Monday, February 28, 2005
NOTES FROM ALL OVER-4
A Tale of Two Sunsets
If winter comes, can Spring be far behind ?
Meant metaphorically to allude to the Bhopal trip that followed on the heels of the Indore fifo.
One of the most poetic cities one can hope to find in the melee of modern India, as usual little is known of it outside the state because it does not have swanky IT Parks, burgeoning supermalls and the aforementioned success-drugged louts.
Gorgeous heavenly wide roads with solid dividers, lush green tress dotting both sides of most roads, decent lighting and a marked absence of pothole ridden tarred lacunae make for total driving pleasure. In fact, many areas actually have parks with glistening water and lush grass with folks lolling about, so it is quite an effort to keep your head craned to the vast emptiness-stretching out before the driver.
The ghouls of traffic are occupied elsewhere so at all times, a feast for the eyes and comforts for the spinal cord dominate.
Of course, I look askance at the raison d’etre of the living folks—at least the unobtrusive majority. No, nothing wrong with being laidback, phlegmatic and content, but perhaps with the so-called social mores of dignity, respect and realism firmly in place, Bhopal can benefit with a little more spunk, success and sauciness.
Not that it cannot—some of the brightest people I have known have emerged from here—the St Joseph’s is renowned as is the Bharat School of Social Sciences. Where it lags is for some folks to return and show how it’s done , as of now the gentry is smug with the odd IIT gate-crasher or the odd job with a telecom/software major. Collectively we need to pull together, and as always, easier said than done.
Most cultured and sensitive place, despite all and excellent to live in ! ( Ed—We’ll take your word for it !)
Was pointedly refused by the authorities when I mooted the idea of having my meetings on those sprawling verdant lawns of the hotel I stayed in—in itself perched atop a languid hill and surrounded by thick foliage. This was the only sore point of an otherwise gratifying trip.
Would have loved to walk barefoot on that grass.
Who says Grass is for cows …
A Tale of Two Sunsets
If winter comes, can Spring be far behind ?
Meant metaphorically to allude to the Bhopal trip that followed on the heels of the Indore fifo.
One of the most poetic cities one can hope to find in the melee of modern India, as usual little is known of it outside the state because it does not have swanky IT Parks, burgeoning supermalls and the aforementioned success-drugged louts.
Gorgeous heavenly wide roads with solid dividers, lush green tress dotting both sides of most roads, decent lighting and a marked absence of pothole ridden tarred lacunae make for total driving pleasure. In fact, many areas actually have parks with glistening water and lush grass with folks lolling about, so it is quite an effort to keep your head craned to the vast emptiness-stretching out before the driver.
The ghouls of traffic are occupied elsewhere so at all times, a feast for the eyes and comforts for the spinal cord dominate.
Of course, I look askance at the raison d’etre of the living folks—at least the unobtrusive majority. No, nothing wrong with being laidback, phlegmatic and content, but perhaps with the so-called social mores of dignity, respect and realism firmly in place, Bhopal can benefit with a little more spunk, success and sauciness.
Not that it cannot—some of the brightest people I have known have emerged from here—the St Joseph’s is renowned as is the Bharat School of Social Sciences. Where it lags is for some folks to return and show how it’s done , as of now the gentry is smug with the odd IIT gate-crasher or the odd job with a telecom/software major. Collectively we need to pull together, and as always, easier said than done.
Most cultured and sensitive place, despite all and excellent to live in ! ( Ed—We’ll take your word for it !)
Was pointedly refused by the authorities when I mooted the idea of having my meetings on those sprawling verdant lawns of the hotel I stayed in—in itself perched atop a languid hill and surrounded by thick foliage. This was the only sore point of an otherwise gratifying trip.
Would have loved to walk barefoot on that grass.
Who says Grass is for cows …
Not Mooooo..
( Ed—Hmm, methinks it was Sanchez-Vicario )
Will end this by speaking of the two most hauntingly beautiful sun views. I cannot proffer an opinion on comparable sunrise settings ( Ed—Primarily as your waking hours would put any self-respecting rooster to shame ) The first on the flight to Indore—crimson streaks etched across the colorless skies and throwing up concords of sweet grandeur. Rivetting, and I sat up smothering up the ravelled-sleeve-of-care through the journey. I’m no poet and I dare say, it shows.
The other was in direct chronological contrast to the sunrise on which I’ve waxed eloquent. On the long way home, a tinge of red lighting up the entire expanse of the Bada Talaab on what must surely be the most picturesque lake in India. Much more scenic than the sordid drain called the Husain Sagar.
Pavements made to stroll on , devoid of leery cohorts and dreamy-eyed lovers, an ode to the spiritually uplifting and a call to prayer. Time stops…
As mortality makes me more aware of its presence, I become more chary of my blessings…..
( Ed—Hmm, methinks it was Sanchez-Vicario )
Will end this by speaking of the two most hauntingly beautiful sun views. I cannot proffer an opinion on comparable sunrise settings ( Ed—Primarily as your waking hours would put any self-respecting rooster to shame ) The first on the flight to Indore—crimson streaks etched across the colorless skies and throwing up concords of sweet grandeur. Rivetting, and I sat up smothering up the ravelled-sleeve-of-care through the journey. I’m no poet and I dare say, it shows.
The other was in direct chronological contrast to the sunrise on which I’ve waxed eloquent. On the long way home, a tinge of red lighting up the entire expanse of the Bada Talaab on what must surely be the most picturesque lake in India. Much more scenic than the sordid drain called the Husain Sagar.
Pavements made to stroll on , devoid of leery cohorts and dreamy-eyed lovers, an ode to the spiritually uplifting and a call to prayer. Time stops…
As mortality makes me more aware of its presence, I become more chary of my blessings…..
