Dheera's Workshop of Whimsy

Kalu Bhaloo had a comfortable life,

He had three cubs and a sensible wife. 

But to all, it was quite plain,

That Kalu had a kinky brain.

He devoured beehives whole for honey,

He had a fascination for paper money.

He liked the feel and smell of notes,

He stashed them in his coats and totes.

And in this most peculiar bent,

He imitated a certain quirky gent.

Mr. Singh was thin and lank,

He was the manager of State Bank.

Singh sat in office overlooking the boats,

He issued orders and counted notes.

Now you may wonder how Bhaloo got money,

He dispatched his wife with a great big gunny.

Gentle Kali was forced to frown,

And terrorize the people of the town.

She always returned with her sack over flowing,

But she was resentful, and the feeling kept growing.

One day, Kali abandoning her post,

Went off on a cruise to the Kerala coast.

"Who cares?" growled Bhaloo, scratching his back,

"We do!" shouted the cubs, "we feel her lack."

The cubs became bratty, they decided to fly,

They bought gas balloons and rose up to the sky,

They floated a while in the silent blue,

But soon a high wind rose and flew,

The three cubs over the big dark jungle,

Notorious for the carnivorous Mangal

As it grew dark, the balloons went 'pop!'

And the three cubs began to drop, drop, drop!

Down they fell, faster and faster,

And then, just before the final disaster,

They landed with a sloosh, atop,

The feathery trees, which cushioned their drop

Mangal raised his mighty head,

He sniffed the air, the quadruped,

He bellowed and from his doubled barreled nose,

An orange sheet of flame arose.

Mangal sniffed, smelt young cub meat,

He moved in quick, for a tandoori treat.

The suspended cubs felt the forest tense,

The air of dread was something intense,

The darkening jungle became eerily silent,

The green earth shook, atrociously violent.

Mighty Mangal galloped into view,

His eyes blood red an alarming hue.

He spied the cubs, hanging like buntings,

He spat fire, made terrible gruntings,

The cubs were scared, they quivered and froze,

While Mangal tried to get at their toes.

Where was Kalu, you may wonder,

He was raving, falling asunder.

No notes to count, no cubs to scare,

He was screaming out in despair.

Chillum Cheel, with his eagle eye,

Came home to roost, and as he flew by,

The big dark jungle, he saw in a flash,

The mighty Mangal, behaving brash,

Chillum forgot that he was tired,

He had to save the cubs from being fired.

"Chee!" He called, "Chee! That's not fair!"

 He raised an alarm and alerted Kalu Bear.

 Now do you remember Bank Manager Singh?

 He was in the jungle, taping a roaring,

In his hand he had a gun,

A dangerous double barreled one.

He heard the Cheel and fired high,

Up into the darkening sky.

The blast scared Mangal, he stood rooted,

Then up he leapt and off he scooted,

Back to his den without a backward glance,

The shock of the gun-shot left him askance.

At this precise moment, Kalu announced,

His hairy black presence with a pronounced,

Snarl and a growl, which the cubs recognized,

It was a sound they had often criticized.

This story has a happy ending,

Though the cubs missed Kali, which was heart rending.

Kalu repented and became a good father,

He gave up honey, the money and would rather,

Cook and clean and look after his cubs,

He lovingly fed them deep fried grubs.

Life took on a rosy hue,

Until one day, quite out of the blue,

Kali returned with a lovely sun-tan,

She wore a hat and carried a leaf fan.

Kalu was delirious, with this lucky godsend,

And here is where this story must end!

13/03/09

We all know that honey is beneficial to health. Under The Mango Tree is a social enterprise that partners and supports rural producers of honey across India. Through their network they collect an exquisite range of gourmet honey. To know more log onto www.utmt.in 

I loved what they wrote in the catalogue I received:

            ‘Honey is a reflection of place…

           Honey is the flower translated

           Its scent and the beauty transformed

           Into aroma and taste.’

13/03/09

Please go to www.loinbrand.com for wonderful patterns and knitting information, a lot of it free!

10/03/09

I never ever vote, someone declared loudly at a party the other night. No one reacted or seemed to notice except me. Why, I asked. Oh because I am just not a good citizen, she said evenly.  

            We all need to be good citizens. We must vote. If all of us given in to the thought that nothing is going to make a difference, it really won’t. Can we afford that? In this harsh world turning so violent that no place is safe anymore, are we going to sit back and watch? Should we not try to shape the destiny of our country by electing appropriate representatives?

            Have you registered and is your name on the electoral poll list? Your name can be registered until the last date of filing nominations by the candidates. Please contact the Electoral Registration Officer of your area and find out if your name is registered. All major areas have an official web site too. A photo identification is a mandatory requirement, in the shape of an Electors Photo Identity card. EPIC. So all you need is the EPIC and your name on the electoral roll.  Please go to www. jaagore.com/main.php for further information. Hurry, time is running out!    

4/03/09

I love Delhi. Sure it is chaotic and rude and loud and angry but it is a beautiful city. It is the city I grew up in. The city of violently contrasting seasons, of flowers and lush trees. Winter in Delhi is a time of magic for me. The fog which disrupts people’s lives and air traffic, to me is romantic and mysterious.

This month, I lost a dear cousin. He was suddenly taken ill with cancer and within four months he was gone. All of us, left behind cousins are stunned and sad. One of my younger cousins decided to have a prayer meeting so that all of us could get together and pay our respects to Uday, who lived in Washington, D.C. but also very much in our hearts.

That is what took me to Delhi this February. The weather was crisp and pleasant. The sky was blue and I had a few hours to kill before I was expected for the prayer meeting. I decided to go on a ride down memory lane. Lodhi Road with its brick houses and red boundary walls was where I asked the driver to take me. We passed the well-groomed Lodhi Gardens, the India International Center, once a regular haunt, and then onto Lodhi Road.

When we were young, we lived in the last house on the first lane. I remembered that a school was being built there and that there were always two beehives on the tree closest to the garden gate.

The school now is a full fledged one, with school buses blocking the lane leading to what used to be our bungalow. The driver turned into the drive way and memories flooded in. The lawn which I remembered as a huge garden on the left of the drive way was just a narrow strip but the main lawn, which housed our roses, was large and as awesome as I expected. The garden wall separating our home from our next door neighbour, a gentleman my sister had christened Uncle Bull Frog, was still intact and not as high as I remembered. Nothing about the house looked any different after all these years. I could almost see the four of us, my parents my sister and I sitting on the wide verandah and having tea. I thought for a moment that I saw my mother’s soft touch, the flowers, the colourful cushions and the warmth. Tea cups tinkled, laughter wafted in the breeze and then it was gone in the blink of an eye, like my whole family.

 I looked back towards the gate and there sure enough were the two large, menacing beehives clinging to the tree by the gate of my old home.