About a decade back
Sunder Nursery next to the Humayun tomb near Nizamuddin Dargah was a
nondescript place. Ideal for birding, acres of land right in the bustling city
was probably the best kept secret. Now
though there is frantic ‘beautification’ going on. Keeping building and
surrounding in clean and aesthetic condition probably is needed but unkempt gardens
and spaces always has its charm and surprises. I am for loosing oneself in wild
gardens! Sunder Nursery is now closed for ‘renovation’, I managed to sneak in,
and spend about half a day of undisturbed birding. Cheers to that! Having spent last few years in and near
Western Ghats, I was constantly listening to White-cheeked Barbet (Megalaima
viridis). My last sighting of Brown-headed Barbet (Megalaima zeylanica) was at
Chinar bird survey, this one I think is louder, or is it the Delhi affect! What
really was surprising was this bird wasn’t really troubled by my presence. Though I was dressed in my surreptitious best
and covert in movement, I was sure the bird was aware of my clumsy attempts. It
chose to play ball. It came quite near me to peak into the hole in the tree,
after few seconds looked into my camera and said cheese. How crazy can it get?
This was my closest ever Barbet encounter.
Brown-headed Barbet is
one of the commonest birds in and around Delhi that is rarely seen but heard
very often. Kutr kutr kutr …it goes
Akiko
Yosano (1878-1942)
A
bird comes
delicately as a little girl
to bathe
in the shade of my tree
in an autumn puddle.
delicately as a little girl
to bathe
in the shade of my tree
in an autumn puddle.
Akiko Yosano is a name I haven’t
heard about until few days back when I saw the invitation from Japan Foundation
for half a day talk by Maiku Matsudaira.
A prominent Japanese poet in the beginning of 20th century,
she was controversial for her open views on freedom, love and feminine
assertion in a society predominantly conservative. She also wrote extensively
on needs for female education, a prolific poet, also a social reformer active
in the late Meiji period. Her commentaries tended to criticize Japan's growing
militarism, and promoted feminist viewpoints. In the meanwhile she also wrote stories
for children the focus being on nature. Her poems were mostly in Tangka form (a
much older and longer than Haiku). She is also known for her translation of
Japanese classics into modern Japanese, a feat that was considered extremely
difficult. Akiko Yosano’s real name was Sho Ho and she came from a family of
sweet makers. 
Some of her poems…(a
point of order, since this blog is meant for all age group, I am avoiding poems
that are overtly sexual in nature. Also this blog is biased towards Nature)
River of Stars
Left on the beach
Full of water
A worn out boat
Reflects the white sky --
Of early autumn.
Swifter than hail
Lighter than a feather,
A vague sorrow
Crossed my mind.
Feeling you nearby,
how could I not come
to walk beneath
this evening moon rising
over flowering fields.
It was only
the thin thread of a cloud,
almost transparent,
leading me along the way
like an ancient sacred song.
I say his poem,
propped against this frozen wall,
in the late evening,
as bitter autumn rain
continues to fall.
What I count on
is a white birch
that stands
where no human language
is ever heard.
A bird comes
delicately as a little girl
to bathe
in the shade of my tree
in an autumn puddle.
Even at nineteen,
I had come to realize
that violets fade,
spring waters soon run dry,
this life too is transient
He stood by the door,
calling through the evening
the name of my
sister who died last year
and how I pitied him!
Full of water
A worn out boat
Reflects the white sky --
Of early autumn.
Swifter than hail
Lighter than a feather,
A vague sorrow
Crossed my mind.
Feeling you nearby,
how could I not come
to walk beneath
this evening moon rising
over flowering fields.
It was only
the thin thread of a cloud,
almost transparent,
leading me along the way
like an ancient sacred song.
I say his poem,
propped against this frozen wall,
in the late evening,
as bitter autumn rain
continues to fall.
What I count on
is a white birch
that stands
where no human language
is ever heard.
A bird comes
delicately as a little girl
to bathe
in the shade of my tree
in an autumn puddle.
Even at nineteen,
I had come to realize
that violets fade,
spring waters soon run dry,
this life too is transient
He stood by the door,
calling through the evening
the name of my
sister who died last year
and how I pitied him!
O My
Brother, You Must Not Die
And dying in the way of wild beasts,Calling such death the path to glory?
If His Grace possess noble heart
What must be the thoughts that linger there?
In contrast to Indian subcontinent where month of May is atrocious, in japan it is quite different..
In
Praise Of May
Some tanka from “Disheveled Hair”
Droplets
fall from a young girl’s hair
Congealing
on grass
Giving
birth to a butterfly
In
the country
Of
spring
My
skin is so soft
Fresh
from my bath
It
pains me to see it touched
Covered
by the fabric
Of
an everyday world
How
beautiful they are
The
people brushing past me
As
I stroll through Gion
To
the Temple of Kiyomizu
On
this cherry blossom moonlit night!
Scribble
from my note pad…
The city ignites every night
Sometimes on its own
It isn’t the same
It doesn’t feel the same
This surely should have
subtitles
People prowl the street
Bartering sights and sensation
Occasional deals of desire
Add on benefits
It depletes every thought
