A widespread condition
related to nutrition
is lactose intolerance
that is in essence
the inability to digest and assimilate
the milk sugar-lactose-the substrate
that is acted upon by lactase-
the specific enzyme
over a period of time.
This may happen suddenly
and generally
at any age most unexpectedly.

Lactose intolerance
is caused by the absence
of the enzyme lactase
that breaks down lactose
to the simple sugars-
glucose and galactose.
The condition may be
secondary,  congenital,
or developmental.

Secondary lactose intolerance
invariably has its occurrence
related to a gastrointestinal infection
and its disappearance
is linked to the causative factor’s correction.
This type of intolerance-
(certainly a nuisance)
is reversible
if we are a bit careful.

Congenital lactose intolerance,
an inherited form of intolerance,
is a rare genetic  abnormality
that one can unearth
soon after an infant’s birth.
This need not cause any fear
as it lasts only half a year.

Developmental lactose intolerance
also known as primary  intolerance
is one wherein the enzyme synthesis
is progressively less
during childhood
and this persists into adulthood.

Gita Ashok
24/10/2011, 2 pm

Dark menacing clouds wander aimlessly in the sky.
The cuckoo sings a sweet melodious tune
in anticipation of the much-needed rain.
The whistling wild wind threatens
to drive away the poor rain.
The fronds of the coconut palms dance wildly
and the trunks oscillate in the fierce wind.

The peacock enters with a proud colorful display.
Farmers look up towards the sky with a prayer in their heart:
Dear Lord, let there be monsoon again.
Little children gather on the terraces of their houses
to enjoy the bliss and wetness of the first rain.
Women hurriedly collect dried clothes from the clothes’ lines.
Birds are utterly confused and don’t know where to fly.

The Sun and rain clouds play hide-and-seek.
A bolt of lightning is seen in the western sky.
Soon the rumbling thunder shatters
the serenity of the evening
as Heaven opens its gates
to pour out its soothing nectar
and we know…
monsoon is here again.

Gita Ashok
9/10/2010, 1:40 pm

The shrill wake-up call of a rooster
Even before the crack of dawn.
The faint cawing of crows
to let the world know
it’s time to leave Slumber land.
The flapping of wings in unison
before flying away early to catch a worm.
The desperate call of a baby squirrel
lost somewhere and seeking its mother.
The cooing of pigeons on the roof
reminding you to pause and
listen to the Sounds of Nature.

The rumbling sound of thunder in the distance
heralding a heavy downpour or two
soon to be followed by the fierce rain
giving respite to the parched earth.
The rhythmic pitter-patter of raindrops
falling on the corrugated tin roof.
The whistling of the wild wind
on a cold, stormy day.
The first cry of a new-born
announcing its sojourn
from the womb to the world outside.

The gurgling of the waterfall
rushing to mingle with the river.
The rustling of colorful autumn leaves in the park
trampled upon by children running around.
Then the sounds of silence at night
interspersed with the sounds of crickets and frogs
and the sound of barking dogs at a distance
coaxing you to retire and
wake up to yet another beautiful dawn
to listen to the Sounds of Nature.

Gita Ashok
9/10/2010,  11 am
____________

Miles and miles of sand
with no horizon in view,
the caravan moves on -
in search of an oasis.

The heat is treacherous,
the sand is scorching,
the camels are tired
and so are the herdsmen.

The journey is long,
the day will almost be gone
and darkness will reign again
until another day dawns.

The desert’s dreadful distances,
the weather’s  vicious whims,
the camels’ callous restlessness
all add to the herdsmen’s hardship.

Roadless tracks
of sand and rocks
where tall, wild cactuses abound
with many sand dunes around.

The Sahara -
a natural oven -
bakes humans and camels alike
leaving scattered mortal remains.

A sandy landscape
in shades of light fawn
with deceptive mirages
inviting thirst again.

The journey is long
with no sign of an oasis.
But the caravan must move on…
Inshallah – until we meet again.

Gita Ashok
9/10/2010, 3:15 pm

She’s sleek,
she’s silver-complexioned.
She’s trustworthy,
She’s determined.

She always welcomes
me with open arms.
She does her work diligently.
She has absolutely no qualms.

The days I‘m really busy
and have no time for her,
she wears a melancholic look
and is devoid of any fervor.

Whenever there’s a power failure,
she keeps waiting patiently
for power supply to resume
so we can bond  instantly.

In case you’re wondering
which faithful friend I’m referring to,
let me tell you she’s my Dell Inspiron.
Faithful friends like her are few.

Gita Ashok

Fireflies amidst tall trees
silently chase away darkness
on a cloudy moonless night.

A flash here,
a sparkle there.
Too fast to pinpoint
where they are.
Tirelessly through the night,
they dazzle everywhere.

Let there be a
million fireflies
to illuminate
the darkness of our minds
in our lives’ voyage indeterminate.

Gita Ashok
10/10/10, 10:45 am

A water droplet hangs gracefully from the tip of a palm leaf
and shines brilliantly as a ray of sunlight passes through.
The cuckoo belts out its usual melodious tune -
perhaps wanting the rain to come back soon.

Pigeons and crows wriggle their feathers
having indulged in a natural shower bath.
The baby squirrel has become hyperactive -
squeaking even louder; silencing the sound of the light rain.

The blue kingfisher swoops gently into the pond -
stirred up a bit by the light, much-needed rain.
Skies yet overcast and clouds lying low;
the morning air is so cool, so fresh, so heavenly.

The gentle cool breeze uplifts my mind, body and soul
as I gently take a sip from my cup of cardamom-flavored tea.
The rain-drenched bushes and grass look lush green
as I look outside as if in a trance or a dream.

Gita Ashok
9/10/2010, 3:30 pm

Mountain slopes clad in snow,
plains and paths covered in snow,
sloping roofs layered with snow,
tall pine trees sprayed with snow,
and fallen pine cones enveloped in snow.
There’s a calm but eerie stillness
and all over - an innocent and pure whiteness
stretching as far as the eyes can see.

The street, the sidewalk, the children’s park  -
all covered by a white carpet.
In the diffuse sunlight
the whiteness does completely reflect.
Little kids leave tiny footprints
on the carpet of snow.
They indulge in snowball fights
from the top of the slide and below.

Red, blue, yellow, orange and green
Snowsuits, mittens and caps
are everywhere seen.
Older children go sledging
on the steep white slopes
on colorful sledges dotting the snowy terrain.
The air is fresh, crisp and cold
Whiteness, whiteness everywhere; behold!

In the midst of all the fun and mirth
Let’s thank Heaven for whitewashing the Earth.

Gita Ashok
9/10/2010, 3 pm

Grass is green.
We all do know that.
But sometimes it is greener
and in some places it is the greenest.
Or so does it appear?
Is it for real?
Or is it just an illusion?

Why do we always seek out
the greenest of pastures
when there’s a rich green pasture -
right in our backyard?

When there’s perfect attuning
of our heart, spirit and mind,
green grass all around our own feet
is what we invariably find.

So let’s take pride in whoever we are
and let’s find joy in whatever we do -
for the grass undeniably is the greenest
all around our own feet all the time.

Gita Ashok
11/10/2010, 10:40 am

Just one Sun
and so many sunrises.
Just one Universe
and so many nations.

Just one nation
and so many living beings.
And all life -
at the mercy of  the  Sun.

One part will soon welcome the Sun,
yet another has embraced it already.
One part has bid farewell to the Sun,
another will follow soon.

Sunrise upon sunrise,
each part of the world -
gets its turn to be engulfed in
daylight and darkness alternately.

Dreams reign somewhere,
realization dawns elsewhere.
Just one Sun
and so many sunrises.

Gita Ashok
11/10/2010, 11 am

You still had to see your kids
settle down in life.
You still had to wait for your kids
to take care of you for a change.

Your kids may be grown now
with kids of their own.
But even now, they do need you,
your presence, your love, your smile.

Why did you have to so soon
and silently leave the scene?
You had but just retired from work -
four decades of real hard work.

Didn’t  you richly deserve
to relax, to have some fun?
Play word games, solve crosswords,
take long walks, go riding a bike.

Watch movies, play carom,
listen to music,  go swimming,
sing loudly, laugh heartily,
watch cricket and tennis, eat raw mangoes…

You could also have written
a lot of blogs and verses
and gained many admirers -
as you always did with your
unsurpassed literary skills.

You could have had a whale
of a time with your grandchildren –
teaching, inspiring and motivating
them and playing  games with them
as you did with your four kids.

With so many new channels
on the television today,
you would have had a
continuous supply of
food for thought and movies, too.

You shouldn’t have left so early -
leaving us to grieve each day
and wishing hopelessly you were still here.
Daddy, you should have been here today.

Gita Ashok
29/10/2010, 11:15 a.m.

A rose is often an inspiration source
for painting, poetry or even prose.

Found all over in myriads of hue,
its petals at dawn are dotted with dew.

Layers upon layers of petals, like satin so soft -
it truly lifts our depressed spirits aloft.

Red, pink, orange and yellow roses -
amidst sharp thorns and serrated green leaves
provide instant relief to any soul that grieves.

As the bushes engage in a sprightly dance in the breeze,
its fragrance wafts gently across the garden with ease.

It is used to convey to a pal
a wish on a birthday, or for a speedy recovery
and to greet two souls united in holy matrimony.

Come rain, come shine,
a rose will always bloom
to rid our hearts and minds
of sadness and gloom.

Gita Ashok
9/10/2010, 1:30 pm

The present is the sand grains on the beach
and the past the sand in the receding waves.
Each sand grain awaits its turn
to be picked up by a new wave.
The present is the sprightly cascade
gushing down the mountain top
to merge with the flowing river
and the past is where the river meets the sea.
The present is the softly glowing candle
and the past is the molten wax around it.

The present is the moving hands of the clock
and the past is already gone, you see.
If the hands of the clock stop moving,
the present can yet never stay still.
For every present will soon have a past
And nothing in this world was made to last.
So let’s accept the present – the now
and cheerfully say to the past – “Ciao”.
Let’s live in the present
for it shall very soon pass.

Gita Ashok
24/10/2011, 1 pm

Dark clouds
loom in the sky;
now the sound of thunder
breaks the stillness of the evening air.

A flash of lightning
lights up the dark sky.
A light drizzle at first
and then a heavy downpour.

My heart revels…
at the beautiful sight
of the white rain
outside my window.

And my mouth waters as I see
a large slab of dark chocolate on the table.
Is this not a little unfair
that it should be just sitting there?

So I decide to nibble on it
And marvel at its bitterness.
As I watch the falling rain, I tell myself
I shall eat as long as it continues to rain.

But it rains for a couple of hours
and the chocolate is no longer there.
I now wonder -
why I ate it all without a care!

Gita Ashok
10/10/10, 10:40 am