A Full Moon measure of Time

The stars were pretty dim tonight 

And muted behind clouds, the moon.

Jupiter was supposed to nudge close 

Shining bright, and the shine gone 

All  too soon. 

It’s the clouds you see, they’re the cause

Of the change of plans in the sky,

Just as our clouded judgements

Destroy us, when our true Nature

We defy.

The clouds will lift, and time it’s toll 

Does take, the moon’s fullness then reduced

Teaches us, it’s the law of Nature, and 

A price is paid, and that time cannot be abused. 

It’s best wisely used. 

So to pick oneself up, is all you can do.

However hard, the first steps one must take

All journeys being with the lifting of one’s foot,

And then another, and another in pursuit

Of our dreams. 

Take not the high road, that much at least 

to one’s self is owed. So strap on those boots

And rising tall, on the horizon keep your eye

For time is a ticking a ticking away, nothing faster 

Than time can fly.  

The moon and the stars, if they can be 

over come by clouds, don’t you see?

What chance does stand a mortal mere

For doubts to turn them in? It’s time, 

Time always wins. 

Veenu Banga

Copyright 08/22//2021

11:25 pm

Backstory: I went to see the full moon 🌝 last night and it had a thin opaque film of cloud. Could Barely see the stars. And yesterday Jupiter was supposed to be closer to the moon and would have been shining bright, but clouds ☁️ came in the way of that celestial plan, at least over my part of the world. So this is what I perceived. 

08/23/2021.

A silvery crescent rests on blue

Sometimes I wish there was an App, which if you would point to a star the sky, will tell you which star it is. (Just as Shazam can identify music) I think I must have seen Venus, it was out west, and quite high. It seemed so close, it was so brilliant. I like to imagine it’s a spaceship, with people inside, coming to visit us- us as in all of humanity. They’re coming to Earth. How excited they must be! We have everything. Lots of water in our oceans and rivers, and streams. Good soil in large parts. We have the Amazon basin, and we have Hollywood (and Bollywood) and the internet, etc. Etc. American cultural exports are known everywhere. Oh dear, if they only knew! What a mess we’re making, a mess of this beautiful planet!

However, I digress. We were out walking after dinner, and as always I was looking skywards and saw the moon. There is something so magical about the waxing moon, it’s like loaded with Energy, like a child thriving on love, it has a sense of robustness about it, and it feels as if it is that love, that is accelerating it’s growth. 

The exact opposite happens with the waning moon. It’s more yin, a sobering spectacle, till one approaches Amavasya, and hope returns. I love watching the moon, and the sky, especially at sunrise and set. There is an etherealness to it, more than that, it the unexpectedness-a new sky every moment, a new sky every sunrise and sunset. The shapes are different, the palette, even the sky itself, is of a different hue, every single day. Now even my friends and family know to tell me if they see a beautiful sky. 

So here we were, just past nine, 9:02 pm to be exact. The sun had long gone to bed, being an early riser these days. However, the sky was still a beautiful blue, with the silky texture like covered with satin on the surface. Oh, and I also wish there was an App, that if you pointed it to a color, it would tell you which color it was, what ones were predominantly in that and etc. Because the sky was the bluest I’ve seen at that time of night. Let’s call it Inviting Blue. And, yes, I took pictures, and yes, I will share them. Now, without further ado. Enjoy. 

In the second photo, the moon is on the top left, and if you look between the little blue island like opening between the two trees on the lower right, you can see the bright star. I’m guessing it’s the Evening star. Can’t say as I’m no astronomer. You may need to zoom in to see it. 

Veenu Banga

July 7, 2021.

11:27 pm

At this time of the year

This post was published on 9/9/ 2010, on another blog. God, how many of these exist, scattered all over the place. Just bringing it over, without reading it first.

At this time of the year.

My friend Latha posted a very valid and loaded question on my Facebook page this morning. We must be soul sisters or something but I had been thinking of how this time of year major religions of the world come together to celebrate, reflect...you know the drill. 

So this one is for you, Latha. 

What Koran stuff, Lata? Do you mean the NYC controversy?

So strange and such a co-incidence, Latha- as I was doing the dishes this morning, I was thinking about the discriminatory attitudes of some people and how individuals get either lumped together by color or by all the different religions in the world. 

It started off as I was watching an episode of "The Choir", (BBC) where this black woman has experienced some offensive behaviour by a few teenagers, as she has recently moved to the community. There is also the local boxer with a very 'limited vision' for South Oxley, to quote Gareth (the chap who brings the choir together) and who put it so well.

Anyway, so I remembered being told recently by a muslim friend, that the largest Orlando mosque stands on land donated by a Jewish person. Yesterday was the Jewish New Year and tomorrow is Ramadan, culminating in 40 days of fasting. While Jews and Muslims along with the Christians are all children of the book, Hindus are not. However, invariably, our holidays fall close to each other. Ganapti festival is around this time. Also, in March/ April, close to Lent we have the Navratras. How much more are we similar as people, than we are different as defined by our faiths?

While Hinduism is very tolerant and never advocates conversion and Christianity is full of examples of selfless service, people of all faiths have their crooks and vagabonds and murderers and rapists and pedophiles. But the media markets and propagates what suits the agenda of their patrons. So we have muslim terrorists and hindu yogis and Christian orphanages and schools, and Jewish moneylenders (banks now I suppose and businesses) because Shylock now lives in rural communities in India where bonded labour still exists, but I digress. So back to the basics of how perception is propagated as factual truths or traits.

A recent and well researched book out on Winston Churchill makes a good point. It was a real shocker when I read its review:

http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/books/reviews/churchills-secret-war-by-madhusree-mukerjee-2068698.html

because I am a fan of Churchill's wit and oratory. Also, through one of my lists I was sent another review/ official press release of the book which was such an eyeopener. 

As individuals we must and only can focus on other people as individuals first, because as people, we are closest to them as individuals, to know them first for who they are is more comprehendible that to try to relate in any other way. To make sense of our faith and get into their religious dogmas, all of which are centuries old, is such a waste of a lifetime, which is not even a blimp on a blimp in this vast and timeless universe. 

Ah, Latha, I miss not doing this over lunch, my friend. Wouldn't it be more satisfying and fulfilling to break bread together! *hugs* 

PS. I also miss your chatter, the parties, you hospitality and cooking, and just hanging out on relaxing Sydney weekends!

Minding Miss Meli

Minding Miss Meli:  A vignette in time 

Miss Meli and I met in unusual circumstances. I still recall my trepidation when I first saw her. I remember retreating a step or two, not sure if I was entirely welcome in her presence. Oh! No, she was undoubtedly not forbearing, but then she was not very aggressive either. She was neither intimidating nor overly pushy. She was not ugly or scary looking. She was not even very big. In fact, she was a petite little Miss with large soulful eyes that sort of had looked away from me after that first fierce glance. I was glad for it then, but little did I know that later it was these very same eyes that would so successfully seduce me. Her striking personality asserted that she missed nothing and would fathom everything. Such was her confidence.

 

It is now almost three years since we met that very first time, and then we shared the same roof for nearly three weeks. After the initial encounter, we both settled into a kind of routine. We very soon shared a camaraderie that complemented our inter-dependence. 

 

Blokes like me get used to being looked at with a certain suspicion and serious doubt at our capability to fulfill any familial sort responsibility we may be entrusted with. My tradesmen’s clothes that should inspire confidence in those who hire and pay us, do the exact opposite when it comes to the caregiving kind of matters. The looks of seeming distrust from some now seem routine. At our first meeting, I believe that assumption triggered Miss Meli’s initial reaction upon my arrival on their doorstep that evening. 

 

It had come about that the Halls were going away for their annual vacation to Scotland, and Miss Meli did not take kindly to travel. Through mutual friends, they had found me, a willing and eager house sitter in need of short-term lodging, to look after their cats, a few fish, a rabbit, and a dog. 

 

There was Angus, the big, brown, and muscular tomcat, and his mate Goldie. She waited aside politely for Angus to finish eating first before lowering her mouth to the bowl. Angus signaled his satiation by a series of first soft and then loud meows before proceeding through the living room towards the doggy door that led him outdoors as he trotted away on a full stomach to pursue his favorite pastime of vagabonding. 

 

The kitchen was then Goldie’s domain, where she commanded the corner by the window, turning her head this way and that way, closing her eyes in concentrated relish, as she purposefully munched the very same food from the very same bowl that Angus had impatiently wolfed down. She was a light-footed feline who had made an art form of ignoring Angus when he deserved to be ignored. I could have sworn Goldie thought Angus went out drinking after dinner; such was her utter disdain at his hurried and dismal departure soon after he had eaten. On the other hand, she relished her dining experience and was very comfortable keeping herself home after dinner. If she was disappointed in him, she did not let on and just meandered around the house before jumping up onto the sofa and strategically placing herself in front of the T.V., her eyes half-closed, her thoughts known entirely to herself. Upon his return, Angus would quietly, but not cautiously, slink into the master bedroom, avoiding Miss Meli when he could, taking up residence for the night on the master’s side of the bed. 

 

Miss Meli observed everything but said nothing. Her eyes followed every movement and every sound in the house as she sat upon whichever chair or sofa it was her pleasure to do so at the time. No one was left with any doubt on who the true mistress was for the better part of the day. There was a certain voice to Miss Meli’s silence, and I think the creatures in the house knew that. Miss Meli’s expression said what she indeed must have been feeling because she often would slowly shake her head from side to side in hopelessness as she outwardly ignored their irregularities. Luckily the guinea pigs were being cared for by the Smiths across the street. Thank goodness for that. She had enough to deal with without those smelly critters around.

 

The fish went round and round, up and down in their glass bowl, and only needed feeding every other day, so they were no problem. However, it was the Rabbit that was an entirely different kettle of fish! 

 

It was Rabbit Miss Meli deplored the most. He was the worst behaved in the absence of its young owner. Mrs. Hall had told me he ate lettuce very happily and enjoyed a big appetite. Sadly, I learned otherwise. He thrived basically on variety for his vegan habits. The lettuce was usually left untouched. The apples were finished one day, and only broccoli would be eaten the next day. Stale browned apples lay scattered around with hardly a nibble on them on another day. I was never sure what his Royal Fluffiness would favor the next day. Rabbit was fussy about not eating and selective in what he ate. He was not just eccentric, but he was downright queer. He either would not venture out of his pen in the garage or, if he was coaxed into doing so, was nowhere to be found when it was time to come back in. Or if he was found, he led us both, Miss Meli and I, to a merry dance before he would be caught and saved from becoming a feast for the foxes that roamed in the night. 

 

I had been told that Miss Meli was good with bringing him in, but I soon learned that option should only be considered my last resort. Miss Meli certainly did not suffer a fool. She spared no mercy when entrusted with rounding up Rabbit, so much so that I was genuinely concerned for his safety when I depended upon her help to do so. For some reason, though, around Miss Meli, Rabbit justified her actions with his obnoxious behavior. Miss Meli’s persistence and agility were remarkable. She could find him under the thickest hedge or behind the bushiest bushes, hiding around the compost bin, or smugly seated behind the large pots on the terrace. Miss Meli always found him, and she hustled him into the garage. It was a frequent and usually predictable game of I Spy. Sometimes I wondered who enjoyed the chase more, the hunter or the hunted. If Rabbit could speak, I would know.

 

 

The leaves had begun to turn color again, and I was coming back to Canberra around the same time of year. When we had gone for walks, I had let Miss Meli lead me being new to the area, as together we had come upon many a beautiful garden. I had done most of the talking, being curious and she being a good listener, had respected my human need to communicate, acknowledging me always with appropriate and periodic nods of her wise head. 

 

It seems like yesterday, but I wondered how much Miss Meli would have changed in three years. She was an ageless beauty, I was sure of that. I thought of her fondly as I pulled into their driveway. Mrs. Hall was expecting me, and I saw the door open just as I was getting out of the car. Behind her was Miss Meli, her curiosity suddenly turned to recognition, and before I knew it, she was in my arms. A man’s best friend indeed. After all, a dog never forgets.

 Copyright Veenu Banga

July 2006

On KANYADAAN (or the giving away of the bride)

Spring had lasted long that year, I remember well, Mother dear

Long, long remained our delightful garden in full bloom

Summer fled past, then Autumn,

And winter came all too soon. 

Jubilant I was, for in my heady prime

Winter’s treachery, I could not define

In the warm winter afternoons,  

Star struck eyes only saw the blue skies, 

Felt the kiss of the Sun on virgin skin, 

And never dwelt, otherwise.

That winter, remember? 

When in marriage you gave me away

To blossom in another’s garden

You did say...

Mummy, why couldn’t I have remained? 

To blossom, or to wither

But remained in yours

Why must daughters be given away, Mummy, 

To enter another’s doors?

And to dwell therein 

And to make a home

Amidst callous strangers

We must call our own..

They do not let me grow roots

And undermine me all the time

And lest I should flower 

They have pruned me in my prime.

My hopes are dashed and spirits crushed,

My gentler feelings repulsed, want me to run away,

It pains, to stay.

All natural urges, persistent,

Yet thus firmly suppressed

Leave me scathed, wounded, 

recoiling further and distressed.

And once again, I wonder aloud

Is the bridal red, a woman’s shroud? 

When on that lonesome journey 

On that fateful day she embarks

Expected to survive alone

In a sea of hungry sharks.

With pirates for shipmates 

Gladly they’d throw her overboard-

The Captain, a one eyed crook

Professes to be her lord.

It befalls upon her to climb up the mast 

To any calamity to foresee, deal with it 

Learning the ropes, is only doing her duty.

Even then it’s a mighty favor

She’s lodged on the vessel afloat 

After all this endurance, endeavor cycle

She’s accused of rocking the boat.

Come summer sun, with its scorching heat

Or vicious winds blowing, that storms incite

Choppy seas, roughness all around

The stars shine sadly at night.

Both man and nature thus contrive

And injust treachery thus abound  

The moon rising high, comes and goes

Without protest, not making a sound.

In those quiet moments

The foolish girl gazes heavenwards

And her starry dreams revived

Keep her sane, as wearily she goes on 

That’s how so long she has survived.

The world is round, so they say

And where they started, they must meet 

Those she had left behind will come 

With fragrant flowers to welcome her and greet.

But till then it’s a long wait,

The captain says this is the way of life 

As they stand between sea and sky-

And good girls do as they are bid

They never complain, nor defy.

He tells her one must learn to face life’s facts,

And shows her the darkness of the night;

But Mummy, your little girl remains unchanged

She can see, only the stars, in the heavens shining bright.

Veenu Banga copyright 1982.

This is one of my other ‘Sunflowers.’ For the longest time, I couldn’t find it, and strangely enough I remembered enough of it to regenerate it so it has a sense of continuity, makes sense in the whole, reads the same, yet new. This is the original version. The other versions are written in the last couple of years, as I longed to find and revive this, give it a breather. The lines I wrote later to ‘complete’ this poem, made complete sense to me at the time, and seemed to fill in cracks that may have been missing. I hope to make the effort to find the additional verses, and unite them with their mothership. 

Veenu Banga copyright March 3, 2021

12:35 am.

Losing my Sangrinity

Enough of nostalgia in my last several posts. Sometimes the compulsion of the Present moment is so strong, it overpowers all sense of sensibility, decorum, and commonsense. In my defense, however, it was not all as it seemed, and here lies the story of how I lost my Sangrinity. 

After waking up to a sunny and sparkling New Year's day, Lisbon displayed a sullen hangover on January the 2nd. It was cold, cloudy, and overcast. All day. It was also the only day we had, to go to Belem, and we did. 

Belem offers a lot of outdoor activities. In better weather, the very things we did, would have added a different flavor to our enjoyment. I'm talking serious shopping at the outdoor markets, AND eating Pasteis de Nata with other sweet and savories, at two of the top-rated outlets that serve them, including at Pasteis de Belem, circa 1837, where the queue forms out the door because this place has purchased and uses the original secret recipe from the nuns who started the tradition of Portugal's famous, well, Pasteis de nata.

Now to the fiasco, that was my undoing. Continuing, however, in my defense, imagine being lucky enough, to get a rather last minute dinner reservation at a wildly popular, white table cloth restaurant. It is warm and welcoming inside, and after a cold, dreary day spent mostly outdoors, that in itself is a bit intoxicating because you let your guard down, or wait..was it my guard that let me down? Was it? Hmm...with deception involved, to a large degree? Yes, and it wasn't just with an apple, there was a whole lot of fruit involved. Very colorful too. Is there a Bollywood-Esqueness to this tale? Finding shelter from the rain..was it inevitable, albeit a different kind of seduction, with the loss of one's sangrinity? 

So here we were, our group was seated immediately on arrival, at the fine restaurant, while a crowd of hopefuls lingered around the entrance, within touching distance of the fine drizzle. 

Our server came immediately and one of our party, who had been here before, asked around to get a headcount for the restaurant's highly prized Sangria. Of course, yours truly, on finding out it was alcoholic, vehemently declined. 

Everything happened so quickly then. We feasted on crisp salad and complimentary house nibbles. The mains and the fruit-filled elegant decanter came almost together. The fragrant vase-like beverage holder with its easy to grasp slim neck was placed right by my side. Now, nothing comes between fresh fruit and this mama. I queerly regarded the astonished looks in my direction and paid little heed to the crestfallen faces as more and more of the delicious white liquid fell into my glass, in my earnest attempts to get the fruit to oblige and budge. It was so very good, mmmm! The deliciousness of all the fruits- the kiwis, pineapple, grapes, mango, strawberries, and everything else with it, was so much subtler, and gentler and sweeter, for being soaked in the smoothness of whatever it was. I kept dunking more and more in my glass, and the liquid was just uncontrollable!

Soon the accusatory looks cast in my direction bordered on alarm. I think I may have realized that it was the famed sangria that I was chugging down, but everyone else, unlike me, mindful of their dining etiquette, made me doubt I could be so rude. I couldn't, now...could I? Was it the alcohol, with its sweet deception, disguised in a jar laden with fruit that compelled me, on that disquieting rainy night? Or was it something more mundane, like an innocent longing for the fresh fruit? I will never really know, except on that rainy night, at a hugely popular restaurant in Lisbon, this is how I lost my sangrinity.

(From a draft waiting to be finalized, since January). 

The Gifts we can give to ourselves

For the past several weeks, the Evening star, Venus has been shining very brightly in the western sky. It has shifted positions slightly, but the intensity of its brightness has not diminished, instead it's grown, and the star looks bigger and brighter.

Today, for some reason I couldn't find it, even as many, many other less shinier stars were everywhere. I guess it's new position, from where I stand, is behind some trees? Anyway, going out into the night I did see the full moon, and gazed at it, delighting and celebrating it brightness. It also reminded me that in all fairness, it was uniting me with rest of humanity as it shone brightly all across the skies, and over the rest of the world! We were all compartmentalized by this powerful force, irrespective of gender, creed, color, size of house or political affiliation, as one species on this planet, impacted by the very moon, no matter where are. Even the oceans dance to its orchestration. The moon controls the tides of our times.

Had my mother been alive today, she would have called to wish me, on this Buddha Purnima, my Lunar birthday, which was today, 7th May, this year. She always celebrated my birthday by doing some charitable deeds, mainly feeding the poor and giving of alms. My day was interesting, having tumbled over from midnight, as I sat awake, in those very early hours, reading, well past my bedtime.

For a while now, I had been getting this one phrase in my mind, and from that a thought. Suddenly, this picture comes into my head, along with this one sentence, which I thought had a special sweetness to it. All I wanted to do was just write that down, because later I can forget easily, as the unfolding days of our lives engulf us in the demands of what we call living. That's when the magic happened.

The words just poured out and they painted a whole scenario of events, and I was witness to it. The story unfolded faster than I could write. I remember walking up to see pen in hand poised to write, and my eyes groggy head nodding half in obedience and half in defiance. It was finally in the last paragraph when the new title of the story revealed itself, First Words. The time was 3:15 am. I was very pleased that I persevered and completed the short story in the first sitting. That was a Gift to myself, on this, my Lunar birthday.

Hopefully, it will be unveiled tomorrow.