This has been retrieved from the past, for your reading pleasure……
The News channels on television those days had been repeatedly telecasting the arrival of the fighting forces, aptly called ‘Sena’, the symbol of a country’s security, but now used and abused by the dregs of society to fight their own causes! There were Senas of all kinds, for different causes, launched by various people. But the ulterior motive was the same- to go to war on people with contradictory views and beliefs or as a show of might by the minnows. As he idly sat pretending to watch the News Hour his father was glued to, Johnny’s mind was a beehive of activity, a cauldron of churning ideas and plans of future action.
Images of men beating up girls flashed on the TV set accompanied by the repeated use of the word, ‘Sene’. He was disgusted by the beating of women but all the same he hit upon a brilliant new thought, why not launch your own ‘Sene’ to fight the evil such as beating up of girls in society?
Johnny being all of eight years, had a group of his friends to fall back on at such portentous times. They were a band of brothers with nine year old Kevin in the Commander’s position. Often they had been caught playing mischief like stealing raw mangoes from Aunty Maud’s garden or smashing the window panes of Uncle Willie’s bungalow with their cricket ball. Of course, they raked the litter of leaves in the garden in return for a basketful of ripe juicy mangoes aunt Maude reserved for ‘the Pereira brood’.. As for poor Uncle Willie, he had seen a Tendlya in the making in the pint-sized, curly-mopped batsman and his glass- breaking Sixer and rewarded the group with a fistful of loose coins for candy, in return for walking Kaiser, his Doberman.
Now that a germ of an idea had taken root in Johnny’s mind, he would call a meeting of his group and discuss it with them in what the adults referred to as , ‘a Demo- grate’ way. Forming their own army would appeal to all of them and imagine the fun they could have during the summer holidays- marching up and down the shady lane, just the way Crasto sir in school taught them!
So the friends cancelled one field trip to the Bandra Fort and assembled one day at the back of the Bothello house under the shady Coral tree to sort out the ‘minor details’ of launching an army. First on the agenda was the cause or the purpose for which it would fight. Mike the mischievous glibly suggested that they better have a plausible excuse for missing class and going on the ‘ram-page’. “What is rampage?” Billu the Barbie wanted to know. Dressed up in a pink frilly dress with her brown curls in two ‘pony tails’, at the age of five she spent more time playing with her dolls than watching the latest developments on the television. “Do not interrupt, Billu you are a girl and girls cannot fight. They get beaten up easily. You are demoted to the lowest rank in the army for speaking out of turn.” shouted Commander Kevin above the noise his army was making! Being a year older to most of them, failed to procure for him the respect and obedience the foot soldiers normally accord to their boss. Oh never mind, at least they were loyal to him!
So the discussion heated up till at last Shane, Sammy’s older brother, still preparing for his exams came to investigate the raucous noise behind the house. More to put an end to the discussion than to dictate the manifesto, he suggested that they form the army ‘to protect the culture’. “What is culture?” Billu whispered as soon as the visitor’s back was turned. Her hushed tone had the desired effect of a noisy gong. Everyone went still, concentrating on finding the answer to Billu’s question. So what was culture? Was it a cousin of vulture, or some masala for curry?
When the elusive answer refused to come for a long time, Brian, the brains of the group came up with a most satisfying answer, “I know what culture is. While watching News on the TV the other day I heard Gramps saying that talking about culture means hippo is crazy.
This bombshell took some time to register. Now that the hippo had plodded into the plot under the guise of ‘Demo-grate’, utter confusion prevailed in the minds of the military strategists. It was pure luck that Shane once again came to investigate the increase in the cacophony, he was just unable to concentrate on his studies. It is not that the hippo is crazy it is Hypocrisy which means you can tell others what to say and do but you do not have to say and do the same thing, like saying, do not practice what you preach”. He explained further, “you can beat others for wearing Jeans, but you yourself can wear them. And please, do you guys have to tell the whole of Bandra of your plan?” Billu’s screechy voice from the lower ranks was too loud for comfort- “What is preach?” The whole regiment turned to glare at her audacity in speaking out of turn. The secret was that they had to hide the fact that most of them did not know what ‘preach’ was!
So they decided to forge into a group of warriors in the name of some saint or the other….the news channels had been kind enough to announce the names of various Sena groups in the name of all the possible gods and kings of the land. So the first task was to find a name for the army of class 111, before they recruited more soldiers. Various suggestions were forthcoming.
Why not name the army for St. Francis, suggested Francis Jr. whose father being in the police force made him an appropriate candidate for the Sena. “Which St. Francis? There were many you know, one was St. Francis Xavier and the other was St. Francis Assisi. There was one more named St. Francis de Sales…” This was Xavier’s territory; he topped the class in Sunday school and could count the Saints’ names on his fingertips. But it was news to most of them, but they decided to choose any one St. Francis as their patron for their Sena. De Sales was dismissed for the simple reason that it was their school principal’s surname and it would not be fair to drag Fr. De Sales into their regiment. Assisi was also rejected because the way the boys pronounced it, it sounded more as ‘as easy’ than Assisi. And was he not the one who spoke to animals and fed the birds out of his hands? How could such a gentle man of peace lead an army, what did he know of fighting?
The last I heard the army was stuck at the first hurdle and not proceeded to the battleground at all, which made Sammy’s mother heave a sigh of relief. That the children may get into trouble had been worrying her since her elder son had reported of the goings-on behind the house. No wonder she was seen on her knees in the chapel, her eyes closed in prayer for her small boys seeking to know what the culture of the land was!
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Nailing the Nails!
Some one has once or maybe often said, "vanity, thy name is woman".
To be 'Fair and Lovely' must be every Indian woman's dream! In the other India we see in TV serials with women in zari pallus and gold heels in the kitchen, it is the colour of the face that matters and maybe the volume of metal weighing them down. The rest is covered up anyway with the nine six yards we call a saree.....
But the modern Indian lass is swiftly emerging out of the fair and lovely tube, to sculpt her body, mould her hands, shape her feet, fashion her nails and colour her hair.....neatly landing into the trap set by the manufacturers, she now rushes to the counter to purchase chemicals to enhance, trim, soften, lengthen expand and improve her assests.
I know of one such determined lady. Impressed by the silky tresses(salute the wig-makers) in the shampoo ads on the TV she tried out every product, coating her beautiful, frizzy hair with shampoos, conditioners, even the electric comb with disasterous results. Learning her lesson after much pain and no gain, now she has reverted back to the naturals she used to pamper her hair with earlier. And it is responding to the gentle touch, swiftly gaining its fomer crowning glory!
Now about my penchant to have beautiful hands. Whenever i glanced at pictures of Monalisa or princess Diana my eyes would greedily take in only their soft hands and shapely nails. So i thought why not me?
Then my good friend the idiot box gave me the solution to my problem- THE NAIL SPA!
The first thing to do was to find out what exactly ' a spa' was....Many word-smiths rejected my plea till ultimately i discovered that a spa could be a place to wash, clean, scrub, warm, cool, treat, massage......long list of possibilties
So, turning a deaf ear to my body that needed all of these teartments and more at my age, i made an appointment to get my nails 'done up'.
On the D-day i decided to hide my true identity of a 'teacher-housewife' and dolled up like a 'society lady'- diamonds( fake), chiffons, scents...Well, the rest is History......the monumental judgement was declared with a curt finality.
I would have to care for my nails, not drench them in water so often- so all those experiments at creating fusion food were OUT.
I would have to use gloves to protect my nails- the love of my family won the day, i could not stay away from baking that odd apple crumble, cheese croisant and coconut cookies!
Regular application of creams and lotions was mandatory to growing healthy nail- the whopping bill left a huge dent in my pocket and I forgot which was day cream and ....hidden from public view, they are growing fungus behind the dressing table mirror!
So now I take pride in my short and clean nails that take delight in cooking, scrubbing, kneading, rolling, patting and clicking the wrong keys as i type this piece...! Halle...luiya!
To be 'Fair and Lovely' must be every Indian woman's dream! In the other India we see in TV serials with women in zari pallus and gold heels in the kitchen, it is the colour of the face that matters and maybe the volume of metal weighing them down. The rest is covered up anyway with the nine six yards we call a saree.....
But the modern Indian lass is swiftly emerging out of the fair and lovely tube, to sculpt her body, mould her hands, shape her feet, fashion her nails and colour her hair.....neatly landing into the trap set by the manufacturers, she now rushes to the counter to purchase chemicals to enhance, trim, soften, lengthen expand and improve her assests.
I know of one such determined lady. Impressed by the silky tresses(salute the wig-makers) in the shampoo ads on the TV she tried out every product, coating her beautiful, frizzy hair with shampoos, conditioners, even the electric comb with disasterous results. Learning her lesson after much pain and no gain, now she has reverted back to the naturals she used to pamper her hair with earlier. And it is responding to the gentle touch, swiftly gaining its fomer crowning glory!
Now about my penchant to have beautiful hands. Whenever i glanced at pictures of Monalisa or princess Diana my eyes would greedily take in only their soft hands and shapely nails. So i thought why not me?
Then my good friend the idiot box gave me the solution to my problem- THE NAIL SPA!
The first thing to do was to find out what exactly ' a spa' was....Many word-smiths rejected my plea till ultimately i discovered that a spa could be a place to wash, clean, scrub, warm, cool, treat, massage......long list of possibilties
So, turning a deaf ear to my body that needed all of these teartments and more at my age, i made an appointment to get my nails 'done up'.
On the D-day i decided to hide my true identity of a 'teacher-housewife' and dolled up like a 'society lady'- diamonds( fake), chiffons, scents...Well, the rest is History......the monumental judgement was declared with a curt finality.
I would have to care for my nails, not drench them in water so often- so all those experiments at creating fusion food were OUT.
I would have to use gloves to protect my nails- the love of my family won the day, i could not stay away from baking that odd apple crumble, cheese croisant and coconut cookies!
Regular application of creams and lotions was mandatory to growing healthy nail- the whopping bill left a huge dent in my pocket and I forgot which was day cream and ....hidden from public view, they are growing fungus behind the dressing table mirror!
So now I take pride in my short and clean nails that take delight in cooking, scrubbing, kneading, rolling, patting and clicking the wrong keys as i type this piece...! Halle...luiya!
Monday, August 30, 2010
The Maharaja of the Indian Skies!
The National news Channels on the idiot box yesterday had a field day, gleefully playing the tape over and over again of how an Air-India flight from Kochi to Bangalore just refused to take off because of ‘technical snag’ as the passengers were informed. Some of them, snoopy ones discovered that the pilot had ‘fallen ill’ and there was none to ferry them to their destination. What I liked best in this sordid drama was the anchor sheepishly throwing a rhetorical question at anyone who was idle enough to sit glued to the screen whether a large national airline could not find a SINGLE pilot to take the place of the ‘sick man’!! So I present one more failed attempt by rookies at the controls of a large aircraft after meeting the best qualification of all- their fathers were there before them…..
Reproduced is the following published in ‘The Indian Currents’
On the Wings of Hope and Prayer……
In a country like India where consumers routinely bear the brunt of official apathy without a murmur, rarely do we hear or read about incidents that should otherwise be making headlines. If consumers, passengers and patients raise their voices and speak of the injustices and unfair practices of the ‘Chalta Hai’ attitude of India, there is a ray of hope that things just might improve!
If you think that the Air-India Express crash in Mangalore has been consigned to the annals of History, you are sadly mistaken because the long term impact of it is still creating hic-cups in the air travel in that part of the country as seen in this incident I experienced. Apparently all official efforts at the time of the crash were directed towards a temporary cover-up, with no repair and restoration attempted till today. Mangalore airport cannot hope for more than its share of publicity for a day or two, certainly not any upgrading and now it seems to be a forgotten past with no future! This incident is placed in the public glare only to create awareness of the sad plight of air travelers.
The twelfth of June saw us safely in the skies once again, flying towards that picturesque city of my birth and childhood and the smells and sounds of wet earth, gurgling rivers, swaying palms and tiny tiled cottages seen from the air growing into huge sprawling homesteads on the ground. To cap it all, the ride into town in Chandra’s old Amby and finally a warm hug from the person awaiting my arrival so anxiously. Soaring into the clear skies at noon on that beautiful Saturday, any thoughts were far from any disaster or trouble but focused on the joys of forthcoming days. The thought of reunion with a treasured member of the family and the prospect of pitter patter of raindrops on my head as I walked under the canopy of green behind the house lifted my spirits sky-high. Flying into Mangalore is a thrilling experience as any ‘native’ will tell you!
When there is a picturesque airport like Mangalore coming into view like a patchwork quilt of greens and blues, even the most timid flyer forgets his fear of flying! But what happens when the picturesque patch of nature fails to turn up under the belly of the aircraft and all one can see is swirling mists of threatening clouds, a churning cauldron that seems to have swallowed the land below?
The landing preparation seems to go on for ages after the announcement. Sensing trouble, the murmur of voices within the aircraft gradually subsided into a deafening silence. The uncertainty seemed to stretch forever…….minutes into a half hour……neither landing, nor announcement. Ultimately we were told that we had been circling the city for the past half hour and no clearance to land had been given by the ATC, the reason being that visibility was down to 3,600 feet and the Instrument Landing System (ILS) at Mangalore airport was not functioning! We remembered that the same ILS was damaged by the wing of the Air-India aircraft during the recent crash! Was it still not attended to…?
An instrument landing system (ILS) is a ground-based instrument approach system that provides precision guidance to an aircraft approaching and landing on a runway, using a combination of radio signals and, in many cases, high-intensity lighting arrays to enable a safe landing during instrument meteorological conditions (IMC), such as low ceilings or reduced visibility due to fog, rain, or blowing snow. To cut a long story short we landed back in Mumbai nearly 4 hours after we had hopefully boarded for a one hour flight at the same airport!
Now it is reckoning time.
1. As announced by the captain if two earlier flights had been diverted from Mangalore to Goa and Mumbai, due to the same trouble, why did this flight take off at all?
2. How long will it take for the ILS to be repaired and get it functioning to aid landing during such inclement weather?
3. Knowing that Mangalore experiences such weather conditions during monsoon which had already set in, why was the ILS not attended to with haste?
4. Can any compensation reduce the pain, trauma, wasted time and resources of the passengers at Mumbai and Mangalore, and those waiting to receive the old and infirm at the airports?
5. What about the loss to the Airline incurred through such empty flights? Will the passengers bear the brunt of another fare increase shortly?
6. When insignificant developments regarding political leaders are given prime space, how come no media reported on the missing ILS in Mangalore?
7. Lastly it can be safely surmised that such incidents occurring with alarming regularity go unnoticed maybe till a tragic repetition of the air-India brings the lax system to its knees. But how many more lives have to be sacrificed for this cause?
Educating oneself about such incidents provides more options to the consumers/passengers. It is time we bonded together and arm ourselves with more choices……..
- Vera Alvares
Reproduced is the following published in ‘The Indian Currents’
On the Wings of Hope and Prayer……
In a country like India where consumers routinely bear the brunt of official apathy without a murmur, rarely do we hear or read about incidents that should otherwise be making headlines. If consumers, passengers and patients raise their voices and speak of the injustices and unfair practices of the ‘Chalta Hai’ attitude of India, there is a ray of hope that things just might improve!
If you think that the Air-India Express crash in Mangalore has been consigned to the annals of History, you are sadly mistaken because the long term impact of it is still creating hic-cups in the air travel in that part of the country as seen in this incident I experienced. Apparently all official efforts at the time of the crash were directed towards a temporary cover-up, with no repair and restoration attempted till today. Mangalore airport cannot hope for more than its share of publicity for a day or two, certainly not any upgrading and now it seems to be a forgotten past with no future! This incident is placed in the public glare only to create awareness of the sad plight of air travelers.
The twelfth of June saw us safely in the skies once again, flying towards that picturesque city of my birth and childhood and the smells and sounds of wet earth, gurgling rivers, swaying palms and tiny tiled cottages seen from the air growing into huge sprawling homesteads on the ground. To cap it all, the ride into town in Chandra’s old Amby and finally a warm hug from the person awaiting my arrival so anxiously. Soaring into the clear skies at noon on that beautiful Saturday, any thoughts were far from any disaster or trouble but focused on the joys of forthcoming days. The thought of reunion with a treasured member of the family and the prospect of pitter patter of raindrops on my head as I walked under the canopy of green behind the house lifted my spirits sky-high. Flying into Mangalore is a thrilling experience as any ‘native’ will tell you!
When there is a picturesque airport like Mangalore coming into view like a patchwork quilt of greens and blues, even the most timid flyer forgets his fear of flying! But what happens when the picturesque patch of nature fails to turn up under the belly of the aircraft and all one can see is swirling mists of threatening clouds, a churning cauldron that seems to have swallowed the land below?
The landing preparation seems to go on for ages after the announcement. Sensing trouble, the murmur of voices within the aircraft gradually subsided into a deafening silence. The uncertainty seemed to stretch forever…….minutes into a half hour……neither landing, nor announcement. Ultimately we were told that we had been circling the city for the past half hour and no clearance to land had been given by the ATC, the reason being that visibility was down to 3,600 feet and the Instrument Landing System (ILS) at Mangalore airport was not functioning! We remembered that the same ILS was damaged by the wing of the Air-India aircraft during the recent crash! Was it still not attended to…?
An instrument landing system (ILS) is a ground-based instrument approach system that provides precision guidance to an aircraft approaching and landing on a runway, using a combination of radio signals and, in many cases, high-intensity lighting arrays to enable a safe landing during instrument meteorological conditions (IMC), such as low ceilings or reduced visibility due to fog, rain, or blowing snow. To cut a long story short we landed back in Mumbai nearly 4 hours after we had hopefully boarded for a one hour flight at the same airport!
Now it is reckoning time.
1. As announced by the captain if two earlier flights had been diverted from Mangalore to Goa and Mumbai, due to the same trouble, why did this flight take off at all?
2. How long will it take for the ILS to be repaired and get it functioning to aid landing during such inclement weather?
3. Knowing that Mangalore experiences such weather conditions during monsoon which had already set in, why was the ILS not attended to with haste?
4. Can any compensation reduce the pain, trauma, wasted time and resources of the passengers at Mumbai and Mangalore, and those waiting to receive the old and infirm at the airports?
5. What about the loss to the Airline incurred through such empty flights? Will the passengers bear the brunt of another fare increase shortly?
6. When insignificant developments regarding political leaders are given prime space, how come no media reported on the missing ILS in Mangalore?
7. Lastly it can be safely surmised that such incidents occurring with alarming regularity go unnoticed maybe till a tragic repetition of the air-India brings the lax system to its knees. But how many more lives have to be sacrificed for this cause?
Educating oneself about such incidents provides more options to the consumers/passengers. It is time we bonded together and arm ourselves with more choices……..
- Vera Alvares
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Published on 15th August, 2010- transferring it here for my friends on the facebook….
Thank you, Woody Guthrie, your musical genius gave the world that beautiful song- This land is your land, a much-loved classis sung with a lilt in the voice and a dream in the eyes ! But we in India only dare to speak of it in hushed tones, for what comparison can there be between a rosy picture of progress and prosperity and a dismal scene of plunder and pillage, of a country racing to the pinnacle of power and a land raped and ravaged by the powerful in the land?
We hear the tortured cries of this land of mine, pleading for liberation from the clutches of a motley group of people gnawing at it from within while they claim to rule it from without! My Motherland is up for sale! The flight of funds to foreign shores due to the abuse of power is killing this land and its people. Yet, we hail our great country on this day of its past liberation from foreign rule and hope for another Mahatma to secure us present freedom from the corrupt yoke of those who treat India as their personal fiefdom…..
This land is your land, this land is my land
From Himachal peaks, to the Vindhyan heights
From coastal ghat jungles to sonar Bangla waters
This land was made for you and me…...
From the rolling plains of Punjab to the seven streams of Sindhu
From the sacred hills of Utkal to the fragrant air of Kodagu
And the sparkling spreads of the Arabian sands
The shimmering dunes of the warriors’ Royal land,
This land is made for me and you……..
In the swaying fronds in God’s own country a lullaby lies,
Saffron sunsets over the Mannar bay, a sight for sore eyes
Among the Tehri Garhwal Sal forests, on banks of flowing Godavari
I see a land, a land of gold and silver, a land of milk and honey,
And I feel proud that this land is my land ………
Snatches of folk songs, blooming of the bamboo in sacred sanctuary
Where the tiger roamed free, the cuckoo called a sweet melody
From Chirapunji to Tiruchirapalli, from Darjeeling to Dhavalagiri
Swinging to the tillers’ song I walked through the fields of prosperity
And I saw before me the land of sages and selfless statesmen
Oh! This land was indeed made for me!
I walked the country roads to Chchatrapati’s fortresses,
Wind caressing my face, rippling the golden paddy fields
Woods thick with birdsong and fearless wilderness
The expanse of the Rann, the intricate maze of Sunderbans,
I marvel-when did this land cease to be mine?
As I walked I saw a sign there, and that sign read – No Trespassing
But the other side, I hoped that could be mine……..
The side that had said nothing before
Now painted in bold letters the order for sure
- Keep out all citizens, can you not see
This side is made not for you but for me?
I've roamed and rambled and I've followed my own footsteps
Through the once swaying fields in golden valleys that are no more
I passed bare mud-huts in dark hamlets, to the din of empty vessels
The dreams of my youth lay shattered in the bare countryside
And all around me a haunting voice sounds
It SEZ to me, this land was made not for you but and me.
The country roads have turned to highways of progress,
Hills and wilderness, swanky mansions of the rich and famous
All roaring has ceased, my land littered with choked streams,
Massacred groves, desecrated hillocks- spoils of the rulers’ games
Fields fallow, hills denuded, rivers breached and fewer
Nature, quartered and hung for sale in the corridors of power-
I scream- Who dares claim this land that once was mine?
The sun comes shining out, focusing on the plunder
On the sacred Utkal hills to the moan of the pillaged earth,
Vedanta gurus were chanting ‘Bauxite, Bauxite we plunder’
Death throes of poisoned rivers, heavy stirring of toxic air
Tribal cries rising to foreign shores- ‘Don’t Mine us out of Existence’
In the dark of the night Kudremukh tunnels rape the earth secretly under
In Maratha land, the King’s fort on auction block awaiting highest bidder
Was this land made not for me but only for you?
In the squares of the city - In the shadow of the steeple
Where painted grins on paper faces rule the skyline,
Hide the truth of the rape and ravage of this land of mine
Near the urban relief camps and in the stony stares of migrant masses
I see my people with despair on starving faces, aliens in their own land
With hunger in their bellies and disease in their bones, trembling and shaking
And some are moaning, some are grumbling and some are wondering
Was this land ever made for you and me?
- Vera Alvares
We hear the tortured cries of this land of mine, pleading for liberation from the clutches of a motley group of people gnawing at it from within while they claim to rule it from without! My Motherland is up for sale! The flight of funds to foreign shores due to the abuse of power is killing this land and its people. Yet, we hail our great country on this day of its past liberation from foreign rule and hope for another Mahatma to secure us present freedom from the corrupt yoke of those who treat India as their personal fiefdom…..
This land is your land, this land is my land
From Himachal peaks, to the Vindhyan heights
From coastal ghat jungles to sonar Bangla waters
This land was made for you and me…...
From the rolling plains of Punjab to the seven streams of Sindhu
From the sacred hills of Utkal to the fragrant air of Kodagu
And the sparkling spreads of the Arabian sands
The shimmering dunes of the warriors’ Royal land,
This land is made for me and you……..
In the swaying fronds in God’s own country a lullaby lies,
Saffron sunsets over the Mannar bay, a sight for sore eyes
Among the Tehri Garhwal Sal forests, on banks of flowing Godavari
I see a land, a land of gold and silver, a land of milk and honey,
And I feel proud that this land is my land ………
Snatches of folk songs, blooming of the bamboo in sacred sanctuary
Where the tiger roamed free, the cuckoo called a sweet melody
From Chirapunji to Tiruchirapalli, from Darjeeling to Dhavalagiri
Swinging to the tillers’ song I walked through the fields of prosperity
And I saw before me the land of sages and selfless statesmen
Oh! This land was indeed made for me!
I walked the country roads to Chchatrapati’s fortresses,
Wind caressing my face, rippling the golden paddy fields
Woods thick with birdsong and fearless wilderness
The expanse of the Rann, the intricate maze of Sunderbans,
I marvel-when did this land cease to be mine?
As I walked I saw a sign there, and that sign read – No Trespassing
But the other side, I hoped that could be mine……..
The side that had said nothing before
Now painted in bold letters the order for sure
- Keep out all citizens, can you not see
This side is made not for you but for me?
I've roamed and rambled and I've followed my own footsteps
Through the once swaying fields in golden valleys that are no more
I passed bare mud-huts in dark hamlets, to the din of empty vessels
The dreams of my youth lay shattered in the bare countryside
And all around me a haunting voice sounds
It SEZ to me, this land was made not for you but and me.
The country roads have turned to highways of progress,
Hills and wilderness, swanky mansions of the rich and famous
All roaring has ceased, my land littered with choked streams,
Massacred groves, desecrated hillocks- spoils of the rulers’ games
Fields fallow, hills denuded, rivers breached and fewer
Nature, quartered and hung for sale in the corridors of power-
I scream- Who dares claim this land that once was mine?
The sun comes shining out, focusing on the plunder
On the sacred Utkal hills to the moan of the pillaged earth,
Vedanta gurus were chanting ‘Bauxite, Bauxite we plunder’
Death throes of poisoned rivers, heavy stirring of toxic air
Tribal cries rising to foreign shores- ‘Don’t Mine us out of Existence’
In the dark of the night Kudremukh tunnels rape the earth secretly under
In Maratha land, the King’s fort on auction block awaiting highest bidder
Was this land made not for me but only for you?
In the squares of the city - In the shadow of the steeple
Where painted grins on paper faces rule the skyline,
Hide the truth of the rape and ravage of this land of mine
Near the urban relief camps and in the stony stares of migrant masses
I see my people with despair on starving faces, aliens in their own land
With hunger in their bellies and disease in their bones, trembling and shaking
And some are moaning, some are grumbling and some are wondering
Was this land ever made for you and me?
- Vera Alvares
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