They have something

 No one can take away from them! “Sur!” They can sing.

https://youtu.be/H4gi7aI4zpE?si=dUNjFvYWHqBiRgrp

This just came up randomly when I opened You Tube tonight! My Christmas gift on Christmas Eve!

Veenu Banga

December 24, 2025

11:46 pm

Tis the Season

 Of Christmas and special days for all the children of the book! Seasons Greetings and Joy and Peace to the World!

 https://www.jacquielawson.com/ecard/pickup/r8aed400112fc4100985367a8dca04b03?source=jl999&utm_medium=pickup&utm_source=share&utm_campaign=receiver

Veenu Banga

12/24/2025

1:01 pm

Christmas Eve already

Came home close to 11:00 pm, (technically yesterday, 23rd) after a Tesco run, and having watched the second Panto of the season, Snow White. It was lovely! Best two and a half hours of stage presence that flew by in a flash. Ate ice cream in the intermission. Absolutely delicious- British whole milk and full cream. With bits of strawberries that brought a smile at every bite. :-)

Finished watching the whole series of Lark Rise to Candleford, after a quick bite to eat, as we were all hungry having eaten dinner much earlier. Cold will do that to you. 

Lark Rise is such a sweet name, but the farming community is depicted as a forgotten hamlet of the working class farm hands, living off the land owned by rich farmers. Candleford is the nearest town. Lark Rise to Candleford has the most thought provoking dialogue, and if I were to watch it again, I should do so with a notebook and pen, to write down those phrases and sentences that the characters speak with such earnestness; and the reading of which would regale me when I revisit them. Like savoring some deeply penetrating flavor or soul searching wisdom. That sounds just like the language of these charming hamlets with their endearing characters, my favorite being Minnie, in her effusive simplistic mannerisms. 

Winter has its own charms, and I'm not feeling it so much, probably because it's steadily and slowly crept up and grown on me. It did feel like a blast upon our return from Australia, in November, not just because we were coming from summer (which felt like winter on some days) but also because when we left in October it was still warm here, not even autumn cool. Now that winter has truly settled in, its presence is more defined, being felt inside the house and outside, in the weather, but more strikingly in the landscape and how it defines our days.

Putting my pure Italian wool coat to full use. Remember buying it in Berlin, where we visited all their nine major Christmas Markets. I had gone ill prepared for the German winter in December. It had even snowed while we  were there. The perfect coat was hard to find, and after looking at so many shops in the big mall there. It is perfect for me, not heavy, just the perfect length and an ever durable style, the kind that cannot go out of fashion, is smart and has just the right touch of formality, without being fussy. 

Back to the Panto. It was a much better production than the production at the Belgrave Theater we saw last month. Cheaper and better. The theater scene at Rugby never fails to surprise one. I think that's one of the joys of life in the UK- loads of theatrical productions, like the fabulous show we saw at the Isle of Wight in August. Anywhere we go in the UK, there's always good theater!  

On that note, it's hello to one day closer to Spring!

Veenu Banga

24th December 2025

1:44 am

“There’s a kind of hush…

 ..All over the world tonight, all over the world. You can hear the sound of lovers falling in love..” sang Karen Carpenter. Oh, how we all loved The Carpenters in the days of my youth! 

But this is not the hush I had in mind, when I started to write this, the words of this song just came on as my Autonomic Nervous System just kicked in.  

The Hush I had in mind, was the hush of my surroundings on the drive home last evening from Waitrose in Daventry. The sun sets around 3:52 pm, so dusk falls around 3:30pm. The trees stood bare and their skeletal canopies against a grey sky devoid of clouds had a certain restfulness about the whole landscape. Yet so deceptive, not a cloud to be seen because it was overcast with a tightly melded cloudscape that asserted an early close to the day. I did not know if the trees were resting or they were cold. All I knew was that they were very brave. 

And my heart aches for them, I don’t know why. It’s not as if they grow old and die, they resurrect every spring. Is that the message for us humans? About resurrection, rebuilding and regeneration? About..what exactly? I’m sure there’s the science, but then what about our emotional and genetic connectivity with everything in the Universe? They’re a part of us and we both are of the Earth, and also of the stars and the wind and the rivers and the oceans and the clouds and the mountains the cloud breeze through? 

I very much wonder why God forgot to create a plan where these dear beloved trees could be naturally ‘clothed’ in some kind of blanket that Mother Nature would weave around them in winter, at least just for the coldest nights and days of the season. 

Came home and wrote a long soliloquy about them in my paper journal notebook. What had triggered the empathic outpouring was the sight of nests starkly visible, the twigs firmly holding together in the leafless dry branches high up on the trees. These must have been the childhood homes of someone, I had thought, thinking of the baby birds. This was the trigger thought. Someone’s childhood homes, these nests. Do they, the baby birds raised herein, come back with their partners or their babies and show them where their childhood stomping grounds were? 

Perhaps one of these nests was built by a bird raised in and around this area, perhaps even on the tree next ‘door?’ My other thought was as parents, when we become parents, something kicks in and the responsibility teaches the bird parents to build architecturally robust dwellings for one’s off spring. So robust that in the middle of winter, they still stand strong, surviving the summer rain and autumn and winter winds. Come spring, and the circle of breeding and new life stars again in the avian world. 

Not us humans though, seldom do we follow the laws of Nature, especially not in this century. I think that’s why the routine of the seasons has not changed. God knew we would eat the forbidden apple, and lose our senses, so the make-up of winter is such that the needful is achieved by design. 

Anyway, I wrote all about the story of the birds and the tres and the uncanny connections we do not think about as zombie like we traverse through this life. There is certainly something about the winter that invites us to retreat, so I do see the point of it. Also, winter is the bait for the Aurora, which likes cold and dark wintery nights, in the extreme latitudes. 

The Aurora have so far eluded me, as we have chased after them in the Shetlands and in Sweden, they have played catch (a glimpse of) me if you can and won against me every time. Knowing how much I’ve longed to be with them, in awe and praise. We’ve driven through the forests to climb up a hill in the dead of night near Ronninge, around Aberdeen (where they showed up soon after we sailed for the Shetlands) and all over the Shetlands and they’ve managed to elude us with the help of rain, wind and cloud cover. Strategic alliances. 

Three weeks in Sweden and not much luck- except once from the windows of our Airbnb high on a cliff, I could see them through the camera. Ditto in Shetland. 

Well, so be it for now, but some day..perhaps next year. Meanwhile, I’m embracing the quiet time of hibernation, below ground for the bulbous flowers, the alliums and the potatoes and above ground for the bears and whatever else takes the time off to replenish their reserves, or just rest while God’s plan and Nature’s Will work in harmony to prepare us when they present the bounties that Spring ushers in and Summer squanders for our benefit. 

I’m thinking of the apple trees, pear trees, blackberry brambles, flowers and long days of glorious sunshine and gluttonous pleasures. I think I’m not in a rush, not at all. Winter, thank you for your long nights of cosy rest, thank you for the opportunity for reflection, and for the internal resonance that can be orchestrated only by the Divine’s imposition of external forces perfectly placed to ensure the world is ready to participate in and partake of the bounty that awaits. 

With the Solstice, the countdown has just begun. And happily, I surrender to thee my Lord, my masters, my Samanijis and my teachers and celebrate in gratitude those that came before me and those who are with me as I have traversed far and found home wherever this world has embraced me. Thank you, Universe.

Veenu Banga

December 22, 2025

10:55 pm

Meadowbank, a lot of emotions and surprisingly, a closure.

 At the end of two weeks, just as we are preparing to leave Sydney for Canberra, we finally made time to go to Meadowbank. I was teary eyed and also in shock, as the train went across the Paramatta river and the Meadowbank skyline came into view. Shepherds Bay, they had called it, when the first building over three floors was taking shape. Today it stands dwarfed amidst the dozens of high rises that have sprung up there. It wasn’t the same. I had been warned, but couldn’t believe it. No, I couldn’t come back to live here. It’s not Au Revoir Meadowbank, it’s not even goodbye. It is just moving on as one grows away and upwards, to the next chapters of life. 

It was dusk, it I don’t think it matters. I was thinking that when we return to Sydney next weekend, perhaps I should go back again, maybe we will, but I know that magic is lost. Yet, not quite. Not having heard any birds, I heard my first kookaburra of this trip as we walked down through the wooded park, towards the ferry terminal. 

Veenu Banga

6th November 2025.

Day 9 already!

 Where has the time flown. Remember tearing up as the coast first came into view from the window of the plane, as we approached the airport and descended quickly lower. The froth of the waves, clearly folding over and over in a layer of twos and threes rolled over to touch the shoreline. 

How Sydney has changed from when I last visited for an extended stay such as this one. We’re almost halfway through to our vacation. The biggest shocker has been the high rises that have cluttered the skyline. The horizon marred by overly tall cell phone towers. 

The other things MIA are the Bubble and Squeak patties by Birds Eye which were a staple burger to make a sandwich with. The cheesecake shop has far fewer locations in Sydney, so will probably wait till we’re in Canberra next week and get my Fruit Flan, which I so loved, could eat the whole in three days, all by myself. However, I’m sure my digestion is not what it used to be. I’ll give it a shot anyway. 

On the plus side found my Cole’s Muesli that I loved and have been eating it. Coles in the City, on George Street is where I did my first shop this trip. It was about 10 minutes from the hotel. 

Still haven’t gone to Meadowbank, but have been looking at it on Google Maps. With lots of Nostalgia. Met up with Baljeet and Harleen, our Meadowbank neighbours, one of the very few Indians there, who have moved out west, into a lovely home with stone floors. They’ve been there 23 years. She drove us to the Glenwood Gurudwara and we had an awesomely delicious Langar which runs all day to support the many 

Doesn’t feel like my Sydney, from when last we were there in 2003, except the one night with Latha in 2012, when flying back to Orlando after K had moved to Canberra in 2003. What even is my Sydney. Baljeet remembered things I had forgotten and remembered moments she could not recall. It was good to hear about the children. 

The city seems a bit soulless with so many high rises. I’m not sure I can get over the claustrophobia of the concrete overwhelm. I loved going to work wearing pantyhose and jacket, as Sydney had a very formal workplace culture, with regards to attire. 

I wince seeing the high rises, with no consideration of the weight of concrete the housing situation puts on Mother Earth. A tells me people have to live somewhere, Mum. Yes, but it’s not really living, is it? Sydney has so much more to offer, glimpses of which I saw as the scores of new Indian migrants thronged the green spaces, which lined the train tracks. People making the most of a muggy Spring Sunday, after a coltish and fairly wet week, that stole four days from me as I came down with a cold, fever and scratchy throat. 

The trains are newer, and Sydney now has a Metro system and trams, just like Amsterdam. I used to watch them from the hotel window. Moved to Abel’s apartment today for the rest of the week before heading to Canberra for the next week. The monorail is gone. So many people I meet have not heard of the Sydney sights I remember, the newer migrants and so very many Indians! Amazing how young the population is here. 

I remember all the train coaches made of wood, (an all wood train) when we took the train from Sydney to Kiama in 1992. Those trains were called bone rattlers, (officially Red Rattlers,  because they were painted red) because they rattled on the tracks. Quaint seats also all wood, can’t recall details. It was winter in July and the guard had come with a tall pole which he pointed up to a box up high on either end of the coach and lit a fire at each end,  Eva use there was no air conditioning. Beats me how they had a fire burning in a train car made of wood? It’s too long ago! 

So many memories, and making new ones now. Explored Chinatown like never before due to proximity to the hotel, a new.y opened Hyatt, not quite a month old. Of course the changing face of the population, more migrants, and the Napalese here are what the Mexicans are to the US. The maid who came to do our room, the chefs and servers in Indian restaurants, I noticed several Nepali people. 

Unplanned and unexpected trip must be the highlight of my year which has had its ups and downs, and can’t say more downs now, especially because of Sedona, Peru and now Down Under. Finally got my sleep settled. Somewhat. Oh, the jacarandas. Everywhere, heart hugging, joyful to beg\hold. The flowering trees, the sun strong when it appears, all marking of Spring and a summer to look forward to!  

Veenu Banga

November 3, 2025

9:45 pm.

The things we do for Love

 There is an unspoken happiness when we are so absorbed, that nothing can disturb our focus. I’ve known to smile to myself in one of those sublime moments, as have many others. Those moments for some become their life’s longing. 

Such people intrigue and hold my attention. I’m almost envious of their focus, and their commitment to their cause. Madness of a kind- to let it consume you. The richest kind of people, the energy that surrounds them and the glow on their faces, instills in me a deep desire to get to know them, and perhaps have some of their magic rub off on to me. 

The Aranmulla Kannadi mirror makers are perhaps a handful of people in the world, to have the exclusive rights to make this choice. This is a Love that you cannot choose, it chooses you, you have to be born into it. My next item on a very small wishlist. Actually, this would be number 2 on my list. https://youtu.be/FAd2zmj9ajI?si=Dsj81UNcAFjy-72F 

And then there’s the flute makers https://youtu.be/ftltGIElKY0?si=4XqUwAwje7byH3g- Perhaps not on my wishlist, but definitely arouses my curiosity, as it’s an instrument that can penetrate my heart with its sounds. Carry me away. Invoke surrender. 

They fascinate me, these kinds of people. You meet them in the Karigars who craft with purpose. Thank goodness the Industrial Revolution did not destroy everything. The engagement to their craft is supreme, and when they are working, the external does not matter, for the internal is so absorbed in its task, that it creates its own world. 

My heart yearns to feel such joy again. My hands have not forgotten the feeling of my creative endeavors. The colors, the cords, the paint, the brushes, the fabric, the sitting up all night doing my deed! Indeed, I know the feeling, and while the feeling is not lost, I am. 

Maybe I can make a fresh start. Maybe just start with writing? Putting pen to paper, finger to keyboard, instead of burdening my brain with what longs to be set free and to flow? 

Veenu Banga

10/15/2025

10:49 pm