A Sunday thought

I read somewhere  about an experiment  where they proved that the packaging actually effects your taste.  In an experiment they proved that coke in a can which has more lemony green is said to be tasting more tangy. Soup which comes out of a can which has  a few sprouts of parsley in the design seem to taste fresher. So on and so forth. It goes to prove that the packaging actually does not only make us buy thing. But actually effect the experience we have, out of it.

 Now comes question for this Sunday , 

With all these talk about the image of Buddha being used in various products from bars to lounges to other stuff . What does it add to the product ?

What do you think? 

Between a gun shot and a bleep

It was nothing like what I have heard . No pallid lights , No soothing music , No tunnels . Nothing. 

It was agonizingly painful and at the same time such a sense of relief. Yet that seems ages ago . But the events leading to this, I seem to remember so vividly. 

From the tangy taste of the white wine before dinner, how tender the main course was , my heart beat raising . Bidding good bye , trying to stop a cab . Deciding walk another block . Walking down the dark alley. The silhouette of the   boy in a hoodie against the ocher street light.  His teenage voice sounds scared when he screams “Lady give me your money and no body get’s hurt”. I remember thinking to my self , “you come to mug a person with a pocket knife?, you must be joking” 

Then it was so sudden and blur . There was a gunshot and seem to fire off  from his jacket. After the needle pricks started fading off , I felt warm and wet on my chest….. 

And then after what seemed like million years , yet a flickering moment , here I am 

And when I opened my eyes , he is here with me. I instantaneously feel the familiar sense of refuge in his company. 

“Princess , I have told you not walk alone in the night, City is a dangerous place , and you have to take care of your self” He says and strokes my head. 

I seem to bathe in his affection flowing , it’s glowing white and the light in the room seem to grow  brighter. 

He has the same look he had the day he went away. After he kissed my head and said “See you in two weeks duwa”. He was in his uniform, and I remember thinking to my self  My Daddy is handsome . He still is 

That is the last we saw him , couple of days later two men in uniform came to our house and they stood near the door and said something to my mom. And the next thing I heard was a loud wail . 

I remember it ever so vividly . 

But now I feel lost. I am not sure where I am . I think I am dead. Has to be . 

“No you are not dead yet” he says .  “First you have to make the  choice “ 

“I can’t die , I am too young to die “ I hear my self thinking loud. 

“H’mm , but you know ,I died at about your age “ He responds with a smile on his face. 

“But , Daddy , I can not die…not yet” 

“It is your choice, remember” He re-emphasize. 

“  Daddy , when you left that day , I wanted to say I love you , but I didn’t do it, I am sorry “  now I am almost in tear s. 

“I know” He says with a deep exhale. 
  
“When I really die , will you be still here?” I am trying to make sense of the situation. 

I hear the ER doctor shouting “Clear”. …..Then the “Bleep Bleep Bleep….” of the heart monitor 

I hear his voice fading to the distance

“Of course I will always be here” 

Only thing missing is .............

Caged

A monkey in a cage.
From What I have been reading , hearing and thinking for the last few days
This seems so relevant

The curse of the White Queen

I am fascinated  how our perception of thinking effects the taste we get in our mind.

If this was just read , think about the picture that draws in your mind . Hold on to the taste .

It splashes before 
you cast the stone 
on to the mirrored smooth

of the pool  of tear

even ‘for you aim

that happens my dear
Said 
The  queen white

I see ‘for it stems 
I smell it ‘for it blooms 
I taste your kiss
'for our lips touch 
Her majesty continued
 I hear  'for you say
I feel ‘for you think 
And now I sense
bereaved
For darling
 I know the answer
to the question you yet not know

Now if I give you this intro and if you re read the prose does it make a difference, would like to know

In Lewis Carrol’s “Through the looking glass” Alice is astonished upon first meeting  with the White Queen.  She lives in both directions of time . She is shouting “Oh Oh” “it hurts as I will prick my finger soon”

It splashes before 
you cast the stone 
on to the mirrored smooth

of the pool  of tear

even ‘for you aim

that happens my dear
Said 
The  queen white

I see ‘for it stems 
I smell it ‘for it blooms 
I taste your kiss
'for our lips touch 
Her majesty continued
 I hear  'for you say
I feel ‘for you think 
And now I sense
bereaved
For darling
 I know the answer
to the question you yet not know

Longing Lang and Ferdinand

In  times where ships carried silk & spices from the east to the rich west.

When Portugal , Holland , Spain built empires beyond the mighty Atlantic. South of China was pirate bay. Where many small fleets of ships operated .

This story was common in most ports . Be it Goa, Macau , Galle or anywhere else .  Only the Characters changed. Local girls who fell for the foreign sailors, captains , officials , cooks , whatever.

Yet sailors will be sailors and they all sailed away , sooner or later.

Just pondering , after a few generations after,  wouldn't that link , still pull the descendants towards 

each other ?

Though separated by masses of saline water .

After all blood is supposed to be thicker than it . 


This is one such tale of Ferdinand : “The Journey” in Portugal and Longing Lang “ The longing wave” , stuck somewhere in an isle amidst the south china sea

Oh  Ferdinand

The aged waves, you face

about  the fleets they have dispatched ,

 and what they brought ashore

centuries ago

You not know

In this sluggish town of  Lagos

the  gust seem to effervescent one’s thoughts

and unchain them

and give them flight so

(more than the pungent shots of coffee from the café down the road)

when you sit on the boulder and gaze in to the dusk

you once told me

you  felt it

a something

a  bond

Do you now  fathom what your grandfather said ?

his rudimentary sketches

 of vessels

their names and the dates they passed

When he sat amidst the  old seagulls

he said,

 it  makes him content

Oh Ferdinand

I hear you

when you say

his shadow is still there  amidst sea stained  bedrock

beyond the stretch

where old sailor bones grow in to

lovely daffodils

Ferdinand , you tell again that you felt something

But do you know

In a little isle lost in the south china sea

amidst the  ruined junks  facing the silky

slow surf

there is a girl

gazing at the autumn red

Longing Lang,

Her name

The longing wave

She sits  musing about her mothers ‘s tale

Pirate girl and a sailor’s love

is a famous story

in every port

with only names changed

while silk covered a weeping  heart

hull of the old ship

carried the memories across

kept  at bay beyond  the  fetid quay

lest ,  it causes too much ache

too much mayhem

yet

it was too much for the reef to contain

 when the night is black ,

they  slowly  in  crept

Lang

Wondered

Gasped ,

Longed

while tears ran the line of her face

across the sky pulled golden threads  

 and the waft whiffed  afar

sighs of despair

 Oh Ferdinand 

I tell you

 the whisper  is the wind

when you turned

The brush of the  silk shawl

On your nape

That is the something

you felt