camp.
"Mom and Dad, I'm coming home, but I've a favor to ask. I have a friend I'd like to bring home with me."
"Sure," they replied, "we'd love to meet him."
"There's something you should know the son continued, "he was hurt pretty badly in the fighting. He stepped on a land mind and lost an arm and a leg.
He has nowhere else to go, and I want him to come live with us."
"I'm sorry to hear that, son. Maybe we can help him find somewhere to live."
"No, Mom and Dad, I want him to live with us."
"Son," said the father, "you don't know what you're asking. Someone with such a handicap would be a terrible burden on us. We have our own lives to live, and we can't let something like this interfere with our lives.
I think you should just come home and forget about this guy. He'll find a way to live on his own."
At that point, the son hung up the phone. The parents heard nothing more from him. A few days later, however, they received a call from the Dharamsala police station.
                Their son had died after falling from a bridge over river Beas, they were told. The police believed it was suicide.
                The grief-stricken parents flew to Dharamsala and were taken to the Dharamsala State Hospital to identify the body of their son.
                They recognized him, but to their horror they also discovered something they didn't know, their son had only one arm and one leg.
                The parents in this story are like many of us. We find it easy to love those who are good-looking or fun to have around, but we don't like people who inconvenience us or make us feel uncomfortable. We would rather stay away from people who aren't as healthy, beautiful, or smart as we are.
                Thankfully, there's someone who won't treat us that way. Someone who loves us with an unconditional love that welcomes us into the forever family, regardless of how messed up we are.

Regards
1st Capt. Rajorshi Sarkar
13 Ghorkha Regiment-Short Service Commission

Friday, September 3, 2010

Tale of the old breed...

I want to be with you,
But you’re millions of miles away.
I wish you would call just to ask about my day.
It would make things so much better if I could hear your voice,
I guess I can’t complain too much, it just wasn’t your choice.
You were always there for me through both the good times and the bad.
You were always there to laugh with me, or to help me when I’m sad.
It’s not that I pity you,
But I’ll admit your life’s been tough,
I just wish that physically,
I could be there when things get rough.
Down at the mall even though we had no money,
Laughing at anything and everything, yet none of it was funny.
Driving around the block, or baking things all day,
We never really ran out of things to say.
I wish I could be down there, where you are.
Why do two best friends you’ll ever know,
Have to be split up, because one is forced to go?
Now that we’re so far apart,
I love you even more.
Maybe we both love too much,
But, hey, that’s what friends are for.
Each time they say your name,
A tear forms in my eye,
How can I be happy,
If all I seem to do is cry?
You weren’t supposed to leave me,
This has to be a dream.
I cant accept your absence,
And take goodbye for what it means.
You left me lost and broken,
I still can’t find my way.
Months have passed real slowly,
But it’s harder every day.
I will never forget you,
Though we are far apart,
I miss you so much baby,
And love you with all my heart.


Note: This poem is dedicted to the girl who is now in UK studying MBA. We never met each other after she   left India. I wrote this poem for all those people who have faced the same pain. One thing I wanna tell   you people 'Love will always find its Way'

My Favourite Dish...

A piece of chingri macher malaikari,
A cup of chocolate ice cream,
A slice of apple pie,
Can all bring bliss.
But darling, you’re my favorite dish.
A piece of you.
Topped with love and affection.
Is my one desire and wish.
Served with passion and a sweet kiss.
Life doesn’t get much better than this.

What it means to me...

Your love is like diamonds.
That sparkle in the night.
Your love is like the stars.
That shine so bright.
Your love is like the wind.
That feels so cool.
Your love is like ice cream.
That tastes so smooth.
Your love is like the sky.
That is so blue.
Your love is like a bright sunny day.
That makes the world seem new.

Baby i miss u...

You are the melody sung in my heart.
You are the symphony played in my soul.
You are the song that never grows old.
You are my perfect rose.
You are the ballet danced by the stars.
You are the Milky Way and Mars.
You are the rain that falls softly on my face.
Your love is like the 'Chingri Macher Malai' I love to taste.
You are the clouds that float in the sky.
You are my sweetheart til the day I die.

Monday, August 30, 2010

Snowfall in the Westside Mountains.....

She is sitting on the beach, alone. Her legs are curled under her, and her hands are feeling the pebbles at her side. They are smooth, like ducks' eggs. They fit snugly into her palm. The kind of pebble David used to kill Goliath, she thinks. She looks out over the sea. It is pewter, it is lead. The waves are bloated and sullen. They clutch at the shore and rasp as they retreat, surly as a kicked cur. The wet shore shines with the slug trail residue of the waves. The cliffs, honey and butter in sunshine, are the grey of gravestones and loneliness.
                             She turns the pebbles over and over, rhythmically, rocking. The wind has turned her long hair into whips which lash her cheeks red and raw. She does not tuck it behind her ears. She does not look at the bag that squats beside her. She thinks back, to the time before. She can't help it. Then, the sun was shining and the beach was innocent.
                             "Mum!" The child's voice is high and excited. "Look!"
     Rosie is holding up a strand of bladder wrack as long as her whole body. It is wrapping itself around her legs and slapping against her plump little tummy encased in its white, poppy-splattered costume.
                             "Great!" says Rosie's Mum. "The mermaid's tail." She is busy fashioning the stones into a face and body: dried seaweed for hair, razor bills for earrings, limbs a line of carefully chosen white pebbles. Together they place the bladder wrack under the limpet-shell belt and curve the tip towards the sea.
                             "She's taller than me," says Rosie, and she lies flat on her back, arms outstretched, to demonstrate the exceptional height of the mermaid with her weedy tail.
     "When the waves come in, will she swim away?"
     "Maybe," says her Mum. "Maybe she will."
                              She starts to dig. At first, she is careful. She lifts the pebbles out, one by one, and piles them to one side. They form a cairn. As she gets down below the first layer, the stones are smaller, spikier, wetter, with more sand in the mixture. She scrabbles at them but, as she scrapes, the sides cave in on top of her hands. The hole remains shallow. The fingernail on the middle finger of her left hand jangles with pain as a flint drives under the nail. Pleased, she presses down on the stone. A drop of blood falls into the mix. It is deep enough. She begins to widen, lengthen and shape the trench.
 
                      Hand in hand they skip down the beach. The waves are big today, topped by white horses whipped up by a summer breeze, but they are clear and clean as they slap on the shingle. The sea has left a sandy strip which snakes the length of the pebbly beach. Rosie and her Mum want to see their footprints: two big, two small. The sand sucks at their feet as they leap.
     "Look how far I can jump, Mum!" cries Rosie, and leaps so high and so far that her Mum thinks she will reach the sun.
     "Look how far Mum can jump!" cries Mum, and it is not so very far, really, but she laughs and hugs Rosie and the sun catches her daughter's hair and turns it into mermaid gold.
                              She has finished. There is a shape gouged out of the pebbles. A human figure. A head, two arms, a torso, legs, no tail. Recognisable. Carefully she selects a pebble, white, round, a duck's egg, and places it on the edge of the shoulder. She finds a second, pure white, and lays it next to the first, not quite touching. She is drawing an outline. Like a murder victim at an American crime scene, she thinks, but the bubble of laughter does not rise in her throat. She does not know why she glances up, at that moment. A man is standing on the edge of the cliff. To her, he is the size of the middle finger of her left hand. Panic sweeps over her like sweat. He is too far away to hear her when she screams, to far to feel the stone she throws, David at Goliath.
                           "When's Daddy coming back?" says Rosie.
     "In a while," says her Mum, but she's been wondering too. He's gone for ice-creams and a stroll. He doesn't like the beach. He says the cliffs make him claustrophobic. That the stones dig into his feet.
     "I want to paddle," says Rosie and she grabs at her beach shoes. They are at the bottom of the basket, under the picnic. As she pulls the shoes out, the Tupperware box with the sandwiches in it breaks open and the ham and the cheese and the wholemeal bread slices fall into the sand, butter side down.
 
     "Rosie! Watch what you're doing!" Her Mum is sharp, harsh. Rosie shrinks, crouching to pull on her shoes, head bowed, face concealed. Her Mum sighs.
     "Never mind. We'll be mermaids when we eat it. I bet they're used to sand in their sandwiches." Rosie lifts her head and grins.
     "D'you think mermaids' bread gets soggy underwater, Mum? D'you think they have Weetabix for breakfast? Can I stick seaweed on my legs to make a tail?" Rosie chatters as her Mum picks up the food, carefully brushing the sand from each piece to make it clean.
                   The man has gone. She is alone again. Alone with her shape, white-rimmed, bleached. She smoothes the body, strokes the face. Arms and legs splayed, it is like the sand angel a child makes when she throws herself spread-eagled on to the first beach of the summer. She wonders whether it is a comfortable shape. Should she have formed a curled figure, foetal, protected, warm? Is the sand angel too exposed? Or does it feel wild and free?
                                     The mobile trills. Rosie's Mum scrabbles through the beach bag. I can c u, the text reads. Her heart thuds as if they were still new lovers and she looks up and around, smiling. There are families on the beach, throwing balls, eating, lying in the sun. She can't see him. She looks further up. She shades her eyes against the sun with her hand. There is a man, the size of the middle finger of her left hand, standing on the top of the cliff. He is waving. She laughs, and stands up, waving back. He is still waving. Now, he is waving with both arms. She waves back, with both arms, amused. His arms are flailing, urgent. She is puzzled. Is he pointing? She turns around.
              On the top of the nearest wave bobs a white swimming costume splattered with poppies. It disappears from sight.
              She reaches into her bag, lifts out the tin canister and stands it on the pebbles. She hesitates before she unscrews the lid and her hand trembles as she reaches inside. There is not much in there, considering. She takes a handful of ash. The flakes are large and sticky. She starts with the head. She trickles the cinders into her outline, filling it in, turning it pale grey.
 
               Running in slow motion. She must go faster, her legs are rocks, she is dragging them and then she is in the water, diving, gasping, down, under, eyes open, arms out stretching, searching, empty, up for air, screaming ‘Help!', swallowing and choking, then under again, into the swirl of the waves, the water thick, roaring in her ears, blocking her but clear and clean and she sees floating down a flash of white and thrusts towards it, grabbing and pulling, bubbles coming from a tiny mouth, hair weed flowing from a tiny head and out of the water bursting, gasping, holding her daughter in her arms and crying and hugging and struggling to the shore, she puts the little body flat on the sand and wipes the hair from the face.
     Rosie's eyes open and she smiles.
     "I was a mermaid, Mum, swimming like a mermaid!"
     She is laughing and crying and hugging and kissing the beloved cheeks, still shiny salty wet. Rosie has held her breath. No water in her mouth, no water in her lungs, no damage, the smile wide and warm. Alive.
     Her breathing slows and her heart calms. She remembers. She looks up, expectant, to the cliff edge, a wave and a smile hovering. There is no-one there. At the bottom of the cliff there is a huddle of people, their backs to the sea, bending over something, staring. A woman is running away from the group, towards the cafĂ© at the end of the beach. All the families on the beach are staring at the group at the bottom of the cliff.
     As if it belongs to someone else, she hears her heart begin to pound and the blood rush into her ears.
                               The shape is coloured in. The ash covers the body in a thin layer from the top of its head to the tips of its fingers and down to the heel, instep and toes. She pats it down into a thin paste layer. She had wanted to lie down beside the body, to close her eyes and feel the length once more, but her creation chills her. It is lifeless, flat, colourless. No muscles, no skin, no sinews. No blood. She takes a step back.
 
                               Holding her child clasped close to her body, Rosie's Mum runs up the beach. She screams, demanding to know what has happened, has someone fallen, but she doesn't need to ask. As they turn towards her, their faces greyed by shock, she knows. They part to let her through. They try to take her child but she clings on even as she falls to her knees beside a body, limbs awkward and misshapen, head broken like a duck's egg.

                               She sits at the base of the cliff, watching the waves. They are coming closer now. Licking and biting at the shore, they have almost reached the body. It lies, a grey, cold smudge. The waves are nibbling at the fingers. Soon they will swallow the whole shape, and the ash will be absorbed by the water and swept out into the ocean, a thousand particles floating apart and away, dissolved. All that will be left tomorrow will be some of the outline in white stones. A mother will come to the beach and show her daughter. They will copy, laughing as they lie like angels and draw their outlines in the sand. Next week, next month the white stones will have gone, scattered back into the thousands already on the beach.
                  Her mobile rings.
                 "Mummy? When will you be back?"
                 "Not long now, Rosie. I'll be home soon." And she stretches her legs, stiff with cold, as she waits for the waves to take away her love.

Sunday, August 29, 2010

Forget it....

I loved you more than I have ever known
Those starry eyes
Those tender lips
You made my heart melt
Then boil into a roaring fire
I now know
What my eyes could not see
You are the only one that is for me
Many nights those tears flew
Being myself without anyone
Anyone to care about the thoughts
Looking at the sky and knowing
Many mistakes I had
Many mistakes I have had

Goodbye...

I don't really want to say goodbye
I don't really want to leave you
But now I have to go away
Stay away from you forever

What we had was something special
Deep down from our hearts
But now I have to go away
And leave you from my heart

Friday, August 27, 2010

My angel from above....

Whenever I'm feeling lonely
Or maybe feeling blue
I think of all the things
All the little things you do.
Whenever I feel lousy
And seem to have a frown
I remember all the funny times
And you just turn it upside down.
Whenever I'm depressed
And need you by my side
I remember all the sweet things you say
To make the sadness go away.
When I need a shoulder to cry on
You are always there
Taking away all my fears and loneliness
when my life's a mess.
When I need a best friend and even someone to love
You are there for me, like my angel from above.

Thursday, August 26, 2010

To be in search...

Beauty and love are all my dream;
They change not with the changing day;
Love stays forever like a stream
That flows but never flows away;

And beauty is the bright sun-bow
That blossoms on the spray that showers
Where the loud water falls below,
Making a wind among the flowers

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

The Thread which Binds....

In India, Rakhi celebrations are about strengthening the bond of love between brothers and sisters and fostering brotherhood. This festival is not a ritual, custom and tradition that can change over time but its style of celebration has become contemporary. Since ages, Raksha Bandhan is being celebrated in the same way. All the traditions are followed with the same enthusiasm. The gaieties have only blown up to a larger scale. Rakhi festival is the celebration of the chaste bond of love amongst the siblings.
                     Everyone start preparing for this festival much in advance. About a month before the commencement of raksha bandhan, you can see fancy and colorful rakhis in every market. Ladies start shopping for rakhi and rakhi gifts quite early. They shop for new clothes and beautiful rakhi gifts specially the one that have to be sent to their brothers staying far. Almost every shop, be it sweet shops, garment shops, gift shops, or any other shop, all are flooded with attractive rakhi gifts to attract people.
                    The celebration of rakhi, in India, is well known for its carnival spirit and strengthening the bond of love between brothers and sisters. In fact, India is globally known for its colorful festivals and ever-green tradition. Celebrated with different rituals, family get-together and sweets, Raksha Bandhan is about sentiments, love and enjoyment. Like any other festival, rakhi has its unique significance.
                    On the day of Rakhi festival, the festivity of this auspicious day begin by the day break. After taking bath early morning, people get ready by wearing new clothes and gather for worshiping. After invoking the the blessings of the Gods, the sister performs brother’s arti, puts tika and chawal on his forehead and ties Rakhi amongst chanting of mantras. Sisters whole heartedly give sweets to their brothers to eat which in turns add more sweetness in the Raksha Bandhan celebration and pray for their well being. In return, brothers pamper their sisters and present beautiful gifts to lure them. They also promise to take care of her and stand by her side in any circumstances.
                    After performing all these rituals, the whole family reunion to enjoy and have fun. Then all of them share the delicious food, tasty sweets, gifts, music and dance. It is a day to remember all the memorable time spent together for those who, for any reason, are far away from their family. Emotions can also be expressed through e-mails, e-cards, rakhi greeting cards and rakhi through Internet. The overflowing emotions of siblings cannot be stopped on this day.
                   Rabindra Nath Tagore started gathering of people like in Shantiniketan to propogate the feeling of brotherhood among people. He believed that the this will invoke trust and feeling of peaceful coexistence. He believed that this is a way to harmonize the relationship of humanity.

Join Hands to See them Live....

                             
The world’s remaining tiger populations exist in small, isolated fragments that are constantly threatened by the illegal hunting of tigers and their prey. As recently as one hundred years ago, up to 100,000 tigers roamed the forests and grasslands of Asia but today less than 5,000 tigers survive in the wild, and that number continues to plummet. In the past few years alone, some tiger populations have been completely eliminated, even from what were considered to be well-protected areas. Despite such setbacks, expansive areas of existing and potential tiger habitat still exist in many parts of Asia. Tigers can make a comeback if the most critical threats to their existence, poaching of tigers and their prey are addressed effectively and immediately.
                  Many believe that in our lifetime, iconic species like tigers, snow leopards, and lions will simply disappear from the wild. But I envisions a world where tigers will live forever, snow leopards will be seen peering down from snow-covered rock outcrops, and lions will always move across the African savannahs. We must work tirelessly to make such dreams become reality. Please join me in supporting, enacting relevant and effective conservation measures, and building the necessary partnerships that will be instrumental in ensuring a long-term future for the world’s wild cats. The cats of the world need our help.


                  Wild cats are some of the most beautiful, iconic, and charismatic species roaming the planet. From the jaguars and pumas of the Americas, to the lions, leopards and cheetahs of Africa, and the tigers and snow leopards of Asia, these top predators span many of the world’s wildest landscapes. But with their habitat increasingly lost and fragmented, their prey often wiped out, and the cats themselves killed as pests or hunted for their body parts, many wild cat populations are threatened with extinction.
                  My mission is to save the world’s wild cat species and their habitats through writing to make people aware about conservation initiatives that will bring about this change, this is my request to all from of people and communities on the ground to high-level policy makers. Please do think or else one day might come when our sons and daughters will only get to see these beautiful animals in the Museum.           

For Mom...

If I had the power,
I would lasso all the stars.
Wrap them all together, mom,
And put them in a jar.
But even then their light
Wouldn’t match whats in my heart,
Because you’ve been there, mom,
To help me from the start.

You’ve shaped me into who I am,
And the person I’m going to be.
The strength thats in my soul,
Mom, you’ve given it to me.