America's got talent. Have you?

I imagine all Indians chasing me with their clubs, sparrows, axes, and swords in their hands when I pose such a question to them. Their creations without a speck of imagination and streak of originality speak volumes of their poverty of ideas.The series of very old and not so popular movies of yester years watched constantly on my T.V. gave me a fair idea of what extent our so called great directors and movie makers were seriously engaged in plagiarism. They were receiving their laurels and national awards for stealing themes, music and concepts, never bothering to acknowledge their indebtedness to international cinema.

They can be forgiven for their old wine being served under a a changed label, as they were at least accredited with few of their own. Now all of them are seriously engaged in administering large doses of plagiarized T.V. Programmes. All the dirt and filth which is shown here is conveniently transported to our viewers with least discrimination. They want their judges to be brutally frank to the extent of wickedness.(Thanks Raghu for Rodies.) Reality shows, a new germ which has been transmitted, show every moment of a person except defecating. Dance contests are forced to be acrobatics breaking many bones and ribs. American Idol, Are you smarter than fifth grader? You think you can dance? food channels, news channels, slapstick comedies, serials with multiple marriages and ever youthful grannies, crime investigations and hospitals, ghost serials, police files, name it we have no hesitation in copying all of them. They might be facing lot of problems in adopting "The moment of truth" and "Wife Swap" to the Indian environment, which I suspect still awaiting for their turn to be rubbed on our heads.

Many good things which happened in this world are inspired. But any inspiration should be good enough to enrich our own. Are we drained out of ideas? Still I believe that we have great pool of talent. Is it so imperative that we forget our own creativity and be copy cats? Can't we find any thing worthy in our long standing tradition of art? Look at them. They imitate no body.They do what is right for them. But how worth is our mindless imitation? All the crap which suits a person on an altogether different continent should necessarily fit you? All the incoherent questions clutter my mind. It is not just about conceiving a programme.I certainly do not underestimate the power of visual media.

Sierra Spirit

I sit in San Rafael Park away from the crowds ( hardly there are any). Not much of vegetation around. Surroundings are characterised by shrubs and bushes typical of a desert. I can see a big oak groove few yards away across creaky bridge. I do not hear any thing but cooing of birds. I neither hear the rumbling car or blaring horns though I am not very far from the road. I do not see any body around. It is already 7 o' clock in the evening. There is always a fair chance of any criminal attacking me. He can snatch gold on my body. Yet I was not scared . Nor do I visualize any probability. I am not quite sure whether I can sit in any lonely place like this any time back in my home land. Is this country free from crime? No. Is there more crime in India? Statistics say no.Yet I am more comfortable sitting here all alone. I am not uneasy in circling four miles radius around the lake while encountering very few people on my way. But I do not feel very comfortable taking 5 minutes walk to the neighbouring park early morning in my hometown. I do not see any body while I take my morning stroll in the University campus here. I pass through rose gardens. Linger through groves, sit by lake, roll on the sprawling lawns with wide blue sky above my head . I like to gaze the fading daylight through nameless tree leaves with my face against the sky . I love to watch gees crawling to the banks of a small lake with rare furor fluttering their wings. . I am delighted to watch concrete paths lighted with lamp posts with a measured distance, sitting on the rocks. I am all round, with no body to watch. No body to caution, no body to frighten, no body to disturb. Water bubbling from the rock fountain falls on the rock with jingling sound with no other overpowering noise to intersect. I am a woman. I can never sit alone and enjoy my being there alone anywhere in my own place. A respectable (family lady in Indian vocabulary) )woman never sits idling her time all alone. She can never squat, kneel, bend or lie down in any public place. There is no body to tell that here. A child in me sends me to roll down on the lawns. To climb a lonely rock. To watch stars in a dark night with my head in my hands bending back wards on a bench. " What do you like the most there?" asked my husband from India on a telephone. " Beaches? museums? shows? comforts?malls? what?" "This" I replied. "What?" he questioned "My freedom. I feel that every thing is created only for myself. I feel I am alone enjoying my big space" "You don't want any body around there? By any chance are you turning too selfish?" " I do not know. I am more happy with less and less intrusion" " I am yet to figure it out" he said. Being born in a big family noise is never a problem for him. Back in my country my child hood which passed in socialistic era where sharing is a virtue and resistance for sharing is a crime and quality to be detested. I was not too greedy with my penny but I am keen about my being for myself when I want. As an young women being never be able to spend a lone moment with the nature, I always pined for old age when people do not bother about me much. On the on-set even that seem to be not too easy with mandatory mangal suthrams and bangles, or least with my limited capability to bestow upon few financial favours to some body I never know before, never let me alone. Women is never alone in my sex starved nation. I am in the midst of Nevada the most dangerous state in United States ! yet I am safe and happy.

Aho (Vow) ! Tahoe !

Um... I am not a bad photographer. My pictures assured me that I am a going to be a good photographer. When I have shown my photographs of Lake Tahoe to my daughter she told me that really no photographer is good enough to show it ugly. What she told is two hundred percent right. Such is it's beauty. It is praised by Mark Twine as the jewel of the lakes. As blue as the turquoise, as clear as the crystal,as pure as nector, the lake is surrounded by sierra mountains and pine trees and breathtaking beautiful to the superlatives.The scientific reason behind it's gorgeous colour doesn't bother me much , but it almost appears as though a great painter has spilled his blue colour on the canvas inadverdently.The golden streaks beneath it's transperent waves reflect like jewels hidden in it's heart.The pines around it whistle with the wind like a philharmonic orchestra.

Top of it how beautiful the experience of watching Shakespear nights on the banks of this lake should be ! Any play other than "Measure for Measure" would have been very interesting for me. But after the show I was convinced that for a master craftsman like Shakespeare no theme is difficult to make it interesting. Hardly any thing can really escape the brilliant portrayal by the genius. Half Chinese protagonist made me feel uncomfortable as the appearance is inconsistent with the role . Yet the play was enacted with precision and perfection. No mistakes can ever occur in a well documented, rehearsed and planned stage play. Every things is in it's place and worked too. Theatres are not new to India. Perhaps our theatres are one of most ancient in the world. In most parts of Andra Prades musical theatres are very popular till first half of the twentieth century and I remember my father quoting and singing few "Padyams" of Pandava Vudyoga Vijayalu . I was told that "Padyam" is unique for Telugu theatre and no other language has this feature.( Hello! Any body up there to save them ?) We Indians have produced few of the world class artists. With the advent of cinema our theatres were thrown to dogs and badly need rehabilitation. I am happy still they being played in these places and being sold for good price, though my experiment with "Menopause musical" was not too great.Youthfulness, attractiveness, and sex appeal are too precious to loose in western society but house wives with a flab and gray hairs can lead a happy familial life in oriental countries with their husbands trapped in marriages with no exits.

It is amazing to see so many water bodies throughout United Stated , most of them preserved and well maintained. We come across many huge lakes on our way and some of them virtually look like a sea. Many are used as good water sporting avenues. I feel privileged to travel along the coasts of Missouri and Mississippi rivers. I remember mugging up their names as the biggest river in the world ( Now with the changed statistics Amazon occupies the place) Fortunately it is not one of the the endangered rivers in their country. Heartrendingly our great lakes and reserve forests get shrunk by hundreds of acres every five years. They are often traded for votes and we can afford to loose our major rivers by sheer callousness.

Despite of our long coastal line most of us are alien to water sporting. For many of us swimming is fisherman's business. Lot number of us are scared of water. Our beaches are ill maintained and our love for sea is restricted to wetting our feet . For many of the Westerners who confine them selves in four walls during their severe winters, onset of summer is a boon. A small fishing pond is good enough to lure them to strip. The very fundamental of their adventurism is offshoot of their love for water. Not many of them are ignorant of swimming, a great human skill which we fail to acquire due to lack of proper facilities.

In spite of living on a riverside I was never encouraged to learn swimming. One reason being a girl, other being risk of death in a spate. On the day of reopening of my school I unmistakably noticed one missing head in my class. A moment later I was told that my little friend Radha Krishna was swept away in the fresh waters of the river never to return back . Not many parents were willing to send their children for swimming. That is how many of us remain alien for swimming. In modern times, with too many pools offering swimming coaching, many children end up with unfinished training and ear infections. Too many politics are involved with coaches and and their extra buck . Pools are crowded and breeding grounds for skin infections due lack of maintenance. Where do you produce world class swimmers?

My boating experience in lake of Ozark near St. Louis ended with confusion and chaos as we found very difficult to figure out our destination in a huge lake. An understanding came to me why our sailors ever carried their compass, as there are no land marks in water. Our pressing need to reach the shore within the stipulated time with a haunting threat that our every extra minute will be charged with five dollars was excruciating and our desperate phone calls to the shore were often turned down as the operators who work for years never know what world is existing next to them. It is truly ridiculous to notice that many workers in this country confine them selves to their small ambit of things and are quite ignorant of things around them. Kudos to India! We find many people who can run the whole show single handed in most organisations. Darwin is right. We are made fit to survive in our congested environ !

(Readers please watch the above picture is not photographed by me)

Lonely walks in deep woods

When I booked my tickets to Muir woods from San Francisco it occurred to me that I am proceeding on my mindless tourism freak with an intention to complete my itinerary with obsessive compulsion. After my long haul of expedition I came to the point of conclusion that where ever I go I am sure to get a large dose of museums, obeviously some piers if it is a sea coast or bay area, or some hopeless island where things are exhibited to the extent of exaggeration, or some shopping areas, ready to put a hole in my pocket. Am I on a constant quest for something new and exiting? Or is it some kind of monotony creeping into me? I am yet to figure it out. Evidently memories get overlapped if tours are done in quick succession.

On the day of my tour, after a brief travel on a hassal free train, I was received by an enthusiastic man who introduced himself as Pitt. He is supposed to be my guide cum driver. Obeviously people are rare commodity here. Apparently he had learnt the art of browsing the google maps and wikiepedia. "I was in the industry for over twenty years" he said jokingly with immediate correction which speaks that he joined the job only 3 weeks ago. While driving the cab he talked about so many things under the sky and shared his love for music and hatred for Bush with many other co passengers who happened to be whites.Honestly some of their mutter and strange expressions did not catch my imagination. Alas! Films are different from real time experiences. However I tried to be confident, my colonial past made me to shrink shorter and shorter in stature as the day progressed and my accent started looking uglier and uglier and my skin darker and darker. I felt like a hopeless creature. Eventually at one point of time I thought of taking a brave front with my glorious past.

Pitt stopped us at Muir woods as planned before.But by the time I turned my head I found all my coo passengers disappeared in all the directions.Whatever may be the reason these people are more adventurous and fun loving. There are special occasions where they enjoy their good times in a group but they can be equally comfortable being alone. I took my lonely dream walk into the Red woods . It was like a sudden burst of a Andean flute in the midst of deep silence. The trees looked unimaginably tall ,and some old ones stood strong dating back to twelve hundred years. It is hard for the sun to penetrate into the woods. Trees with wide burrows appeared as though they are trying to tell us so much about their past. These are the trees who witnessed so many events in their turbulent past. Yet are quite innocent of the numerous political changes that took place outside their world. Whether they remain under the controlled territories of Red Indians or Whites they really don't seem to care. They withstood so many tornadoes, hurricanes, wild fires and earth quakes.They fall, they rise. Still as though untouched by the disasters they continue to bloom and gently wave their heads to the gushing winds.I can't hear any thing except the twirling sounds of stream flowing besides them with occasional chirping of teetering birds which sounded like rhythmic musical expression of the nature. Squirrels, and rabbits scurry here and there fearlessly as there is no one to disturb them, with humongous belt of trees protecting them behind. The sun rays which penetrate with difficulty are painting the leaves to the gold. The whole of imposing serene beauty could inspire the most unpoetical minds to sing a song, and aesthetic minds to paint or capture their breath taking pictures. I touched their coarse bark with my hand to feel their their life and antiquity. It seemed they were speaking to me, so peacefully, so calmly, so magnificently, so soulfully . I found the key stone of my heart lying there, with this nature.Here I bathe, I sing, I cherish , I meditate, I transcend, I flourish, and perish. I was no different from what is surrounding me. The pebbles of the stream, the squirrels, the ferns, the fallen trees, the wide burrows in tree trunks, I seem to be a tiny part of them, hiding in them as a refugee, begging for their mercy to be fallen on me. They don't seem to discriminate who is white or who is black. The trees did not appear to be specifically American. They are same every where in the world . The same kind of life , the same kind of love, the same kind of enormity. They stand watching the world around with detached attachment.. I loved it. I loved it. Am I using the right word? I think I faltered.It is much beyond. I revered it. From some where Robert Frost is striking me with his lines from his stopping by woods on a snowy evening "Miles to go before I sleep." I remembered Words Worth, Keats and even Shelley, the English country side, and their deeper woods which I cherished to see for long in my childhood. I was glued to the posters showing their springs and autumns. Do they still exist ? I do not know. In India it is increasingly difficult to find them with tremendous human activity.One of the most bio-diverse heavens on earth has gradually lost it's galore. Even the remote corners of North East have been devastated with human aggression. The kind of peace I got while traveling via Coramandel coast through plantations near Kollur, between swelling streams and betel nut grooves,watching the foggy land scape of Hornad and Sringeri and touching of the pepper creepers, I experienced once again here miles away. The land never seemed foreign to me. It was not created differently. It is only a part of that marvelous creation. One earth, one magnificent cast of spell, then why a human different?

I had to rush back as I have keep my timing. Pitt was appreciative of my punctuality. As we proceeded on our wine country tour he asked me which wine I like the most. I replied that I never tasted it. It was a surprise to many of them.I was forced by a compulsion of pleasing them. I told them that I would be buying one for my son and sought for their help in selecting the right one, and soon they asked with what kind of food it is taken quoting steaks and smokes. I felt that it will be weird for me if I say we don't eat meat either.What kind of a life am I leading? I never felt so rustic before. Should it be all right if I say it is with palli masala or mirchi bajji? I did not want to look like a crude tribe from a remote land . I replied that he doesn't drink before me which evoked still ecstatic response. How values can be different from one place to another! What is civilization for you need not necessarily be a civilization for somebody. I explained to Pitt in his solitary moments that most women in India don't drink or smoke and children respect their parents. How did he look at me? I can't exactly explain.

He took us to Sonoma Valley wineries. I was made to sit on a table along with others with some wine in a glass in front of me. I tried my level best to gulp it. But smell of alcohol was nauseating and I ended up throwing away my wine in most cases. My wine country tour ended up with tasting wine with no kind of exposure to wine making. I desperately wanted to see the trampling of the grapes under their dirty feet. " It is not the season for that" I was told by my guide. Tour operators in America did not prove to be very different from India, and I suspected that Pitt would certainly be carrying a free bottle of wine as a complementary for getting more tourists to the wineries.All my friends seemed to be too happy with their wine tasting and no body was too serious about making.

I talked about India when few questions were posed to me by my co-passenger who was already tipsy with cocktail of various brands of wine during tasting session.Finally I reached my destination. I was dropped and Pitt cared to open the van door for me.I really hated this tip business. I reluctantly kept ten dollar bill in his palm while shaking hands. He smiled and bid fare well to me by saying " I stayed in India for 6 months.. you know, of course it was backpack tour" I was astonished.I felt I was cheated. Why he didn't he tell me before? He allowed me to speak all the ethical nonsense about my country. But I am sure as a back packer he would have seen the worst of India!