The many colors of a woman in white

Fact: White light split by a prism gives many colors.
Amorous Elephant's Opinion: All colors merge into and emerge from White.

Indians celebrate life and its varied colors in many impressive ways. One of the most vibrant of such celebrations is Holi – festival of colors; people come out in whites, get splashed in colors and the country turns into a riot of color. One can't help but wonder if God had suddenly decided that a dash of color would add zest to his creation? One can only theorize…..

There's something about the color white. There's something about everything, not just white, one could counter. True! But there's something special about a woman in white. Well, when it is about a woman, it ought to be special. I would reckon then, that a woman in white is as very special as to be magnificently surreal. It is as though the color itself represents a woman's real self.

How would she be? Poets and authors have seen in their hearts and minds, experienced and described the grandeur of beauty in myriad superlatives. In the land of words they were explorers, adventurers, discoverers, inventors, architects unparalleled and yet, the best of their creation ever fell short of the experience of drinking in the beauty of their desire. I'm painfully aware that my creation would be sadly inept in its description of her.

A poet of yore once described Kabul, his beloved city, as one that hid a thousand splendid suns behind her walls. I would say that fit the city, perhaps. But not my woman! A thousand and more splendid moons would not even be a grain of sand in her graceful presence.

I have exhausted all that I could conjure – my flawed imagination and that of the millions of Wordsworths’ from the dawn of civilisation. Shamelessly tried to copy from the nature; for her lips –petals of a tender rose strained by the weight of dew drops, shimmering stars for her twinkling eyes, her laughter – a shower of pearls. The truth is - she’s all that and more. I could not do justice describing an experience that I can only lose myself in.

Creation of words & worlds are best left to the Gods. I’m a mortal living for the magical moments, and she graciously turns them immortal.

But I digress. This is as much about the color white as it is about a woman. Don’t the colors become what they are only because a white canvas lets them be? It selflessly lets other colors reflect their identity while lovingly staying in the background content with gratitude & a loving heart that its reflections - whichever color or hue - are rightfully basking in the glory. It is neither threatened by the possible loss of identity nor even concerned by it. Perhaps it even desires it as though it were her life's purpose.

The brilliant mix of colors dazzles us and we so ever forget that there's this calm, serene, powerful and poignant white masterfully offering her complete self, molding in aptly, embracing the burden of bringing life to the boisterous & playful colors at the cost of her own desires. In the glory of her colors, she sees the true meaning of life. Her real joy is in the gaily play of youthful colors. In the loss of her material self, she attains the blissful self. Never appreciated, and always giving, she’s the epitome of unconditional love.

A woman in white is a woman wearing her inner true, joyous, sacrificing, vulnerable self on the outside. Always present, she lends strength to her man and the family as they claim their spot in the Sun, while tears of joy fill her eyes. So I say that a woman in white is as very special as to be magnificently surreal.

I humbly bow to the women who graced my awareness. There’s been no greater creation than her !

Hussein is Ba(ra)ck

Saddam Hussein must be pleased. Somewhere in heaven or hell or in between he must be smiling contentedly. He finally had his much over due revenge on George W Bush Jr. and the Republicans albeit posthumous and surrogate. What Saddam could not accomplish in an abruptly & forcefully terminated life time, Barack “Hussein” Obama could in the very first hour of his presidency; and wonderfully too. In Arabic, I understand, Hussein means handsome. How aptly it describes both Husseins and the manner in which Obama had won the poll. Technically one could argue that Barack beat McCain and not Bush. However, McCain was seen as an extension of Bush’s regime and hence the victory was, as many pundits believe, a victory over Bush. Dubya must have wondered, at least momentarily, which Hussein had come to the party as Obama "handsomely" landed few upper cuts and body blows in the inauguration speech in front of an august gathering. Sample these gems from the inauguration speech:

“As for our common defense, we reject as false the choice between our safety and our ideals” (reference to Guantanamo Bay)……“Recall that earlier generations faced down fascism and communism not just with missiles and tanks, but with sturdy alliances” (Criticism that Bush never cared to forge a strong alliance on Iraq)…….. “They understood that our power alone cannot protect us, nor does it entitle us to do as we please” (This one has Dubya written all over it).

Like a gazillion fellow beings, I too chose the comfort of home to see the Obama ceremony live on TV. My intent of watching the Inaugural ceremony was to see first hand if the man is really as great an orator as he’s made out to be. He walked in with dignity and an air of self-assuredness, met the VIPs, waved to the crowd, and enjoyed the musical piece by the maestros seated on the floor above. One couldn’t think of a better occasion than the ceremony for dazzling the faithful, and the curious many glued to the telly, with a historical speech.

The speech covered the whole gamut: issues, policies, and stakeholders. It was balanced, practical, assured and assertive. But where was the supposedly great orator? I only heard a good speech which ended better than it began. Perhaps his oratorical abilities are exaggerated, or perhaps I was looking for a virtuoso performance and he sent a signal that he’s not a theater artist to put on a show every time we seek one. While the content was apt & well drafted, I couldn’t agree more with the “B” rating of speech in CNN's online poll.

It doesn’t matter a bit, if in my book, he never ends up a great orator. In this day and age, with the omnipresence of technology in everyone’s life, he has enough style and substance, hopefully, to make his mark. I’d rather vote someone who delivers the goods than someone who delivers great speeches. From not even being on the list of 100 most recognized people in America to the most powerful man in the world, in a matter of just 2 years, is a tremendous journey. He’s already made history. I, along with billions of other optimists, hope and pray that he’s guided to make the right and bright choices as he prepares to write the American & World history. Good luck, Mr.President !

PS: For another balanced analysis of the speech, here's Bill Schneider @ CNN: http://edition.cnn.com/2009/POLITICS/01/20/schneider.obama.speech/index.html

Tears of a Satin Rose

Memories of days gone by often masquerade as friends and take me back along the streets walked by - familiar faces in a distant land. The Frankfurt am Main Hauptbahnhof is a world in itself, teeming with people from all walks of life. I, for one, never thought that my life would revolve around a railway station. But for a good 6 months, the Hauptbahnhof was at the centre of my life offering many views of humanity around; it was an observatory and I, its unschooled connoisseur. It came as no surprise then the world around it evolved into being as intensely intriguing & mesmerizing as was in its womb.

As one walks out of its entrance, about a mile & half straight ahead is the financial centre – home to many skyscrapers that attribute the title Mainhatten of Europe to a city flattened by the madness of WW-II. To the right of this straight road, a few blocks away flows the river Main and to the left, spread over in an area of 3 by 2 blocks, lies Frankfurt’s very own red light district (RLD).

During the day, the buildings in the RLD are life less – devoid of any activity or allure of a well designed edifice. Not long after the trading on the neighborhood XETRA DAX halts and the night begins to set in, life spurts in the streets of RLD and a different sort of trade begins. The Buildings on Elbestrasse glitter in many colored lights; blue & pink are the reigning couple of this rainbow world. Parlors cater to a variety of clientele and their varied needs; there’s the usual and, at a price, the unusual too.

For businesses in the other streets, parking is sometimes difficult and one invariably ends up parking farther towards the Main or even in the red light area itself. One evening, a few of us had to attend a birthday party, and we all decided to hop into a friend’s car parked on the other end of the RLD. So we walked, along the glittering streets of Elbestrasse. Activities suggested that business was about to commence. There are these 2 buildings, 4 storied, prominent and soul less, perennially decked up as brides for eternal sultry nights. Fluorescent blue & pink lights set against the building’s dull walls, and with the saffron Sun playing hide and seek in the evening sky in the background, Elbestrasse was like a surreal painting; vivid visuals and vibrant moments caressed by melancholic & merry brush strokes, leaving deep imprints that stay a life time.

The Victorian era like windows of these buildings are typically either locked shut or the curtains drawn teasing the imagination of the passers by. As I walked past the buildings admiring the sights painted by the playful dance of evening lights, I saw an open window on the first floor and my eyes chanced up on the splendid sight of a beautiful woman standing alone and gazing aimlessly into the horizon. It was a glimpse, a moment or less, and yet impressive for a man living in moments and gathering them as though crafting a necklace to adorn his soul. She was stunning in her black lingerie, and the touch up enhanced her natural beauty. I could see tears in her mascara adorned eyes, or did I imagine? Her beauty would be served for pleasure in few hours, but what are her feelings, thoughts? dreams? what’s the world that she – a tender satin rose - lives in like? Amidst the worldly glitz, beneath the skin's inviting allure, in those sad & seductive eyes are windows that open wide to a pristine heart; its sorrow pours out into the abysmal gathering of pleasure beings - this humanity, only to be slighted & silenced. We see & seek her skin, her flesh, for moments of satanic heaven. Who cares for a wailing heart? Is her ethereal beauty really a curse? I can't help but muse:

Glittering lights of many a hue
Pledge of simmering nights, oh so true
Dusk dawns on Elbestrasse - life dawns on Elbestrasse

Concrete Stories, Concrete stories
Womb for her tearful stories
Tomb for painful memories
Concrete Stories, Concrete stories

Tender flowers, these precious daughters
Sold in the streets for warmth in the sheets
Euros rule on Elbestrasse, Oh heroes are all so passé

Precious daughters turn sensuous queens
Aching hearts cry for missing knights, ah to be loved, oh! my beloved
Beasts of night & brutes of lust, find burning bosoms a soothing jest
Pregnant nights’ painful bites leave shattered dreams & broken hearts

Life on Elbestrasse, a Pitiful strife on Hellbestrasse

Why can't the English do Paris?

A couple of months ago, an English man & I were sharing a dinner table at THE BULL hotel @ Gerrards Cross in Buckinghamshire, UK. Not the one to miss an opportunity to talk about the wonderful mutation of the English language by global cultures, I started off with my perennial favorite “Did you ever hear of the word prepone?” Obviously not, for his puzzled look couldn’t have meant anything else! I decided the moment was apt for the exhibitionist in me and grabbing the attention I added, “do you know that this Indian invention has been officially accepted as the antonym for postpone”? Ah!!! The burly man almost fell off his chair laughing and teary eyed, and I suppose half shocked, at the ingenuity that escaped many generations of his country men.

Over few glasses of red wine, the conversation continued about the sad Americanization of English language. It was his turn and he recollected a certain man saying “I did Paris” (meaning he visited/ toured Paris). Now, for us non-native speakers that’s a perfectly valid way of truncating / innovating. But not for the English man. He burst into another round of laughter, his belly shaking, and he asked “How do you do Paris?” I took another gulp of the red elixir and said “well, you possibly could if there was a Hilton in the name”.

Trust me fellas, it is the Wine.

Bollocks, innit? ;-)

That thing called a Thong

Isn’t it amazing how certain words mean completely different things in different parts of the globe? My own horizons keep expanding as I see more of this world and experience its wonderful diversity. This particular vocabulary lesson had as much to do with various global manifestations of a word as it had to do with my sadly limited grasp of English.

The other day, a well traveled Indian friend of mine said that “thong” in Australian parlance stands for flip-flops. And I, cocky to the core, said “No way! A thong is an undergarment and there’s no way in this world it could mean anything else, and least of all in Australia where there are beaches galore”. He insisted calmly that I should check with any Australian.

I went home and called upon the dependable internet for help. Well, well, well what do you know? A thing on your feet can indeed become a thong, and a thong could be as much an undergarment as it is a flip-flop. Here’s for the language enthusiasts: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thong

I wouldn’t recommend that you use this as an excuse and train your binoculars for thong watching at the beach. You may just get the other variety right in your face……..