Blogging Woes

As you may have noticed, we haven't posted for quite some time.  It's not that I haven't tried.  How many precious minutes (or hours?) have I worked on a post, only to lose it by suddenly losing my internet connection.  Lately, however, the problem has been in uploading photos.  Suddenly it's no longer working.  

And what's a blog without pictures?   Unless you're a good writer, which I am admittedly not.  

Maybe one of these days we'll get the photo-uploading problem figured out.  Until then,  check out my facebook page.  

Monsoon Season

 It's fun to watch the monsoon clouds roll in from our rooftop.

But going anywhere can be a very soggy experience.

We try not to think about the sewer water that has mixed with the rain water on the roads.

Tourists for a Day

Out on the boat

 Our city is located along the Padma River,  so while Christa was visiting last week we decided to get out on the water a bit.  We hired a boatman to take us out for an hour or so.  It's one of the few ways we can be out in the open without being surrounded by curious on-lookers.

        

    A couple of special friends and some English students joined us for the journey.

  It wasn't the peaceful time that I had envisioned since the paddle-run boats were all out and we had to take a very noisy motor boat making conversation nearly impossible,  but the beautiful scenery and enjoyment of being with Christa and our friends made it a special time.

                                        

A special meal

     In the cities, most homes have indoor kitchens with a 2-burner gas stove, but the village way of cooking over a clay stove (mathi chulah) fed by wood or cow-dung is still favored by many women.  It comes in very handy for cooking for a crowd.    We recently attended our friend's daughter's birthday party and enjoyed a wonderful biryani meal cooked outside of their apartment in a little cooking shed. It looks like a perfect place to cook one of our favorite dishes -a Spanish paella- but sadly our modern 7-story apartment building has no cooking shed attached to it.

Changing Seasons

When we arrived in Rajshahi in March, we took walks along the sandy bed of the Padma River that runs along the southern side of the city. The size of the river had shrunk to where we couldn't even see it from the banks. We just knew it was 'somewhere out there beyond the sand.

Now,  one month into the monsoon season,  the water is back---and so are the boats.  I love the ever-changing landscape.

   

The Bird Feather

 This picture captures the personality of the little girl in the poem below.
'The Bird Feather' was one of the first poems I read of Tagore's 30 years ago when I was studying Bengali. I loved the story but only got around to translating the poem a couple months ago.

 Here is my rendition.
 (Parents: You won't want to read this to your children and not because it is 'inappropriate.' Unfortunately, it hits the mark.)

The Bird Feather    পাখির পালক 

Time to play at last arrived

   and midst the children, one broke free,

A little girl cried, “Mother, look!

   See what I’ve found! Now look and see!

Her eyes were lit in joyful glee;

   her lips in dancing laughter,

Hair was strewn and flowing free

  a mane which followed after.

Wrists in colored bangles danced

Trembling bracelets jingling

Like little cymbals sang the news

  Of what cupped hands were bringing.

Her arms wrapped ‘round her mother’s neck;

 She sat upon her knee

The little girl cried, “Mother, look!

  See what I have, O see!

A feather, washed in sunlit gold

 and flowed with golden glory,

From forest canopy did fall

  To tell the sunbeam’s story.

As eyes in gentle softness close

  and sleep’s tale touch dream’s mystery,

So soft the clouds contained the touch,

  Blue spoke of blue sky’s history.

A crowded nest of chirping young

  Tweet in their feathered might

And chirp about the future morn

  The hope of their first flight.

This feather brushed the maiden’s cheek

  First one side then the other,

Wide-eyed and gaily spoke, “Look! See!

  The maid said to her mother.

The mother looked indeed and saw,

 Said, “Such a thing you found!”

Laughed and threw the feather outside

  And left it on the ground.

The speechless child, dumbfounded, she

 Wandered, sat upon a stump,

Bereft of treasured priceless feather,

  Empty handed, shoulders slumped.

Playtime over, laughter ceased

  No more tresses flying

Listless hands and downcast eyes

  Teardrops told her crying.

Arose and searched, the feather found,

 Hid it from her mother.

Alone, she’d keep it to herself

 And never show another.