It tempts me and beckons me
It's always preying me
The more I close my eyes
The happier it is

It doesn't let me eat,
It doesn't let me play,
Nor can I read,
Oh, I am it's prey

I am starved at times
Of food and play
No eating and no reading
And I'm dazed all day

If you are wondering,
I have fallen in love,
This is worse, my friend,
I prefer to be in love

This is called sleep
And it can hit any time
You surrender to it and sleep
And when you wake up, you weep.

Oh, you insomniac,
you are the blessed one

Shehnai is silent

A few days back, the musical world lost a gem, Ustad Bismillah Khan. I remember him as the person who sat in our old tape recorder and played for us in the wee hours of Narakachaturdashi (Diwali) every year. I enjoyed the soft music that played in the background while I reluctantly got out of my slumbers and joined my Mom for the arati. I also remember him as the man who threatened to return the prestigious Bharat Ratna because he felt he was 'ignored'.

I know him as the Muslim man who stayed in a Hindu dominated place and worshipped Allah and Krishna with the same love. I know him as the man who lived in Varanasi for the whole of his life and wanted to die in the same place and did it. A person of a minority religion stayed in a place which is the religious hub of a rival religion, crossed the barriers of religion and hatred, and managed to win the hearts of people. He proved a point and that point was evident when Hindus and Muslims alike thronged his house on hearing the news of his death.

The master, with his Shehnai, managed to do something that the leaders of the nation couldn't. May be it's time to coin a new proverb 'Shehnai is mightier than the Prime Minister's power'. All I can say is, "Wah, Ustad".

Hats off, cop!

What comes to your mind when you hear 'Police', that too 'Indian Police'? A middle aged man in khaki, with a pot belly and a lathi in hand? If you are south Indian, you might visualize a thick black moustache and if you are Maharashtrian, your police might be chewing paan.

Whatever be it, when one thinks of police, one rarely visualizes efficiency, alacrity, co-operation or a friendly face. This site changed my view and it might change yours too. This blog is maintained by the Dakshina Kannada police Superintendent, Dayananda B. The blog has records of the crime rate on a daily basis. One can find a detailed list of the number of crimes, their type and who the victims were. Pretty impressive to see something like this that too from a segment of the government which is known for its corruption and poor quality of work.

Coopersblog is a UK based blog which keeps track of police blogs across the world. This site has praised Dayananda's blog as the best cop blog ever. That is one recognition Mr. Dayananda will be proud of.

Its time people back home took notice of Mr. Dayananda's efforts.

Baby, it's a dog's world

Living in one of the posh localities of Bangalore has its own plus points. I get to witness such weird things at times that I start wondering if I am on a different planet altogether.

Rich people have their own priorities and they nowhere match mine (No, I am not rich). A typical rich woman will look like this: weird clothes, streaked hair, some garish colored lipstick, wrinkles all over and the nose so high up in the air that it almost chokes on ozone and the most important accessory - a puppy. The uglier it looks, the better. Even the puppy may have lipstick on it sometimes -- that comes from all the mushy kisses it gets from its owner. So, she will walk down the road, with this haughty look, her purse in one hand and the puppy in the other. Just a few steps behind her, you will see lady who no doubt is her helper/maid/servant and she is carrying a kid. The kid doesn't really belong there, because it's very obvious the baby is not the helper's but the owner's! Let me get this straight - you need a helper to carry your baby around, but you can carry that stinking puppy all around? You don't care if the baby is hungry, but the moment your poodle barks you are ready with a feeding bottle?

I know what the baby must be thinking: "Baby, it's a dog's world. I wish I was a dog."

Murphy at his best

Having spent three wonderful days lazing around in an awesome place, sitting here in the office and actually working sounds like a death sentence. One can't do much about it and hence I am trying to console myself by doing something fun - blogging.

Kodaikanal is a great place to chill out - literally! The place is unique in its own way - it has a perfect balance of commercialization and isolation. A tourist who wants to be treated like God - travel agents running around him, shopkeepers trying to lure him and 5 star hotels making him feel like God-- can be contented with what Kodai offers. On the other hand, a tourist who wants to be left alone, far away from the mad crowd, to be one with the nature and its serenity will find Kodai as the place to be in. Quite contrasting, yet true. The lake which is in the heart of the city is the perfect example. One can sit on the lake side with a book in hand and listening to the soft music played by the lake water and still can see the real world on the other side of the lake - crowded shops, buzzing people and the luring shopkeepers and be happy that one is not part of that mad world.

This was one memorable vacation. Murphy was at his best - everything that could go wrong, went wrong. Even then, this trip is close to my heart.

To go or not to go

Just when I was thinking of the lush green views and the peaceful hours and the break that I was going to have from the routine life, I am down with fever. I was all fine until a few days back and suddenly--bang! "Hi there, we are your new neighbors - fever, cold and cough. Hope you enjoy our company." The only question that comes to my mind is, "Why? Why me?" (Well, those are actually two questions.)

To go or not to go is the question. Should I risk my health and go ahead and take the much needed break (even if that means sitting within four walls of a posh hotel on a beautiful hill station)? Should I think of all the sufferings that I would have to go through after coming back and just stay at home and take rest?

After giving it some thought (a lot, actually), I have decided not to be a chicken! Instead, I will ram like a bull and take the risk as it comes. Misty mountains, here I come.

About Me

As I begin my journey in the blogger world, let me attempt to make a few things clear.

What is Soul Kadhi?
For starters, it's the title of my blog.
It's a dish made in the coastal areas of Karnataka (and Maharashtra, I think.) It's made of Amsol (or kokum) which has a sour tangy taste like tamarind. It's usually eaten with rice. I am waiting for the day when I get to taste this dish.

Why Soul Kadhi?
Because I do some soul searching and some sole talking. Actually, there is no reason why I chose that name. I just closed my eyes and thought of a title for my blog and this name popped up. I didn't want to upset the name, I decided to keep it.

Who are you?
Anamika. Anonymous. Nameless.

Why do you want to be anonymous?
Why do you need a name for all the words that you read here? You are going to read the same words whether my name is Anamika or Madonna. (Actually, the latter may get more hits to my blog). So, does it matter what my name is?

What is this blog about?
Good question. Next question please...

No, serisouly. What is this blog about?
Well, this blog is the visible form of my thoughts, my opinions, my feelings... my life.

Why should I read this blog?
You don't have to. I write for myself. You are free to read it, if you want to. Comment, complain, praise, accuse, throw a tantrum about things that I write here. I may choose to ignore them. Ha!

If you are writing for yourself, why not keep a diary?
Good point. I do keep a diary. The reason why I am putting it out for the whole world to see is that some soul might connect with what I am saying and might resonate. To evoke emotions, reactions, thoughts in people who care to read what's written here.

Ok, enough questions, take me to the blog.
Right. http://soulkadhi.blogspot.com