Two weeks ago, I was near tears, for three whole days. I was getting frustrated, impatient and the back and forth with the illustrator just wore me out. So much so, that when he sent the revised illustrations, I did not want to open them. He must have been busy. I suppose that’s what you get when you hire the best. 

However, I wasn’t going to compromise on how I wanted my book to look. my writing is very descriptive, and I wanted my child reader to see the book as a feast for the senses. What was to have taken a couple of weeks, took months! 

When I did finally get delivery, there were other hiccups. We were traveling and were in a remote area in Kent, where we were lucky to get one bar for a few seconds. So I had to wait to upload my second book, Sparrow’s song. When we got back home, I made other mistakes in uploading, so there was that. 

The same thing had happened with my first book. It was delayed for over 6 months! Finally, I was able to release it for a special birthday. God has plans, I suppose. In two days, it will be the anniversary of my mother’s passing. Perhaps, that was the grand plan. I had uploaded both the ebook, and paperback, after much struggling I should add, but left a box unchecked and something else..so it got further delayed. 

All of this I find terribly frustrating and constraining. 

Here we are, eventually, the bird has flown the coop! 

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BJ4DFJ7C

Maybe, it was meant to be late, maybe it was meant to be connected to my mum? Who knows, I’m just exhausted by all the admin work! Certainly is not my forte! 

Veenu Banga

10/13/2022

11:03 pm.

Liberated!

How could I have forgotten! 

After months of procrastination, I liberated Bubbalou from the depths of one of my journals. While Bubbalou was created in 2006, it originally entered my life in the early 1970’s, and was soon after published in an agricultural magazine. I have carried a copy of it, on a fragile with age sheet of paper, typewritten, long before computers became a common thing. 

Here it is, with the back story, followed by a link to what’s become of him after he became Bubbalou. He’s happily delighting little children, like he once did me- he held me mesmerized and moved, pensive, thoughtful, resigned. 

The transformation to Bubbalou was required for it to be more palatable to the young and not so young minds in the west. The ‘fatality’ of “all life must come to an end,” may not have sat well with the western mind, and certainly not an ending such as met by my friend in 1971?! This is how it all happened. 

Indian Monsoon

This poem is the original of the recently published Adventures of Bubbalou, the baby water bubble. An Agricultural magazine published it, along with another poem, Sparrow's song. 

The Backstory for this poem takes me back to a late afternoon or early evening during the monsoons. It was in Pandara Road, New Delhi, where we lived for about 23 years, in government accommodation allotted to my mother. At the end of each row of flats was a deep gutter for the rainwater runoff. Being an avid walker, I always sought a reason to 'go' somewhere so I could walk. 

I remember heading out as soon as the rain stopped. The gutter was still gurgling away like an energetic brook, with water flowing at a good pace. I glanced into the gutter and noticed a big water bubble. Along with the blades of dried grass and other bric a brac from nature's excrement being washed away with the rainwater, it was jaunting along, floating in the water, meandering with the water's path, going wherever the water's flow was taking it. 

In my late teens then, in the early 1970s, I had matured enough to have a mental bent that colors much of Indian thought process and life, the feeling of a presence of divinity and the impermanence of things. From this observation, my poem, Indian Monsoon, was born.

Indian Monsoon

I am a baby water bubble 

I was born in the rain,

My life is but a short span

I'll just float down the drain.

Straws and dust are my companions

All natural gifts of God

I was born of the lady cloud

The thunder is her lord.

I sway to the water ripples

I dance to the breeze

'Midst grass and thorns and ferns,

My way, I often squeeze.

I live in muddy rainwater,

A boon to farms and fields,

For all humans bless the rain

For the harvest rich it yields.

I, too, am exposed to dangers

Encountered in human strife

I avoid those paper boats 

To save my precious life.

As gaily I sail on

Merrily to the pitter patter tune,

If I'm born at sunrise

I don't live to see the moon.

That all life must once end

To this, I am quite wise,

So before against that rock, I dash,

Just let me close my eyes.

 

Copyright 1971 Veenu Banga

Here is Bubbalou, published on July 27th to mark a special birthday. 

https://www.amazon.com/Adventures-Bubbalou-Baby-Water-Bubble/dp/B0B8BPCJQX/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=

A day of stories and

More music. Getting carried away on You Tube. 

Remembering all my favorite songs over the years. Some of them came to me as faint tunes, still bring a smile to my face, even though in some instances, I recalled just the artist. How we change over time. 

Since I’m starting so late, it’s best I do t go down that path, because that meanders and is long. And it’s already late. Instead I will let the story tell itself. It’s about a song, which I have realized is universally loved amongst singers. I’m talking about Deewana Hua Badal. 

Today I was listening to Main Pyaar ka Raahi hoon, by as new duo, being attracted to them because they had a live orchestra of 25 artists. Now that’s certainly enticing, compared to five or six people with a couple of instruments and mostly keyboards. Piano like keys mimicking a violin can really be off putting. Unfortunately, the duo was a bit lacking in the enthusiasm and vivacity of the song. 

You Tube meanwhile, kept thrusting Versions of Deewana Hua Badal at me. So I obliged and listened to SPB (SP Balasubramanyam) sing the song. He clearly loves the song, and I couldn’t understand why someone from the South has sung this with several different female voices including Sangeeta Melekar, who is a very gifted artist. Here it is: https://youtu.be/Uy9u3leyyNs

One thing led to another and I came across this video which is in essence a tribute to Mohammad Rafi, and SPB is the last speaker. While every speaker’s tribute is worth listening to, SPB’s tribute will surprise you. It answers the question, as to why this song is universally loved. Even some one like me with un untrained ear for music, has liked it for so long. https://youtu.be/x5a-U783bV8

Hope you think it was worth your while!

Veenu Banga

April2-3, 2020

1:00 am. 

A blast from the past

 My sunflowers: 

They were hurtful and humiliating, 

Most of all they were unkind, 

If they derided my lack of domestic skill,

Why could they not love me for my mind? 

Veenu Banga

30th January 2022.

But written a long time ago! 

11:21 pm.

KB makes every woman feel beautiful

 And every man perfect! 

The joy of watching KB sing to his small audience with a handful of musicians is just such a pleasure to watch. It’s a great experience of inclusivity in the performance itself, as if one were in a private concert. 

In the few minutes that his voice brings the TV program to a close, every heart is moved by his soulful singing. 

Women of all ages, weather blossoming with the beauty that only youth can boast of, or middle aged women with generously endowed bodies, some with old fashioned glasses, and others of varying appearance, are all seen glowing and many sing along with him. There’s a lot of head nodding, and toes tapping. 

The men too have a soft wistfulness about them, something that happens only when they’re either in the privacy of their bedrooms, or unawares that they’re been observed. With KB’s singing their emotions are also caught off guard, and can be seen involuntarily expressed on their softened faces. That’s quite amusing to watch, because guys prefer to display their tough exteriors, and don’t like to be seen as romantics. 

And KB carries on, sometimes solo, sometimes with a female singer. With his contrived perfections, the imperfections are a clear giveaway to the observant eye. But who’s looking, all are mesmerized by his voice. 

There’s backslapping by the men and amidst their wah-wah’s, it’s clearly obvious they’ve immersed themselves in the music, as much as the women, who have been more expressive about it. 

So go on, KB, keep going on. Here’s the adulation of one more fan, you don’t know exists. As ABBA said, “Thank you for the music, for giving it to me” 

Thank you KB for the joy you bring with your songs, a few minutes can change one’s whole day! 

Veenu Banga

30th January 2022

11:11 pm.

The Body keeps track

 If we think we can get away with abusing our body, taking it for granted, it will sooner or later let you know who the boss really is. 

We presume we are our bodies, and that our actions are separated from any effects on our physical and emotional selves. Intellectually, we all know this is not true, and we, and I speak for myself, need to be reminded from time to time. Though I’m getting better. I was not always like this. 

Late nights and holiday indulgences have taken some toll and my body has clearly let me know that’s not acceptable. So I’ve slept most of the last 24 hours. 

Besides, I’m all wintered out. Wearing layers of clothing and cap and scarf  and a coat over all of that, plus struggling to keep the mask on is not my style- at least not for prolonged periods of time. 

I thought I could keep up my daily gratitude writing habit permanently. That would have been easy, except that one break can have a domino effect and threw me off course. 

Ended up writing other stuff which, let’s just say I thought should wait. 

Grateful today, or rather tonight for feeling better now, after my foolishness of not wearing a coat and the accompanying paraphernalia when we had to go for our COVID tests after a 5 days quarantine since arriving in NL. Ended up getting sick with catching cold. Not the sneezing kind, but the wind blast headache and chills. Soon found myself with a full blown migraine type horror which kept me in bed. Lesson learned. I hope. Oh, and the test results were negative. Thank God for that too. 

Was constantly sipping hot water, most of which I couldn’t keep down. That’s my style of being really sick when I do something wrong. A hot water bottle always helps. Finally I think it may have been the one ounce of ginger ale that came to the rescue. Such a pretty can, called Gingerella! 

Woke up to drink water, again! Thought I’d check on something on my phone, and then decided I miss not having written. So here I am , and headed to the kitchen to refill my hot water bottle. They are such a comfort. 

For the hot water bottle, and for safe passage across the air and the seas, and on trams and trains and on roads, thank you God. 

Veenu Banga

30th January 2022. 

2:07 am