Wednesday, March 27, 2024

It’s all about Emotions

 Master Lin, in his Level 1 class, says Emotions are the most powerful and the primary cause of disease. The disease begins with Emotion. So does healing, but this Emotion has Love in it. 

Every relationship cannot be described with Love, though it is agreed that there are many kinds of Love, including platonic, filial, etc. 

I think the highest Love is an adoration filled with respect. The Adoration of someone so worthy of being adored that to call it even an aspect of Love will be shortchanging it. 

Such Adoration came into my life when I met the Samanijis. Samaniji Jin Pragya ji, and Samaniji Kshanti Pragya ji. It is essential in life to have someone to look up to. Not necessarily a role model, but someone whose traits you can aspire to. May it be their intense spirituality, wisdom, or even discipline, all of which make a persona that excels at life. Lives a life of a higher purpose. These were my Samanijis. They came into my life to resurrect and save. To get me back on the track of life, where I was irretrievably derailed and displaced. 

In any interaction of worth, emotions are involved, and emotions can mine one's innermost depths. The Samanijis usually gave lectures in Hindi. Real "kadhin" (strictly adhering to the classical texts) Hindi is not the colloquial language I'm familiar with, but the textbook kind, and it took me several weeks to comprehend the meaning of their talks. 

However, I maintained the interaction and was richly rewarded. I wrote poetry in Hindi- not in the script, but transliterated. This was only the second time in my life. The first Hindi poem was a song I wrote for a housewarming of a Fiji-Indian Christian family in Sydney. For the Samanijis, I wrote more than one poem in Hindi, and immodest as it is, I thought, and they thought the verses were well written! 

This post was inspired by binge-watching a music group comprising a poet and two singers, one male and the other female. The poet, Ajay Sahasb, stretched popular Bollywood music and transported it into something magical. The singers Rajesh Singh and Gyanita Diwedi have the perfect voices and the right skills to sing them. The musicians accompanying them do a fabulous job of uplifting the melodies to a level of superiority and giving the songs a new lease of life. 

They've taken it off on a tangent, and it's paid off in terms of praise and popularity because of Ajay Sahaab's empathy and emotions toward the lyrics and where they come from in the circumstances under which they were written, and for which they were written with regards to the scene in the movie. He seems able to tell the story of its aura when he adds his own verses to the existing lyrics. 

I think it's the excellence of this group that, somewhere in my heart, I strive to do in my work, which is languishing in the pages of several notebooks that fill up boxes in my home. Those stories deserve their airtime, and their significance, relevance, and worth should not be for me to decide. 

My job is done once I have written. I have to remember that just as I get pleasure from reading other people's work, some may enjoy my writing. That's a pleasing thought!

Veenu Banga

03/28/2024

1:01 am


Verse and Melody

When I was a little girl, I remember my mother telling me that Urdu is a very refined language and that some words in Urdu cannot be translated well into another language to express the full depth of the word. She gave me the example of the word SOZ, or SOAZ, (pronounced sews, or so(r)es and soa(r)s without the sound of the R. The sentence she used to describe it was, "Uski awaaz mein bahut Soz hai ."


Another memory is when I was perhaps six years old. I remember holding my mother's hand as we settled into one of the front-row seats for a live concert with Bismillah Khan at the India International Centre in Lodi Estate, New Delhi. It was a venue near our house, and my mother's dear friend, Shanta Rao, was also with us. 


We sat across from the Maestro, and I wanted to believe he continuously smiled at me. He was continuously smiling with a joy that remained with me. The glowing radiance on his face, chubby red cheeks, joyous expression, and perpetually smiling eyes are etched in my memory. 


As Bismillah Khan played, I became so mesmerized by the sound of the shenai that I remember how I became conscious of my head involuntarily swaying with the music. It wasn't in my control to stop that. Shehnai was my only favorite instrument for a long time, and I played it often on my cassette tapes. It still is one of the instruments that can move me. Just not the sad strains, but the happy ones, with which he mesmerized a little girl. 


My mother often sang loudly with the radio as she went about her business at home. God knows she needed that happiness. Music has stayed with me, often to lift me out of whatever is not going right. 


Verse and melody have an innate magic built into them. If these two words had to be 'made' out of something, it would have to be magic. And if these two words had a 'TASEER' (another Urdu word I heard from my mum), a 'temperament,' it would be to have the ability to transport us, to sway, to take one (us) away. It is to influence a person and achieve a desired or even undesired state of mind. This reminds me of something I wrote for World Poetry Day in 2022:


"My love nest and my battlefield,

Both travel with me.

My playground and my life's grind

Are only a thought away.

Come life, let's entwine together 

Our resources, in a fixed embrace.

All I need, sweet life, are 

Words to take me away. "


My sentiments here are that I carry my universe in my mind, which is influenced by my thoughts, and I need just words (or, in my instance, verse) to take me away (elsewhere or anywhere that pleases me). My thoughts, verse, and music in my life are intertwined. 

(https://veenubanga.blogspot.com/2022/03/written-for-world-poetry-day-032122.html) 


So it was today that music unfolded its magic with a new discovery. I was not even listening to music. I think it was something arbit when this video showed up. I remember coming across this video earlier and perhaps listening to another version. I had been looking for "Yeh Nayana dare, dare.." because one of the girls in my school group had shared it, and I had enjoyed listening to it. Also, that day, I needed a softness to my day, a soothing voice. Who better than Hemant Kumar? 


What struck me was that the singer used the original song's melody and sang it in his own words. I was reminded of when I would listen to music on the radio and write my own words to it, even to some popular songs. Ha! We are more alike than we are different, we humans. There are others like me. 


I loved his verse and enjoyed listening to it again today. It is in Urdu, and the thought is so beautiful. The words of adoration are both simple and yet intricately entwine the object of his desire with his own very essence- his spirit. I am not very clear about the word "puhar''; the channel host graciously clarified that it meant 'showers.'


 “Khwabon ka chehra tu hai, 

Tu meri rooh ki khushboo, 

Tu hai rim jhim si, 

Tu hai rhim jhim koi puhaar, 

Tu Jane na, yeh Nayana dare dare, 

Yeh jam bhare bhare.."

https://youtu.be/9G_5sRJv_FE?si=ZVMvMYvasp0TKpgk

This song was my introduction to the group called Alfaaz aur Aawaaz. Initially, I thought this was a one-off, but later discovered so many other songs. 


The other songs that I discovered opened up a new genre for me. I never could get into ghazals, and this is a ghazalisation of popular songs. Some sad, but not a wasted sad, a sad of realization. A realization is learning something, so it's not a waste of time or life. It just is. 


Just like that, this video became something more than a sad song:

https://youtu.be/MgoLBGInzmY?si=ncymM7eGtNPp709V


The rendering of this song made me long to be there in person, if only to witness the pulsating sentience that must have reverberated in the air, of the indestructible connections that souls forge beyond space and time. Refers to Amrita Pritam, the famous Panjabi writer. 

Two below links of the exact song and incident at different moments are both worth watching for clarity: 

1) https://youtu.be/Xgvkr6BpjMI?si=1qL1TDRtvDaKxnIV

2) https://youtu.be/pk-gd-uQXmg?si=f4SpvXMh4MoLuhdh


https://youtu.be/pehQuK5oCRY?si=nUzkJAaL8xybCjUS (beautiful guitar; strings are not something that endears to me readily)


https://youtu.be/qoMf9ETuirE?si=u_y34pdPxOJ8gGyC (unveils a fascinating story. I never knew this about Sahir Ludihanvi before) 


The ultimate song about betrayal, perhaps betrayed by time and circumstance, and then a deep acceptance:

https://youtu.be/MgoLBGInzmY?si=nCVeBGjl2z7n7oJc


I'm not a ghazal person, yet I was mesmerized. I think perhaps these are more like reciting poetry. Maybe the accompanying guitar gives it a fusionesque quality that has appealed to me. Or maybe, sometime, somewhere, I liked ghazals but did not remember till these artists struck a chord with their rendition that extends the life of these pre-loved songs and takes them deep into one's heart. 


Their YouTube channel is called Alfaaz aur Avaaz. 


Veenu Banga

started 03/26/2044 completed 03/27/2024

11:56 pm






Monday, March 25, 2024

The Passion and the Pupose

 Dr. Suresh Nambiar released a new song recently that came up in my social media feed today. It is so inspiring to see people make their passion their purpose. It set off a binge-watching session of his singing over the years. I'm not alone in admiring this retired doctor, who has been singing all along, judging by a very early video I saw on his page for the very first time today. Dr. Nambiar also has some duets with his daughter. 

Dr. Nambiar shot into the spotlight when he recently won the first prize for singing at a competition organized by ICICI Bank in India. Just months earlier, a clip of him singing the winning song, "Jawanian yeh mast mast," went viral and was shared widely on WhatsApp groups and Twitter. Some called him an old man, grandpa, and whatnot till his daughter finally introduced him as a doctor who retired after four decades of service in the UAE and now lives in Kunoor. 

The following is my favorite clip of Dr. Nambiar singing, mainly because his audience's joy is infectious. It doubles the pleasure of watching him sing. 

https://youtu.be/o6utexEb1so?si=oKrgsMOzA2Kl0FT8

Another person totally and indelibly colored by his passion is my friend Wilson Romero, who paints primarily women in all shapes, sizes, colors, and mysteries. He now has a Facebook presence as Wilson's Art. We first met Wilson at the Casselberry Art and Jazz Festival in 2018. He was there to display his fabulous artwork. He worked in Florida Hospital then, so I presumed this was a hobby. Wilson's paintings are primarily of women, and he had his work already hanging in the Casselberry City Hall, which was open, and we got to see his work there as well. 

Wilson is now writing poetry with his pieces of artwork. His poems express so much urgency, heart, and passion that sometimes I wonder if the poetry is superior and if his poetry created his art, which is surprising to me because I have known him as a painter all these years. His paintings have an ethereal beauty, and his women have a magical sense of self. So, his poetry came as an exceptional and welcome surprise. 

Several web pages come up with a web search for Wilson Romero art. However, I couldn't find much poetry. When we first met Wilson, his work had a Klimnt-esqueness to it. He has evolved masterfully over the years, making his style unique. Almost all of his work has a lot of detail. A nice piece of his is at the link below. There are several others even more enticing. 

https://gallery500.art/products/ro000004 

Today, I was planning to write more about trees, my close friends, and my witnesses without judgment, and to them, I count. However, YouTube takes me down its rabbit hole of music and materials. Music notwithstanding, I do injustice to myself when I go down that path. I really wanted to write- there are so many drafts. 


On another note, I wished my brother Happy Holi via text. 

"Hope you celebrated it," he replied. 

" Not really, just on the phone," I wrote back. 

"Haha" was the response. 

"It's called international Holi, and no nahana dhona chakkar afterward." I think I made a good point.

Veenu Banga 

03/25-26/2024

2:32 am.  

Sunday, March 24, 2024

Just two souls meeting again?

Telepathy? 

A couple of days before I was to arrive, she texted me and said, “2 more days left,” and wanted to know what time I would be arriving. She asks if I’ve started packing. Not even started, I tell her honestly. 


“I will cook something for you then and come to your place after work to see you and get a hug from you.” 


She doesn’t know it, but I’ve been thinking of her too, and wanting to call and ask her what she will cook for me when I arrive. I’m looking forward to hugging her again. Somewhere, somehow, in some highway in the ether, my message is related to her. 


“Please come and see me,” I write back. 


“Sure,” she responds, adding, “ What do you like to have (for) dinner?” 


She thinks I arrive on Thursday. Saturday, I tell her. 


She is disappointed, “I started counting hours now. Ok then, see you Saturday evening.” 


She is a working professional, a young mother, and an avid gardener who must be busy with enough to do daily, and right now, the Spring garden requires the tender and timely care of a new baby. 


And then, there is love, the kind of soul-sustaining love we have for our fellow beings. The kind that brings moisture to one’s eyes as I write about it. The kind that provides nourishment that money cannot buy. The type that is running like a stream in the consciousness of our souls. Just going on and on, and on its way, one lifetime to another, to meet or perhaps not meet in the next, or meet after however many births, for we all have other inclinations which may take us on journeys vastly apart, and our paths may or may not cross in every lifetime. When I think about this, I feel we should not waste the opportunity that brought us together again. I have become better at it as I grow older. Trusting, as I once did, in the goodness of our species. 


Never mind the souls that have not evolved enough and will harm us repeatedly. “There are no accidents,” says the wise Master. I must have had soul connections with them, too. 


But then, there’s her. With a heart filled with love, she likes to sing, and I like to hear people sing. She takes my requests sometimes. We hold hands and walk. She started out as my daughter’s friend, and now she is mine too. She showed us the way to Normandy Hill. It’s a magical walk, with pause for thought and more. Breathtaking views, 360 degrees of the horizon to gladden one’s heart. Summer ebbs away fast. It is almost autumn. I rub her cold hands in mine to make them warm. 


The sunsets are beautiful from the spot across from her house. The street there breaks into a grassy area with houses on either side, with a clear view of the hillside where sheep graze and laze in the hilly pasture, across from the train tracks, that while unseen, are evident by the visible electric lines where the commuter trains run along. She knows how much I love to watch the sunset. That I will stand and stare. She sends me photos. 


She made the most delicious food for me. I had told her it would be Prasad for me. It is. She loves my portobello quesadillas, which I will make for her. She wants to learn how to cook them because her son enjoys eating them. I understand and would do the same. We are mothers first. Always. And always. She wants me to call her whenever I am making the quesadillas. I think I should take all the ingredients to her house and cook them in her kitchen so she can enjoy them at home with her family. I know I would like to eat something I love with my children. That’s how we mothers show our love. 


She can be my sous chef when we make the quesadillas. I’ll put her to work to make the salsa. I will teach her the basics of blending the herbs for the homemade seasonings that I seem to have perfected for quesadillas. 


Once again, Palli and I will make memories together this summer.

 

Veenu Banga

03/24-25/2024

12:01 am.


Like a mother’s love, pure, unconditional. 

Saturday, March 23, 2024

Thank you, Champagne Belle!

 Thank you, Champagne Belle, for safe passage. I missed seeing you on the aircraft and asked one of the lovely Ladies in Red for the name of our steed. Thank you for the comfort and the partnership we have, thank you. Not only this time but as always, tons of kindness! This time, it was the lovely Nicky and gentle David. 

We wonder who we betray. I felt I betrayed my mulberry tree, just as it was in the throes of birthing. Awash with little green caterpillar-like fruits with teeny tiny tendrils that feel like hairs, the juicy fruits that turn purple so dark that they almost look black are just beginning to form. I left with a sense of sadness that she will not be appreciated and will garner the strength to bring forth her offspring on her own. Nobody loves my mulberry tree like I do. Last year, I left three weeks later and still barely had any fruits on her and almost no yield. This year, she's laden. Heavily pregnant. I am so sorry, tree. Khamat Khamana. 

The loquat trees are laden, too. The Lucious yellow fruits hang in bunches, and the fruits on the one tree can vary sharply in taste, to sweet, sourish, and bland like different family members. They propagate quickly, and I am assured of a rotation of volunteers present in my yard. 

Besides these two trees, my moringa had just started to flower. I love using its flowers in my raita. The lemon grass needed a cutting back, as its strong, crisp, grasslike leaves dried after the months of cold weather. It still gave me tea—dear, beautiful trees and plants. 

It has been such a busy last couple of months. Why do we leave what we obviously enjoy, or rather, do not in some instances fully rejoice in? Not living in the moment? In my case, no, it's not as simple as that. It's the lure of Love. Do we love a place because we love someone or because they are in a place we love? That is a question, the answer of which we know in our hearts. 

Once I arrived, I was not disappointed. Clumps of daffodils greeted me, clustered by the front edges and around the sides of the front of the house. One, The tulips are early; it seems they had warm temperatures here. 

There are clear signs everywhere that Winter is loosening its grip on the land, quenched. It's a special feeling to realize that one is privy to the unfolding of Spring. Let the rebirth and rejoicing begin! 

Veenu Banga

03/23/2024

11:43 pm.


Wednesday, March 20, 2024

Lines for World Poetry Day 2024.

World Poetry Day, you crept up on me,

While I was thinking about a tree.


Quietly, the trees stand, giving, living,

We barely notice, but they even die for us. 

Bearing Fruits, giving shade, timbers

Of cradle and coffin grade.

Trees can live without people, but

Without trees, can man? No,

Definitely not; try as we can.


We can make houses of Mud, but

Can we make food? For food, 

We need trees, and shrubs, and 

The gift of oxygen we must include.


These are but basics, 

And lest we forget,

The trees are mightier,

They give and outlive us yet! 


World Poetry Day, these lines 

Are inspired by you,

But paper to write upon is 

A gift from the trees, too. 


Veenu Banga

©️March 20th, 2024.

11:46 pm. 


Friday, March 8, 2024

One quick trip

 And the complexion of the day changed! 

I think I’m finally beginning to understand the significance of Shivratri. The magical aspect of it is about Shiva dancing and how Parvati did so much tapasya to marry him. However, I still don’t understand the rituals. Why do we perform them? Shouldn’t it be between the two, the intimacy? Aren’t we interrupting their wedding day and night? 

When I was young, everyone told us girls to keep a fast on Monday to find a good husband. Whatever it is, it is. After a mundane day, a rushed-through close to the week, we went to the Hindu Temple in Casselberry. The Energy was palpable. The temple was very crowded as the Hindu population grew in the area, which is a good thing. The cafeteria stays open longer and more frequently, and the profits support the temple. 

To come back to the Enegy in the temple, I could feel it in my quicker stride- I had been shuffling at home, which is another story. As I write, it’s midnight, and the magic must be happening now! Both in the temple and at the Mission. I am content; I had a 7nice meal, good company with Sheetal Ben and her dad, and the childlike and endearing Sharad Bhai. Sleep beckons, and I’m ready to surrender in her inviting arms! 

Thank you, Shiv Bhagwanji. 

Veenu Banga

3/092024

12:09 am