Happy Birthday Charles

In memory of

Charles Henri Ford
(Father of Surrealism)

Hey, Charles, wherever you are, just a quick note to remind you that you are103 years young today.

Happy Birthday, Charles!!

The void you left behind is still not filled.

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Many a time I have seen in books and publications that Charles’ date of birth has been indicated wrongly. His actual date of birth is 10 February 1908.  Also I have seen Ruth Ford’s birthday indicated wrongly time to time. The actual date is 7 July 1911.

Charles Henri Ford (10 February 1908 – 27 September 2002)

Ruth Ford (7 July 1911 – 12 August 2009)

Just trying to correct the right information for Charles Henri Ford historians.

BUTLER RECALLS JOHN AND YOKO AS A FAMILY

BUTLER RECALLS JOHN AND YOKO AS A FAMILY: In a story in the UK Telegraph, Indra Tamang, who worked as a butler for many years at the Dakota and inherited a fortune from a couple of his past employers, tells an anecdote about John Lennon and Yoko Ono in the Dakota. "I remember John and Yoko bringing their son Sean to a party in the courtyard and they looked so relaxed and natural. And then he was shot and we started to get the crowds and tour buses outside. It was never the same," he told the paper. He described Yoko Ono, who he still sees in the building, as "always charming."

No Speak English or Simply Not Complying?

DO NOT CHAIN BIKES TO FENCE

Father Demo Square, Bleecker St & 6th Ave, Manhattan, New York

Why would he/she do such thing? Didn't see the sign? Or couldn't read English? Or simply defying the sign. Is it who cares attitude or some urgent errand? Or simply nature calling at unexpectedly odd hour? Whatever it was, I took this opportunity to capture it in my camera. 

Another bout of snow, Another bout of pictures

White Washed

Snow came to New York with all its swirl,  swish and swash. Persisted the whole night. Left the city, snow-cladded like a maiden making her way to the altar to be wed-locked 'till death do us apart'.

Left the city at an utter standstill until, like some rodents peeping their head out from their hideouts, when silence prevails, neighbors ventured out with shovels to commence their Winter Ritual. I followed suit. 

Cladded in my warmest, I ventured out with shovel in my hand to tame the White World sprawled outside as far as my eyes could see. With polite Good Morning to the neighbor I put myself to task. But soon realized the dilemma; there was so much snow it was hard to decide where to put the snow that I shoveled out from my drive way. Peeked at my neighbor, like a schoolboy would do in his exam time and saw him making a trench out of the snow in his door way. I did the same.

My car was a big mould of snow...the windshield wipers protruding out like grasshopper's antenna. If shoveling my doorway was physical labor, I thought, rescuing my car from under the snow, unscathed, would need an artistic talent.

Ventured out couple of streets down and realized, I was not even scratching the surface. Streets were strewn with abandoned cars, buses and taxis. Walking was an Everest Expedition.

In Memory of Suku Maya Tamang

All lives end. We grow up knowing this. We all know that we all die one day. But still the dying itself....even a thought of it, makes chill run down your spine, or makes your heart turn cold. The dull ache you feel, the creeping uneasiness that surge in your heart with the mention of death...what is it? The fear of unknown - as many tell you it is? Or the fear of losing what you have? Until death, love makes life enjoyable. Love is the only hope that drives us. Love makes even death palatable at times.

The power that we have, that we call memory, is a strange thing. We live with it....we might die if our memory is taken away from us...on purpose or inadvertently sometimes.  Suku Maya aunty passed away last week. I have ten years of memories about her. I have known her in her good days, I have known her in her bad days. I am meaning to cherish her memories. I am wanting to keep her memories and make it outlast my life.

Love, memories, happiness; and then there comes death to take everything away from us; leaving a big void in our heart, that takes another century to fill with love. Another process of living, another process of building,  and then again...a cruel blow of fate one day, might shatter it into pieces, which you don't even know, at times, where is it coming from, until it hits you hard and throws you reeling on the floor...this probably is what we call life...the endless process of love, death, and amending...

Suku Maya aunty died last week, leaving behind her fond memories in our heart. The thousand things that we did together, the thousand things we said to each other, the thousand things we expected from each other, that make up memories, that she left behind for us to cherish....life is just memories, I guess. Memories bundled up together, memories put together to make up history.

Suku Maya aunty was a prominent figure in our Tamang Society in New York. A soft spoken person, always smiling, always willing to help others, always willing to bless you. My last memory with her, which I am not going to let go ever, is her blessing she bestowed upon me, just the day before she left for India, where she passed away in a hospital. Suku Maya aunty was terminally ill.

I heard, after she died and when her body was being taken to her home from the hospital, as luck would have it, she came across a procession of Holy Lamas...who blessed her soul in the process. Is it a mere coincidence or the fate's hand that was at work I don't know, but Suku Maya aunty who always wanted to bless others got her much needed Holy blessings from the hands of Holy Lama's while she was in the procession of death...on her journey to the unknown. May her soul rest in peace. May love prevail her soul.