<p>Most of the country will still be very hot and dusty but with a bit of good luck the summer monsoon should be breaking on our eastern and southern sea-coasts. <br /><br />The cacophony of our politicians will have ended. Our newspapers will be giving us hard news instead of reporting expletives uttered by netas against each other. Our TV channels will also have turned to events more purposeful than covering electoral battles in tedious detail. Many names will have gone into oblivion, many cut to smaller sizes, a few newcomers will be crowing for attention. Life will return to its dull routine drudgery of work, eat, gossip and sleep.<br /><br />Peacock’s cry<br /><br />In the early hours of dawn a peacock raps on the glass pane of the bedroom window of Prem Mohan Kalra. It has been his wake-up call ever since he built his farm house in the outskirts of New Delhi some 20 years ago. He picks up bowl full of bird feed he puts under his bed everynight and opens the door to his spacious garden. There are a large number of birds awaiting him on the lawns: two peacocks wit their harem of peahens, partridges, quails, mynas, doves, pigeons, parakeets as well as his domestic geese and ducks.<br /><br /> He strews bird-feed on the lawn and watches them peck it. It is a brand of Prem-ka-Langar. He has also laid a shallow pond where birds can stake their thirst. When they had their fill, they fly off into woods to supplement their diet with insects, lizards and snakes. They return in the evening and regale Prem Kalra by unfolding their glorious blue-green-gold plumage and dancing their unique Kathak — two steps forward, two back, wings palpitating with passion while their harem watch with feigned indifference. <br />Then they fold their tails, raise their heads and call triumphantly paon, paon.<br />Among Prem’s friends are a palm-squirrel, named Restma, who pries open the tin of stray dog biscuits and help herself and a one-legged mynah who fights off other birds to get her share of the booty.<br /><br />Peacock, partridges and other birds visit gardens of bungalows in the outskirts of the city like the Sainik Farms, farm-houses near the Kutub Minar and Paridabad. If the owners feed them, they become regulars, if they do not, they stop calling. Those like Prem Kalra form a bonding with birds and are handsomely rewarded.<br /><br />From his late father, Lala Kishen Lal, Prem Kalra inherited the Rajdoot Hotel and three of his friends: Fali Nariman, his wife Bapsi, and myself. He used to call on us twice a week with a carton of Dahi-bara. He plied me with Urdu verses of which he knew a lot more than I. <br /><br />The Narimans did not have as much time to spare nor could understand his mumbled speech. When he died some five years ago, we presumed our tenuous association with owners of Rajdoot which neither of us had over visited had ended. It was not so. His son continues the legacy. Cartons of dahi-bara are delivered to us twice a week. Besides the usual dahi-&-saunth, they have ginger, raisins and slices of bananas as tasty, and wholesome, an afternoon meal which I relish.<br /><br />What Prem Kalra has done should be emulated by others. He took over a barren, rocky patch of land full of thorny scrub and turned it into a sylvan paradise by planting hundreds of trees and medicinal plants He laid out ponds and welcomed birds to share them with his domestic fowl. In recent years Delhi has lost a few species of birds e.g. sparrows and owlets. He has shown the way how to bring them by providing the right habitat and sustenance.<br /><br />Indian election<br /><br />Political masters who ruled our nation,<br /><br />Come with folded hands to every citizen,<br /><br />Begging for votes to win the election<br /><br />And resume their game of exploitation!<br /><br />Parasites who never thought of people’s concern,<br /><br />Suddenly swarm the entire nation<br /><br />And promise voters everything under the sun.<br /><br />Neither basic needs nor jobs and education<br /><br />Engaged their minds while enjoying power and position.<br /><br />Peace and harmony, they shatter in cities and towns:<br /><br />Their crowded road shows, catchy songs and slogans<br /><br />And filmy eloquence sway the mob’s emotions.<br /><br />Since ‘helping the poor’ is their generous aim,<br /><br />They offer liquor and money without shame!<br /><br />‘Business’ with contractors gets them bundles of notes.<br /><br />Openly they bribe the poor and demand votes.<br /><br />Since they campaign on the basis of caste and creed,<br /><br />Character and morality, they do not need.<br />(Contributed by M G Narasimha Murthy)</p>
<p>Most of the country will still be very hot and dusty but with a bit of good luck the summer monsoon should be breaking on our eastern and southern sea-coasts. <br /><br />The cacophony of our politicians will have ended. Our newspapers will be giving us hard news instead of reporting expletives uttered by netas against each other. Our TV channels will also have turned to events more purposeful than covering electoral battles in tedious detail. Many names will have gone into oblivion, many cut to smaller sizes, a few newcomers will be crowing for attention. Life will return to its dull routine drudgery of work, eat, gossip and sleep.<br /><br />Peacock’s cry<br /><br />In the early hours of dawn a peacock raps on the glass pane of the bedroom window of Prem Mohan Kalra. It has been his wake-up call ever since he built his farm house in the outskirts of New Delhi some 20 years ago. He picks up bowl full of bird feed he puts under his bed everynight and opens the door to his spacious garden. There are a large number of birds awaiting him on the lawns: two peacocks wit their harem of peahens, partridges, quails, mynas, doves, pigeons, parakeets as well as his domestic geese and ducks.<br /><br /> He strews bird-feed on the lawn and watches them peck it. It is a brand of Prem-ka-Langar. He has also laid a shallow pond where birds can stake their thirst. When they had their fill, they fly off into woods to supplement their diet with insects, lizards and snakes. They return in the evening and regale Prem Kalra by unfolding their glorious blue-green-gold plumage and dancing their unique Kathak — two steps forward, two back, wings palpitating with passion while their harem watch with feigned indifference. <br />Then they fold their tails, raise their heads and call triumphantly paon, paon.<br />Among Prem’s friends are a palm-squirrel, named Restma, who pries open the tin of stray dog biscuits and help herself and a one-legged mynah who fights off other birds to get her share of the booty.<br /><br />Peacock, partridges and other birds visit gardens of bungalows in the outskirts of the city like the Sainik Farms, farm-houses near the Kutub Minar and Paridabad. If the owners feed them, they become regulars, if they do not, they stop calling. Those like Prem Kalra form a bonding with birds and are handsomely rewarded.<br /><br />From his late father, Lala Kishen Lal, Prem Kalra inherited the Rajdoot Hotel and three of his friends: Fali Nariman, his wife Bapsi, and myself. He used to call on us twice a week with a carton of Dahi-bara. He plied me with Urdu verses of which he knew a lot more than I. <br /><br />The Narimans did not have as much time to spare nor could understand his mumbled speech. When he died some five years ago, we presumed our tenuous association with owners of Rajdoot which neither of us had over visited had ended. It was not so. His son continues the legacy. Cartons of dahi-bara are delivered to us twice a week. Besides the usual dahi-&-saunth, they have ginger, raisins and slices of bananas as tasty, and wholesome, an afternoon meal which I relish.<br /><br />What Prem Kalra has done should be emulated by others. He took over a barren, rocky patch of land full of thorny scrub and turned it into a sylvan paradise by planting hundreds of trees and medicinal plants He laid out ponds and welcomed birds to share them with his domestic fowl. In recent years Delhi has lost a few species of birds e.g. sparrows and owlets. He has shown the way how to bring them by providing the right habitat and sustenance.<br /><br />Indian election<br /><br />Political masters who ruled our nation,<br /><br />Come with folded hands to every citizen,<br /><br />Begging for votes to win the election<br /><br />And resume their game of exploitation!<br /><br />Parasites who never thought of people’s concern,<br /><br />Suddenly swarm the entire nation<br /><br />And promise voters everything under the sun.<br /><br />Neither basic needs nor jobs and education<br /><br />Engaged their minds while enjoying power and position.<br /><br />Peace and harmony, they shatter in cities and towns:<br /><br />Their crowded road shows, catchy songs and slogans<br /><br />And filmy eloquence sway the mob’s emotions.<br /><br />Since ‘helping the poor’ is their generous aim,<br /><br />They offer liquor and money without shame!<br /><br />‘Business’ with contractors gets them bundles of notes.<br /><br />Openly they bribe the poor and demand votes.<br /><br />Since they campaign on the basis of caste and creed,<br /><br />Character and morality, they do not need.<br />(Contributed by M G Narasimha Murthy)</p>