Reflections and Retrospective (Of a Blogger)

Reflections and Retrospective (Of a Blogger)

It is not for want of ideas or topics that I am writing this post. Purely I want to take a little break from all the noise of current wars, the lingering aftereffects of Covid pandemic (ex: children’s falling school grades), and the food shortage, etc.. At times it seems appealing to wade into controversial topics (ex: politics, religion) but one can get stuck in the muck of the moment and lose the larger picture of life. Any way there is no point in getting the blood pressure up and losing mental equanimity over the price of milk, gas, fad (the Zeitgeist, a fancier word) of the moment (ex: AI, Artificial Intelligence), or the ubiquitous temperamental weather. 

Years ago I started blogging on poetry, Telugu literature, Carnatic music, science, and gardening. There were some miscellaneous topics like bodily upkeep too. The articles were mostly non-controversial and they helped me polish my writing (communication) skills and share some hidden beauty in (500 year old) ancient musical compositions and nature. That the blogs cumulatively attracted more than a million (~1,000 k) page views speaks some thing about the sites’ durability and continued interest among its readers. And the readers are scattered all over the world; bulk of the visitors are from US and India with a smattering of page views from Canada or Australia. Occasionally a dance student or Carnatic music fan requested for the lyrics of a rare Kshetrayya padamu or the meaning of a popular Ramadasu kirtana. I’ve always acceded to such requests and posted the musical pieces on my site. All this work I assiduously did with care within my time constraints and without any reward per se (except a pair of pearl earrings!); I simply considered this as part of paying tribute to my homeland, teachers, and family. To my surprise some of the articles have withstood the test of time and they turned out into a set of “benchmark critical essays”. Whether any of these posts influences the Indian youth (or contemporary Telugu generation) – I cannot comment. Literary or musical interests do not rub on everybody easily; it does not matter whether they are of highbrow or lowbrow type. Some get it and some don’t – that’s the beauty of life. Hobbies, i.e., non-monetary idle diversions – ideally they should be honed during the prime of life, if they have to be of any help or lasting value in life. 

So like the little sparrow (see a Puranic story about Garuda) on the sandy beach, I’ve kept on writing, adding attractive nature photos, several original Telugu compositions, and a few exploring pieces on the timeless ancient Sanatana faith (dharma). Through these writings I too have benefited. It sharpened my abilities in observation, expression, translation, science, and arts. Here, at this juncture I just want to express my thanks to all the visitors, the random browsers, and keen readers of both the websites: Google and Sulekha. Though I do not know the readers personally, though I’ve not seen any of them personally like many authors I feel a special kinship with all of them. One may consider such a relation as purely a figment of imagination, but then the conscious world is not the only tangible worldly thing in this universe. I am sure a Viswanatha or Tagore would agree, even Adi Sankara will nod in unison! Like pure aural music this mode of communication works wonders only through words, sentences, and passages; it is shorn of all other glitzy bling-bling as in a video clip or reel. The early morning chirping bird catches our attention though it is invisible and far away tucked in the branches; yet occasionally a flying pileated woodpecker or blue jay betrays its identity through a raucous screechy call. Copyright 2026 by the author

My Bengali Brother (Poem)

“The good is oft interred
With their bones”
No, his good deeds and
Laughter will stay with us;
It will endure, memories will only
Radiate brighter with time

He (VG)
Was one-of-a-kind 
A very unique person
With a flair for classy things
Of life –
From locally produced Maple Sugar,
Crispy Cortland Apples, luscious juicy
Southern tier peaches to
Date Palm Sugar of India

He tried to peek
Thro’ the foggy windows of time
And visualize better times
For humanity; he
Wanted better crops of sugar,
Newer tuber crops and 
Community gardens with heirloom tomatoes

Always loved the aromatic
Madurai Malli, Kakinada Red rose,
Jasmine Grand Duke, Michael Champaka,
Or the rare redolent Hosta (plantaginea)

A lone Cyclamen or a puny Curry Leaf plant
Will keep him happy and buoyant
Through the hard winters
Of Central New York
Once
He cooked a
Pure Vegetarian lunch
With handmade (ghee fried) puris with cauliflower curry
Made me totally feel at home –
A home away from the Indian subcontinent

He was such a sweet
Bengali friend; I miss you
Rather, we all miss you
So early, so soon
We can’t utter goodbye now
Barely we’ve started understanding each other
Yet we must …
Wish you the best on the onward journey

Copyright 2025 by the author

Furry Friend (A Rainy day Poem)

Furry Friend

Innocence or 

Carefree attitude

Some get it, some don’t

It’s not something you acquire

Or, learn gradually

When I stepped out

It was totally overcast

Drab, gloomy, soggy

You might say

It’s a rainy day – to put it simply

But as I ventured out

With a light umbrella

There I came across

A light brown jovial dog

Man’s best friend -

A Terrier perhaps

You got to see

Its sprightliness, playfulness

It stomped on the puddles

Rolled on the wet grass

Played to its heart’s content

On the muddy brown waters

The owner didn’t mind it either

There 

In the drizzle, halting rain

We three

Enjoyed the outdoors

I could see my 

Middle school days

Vividly on my mental screen

Then and there in the coastal

Village 

We had distinct seasons

Six to count

Summer means just hot 

Blistering scorching vertical 

Rays with cool jasmine aroma filled

Nights and mangoes

Rainy season with downpours

Puddles, tanks with croaking frogs

Brown slippery muddy streets

Once we had a rainy day holiday

The distant pupils couldn’t make it

Treading wearily thro’ the slippery

Muddy farms’ edges

So

Mother asked me to go and study

At the tuition master’s house

Just less than a block down the lane

I rushed out in the drizzle

Weaving through the little puddles

And then slipped on the viscous mud

And fell again not once, but thrice

Every time soiling the clothes

Mom got annoyed

Got a little angry

“No, you aren’t going anywhere

In this rain. Stay home with underwear.”

She had so many dirty clothes -

Washing ‘em during monsoon

Isn’t an easy chore

I was housebound with nobody

To play, no fun to spend time

Those were the days

In the village

No radio, no TV, no cell phones

No PDA’s, no iPhone either

Confined to two rooms

With my sister and mom

What a marvelous rainy day!

I miss those days

I miss my sister and mother

I also miss our

Pure white Pomeranian

That would never miss

A dusting in the roadside dirt

After a thorough shampoo bath in the canal

But I am glad for those

Sweet memories

Couldn’t have asked for better parents

Or siblings – they all loved me dearly   

Copyright 2023 by the author

Hosta plantaginea (A Flower Poem)

Hosta plantaginea

I first noticed you

On the Columbia campus

Perhaps during the Orientation

Ceremony

The landscape workers

Meticulously pruning, spreading

The aromatic mulch mixed with

Compost

Your white jasmine-like slender

Flowers immediately pulled me

Born in a tropical village with

Luscious green and abundant flowers

Spread throughout the year

I’m drawn to flavors and flowers

But the sweet scent, varied pleasing 

Aromas of flowers always

Captivates me; it takes me decades

Back into childhood and

Energetic youthful wanderings

Then

I’d lie idly happily

In my mother’s lap

With a gardenia peeping from

Her oily hair

Playing with my sisters

And their loquacious friends -

Always smiling and giggling

With innocent secretive 

Discussions

Scores and scores of

Functions, marriage ceremonies,

Interesting discourses, plays,

Dance and music programs

They all had fragrances

Roses, jasmines, Michael champaka –

You name it from Tuberose to the most 

Exotic type of Oleander 

The ladies in south India

Loved the flowers

They pampered them

Every house had it then

They have it even now

You’d see in the front yard

Near the gate

And

On the terrace

Beckoning the night stars

And

Offering rendezvous for the young lovers

Copyright 2020 by the author 

Vegetarian Delight (Poem)

Vegetarian Delight

What does the cyber pundit 

Munching on hamburger in an air-conditioned booth

Know?

About the taste of a stuffed hot green pepper

Made by Mallanna under the banyan tree

What does Kushwant Singh 

Who goes to sleep at sunset fully inebriated 

Know? 

About the thrill of gongura chutney

Hand made by the aunt in Guntur

For you and me

The salivating attraction in any

Vaishnava temple...

Freshly made steaming Pongal,

In Pittsburgh temple – it’s

The Eucharist of the Lord with three vertical lines  

Is that all? What about the maidens of Dhanur-masa?

A visual feast, with eyebrows like bow-arches

For that great poet (1) –

“The disrobed moong bean

Is having a romantic union with rice” 

Oh, the delicacies of long grain rice,

Coconut milk sweet pudding – their descriptions

Are known to only Srinadha (2)

The sweet taste of leftover rice

With mango pickle – the staple diet of

Sulurpet railway coolies –

Only Krishna, the companion of cowherds knows.

So what? Whether in biting cold North America

Or feet-burning sole-scorching south Indian remote village

What if, decent poets like Atri

Are vegetarian? So what? If they are

Gardeners?

What’s wrong? If great scientists like

Sir Chandrasekhar Venkata (Raman) relish 

Curd? Or, if they indulge in cooking 

Tur-dal?

(Translated from author’s original Telugu poem) Copyright 2022 by the author

1. Refers to the great poet, Kalidasa.

2. Telugu poet of 15th century

Original Telugu Poem

Shrunken Banana (Poem)

Shrunken Banana

I knew him barely

On the University Hill

He too started in physics

Our common friend – another physicist

In Radiology

Talked about him

Now, it’s too late

We do not know

The real cause

Was it all due to the 

Radiation, particle or photon

But he knew about the field

In depth -

Its regulations, the risks

He must have cured

Or at least given, supervised

The most appropriate dose

What they say: in micro-Curies

To numerous patients

But slogging for twelve years

With the underlying illness

Can you believe?

What it was like?

For him or for anybody

He provided for his wife 

And children

Often helped the local

Immigrant community

Strange, his wife would only 

Say, say with teary eyes: “He

Did so much work around the

House, gardening. Now the plants

Like abandoned children feel it too”

We know anything, rather the value

Of any entity

When we lose it

The shrunken, dehydrated banana

Plant stands pitiably in shame murmuring

“More than anybody in the family

I knew him and his gentle touch” 

Copyright 2022 by the author

Some Ikebana (Poem)

Some Ikebana

With no thought

The visitor snapped a young

Rhododendron lively branch

And a gladiolus stalk

All for a measly flower arrangement!

Little did she realize

The original meaning of Ikebana or Kado

Isn’t it? Strange

It’s always easy to be 

An average poet, floral arranger

Like the wordsmith, you

Can randomly collect a few

Twigs, tear off some helpless

Short lived lively blooms

From someone’s garden

And

Show off as a great arrangement

But

To be a real artist

Or even a nature lover

You got to be a Wordsworth

An Arudra, or Usha-Sri

Then if you reach the real

Pinnacle – then you wouldn’t

Even pinch a flower pedicel or petal 

Not for Ikebana, not even for

A temple offering

Why spoil the beauty?

Why destroy life?

When we cannot truly 

Create we must

Abide by the dictum

“Do no harm”

True beauty needs no embellishment

Rarely a man’s hand 

Can match the nature’s nurturing

Gentle touch of creation

Rarely the sensitive tending

Master gardeners pluck

The lovely flowers –

By their throats

Copyright 2022 by the author

Lone Dove (Forlorn Dove)

Lone Dove (Forlorn Dove)

Lone Dove (Forlorn Dove) Where, Where are those days? Those yesteryear’s kisses, caresses, And tickling teasings Days, hours at a stretch You’re after me Once on the banyan tree Once on the electric transmission wire Once you gave poking rough kisses at My glistening gray coat You pestered me with forced romances And advances You never let me stay at one place (You) didn’t let me swing in the cool breeze In the shades of coconut tree Relaxing gracefully for a moment in The open sky Today, after so many years Now only memories and sweet symbols They all are … In this old age Who will look at me? (Who will look after me?) Who cares about me? The young ones won’t come Attracted by my feathery glimmer Their friends and struts - are different. The shops they frequent, Their living palaces, and Fifty-storied sky-high buildings are different The trees they perch too are different If I hurt my leg, I just have to limp Now No one looks at me No one does anything for me Forget about endearing calls Now there is not even cursory greeting My eyesight too has dulled No more sweetness in my cooing I’ve become a lonely bird My only companion Is Your beloved memory Won’t you forgive me? My only fault – That one time indifference, rather neglect That one infraction I did during the prime of youth’s arrogance Where ever you’re Won’t you come once? And embrace me? Won’t you kiss me – just once? My darling pigeon, my golden bird My handsome honey-candy, my harvest pumpkin Of romance.

ఒంటరి పావురము 

ఏవి?

ఏవి ఆ రోజులు?

నిరుడు ముద్దులు, మురిపాలు 

ఆ రసభరిత కేరింతలు 

రోజుల తరబడి, ఎన్నో గంటలు 

నువ్వు నా వెనకాల పరుగెత్తావు 

ఓ సారి మఱ్ఱి చెట్టుపైన 

ఇంకోసారి కరెంటు తీగపైన 

ఓ సారి గ్రుచ్చి గ్రుచ్చి ముద్దులెట్టావు 

నా బూడిద రంగు ఈకల కోటుపై 

విసికించావు నన్ను నీ ప్రేమ సలాపాలతో 

ఒక్క చోట నిలకడగా ఉండనివ్వలేదు (కదా)

నన్ను చల్ల గాలిలో ఉయ్యాలూగ నివ్వలేదు 

కొబ్బరి ఆకుల నీడలో 

విశ్రాంతిగా ఉండనివ్వలేదు 

విశాల ఆకాశంలో

ఇవాళ, ఇన్నేళ్ల తర్వాత 

జ్ఞాపకాలు, తీయటి గురుతులు మాత్రమే 

అవే ఉన్నాయి (మిగిలాయి)

ఈ ముసలితనంలో 

ఎవరు చూస్తారు నన్ను?

(ఎవరు చూస్తారు నా బాగోగులు?)  

నేనంటే ఎవరికీ లెఖ్ఖ?

నా కెవరూ ఏమి చెయ్యరు (ఇప్పుడు)

ప్రేమ పిలుపులు, కూతలు మాటే వదిలేసేయి 

ఇప్పుడు మాట వరసకు పలకరింపు కూడా లేదు 

నా చూపు కూడ మందలించింది 

కూతలో మునపటి తీయదనం లేదు 

ఒంటరి పక్షి నయ్యాను 

నీ అనురాగపు జ్ఞాపకాలు మాత్రమే నాకు తోడు 

నన్ను క్షమించావా?

నా ఒక్క తప్పు - ఆనాటి ఉపేక్ష 

ఆ యుక్త వయసు పొగరు 

రావా 

ఒక్కసారి రావా ఎక్కడున్నా 

కౌగలించుకోవా?

ఓ సారి ముద్దు ఇవ్వవా?

నా ప్రియా పావురమా, నా బంగారు పిట్ట 

నా అందాల తేనల తుట్ట, నా వలపుల పంటల గుమ్మడి!  

Copyright 2021 by the author both Telugu original and English translation 

  

In the Kewra Groves (Translation of Telugu Original Song)

Won’t you give me kisses (He)

Among the groves of kewra, Dear?

Would I let your restless mind go to sleep

This night?

Ah! Rough flirting here behind kewra gardens (She)

Do not, do not tear my sari, of youth

Darling, please - 

Why now these Kalidasa’s descriptions? (He)

Why now these amorous depictions of Srinadha?

(When)

The sweetest nectar-filled (my) heart is all yours now

Day after day

This moment

Condenses and distills the feelings of

Ages of romance

Perhaps

I am the bee in the Brindavan (He)

Here, on the earth

You are the fragrant parijata

Thousand springs – (She)

In your eyes

Every union

Of ours, from now on

From henceforth

Will be a honeymoon

(Will be a season of spring)

In these murmurs of Gautami waves (He)

In this cool swing of moonlight

Why now the (these) worries of separation?

Ensconced in your lap (She)

(I) Will always be (complete) in your heart

Will sleep behind your anchel (He)

This is the translation of my original Telugu melodious duet "మొగలి పూల పొదలలో". The audio (in my voice) is available at YouTube Audio of Mogali Pula Song. I consider it a beautiful song with all the three qualities: imagination, meaning, and music. I should upload many more Telugu original songs and devotional pieces. Copyright 2021 by the author

A Rainbow Cloud

A Rainbow Cloud

Just 9:00 a.m.

Rays hitting me at 60 degrees

It doesn’t happen often

To see a rainbow colored patch

Of cloud…clouds in the eastern sky

That too on a sunny

Fair weather morning

Yet

I watched such things

As water colored cloud fringes

Fluffy petal-like vaporous clouds

In all colors –

Pale rose

Navy blue

A bit of brinjal violet

Are they cirrus?

Is it only me?

How lucky am I to discover

Such a pure joy!

Pity! Only I can see these 

Semi-transparent colors

Many people miss them

Often we just 

Drive through life in a hurry

Barely we got time to bend

See our reflection, ponder

These waving autumn

Acer saccharum1 colors in the canal waters

Alas, we are utterly blind to

Such beautiful celestial scenes

We lack “the third eye vision”

We are stuck in the muck, 

Ever sinking deeper, welded to this earthly gravity

To the daily grind

Is that why?

Siva is always peaceful

With half-closed eyes

Though the world goes

Through all sorts of upheavals, pain

Through wicked inane wars, ruthless plundering

Yet, He is forever in deep meditation

Because the answer to violence

Is not more hurtful action

The Trident(s) must be put away

All the treachery, man made, of course

Luckily it’s countered by

Enormous beauty in nature

The eye-piercing dark blue skies

Of the northern latitudes

The Aurora colors, the breathtaking

Paintings of evening westward sky

The (sky) blue is nothing but Siva’s neck –

It is trying to keep out the

Timeless poisonous flames of 

Cosmic rays and bursts of ionic radiation

Of

The solar flares

Who can get this? Who can feel this?

What I am describing here -

Who can really?

A Tagore can understand, he was blessed 

With the inner eye

Perhaps a modern Krishna too

Certainly, Sir Raman can even 

Derive a correct explanation, an exact equation

Put it into an exact mathematical expression

But here, now

Explanation is not the point

Just looking at such clouds

Makes my day

It is a gift from our sun, 

(Adi-Narayana)

Yes - rain, moisture, cloud, water

And light – it’s all due to the sun

It keeps reminding me

There are things in the world

Beyond my imagination, my limited vocabulary

It tells me to look high up

Reach those skies, it’s beckoning me:

“Come, float in my lap

Touch these cool wispy clouds

And lose yourself in my gentle embrace”

If I ever find my 

Sweet loving angel, my Urvasi

It will be there, in those

Rainbow clouds

There I float on 

The wings of imagination

Resting on the bosoms 

Of

Soft silk-cotton vapors of

Aromatic lotuses, fragrant 

Michael Champaka, and

Freshly showered beds of

Parijatas2

And wandering between the

Hanging celestial gardens

1. Sugar Maple 2. Nyctanthes arbor-tristis Copyright 2021 by the author