Magic of Mystical India

Magic of Mystical India, a photo by firoze shakir photographerno1 on Flickr.

It is our Gods and Goddesses and our 365 days feast days that keep us intact as Indians , Holi, Diwali , Ramzan, Moharam, Gokul Ashtami, Ganesh Chaturthi, Xmas, Easter and the list is long..the unique colors of human weft and waft, that weave an entire carpet , a welcoming carpet of diverse races, diverse religions held up in the peaks of our mountain ranges and the waters of our holy rivers.What the social leaders and politicians cant do, the community does it for us.
We enjoy each others feasts, we feel Ramzan as we hear the Arti of Lord Ganesha the bursting of the cracker that tells its time to beak our days fast,, both side by side cheek by jowl at Bandra Bazar Road..
And I am crying now ,tears of my love for all religions as I see their uniquness through the lens of my camera..Yes I am a Hindu Yes I am a Muslim, I am the two sides of a single coin called India.
That the dieties call out to me to shoot them is enough water on my parched soul..so much that it woould take me several rebirths to shoot the soul of my country.
And honestly I have yet to see my country, a task that is simply herculean , so it is Mumbai for me Juhu beach that becomes the banks of the Hooghly, I become a Bong, I want to dance with them, these beautiful people of West Bengal.. who hold Kolkatta in the palm of their hearts..
That I once loved a doe eyed dusky Bengali Belle called Archana in school has nothing to do with my love for the Goddess of Peace and Prosperity Goddess Durga..
That I never could forget Gora of Rabindranath Tagore or Satayajit Roys Shatranj ke Khiladi and here I drop a tear for a lady who left her impressions on my life Late Mrs Rupa Gupta daughter of late comic actor Asit Sen..
This is my Shradanjali to a person who was a living Goddess.. on earth and redeemed anyone she touched with her humility and life that was service to the general public..
I did not know I would write about her , yes Mr PPC all that glitters is dust it touches you as gold..and to dust we become leaving behind a trail of golden memories..
RIP
Mrs Rupa B Gupta