India was invented by Rimsky Korsakov

It's official. India was invented by Rimsky Korsakov and populated by Kipling.

I found Johnny Mercer's lyrics here
And still the snowy Himalayas rise, 
In ancient majesty before our eyes, 
Beyond the plains, above the pines. 
While through the ever never changing land, 
As silently as any native band, 
That moves at night, the Ganges shines. 

Then I hear the song that only India can sing,
Softer than the plumage on a black raven's wing.
High upon a minaret I stand
And gaze across the desert sand,
Upon an old enchanted land
There the Maharajah's caravan,
Unfolding like a painted fan,
How small the little race of man.
See them all parade across the ages,
Armies, kings and slaves from history's pages,
Played on one of nature's vastest stages. 

The turbaned Sikhs and beggars line the streets,
While holy men in shadow town retreats,
Pray through the night and watch the stars,
A lonely plane flies off to meet the dawn,
While down below the busy life goes on,
And women crowd the old bazaars.
All are in the song that only India can sing,
India, the jewel of the East! 

Outsourced, alas, is Ind, the Nysiads abode

Outsourced, alas!, is Ind, the Nysiads' abode

Now, who wrought God write only code

& to Philomel, its thorn, if Winter yet displays

 All pipe forlorn in growth of riper days.

'

Dvorak's 'Song to the Moon'.

 My Eyes set famished Skies to your forehead's moon
& you, chanson de l'adieu to my every tune

What betides your yet loosening hair?

    Ptolemy of Tides- I'm unaware.

Surely the loveliest video ever aired on the late lamented Sky Classical Music channel?

This is in Anna Netrebko's own voice (the previous video features the voice of Renee Fleming.)

I am the breaker of your Babri, Godse to Thy Ram

Gandhi, Ghalib & the Geeta, we are their Mahmuds until

A Somnath, our stone heart, Ayaz loot at Thy Will

I am the berserker of your Babri, Godse to Thy Ram

Befriend me, or end me- Say, brother, where's the harm?

Krishna is ink's colour, thus Kufr to Khalil's Quran
Thy face, Friendship's page, but I its Bilal Azan
Gandhi or Ghalib- Sahir- our guilt yet is clear
 Gita we hear distant tho' all Sukhan is but here.

New Years Resolution- adopt a NGO.

While billions of people across the planet celebrated New year with costly feast and ostentatious display, I preferred to turn my gaze to the plight of those who trip and fall down and bang their head on the pavement and pass out. No doubt, somebody or other will help them up or send for an ambulance or something of that sort. However, what is important to remember is that such 'Good Samaritans' are not dedicating their lives to the cause of the upliftment of those piteous and vulnerable people abandoned by a cruel and mercantile civilization to remaining passed out on the pavement.
Indeed, to the best of my knowledge, I alone have raised up my voice on their behalf- parenthetically, I may observe, I also stake my claim to represent the sufferings of those constitutionally unable to drink Margaritas without a straw- and have set up a N.G.O based on an ecologically sustainable, for-profit Micro Finance model, adhering strictly to the Gandhian principle of 'No Fat chicks'.
Make- 'adopt an NGO' your New Year's Resolution.
But, no fat chicks. I'm serious.

The change India most desperately needs today

is with respect to
a) Rahul Gandhi's diapers
b) Anna Hazare's incontinence pads
c)  Manmohan Singh's agenda
d)  your mind if you think it worthwhile to finish this sentence.
e) All of the above

Ans. This is a trick question. The correct answer is (c) because Manmohan Singh does not have an agenda. Nor, just to be on the safe side, a gender. Hope this clarifies matters.

How Hasan married Rabia

Kipling has written a poem showing how, when Jane Austen got to Heaven, Sir Walter Scott arranged her wedding there.
What about Hasan-of-the-pearls and Rabia, the beggar maid, of Basra? The story is she used to run around the streets with a flaming torch in one hand and a bucket of water in the other so as to destroy the eternal rewards of Devotion which are so much less than Love, even Love of God, that too now, today, at this very moment, right here.
I once wrote a poem on the theme of her rejection of his marriage proposal-

What Hasan said to Rabia

Not that, flashing, they burn down Heaven

Nor that, flooding, they put out Hell

But that the wine of Thine eyes' Tavern

Alas! its Saqi loves too well.

We know she refused him on Earth- what happened in Barzakh?

Before I tell you, permit me a scholarly digression reflecting on my own solitary peek at Maryam's mirror.

Al Jahiz tells the following story. A comely woman appeared and importuned him by signs and gestures to accompany her to the shop of a goldsmith. She said 'Like this,' and departed. Al Jahiz asked what the woman meant. The goldsmith, who was Jewish, replied- 'this woman made me promise I would make the effigy of any person she desired. She said 'make one of the devil'. I replied 'I have not seen the Devil. How can I make an image of that which I have not seen?"

My own imagination supplies the rest- I disguise Hassan as myself and send him before Rabia. 'Wed me.' 'No!'. 'What? You reject me? No doubt, it is only because I am not of the Faith. What if I were to bring before you one poorer, uglier, more stupid than I- but of the Faith- would you marry him before you would marry me?' 'Yes!'. 'Then, now, that man is me who am, by a Cantor diagonalization of the but denumerable regress of your refusal, in consequence, your self-betrothed husband more infinitely!'

Rabia, poor darling, is caught.

I should open a Marriage Bureau.