Going Home.

The plane taxis off the runway & kisses the clouds. From up above, i see the Mumbai skyline. I am far close to the sea than i can imagine.

The plane continues to climb. The low cost airline has not been low cost exactly. But it did take off on time. And it did soar into the sky. There is a pilot with a distinct kerelite accent, asking announcing that we should be landing on time.

I peer through the window. And see the receding skyline of the city that i call home now. In about a hour and a half i will be touching down in Bangalore. A city that i used to call home until a year and a half back. For ten odd years.

The books that i have picked up at the airport lounge invite some browsing. Some habits stick. Most, like this one, make the missus sick. But she isn't here today with me. So.

I am lost in my own world. Memories come rushing back. I think of the next few days. And i have so many things to do. Discussions to have. And just be present. The sun beats down the other side of the plane. God is kind. I think.

And look at the big mountains that appear far too small. Far beyond. Far below. There are announcements for refreshments. I can hear only parts of it. The other i leave it to conjecture. The handlers from Pakistan did a better job, i think. Of speaking into the phone, that is.

Refreshments are served. And charged too. This is a low cost airline. The middle class me, loaded with the guilt of having bought books, keeps me restrained. In the row, just ahead, a family sits. They order sandwiches and juice. Sandwiches and juice and hand, the air hostess announces, 'thats Rs. 510/-, sir !' The plane shakes a bit.

I look through the window. Into the mountains. Into a dried river in the distance. I think of the next few days. There is happiness. Anxiety. Purposefulness. Hope. And resolve. The pilot is back again. Announcing something. I hear parts of it. And don't hear most of it. The air hostess is having a word with the passenger in front of me. In a distance, i see greenery.

Frankly. Nothing matters. For i am flying home. From the new home of Mumbai. To the old home of Bangalore. And then, home ! Home to Madurai.

Home. To amma and appa. Today, nothing else seems to matter. The sun continues to beat down. The other side of the plane.

Going Home.

Aching Thigh !

For, here i am. With aching thighs. And a knee which announces a flex of the leg with a sound that is getting louder by the day. I still can walk. And run a kilometer or two. Thank all the Gods above for their big mercies.

But frankly, the ultimate strength lies in sitting with your backside close to hard surface. But not on it. Yes, In my mind, to squat is to have special prowess. And No. I am not kidding.

At another of those dull days, i wait, with my laptop bag strung across my shoulders. I wait by a Mumbai highway, for a friend of mine to pick me up.

There is a family that waits alongside me. The weight of the world seems to be on my shoulder, as the friend calls up every 7 th minute to tell me he is 5 minutes away. I yearn for a chair. I cant sit. Forget my backside, the thought of placing the laptop bag on the mud and dust of the highway, is non existent.

And then, i hear the lady of the family standing next to me tell her husband that her legs ache. And the next minute, she sits down. I mean, she squats. And there she was. In that position for many more multiples of '7 minutes' till my friend finally showed up and i left the place !

Her sitting position was perhaps the most hygienic possibility. That you almost sit. I mean, your backside, gets as close as possible to a surface. The knees bend. The calf muscles touch the thigh. And you are not standing. Well, by those definitions, it definitely was sitting !

Phew. I wonder how many of you can do that. Many of my cousins who live in the rural hinterland, sit in this position with ease. For hours on end. I guess their daily morning routines give way for practice too.



But the fact remains, that if the next bus / train / friend doesn't show up on time, i am going to walk about fiddling my finger and running my hand through imaginary strands of hair. While some chap will squat elegantly, right in front of me ! For hours on end !

And i would swear to myself that the next post on my blog would be on inadequate infrastructure !

And here is the icing on the cake.

You know, I try and go to a gym. And the instructor asks me to squat and get up ! 20 repetitions. And charges me for his supervisory act. I know i am missing something.

For, here i am. With aching thighs.

Aching Thigh !

The written word moves !

That's the vehicle that i spot often. Near home. A mobile book store, which for some reason, i thought of as a library. For English & Marathi books. It has a generator, a computer, a young boy and of course, some books.

Plus, they advertise a number. A Toll Free number. You need a book, well, you just dial a book and it would be home delivered.

Now, that was a first.

For all the years of metro living, everything used to get home delivered. From grocery to DVDs, to letters, credit card statements to Chicken Curry. But books.... Well, perhaps the magazines from the corner store. But books ?!?

I didn't see them being home delivered. And that included the ones that went out of the door, borrowed by friends and other visitors, exploiting my inability of saying 'no' ! And i used to awaken with hope each day, that perhaps that day, i would see a book coming back home ! But thats another story.

To spot this mobile book store was heartening. And to actually spot people frequenting the van was even more !

With TV, Internet, audio books and such other 'advancements', there is a strange impasse in the world. I think. An impasse that's big enough to obscure the joy of smelling fresh pages, of curling in a corner with a book, of looking up a dictionary, of debating a point with a friend and just soak up thoughts & adore styles !

This mobile book store seemed to bring a whiff of fresh air ! Mobility takes a new meaning ! The written word moves ! On wheels !

The written word moves !

Getting Real @ Kala Ghoda !

I am at the Kala Ghoda festival. The sun is just setting. A whole lot of 'post its' and small chits on a make shift wall stand out. From a distance, my wandering eyes rest on them for a minute. A few feet shuffles later, i mingle into a a crowd swarm just outside this stall. 'Letters to Pakistan'.

Messages intended for Pakistan. For who in Pakistan, is not known. But headed in that geographic direction. Hand written scrawls to meticulously crafted chits, they are all there. They catch the breeze and flutter. The chits seem to battle for freedom. The glue continues to beat the breeze by holding on to the chits.



In this melee, messages catch the eye.

'We will kill you'
'When i become President of India, the first task in my mind i will distroy Pakistan'
'A failed state like Pakistan is a state of loosers. India rocks'.

And so on. A sigh escapes my lips. So much hate. In young and old alike. My fresh eyes & tired soul search for messages of peace. Outnumbered, they sure are. But present.

'War doesn't determine what is right. It only determines what is left' says one
'War is expensive. Peace is priceless'.
'Lets fight terrorism together'.

And so on. I read on. Searching. Browsing. Smiling. Hoping. Wondering.

Two young girls are reading with interest too. Animated chatter pervades. Between them. They read. Comment. Giggle. Make strange expressions that seem to be extensions of shrugs and something else.


They look up. Read. "Arms are for hugging. Make love. Not War'. They read that aloud. Again. In unison. Roll their eyes. One tells another, 'get real guys'. The other giggles.

'Get Real ?' I wonder. I feel like a dust ridden statue in a museum attic. Especially so trying to map out youngster speak. 'Get Real!' That was some expression.

In sometime they are gone. Their conversations peppered with 'Get Real' many more times!

'Would you want to write sir !?' I hear another young girl ask me. Giving me a pen and a small chit of paper. She mans this stall.

'Sure'. I say.

Steadying my hand is an effort, as the words flow into paper. I write : "We were separated at birth. Must we stay that way?". I want to write more. Thinking of Hindi films where reunions of lost brothers happens in village festivals.

An echo from a recent memory rides high in my ear. 'Get Real' And that girly giggle. I stop. I contemplate. Should i hand over what i wrote ? I wonder how many more would laugh at what i have written.

Contemplation reigns.

Our history lessons are distorted. The media accentuates problems. Less said of politicians on both sides the better. Our armies bristle with aggression. War suddenly seems to be a video game and terrorists are characters that run on code. Toy guns or otherwise, children grow up with hate. And of course, poverty continues to soar and scores die and suffer.

I hear people dismissing what i wrote. But suddenly it doesn't matter. I tell myself, 'get real'. And hand the paper over to this girl who mans the stall. She promises to stick it somewhere.

I walk away. 'Get Real' stays in my mind.

Earlier posts on Kala Ghoda Festival are here. Here. Here.

Getting Real @ Kala Ghoda !

Frill Thrill !

The glitter quotient energises! Like this Mumbai taxi. Whatsay ?!!

The glitter quotient, with fluorescent stickers, especially, of an omni present 'Deluxe' inscribed is a easy to spot ! That 'Deluxe' is a decoupled word from actual reality, is another matter though. The glitter will get you to believe & hope for a BMW feel ! If you are relatively new here.

But more importantly, it is the fancy glitter drops that keep my attention riveted. High on fluorescence, movement and therefore, definitely attention grabbing. I wonder if there is any other part of the world this level of glitter quotient exists on the rear !

And this of course, was a 'just married' car ! Now, i have seen so many different cars with wedding decorations ! Fluorescent violet balls hanging on a thin strip of cellophane tape, all around the undercarriage, was something new indeed.

Wonder whose idea it was. The brides ? The grooms? In-laws? Relatives ? Friends with vested interests ? Or was it a friendly neighbourhood taxi driver with extra ideas hanging in the air ?

Who cares. It added to the colour to the road !

And of course, some private moments to the couple inside. Those dangling, moving, violet balls (that moved ever so violently with every pothole), caught every body's attention. Nobody looked inside the car !

Perhaps that was the idea ! What an idea sirji !

Frill Thrill !

Not nought !

My mind hasn't moved from the Kala Ghoda festival. Here are two pictures. The first one of an old man. And the other of a set of young men and women ! They spoke to whoever who cared to listen. I did.

The first gentleman, recited a poem. About politics, and how corruption is fuelling a rot of everything. And he recited it with no microphone in hand. No set audience to watch his recital. No arc light to focus on him. And no expectation from anybody around. He just stood in middle of a busy section of the festival, and read his poem.

People walked by. With insensitive disdain. Worse still, not caring to notice what was happening just as they milled around. Some stopped for a second, with 'whatever is this man saying ?' look. And moved on. This gentleman continued his recitation.

I counted four people, who stood there and listened. A powerful poem, i thought.

The gentleman though, didn't seem to think much of the four people who stood or the four hundred people who walked around. He completed. And walked away.

The power of poetry and the passion in the recital kept me awake that night.





At another location, there was street theatre, happening. In full swing. A small crowd had gathered. There were a set of young men and women performing. Urging people to stay awake and vote the right kind of people.

Again, no microphone, no fixed audience, no arc lights, no rosepowder. But just humans and powerful performances.

Coming in the backdrop of noises and sounds of various decibel intensity, this indeed was some performance ! To keep an audience who were just walking by, glued to what was happening there was no small task.

And as i left that place, i shook my head in wonder. There after all were people who did things, because it was the right thing to do and that it needed to be done.

Not for appreciation. Not for praise. Not for money. Not for themselves. Not for their loved one. Not for 5 minutes of fame. Not for today.

But just to ensure, that everything doesn't come to nought !

Long after they stopped speaking, their words and their spirit continues to echo in me. I wonder why !

Not nought !

Cutting Chai !

An art installation on Cutting Chai at the Kala Ghoda festival

'Give me two cutting' shouted a colleague. That was some months ago after a careless & loud 'would you care for a tea'?!? I was new to Mumbai, staring wide eyed at every interaction & new culture. And this was my first tryst with a roadside tea shop in Mumbai. There were a group of us. And his sound thundered. 'Dho cutting chai' ( RTT: Two cutting tea) 'Cutting?"

The infamous imagination wandered. "Cutting?" Now what was that !?! Whatever could it be ? I rankled all of my ramshackle brain.

And just as the tea was getting made, i conjured up the following.

Could it be 'cutting edge' tea? Like embellished with secret potions of nectar and holy water. Perhaps it had some technology infusion. Perhaps it helped survive the heat and the crowd. And gave a degree of resilience ! All of that could fall under the category of 'cutting edge'.

Or perhaps it was to do with 'cut' as in 'take a cut'. As in bribes. As in stock market gains. And so on. So, perhaps 'cutting' meant the shop keeper would take a sip before serving it to you, perhaps !

Or perhaps it was tea with lesser quantum of sugar, milk, tea powder. You know, tea where some quantity of regular ingredients were cut off !?! Budgetary necessities. Perhaps dietary !

Perhaps it was tea to give you an incisive cut !! Like in Julius Caesar, 'this was the most unkindest cut of all' !

Maybe it was to do with multi lane driving, where one driver from another lane 'cut into your lane', and the tea kind of cut into your routine.. That sounded far fetched.

The mind wandered and multiple visages of tailors dangling big scissors to accountants with spreadsheets, to doctors on operating tables with a phalanx of anaesthetists came up.

To put a stop all the floating images that were terrifying me further, with a hesitant quiver, i asked 'err...what is cutting tea' ?

There was a cumulative commotion of explanations. And the essence was 'one' 'tea', split in two ( or more) glasses for two (or more) people. And variants there on !

I said, "ah ! Back in Bangalore, its called 'By - Two' " and before i could explain that its origins were in 'one cup divided by two', one wisecrack in the group, asked aloud : 'Bite Who ? That sounds violent !"

I was new here. And i wanted to make friends. And in all seriouslness i said : "Yes. By-two sounds so violent. Cutting is so smooth'. There was a solemness that emerged from nowhere. And i gulped the tea.

I have embraced Mumbai since then, with multiple rounds of cutting tea ! That group member who abhors violence, for some strange reason goes the other way when i walk by.

(This post was inspired by a rekindled memory, thanks to an art installation on 'Cutting Chai' at the Kala Ghoda Festival )

Cutting Chai !

Kala Ghoda Festival '09

The Kala Ghoda Art Festival of Mumbai beckoned. Kala Ghoda ( Black Horse ) is the name of that area. (Named after a statue of Prince Edward astride on a black horse, which incidentally is long gone) .

Read the details of the festival here.

A festival, to my mind, is a swarm of people, a riot of colour, a ring of happiness, sounds of cheer, loads of music, tonnes to see, and of course leaves you with a ring of joy. That's what happens at the Chitrai festival in Madurai.

That's what happens at all festivals. That's something that was abundant at the Kala Ghoda Festival too. Make no mistake though, each has a different character and ring to it !

Here are some pictures from the Kala Ghoda festival !

The Entry Arch !

Art out of bottles, buckets and such other 'water carriers' ! The amount of plastic and waste that we use seem to be going sky high !

We seek to look upto the sky for some answers !

This stall both educated and appealed to the people with toilets at home. And sought to remind that there are many without that facility. And what a way to do that ! This one stayed with me.

The stage backdrop

A clothes stall with puppets in front.

Of course. The symbolism was hard to miss. As i stood outside, looking at other sights, the missus was inside !

A flute vendor

I wonder why they don't give some flute lessons along ! The chap plays flute so well, that you are tempted to buy it with the hope that the magic is in the flute. And that you too would be able to pull off such mellifluous music from thin air.

Alas. When the flute comes to my lip, all it could produce was a vague gust of air and some strange sound that was almost like a fire alarm.

A wire made man walking a narrow strips !

Art from metal was captivating ! And captivating was just not the word. I stood there for a long while. Just to revel in the ingenuity of the human mind. And wondered why we seem to go in tangents so very often.

There are faces on the wall. They seem to be saying something. And that's there on all walls of the world ! Aren't there !?!

Empty well arranged bottles that had a people squinting, jostling and keen to look at what was inside ! And all the jostle had more people jostling to take a look ! Curiosity value gets some takers ! But this Osmosis was quite a sight !!

A kathak performance that we watched. Enthralled. Standing. Jostling. Yet, eyes rivet ted on the synchronous movement of legs, arms and body, to create a delight for the eyes and the ears.

And when we walked away at the end of it all, there was no mistaking the thrill that was there in our hearts !

Kala Ghoda Festival '09

Triple C Dawn !

Listen to the Exhortation of the Dawn!
Look to this Day!
For it is Life, the very Life of Life.

In its brief course lie all the
Verities and Realities of your Existence.

The Bliss of Growth,
The Glory of Action,
The Splendor of Beauty;
For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And To-morrow is only a Vision;

But To-day well lived makes
Every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every Tomorrow a Vision of Hope.

Look well therefore to this Day!
Such is the Salutation of the Dawn!

The snap is mine. Clicked on Eastern Express Highway, Mumbai. The content is written by Kalidasa. Copied and posted shamelessly.

Well, each line made me relive a peaceful and serene dawn on a drive. And my very thinking of that sereneness made a difference to my today ! And prompted me to post.

Triple C Dawn !

Break Down Tale !

So when your car has a break down, it gets towed. And that's not the only time it gets towed. It also happens when you park in the wrong place. Or when a inventive car thief spots your fancy car. Or when you run out of fuel. And such else.

But that's besides the point. For whatever reason it has to be towed, towing brings to my mind, a large truck or such other vehicle which pulls. That's my understanding of towing !

But, what you find below, is another form of towing. A very Indian innovation. For Indian readers, this is a no brainer that is seen every day ! The vehicle that's ahead is the one with a break down !



The 'technology' is pretty simple. The power from the autorickshaw in the rear, gets transferred to the one at front. Through that outstretched leg and the Mumbai air. And of course, using that big toe. ( I am told by knowledgeable sources that it requires some skill).

So, maybe this is 'toeing' ?!? Of course, This indeed is 'Toeing' !

So, the next time, somebody is going to ask me to toe his or her line, i wonder if its that big muscular hulk pulling from the front, or is it that toe that's working on my behind !!

Huh ! So much for a break down !

Break Down Tale !

On The Tree : Full Circle !

So there. So much for balloons. You have them in many varieties. In so many different shapes, sizes and colours. And of course, the 'balloonwala' of my childhood time used to carry a rich paraphernalia of multi hued balloons and all sorts of contraptions that made noise !

He used to announce his presence with a sort of a whistle. And to every parent in the neighbourhood, that was like a medieval battles conch, announcing the commencement of war !

But those days are passe. The modern times that we live in of course have balloons that fly you ! Hot Air balloons they are called. The only heat in the balloons that i am used to is the one coming from my own breath !

There is one memory thought, that is evergreen. It was kindergarten. My class teacher brought a set of balloons to class, and set a raving cat amongst feisty pigeons. A fight ensued over a particular balloon of bright red colour.

And she separeted us saying , ever so sweetly, 'its not the colour of the balloon that gets you higher. Its whats inside' ! And was i floored !

I didn't make much of it back then. But that conversation stayed. And many years later, made much sense. Of course. Of course ! That was a profound statement.

And then, the MBA happened.

On a hot summer day, after a listlessly 'hot' case study discussion punctuated with 'it depends', the prof remarked,

'Gas will get you only so far. You need something else to get any further...like some colour ' !

I stared at him. And thought of my Kindergarten teacher. Life seemed to have come full circle !

This post concludes the three post series titled 'On The Tree' !

On The Tree : Full Circle !

On The Tree : Of Pesty Definitions !

Pests ! They are everywhere. Aren't they ? All the time ! It was many years back that i read the Pied Piper of Hamlin. I was young boy given to grandiose dreams and grander imagination. In my mind rodents that would infest houses to the point of destruction, had a multi dimensional image & excitement.

'Those sick, rotten creatures' (said with all discomforting movements to the face that my English teacher could conjure ) that would wreck destruction on any and everything that would come their way in that town of Hamlin that jumped out of the English course book !

And of course, i was totally in awe of the Pied Piper !! And if you think i had grand dreams of leading reams of rats into the river, well....

Many years later, i was at a Naval camp aboard a warship. Reprimands were a way of life. And for a rather innocuous mistake ( no, i am not in a tell-all mood) , as a prompt and a simple reprimand got a, 'Now, don't be *#@#*@# pest' from an officer, who shouted as though the sun rising the next morning depended on his clarion call abuse !

At that very moment, an image of a creature on many legs, tails, whiskers and all, scurrying around, with my face morphed there made its way to my mind. One of life's vivaciously poignant moments ! I have moved on from that moment and that warship.

On another note, every time i have bought pesticide, there has been obvious thoughts of different kinds of pesticides that would be required to tackle the much versatile pests of today. That leads me to another existential question.

How do you define a pest !?!

Offhand, i think of these characteristics. A pest has got to be small. Pesky. Usually, pests causing pain / frustration / loss. They are generally difficult to eliminate, because of extended mobility, law of large numbers, small sizes, problems in identification / singling out / differentiation and of course, an intense immune syst em that develops capabilities against every pesticide that comes out of an inventive mind. And let me not talk of procreating capabilities !

Now, that's too generic a definition. That's applicable to rodents and mosquitoes for sure. Of course. But lets put this definition to test over others.

Say a talib terrorist. Small. Pesky. Mobile. Large numbers in numerous caves. Attack in small numbers. Would be difficult to tell one from another, with the beard, turban and AK 47. Has fought the combined armies of the world very well. And their number seems to be growing.

Voila !

OK. Now another test. Does a chairman of a company who embezzles his own company fit here. Lets expand this. Do CEOs and other white collar criminals fit this definition of Pest ?

They are small in the mind. But they are numerous and spread across organisations. Operating from cubicles and cabins. And quite obviously, one doesn't get to see too many of them at one go. And of course, with the Armani pin stripe and lacquered floor its going to be difficult to identify one. And as we are seeing here, they almost, always get away ! Voila. It seems to work here as well..

That definition would fit to vast majorities of politicians, sportsmen, salesmen, recruiters, drivers ...whoo boy. And i think it fits people like me as well, if you ask certain people whose names i withhold for security reasons.

It really depends on who you ask. Heck. I think what the world needs SOME pesticide! Day and Night !! And perhaps a new definition as well !

This post is the 2nd in the three part 'On the Tree' series of posts. Posts that draw inspiration from human work on a simple tree !

On The Tree : Of Pesty Definitions !

To Come Back !

To continue imagining. To move. To be moved. To continue. To accept a hand in support. To support. To write. To learn. To listen. To move. To pray. To look. To soak up each moment. To laugh. To cry. To reach out. To hope. To renounce. To accept. To come back.

To stay renewed. To run. To Walk. To pause. To feel new wind. To absorb a new thought. To see new people. And their thoughts. To continue seeing 'old' people. And their thoughts in old and new light. To stay confident. To take on new responsibilities. To take on. To stay true to old values. To roll on. To come back.

To drive. To stay driven. To fix flats tyres. To wipe tears. To work out. To sweat out. To rediscover. To push. Yourself and others. To see a new day. To stay optimistic. To weather out old storms. To discover weak links and broader shoulders. To see discover new friends who stand by. To see new hope. To come back.

To reach out to elders. To read the lines. And between them too. To develop. To stay rooted. To reach for the stars. To discard. To pass out. To see the silver lining. To wince. To smile. To jump. To slouch. To click. To tweet. To look back. To create. To destroy. To exercise choice. To return. To stay renewed. To infuse new energy. To come back.

So much to say, that i am back.

Regular posts commence shortly. To all the voices of support, be it through inquiry, gentle nudges, screaming & massaged messages, a big thank you ! The world is still a beautiful place with beautiful people. Will catch up !

It feels nice. To think that tomorrow is going to be better. Of that there is no doubt. But it sure does feel good. To come back !

To Come Back !

On the Tree. Back-To-Front !

The head matters. I mean, whats 'on' the head. There indeed was a time that i recall in my head, when 'whats Inside' mattered much. But ever since, Intel took on that onerous responsibility with the 'Intel Inside' campaign, i guess, (sic) lesser mortals have graduated to being more concerned with whats on the surface !

That is a huge obsession and cause for worry. I believe, and strongly so, that there would be more hair loss due to worry. Worry about, you guessed it right : Hair loss !

Some weeks back, a friend of mine** informed that there are more 'options' available for people with a hairless crown. Upon some prodding, and on the strictest conditions of anonymity that would put the British stiff upper lip to shame, many types were mentioned.

Laser treatment. Hair Transplant. Shampoos. Conditioners. A phalanx of tablets. Diet. And so on. 'A combination of all of these in some proportion would do good'. The friend claimed. In all earnestness.




Two days later, this image arrived via email titled 'Norwood Scale' ! Strategically marked to the missus as well. I understood this friends good intention. But i suppose this friend didn't understand that missus has written me off as a whole. Just having some saving grace with hair on top of the head will serve no purpose. Yes. Serves-No-Purpose !

My friends journey continues. In the coming days, numerous steps of innumerable clinics will be climbed. Hair treatment specialists will be consulted and good advice listened to. And of course, this friend will end up with a lighter wallet and a heavier bag of oils, ointments, herbal prescriptions and hope !

The last heard, was some vague mention of 'hair transplant' on a slightly more serious tone, loaded with positive intent. 'Hair from the back of the head, gets to the front' i am told ! I cant understand these back-to-front jobs ! I really cant !

Look, the world is in a recession. Sales figures are dropping off the bottom most point of charts on a wall. People are losing jobs like a well made sweet sinking into a sweet tooth's tongue. Bank deposits are evaporating like a distantly striking mirage. Heck, banks are going that route too...Governments are falling off...

And here was worry about falling hair !

But wait a minute.

All of the above is about falling, right ?!? Economies, banks, deposits, sales figures, lifestyle, malls.... and hair...then, maybe we could do what those hair surgeons.

And perhaps bring whats on the back, to the front ! Maybe, that's the prescription we need ! Hmm..

This post is the first in a three part series titled 'On The Tree'. Drawing inspiration from spotted on trees !

** Posting with approval from this friend !

On the Tree. Back-To-Front !