In Deep Shit !

In Deep Shit @ Fes Tannery, Morocco  

Fez, the third largest city in Morocco, is home to the world’s oldest tanneries. These tanneries still follow the same techniques that were used during the 11th Century for converting hide into leather, resulting in attracting thousands of tourists every year from all over the world, who want to witness this centuries old procedure. 

The tanneries are one of the most colourful sites in this “Land of Contrasts”, consisting of hundreds of stone vessels which are filled with natural dyes resembling no less than a well laid tray of watercolors – red (poppy flowers), blue (indigo), green (mint), yellow (saffron), orange (henna), brown (wood) and black. Being a lover of colours and life, I detested the idea of visiting the tanneries just after Eid, when most of the workers were still on their fortnight long vacation, leaving the tanneries pale and motionless. But it was today or never, so I chose the former. 

When the work is in full swing, each of these stone vessels are filled up with different colour dyes (red, blue, green, orange, yellow, black etc). All we saw were shades of mustard and brown, given that most tanners were on leave owing to Eid.

Given that it was my first visit to a tannery, I requested one of the workers to walk me through the process, which he happily did. He explained, "tanneries basically process skins of animals and convert them into leather, which is used for making products such as bags, jackets, shoes, belts, wallets, furniture etc". But it wasn't as straightforward, unsoiled and uncomplicated as it sounds. So for all who love those expensive leather products, I thought of giving you an insight of the entire procedure myself. 

Animal skins (including camels, sheep, cows and goats etc) are first soaked for 2 to 3 days in a mixture of water, cow urine, salt and quicklime to help remove flesh and the still remaining tough hair. Yes you read it right - Cow Urine! This mixture helps in softening the hide. Once the hide becomes a bit soft, the tanners scrap away the hair and flesh. The hide is again soaked, this time in a concoction of water and pigeon droppings (contains high amount of ammonia), which further makes the skin malleable. 

Post dipping the hides in water and pigeon droppings, its now the tanners turn to get their feet dirty. The tanners, get into the stone vessels filled with this mixture and knead the hides with their bare feet to achieve the desired softness. 

Stench of decomposing flesh, cow urine and pigeon droppings filled the air, making it unbearable for me to stand there any-longer. One of the tanner had been closely observing my unpleasant facial expressions and efforts to block the stink by closing my nostrils with hands. He walked up and gave me some fresh mint leaves to smell to counter the malodour. 

While I was a bit relieved, this young guy in his early twenties before returning to his job, exclaimed "I know its difficult to breath here, but this gets my daily bread!" and proudly folded his trousers up to the thighs and jumped into one of the stone vessel filled waist deep with pigeon shit and started kneading the hides. I looked at him silently. Never in life I felt so small, and surely his views were much wider than mine! 

Man washes the hides before drying them under the sun

Once the hides attain the desired softness, they are dipped in dyes and dried under the sun. The leather is now ready to be sold to the craftsmen who convert them into those luxurious accessories.

Hundreds of hide dry in the sun, ready to be sold to craftsmen for making the final products.

All images © Pooja Kumar, 2014, email: poojakumar06@gmail.com

A Glimpse of Marrakech, the Heart of Morocco !

Morocco is the ‘Land of Contrasts’, they say

Let me show it to you my way:-

It has the vibrant red Sahara to the East with its sand dunes and ergs,

And to the West, is the Great Atlantic where many ships have submerged.

Turquoise Strait of Gibraltar to the North

Separates it with Spain’s Tarifa port

And to the South, Toubkal - Atlas’ highest peak

Which many are trying to conquer as we speak!

Despite of these variations, this place makes me feel at home

May be because it’s like the country where I have grown.

The inhabitants being Arabs, Berbers, Africans and Europeans

All of whom are ruled by the King

Casablanca, Rabat and Fes are it's most important cities

But Marrakech, a place very close to my heart

Is the one about which I would like to, today, sing

Marrakech, the Land of Gods, with city walls all in pink

Reminds of the glory of the bygone era and surely makes you think.

Standing near Koutoubia Mosque, the inspiration behind Giralda tower in Seville, Spain

The guide explains us about the once misaligned mihrab, the pink stone minarets walls

The floral motifs and the folklore, all cut short by the muezzin’s afternoon calls.

Koutoubia Mosque

On hearing the call for adhan, like others, I too take-off my shoes to step into the mosque,

To be told non-Muslims not allowed by law, even when there is only one God.

This statement certainly makes some noises in my head

But not to question the State law, I slowly drift away and start walking ahead.

After walking for a little while I reached a crossroad crowded with vehicles,  

To one side, drove a young couple in high speed in their black Mercedes new

And to the other, an old pair leisurely in their royal horse carriage drew.

While both paused for the traffic light,

 I crossed the street followed by the parking lot of horse drawn carriage fleet

Jamaa-el-Fna, Marrakech’s soul is the square where now I reach.

Jamaa-el-Fna, the heart of Marrakesh

Water sellers

It’s one in the afternoon, the place jam packed

With orange juice stalls, snake charmers, magicians,

Water sellers in traditional red costumes with brass cups and leather water-bags

Charging anything between five to ten dirham for their single photograph

Large green garden umbrellas dotted the square

Below which sat men wearing djellaba selling everything from fresh fruits to clothes to plates

While beautiful women in colorful kaftans and belghas, waited with henna cones to decorate.

Beside them sat an old palm reader, with his hair as white as snow

Holding loosely Misbaha (string of prayer beads), in his wrinkled hands

And waiting eagerly to reveal the fate of your entire clan

He tells me, “You are one of those lucky few, who follow the heart,

And I can assure that you’ll fall in love with this place before you part”.

In order to get a panoramic view of this majestic square, I climb up the stairs

Pulled out a corner chair at Café de France, overlooking this giant fair

And quietly listened the concoction of Chaabi and Gnawa music

And felt the happiness that filled the air.

Deep down inside I wished, if somebody could translate and explain me the verse

But then they say, music is the universal language of love that touches the soul and need no words.

The more I looked at this place, the more mesmerized I became.

While I was still lost in my thoughts,

A man in his thirties walked up to me and exclaimed, “You seem to be new,

Why don’t you come and join us for a bowl of stew”.

They narrated folklores of both hills and plains

About which I’ll surely write sometime later, cause there is too much to explain.

With the sun turning dark red and the night slowly crawling out,

The square became even more crowded, noisier and merrier now  

With the food stall owners calling out

“Come try and taste our famous beef, mutton, rabit and chicken breast

If you don’t like them at all, we’ll serve you some fresh camel’s chest”.

My newly found friends treated me with Couscous, Pastilla and Tajine

Each of which had some seven different kind of meats.

Here in a country that’s thousands of miles away from home

Their warmth and hospitality, makes me feel that I am a part of their own.

Once strangers, now friends

Warn me not to walk in this crowded square alone

“Coz in the shadows, you don’t know who’s your own.

In these hours of darkness you’ll lose your way

And in the end blame us that we didn’t say”.

“Fine, I’ll do as you say”

 Only condition being, “you all will, with me, some more time stay”.

I wandered there throughout the night with my recently found friends

Admiring the magnificence of hundreds of beautifully lit stalls,

Enjoying the musician’s tunes and the seller’s calls

And even this rainbow of chaos,

Managed to touch my heart’s right cords.

And with the muezzins final call of the day sounding across all Marrakech in unison

The noisy square for the first time became composed,

And with a heavy heart, we too called it a day.

Though I part today,

 Memories of Marrakech, the soul of Morocco, would in my heart always stay.

And finally, the swarm started leaving the hive

With a promise to assemble again tomorrow, with some more nectar for the soul!

Cafe de France, is one of the finest cafe located on the main sqaure of Jemaa-el-Fna

Colorful Belghas or "Balgha" are leather slippers worn by both men & women alike

     Dozens of fresh orange juice stalls dotted the square throughout the day

Food stalls are set up only at night when there is less heat, to prevent the food from getting spoilt 

Choose your meat  

Tourist throng food stalls to get a bite of Moroccan delicacies

                      
 All images and writing in this document © Pooja Kumar. email: poojakumar06@gmail.com

tag:<Morocco> <Marrakech> <Fez> 

The Ultimate Day

The Ultimate Day 

The setting sun, the returning birds,

The Muezzins calling from hundreds of minarets for its time to pray,

The cool breeze, the calm waves,

The silence that followed

After the streamer sailing on the Bhosphorus brayed.

My perturbed mind, continued to ride the tide

With unanswered questions from different parts of life.

One asked me of, “What I will be?”

A traveler, a writer, a poet, a banker or trader

Successful or failure in the time to be.

Another asked “Where I’ll stay, in my graying days?”

Will it be Ephesus or on the shores of the beautiful Paradise bay?

Then came the third, reminding me of friends

With whom I don’t know why relations have end.

Before I could delve into them more

A fourth thought came in, compelling me to think

Which I have tried writing in ink.

Despite of -  Whoever I be

Wherever I stay,

“What is that I would want to do on my ultimate day”?

Beautiful memories of friends and family flashed in my mind

All of whom, I wanted by my side

I guess that’s all that I need

And would want on The Day

No awards, no medals

Just some more time with them and the setting sun at bay.

Finally, I look at You (setting Sun),

You look at me

There I see you winking at me (becoz that’s what I’m currently doing, standing at the bay).

I smirk at myself,

And that perturbed mind, which rode the tide

Left all unanswered questions aside.

In the silence on this beautiful shore

Standing among Your creations galore

Never thought, the peace that I had been searching for all these days

Will in a moment come to me.



All pictures and writing (c) Pooja Kumar, 2014

Each Bubble A Dream

You know what these bubbles mean to me

Each one a dream that for years has lived with me.
Now with my years coming to a close
I'm blowing them out as I am slowly losing hope.

But then I see my little grandson,
Running towards me - jumping high, struggling yet smiling
And in his gentle tiny hands, trying to hold-fast my dreams.

All images and writing in this document © Pooja Kumar, 2014.

Life's Not All Black & White !

Sitting with my Cat

 I sit beside you looking at the sea,
Sharing my dreams and the person, I want to be.
They say, 'you are just an ordinary fisherman, with dreams too big to be true'
And laugh, mock, demean and demotivate me
About their intentions, I have no clue.

She too stranded me at the shore
Walking away hand-in-hand with a handsome blue-eyed guy
Who in Canary Wharf, owns four floors.

I was disappointed.

But then somehow, mom made me understand,
"Life's too short to cry for, whats not in your hands".

I mustered courage,
And just stuck to my plan
Working doubly hard this time and putting in my best as far as I can.

Today, while you sit with your man, looking at the boat,
My dear friend, I just want to say, this is only one of my thousands, that's afloat !






                     All images and writing in this document © Pooja Kumar, 2014.

Aazadi ke Udan

Pinjaro mein band rehne wale
Kya jane udna kya cheez hai.

Band khirkiyon ke peche rehne wale
Kya jane khuli hawa mein saas lena kya cheez hai.

Kal ke peche bhagne wale

Kya jane, aaj mein kush rehna kya cheez hai.

A Day in the Back-end World !

I sit in a room with grey walls on all sides

With what little source of sunlight, been shut aside

It seems to me just like a box

My heart is sinking and mind-blocked.

With no source of positivity, no sign of hope, I’m losing my identity slowly

Just like the wilting buds, in the stagnant water on my desk, which refuse to grow.

As the clock ticks eleven, people hurriedly flow in,

Praying this morning there is no mail in their bin.

The slaves clean the system, all dirty and stale

And make sure everything is in place before London’s morning eight.

As the clock ticks eight, no sounds heard now

The queen and her army are ready to take charge now.

Slowly and gradually as the day progresses

My hope for the future further digresses.

Then falls a bomb on the Indian ground

The queen’s officer doesn't like his mistakes that you've found.

"I am the officer not you", he would say

"Now make sure everything is done in my way".

He makes me change all ‘caps to small’,

All ‘small to caps’, just to prove he’s the boss.

We work in collaboration as a team, they would say

Only to do things always their way.

Annoyed by his ways, I can’t do a thing

And curse myself for being a part of this back-end team.

Finally, when I am out of this gloomy mood

I escalate it to someone, who sings a completely different tune.

“Come on Pooja, this is not back-end

Can’t you see we are working end-to-end”.

I thank God, for not getting me into the trap

And making me understand that there is a big thinking gap.
He is doing is job well and I'm doing mine
I might have done the same, had I been on the other side.

I return to my desk, and again start doing the crap,

Cutting, copying and pasting more efficiently, to prove this time I’m in his trap.

But deep down inside me, my inner voice is mocking and telling me the truth

How much effort you put in, this work will surely not bare your desired fruits.

And reluctantly, I sit down, looking at the screen

Pretending  to do things which to me really don’t mean.

My friend and colleague, sitting to my left

Understands my mood, and knows all times I’ve wept.

He knows it well that I’ve topped in college, and in previous jobs done well,

Only to be placed among the company’s best.

He understands that this place seems to me like a jail

Of which I’ve been trying very hard to get out but have almost failed.

He tries to console and motivate me, and says tough times would end

And in this gloomy gray cell, thank God I have a friend.

Thank God there’s a team that leaves at five

Only to remind me of the ticking time.

Three more hours left for this miserable day to end,

"No hang on Pooja", I tell myself,
Only two-and a half, before I go down for dinner with friends.

Finally, I work efficiently and try wrapping up my work

Missing the tea break and the gossips world.

The last one hour is crucial for the queen’s man,

Not sure, what he’s been waiting for all day, before revealing his plans.

And there rings the phone, that has been dead all day

Its half past seven, “I hope I’m not too late” 

“No, not at all”, I tell him,

But my inner voice nays “You are just in time to spoil my date”.

“All you have to do is update the changes that I’ve made,

That wouldn't take more than fifteen minutes, had I been in your place”.

All I can do is grumble to myself,

Curse myself further, for working in this collaborative hell.

It’s already eight and the clocks have been ticking faster now

The cab driver has been calling to ensure, that I’ll be there before eight fifteen past.

I ask him to leave, and continue with my work.

Clocks are ticking even faster now, it’s soon ten-thirty and my phone begins to ring

This time it’s my proud mom, who motivates me further for taking all the pains.

It’s only on submitting my work,

An out-off-office mail tells me, that my officer would be “enjoying the next three days in Spain”.

His acts only belittle and demotivate me - for being a part of this back-end team

Disgusted and frustrated with this job, I walk down the floor

Only to pass charts at eleven at night that say “We are best in class for maintaining the Work Life flow”.