Each Man...

Each man is an empire,

Each insult is an attack.

Laughs many thee takes,

Diverse arts thou appreciates.

Sobre conversations thee loves,

as thee welcomes the wisdom.

Such an empire thee rules,

Befriends which, nations alike,

To rejoice with, in happy times.

Rage thee takes only from within,

Advice though, from courtisans able,

as thee promptly corrects thou's errs.

Stones many the walls may take,

superficial and miniscule,

For thou practices forgiveness.

However, the imminent challenge when comes,

Thee might forget the skill to calmen,

For the empire, thee holds dear.

War must ensue, defend thee must,

Save the state, he holds at stake.

Win each, validates thou's supremacy,

Teaching, each loss does, only to resurrect.

For, Each man is an empire,

And, Each insult is an attack.

(6.12.11)

Such is Life!

What is inflicted, shall be healed.

What is shed in tears, shall be regained in smiles.

What is snatched away, shall be gifted in perfect wrappings.

C'est La Vie...

A few lines I wrote as a reply to a comment.

Like them.

A word about the Image: The Celtic Tree Of Life.
Wikipedia Says:

Their branches reach high into the heavens. 

Their roots dig deep into the Earth. 

Yet all are woven together, 

signifying the connection between 

all things in the Heavens and the Earth.

The symbolism of the Celtic Tree vividly comes to life in (this) design by Celtic artist, Jen Delyth. 

(Image Courtesy: Google Images)

The Last Dance

When lights go dim, and the stage is deserted,

When claps go distant, and praises go scanty,

When music fades, and attire gets old,

When feet get torn, and heart gets tired...

Your arms I'll house,

Your beats I'll hear...

Silently, sitting next to you, holding your hand into mine...

I'll breathe my last, 

I'll read my last words in a poem...

I'll dance my last, 

I'll kiss you last on your eyes -

which were my constant audience, and

my source of motivation for delivering performances,

Not good or great, but always exemplary...

For the one who made me a superstar,

....I'll dance the last dance of my life!!

(Written: 17.11.11)

Image Courtesy: Google Images

Blessed Release

We advance, He moves a step farther.

We solve, He raises the level.

We try, He shows a bright light.

We fight but finally, He calls it 'Over'.

He's the puzzle maker, the ruler, the refree.
The Hindu mythology puts it aptly, He's the Creator, the Manipulator and the Destroyer.

Mute Puppet mankind is, in His hands.

He's the one above religion, above spirituality.

Pleomorphic, Powerful and Omnipotent.

He's no 'Named God', no faith; yet the supreme authority.

For people he's called The Almighty, for me he's The Theory of Natural Selection, personified.

Everything is temporary...Life, Health, Happiness, Pain. The only thing certain is the end. The end of pain, the end of illness, the end of morbidity.


Context: One of my cousins, who had long been suffering from a progressive pulmonary disease succumbed to it, today.

We diagnosed it, symptomatically treated her, for there is no cure to the disease, yet. (As a Doctor, I feel crippled and worthless in such situations. And the very next moment, even more determined to do something to help alleviate such disability in the face of the 'unknown')

We prayed, optimized, put our faith into Gods. But, it was not in their hands too. The end was inevitable, under the control of the one who balances the universe.

For us, this is a loss, a heartbreak.
For her two sweet small primary-school going kids, this is a tsunami wreckage.
For the Nature, this is the daily routine.
And, for her soul, this is a blessed release...

R.I.P. Nidhi Didi

(12.12.11)

Barren

Barren lands I lay on, desolete, devastated;

Drenched in the puddle, had famine stricken eyes-

Closed, illusioning happiness still blanketed me;

blinding self to the shreds that now lay scattered,

where once lived my house of love.

Uprooted was the climber, we together had cultivated;

Clock had ceased it hands, called time;

The very foundation was no where to be found;

Deep in the heart, the rubbles had clotted-

refused to let it drain; eyes had come to rescue,

to sympathize with the crumbled backbone.

What if we had sown a tree, instead of a climber?

What if I had nurtured it with water, not blood?

What if I had not failed to sense it was coming?

Questions many I ask and answer,

Wounds many I harbour and bandage,

Prayers many I make and curse,

Hopes many I bead and live by

In the barren lands, lonely.

Accross the horizon, the sun shines bright;

It calls for me, promises me a new day;

Lending its hand, it wants me to stand;

Giving me sand, with architechture it helps;

Skies clear studded with stars are beautiful;

Night breeze wriggles and calms, it says;

Each dew drop on the flower is a magic;

Each shy smile on the lips is therapeutic;

New moon it makes me appreciate;

Only to be hurt, as the curves go down

with the remembrances of one such moon.

I go back to the pitch black nights,

the polar cold winds drag me back

to the barren desolete depressing lands.

Angry dark clouds hovered,

Loud lightening struck.

Scared, scarred, folded I weep

with the rains, in the rains.

Storms swelled, torrential rains washed

with hails that lashed and drops that caressed...

All within, the clots, the rubbles

it dissolved, drove and discarded.

Spring- it finally took me away;

With it, in its fragnant embrace;

Far, from the lands barren...

Far...into the castles on clouds...

(Written: 17.11.11)

Bang!!

Yet once again, it slipped out;

Crashed to the floors, shred to pieces;

Attempts many you may make to assemble;

Distortion, brunts do never vanish;

Rub the stains, the base you can't conceal;

Stitch the tear, the threads tell the story;

Glue it together, the scratches will remain;

In times of stress, they'll give way;

The volcano of hurt will erupt;

All bondages the lava will trespass;

Charred will be the intent;

burnt will be the pastures green.

Handle the glassware,

like the newly purchased piece -

Precious & dear; always.

Lend it not, grant it not;

Sideline it not, in the corner - ignored, dust layered.

It ain't a possession...It's alive...

Breathing, beating with each second;

Hungry for attention, dying with each action of neglect.

Tears many it may shed, smiles many it may pass

In your inattention.

You may fail to notice, fail to respond;

It suffers, yet optimizes...

for the daybreak, for the sunlight.

It will grow, glow and fruit;

Its own eyes will water it.

Part of your life, your abode it is;

It will bud, flower, spread fragnance...

One bright day, It will be the beauty of your existence...

The reason for liveliness...

when work fades, hobbies take a backseat;

and world disperses to be on their own.

Your dormant conscience will rise

The sole soul waiting will then,

not slip from your frail hands.

It won't be skipped...

Forever, till death do them part

They won't be separated...

Expression will find articulation

The due won't be denied...

Written: 16.11.11

Dear Heart,

Do you know that you're a nice kid? Though, I never acknowledged that in front of you before. But, today I do. You're very sweet. I know, you love the company of your dear ones. You race when you're with the one who understands you the most. You put yourself to work when something interests you. That is so very good. But, boye, I have an advice to give. Drop down the adamant attitude, please.

See, everything we like doesn't always happen. Not immediately at least. Sometimes, for the sake of higher goods and better future, you need to like things which you otherwise don't like. Stay calm, the things which you love doing will happen when you move ahead, and this is the only path you ought to take. Accepting this fact is tough I know, but you can do it. I'm not bribing you by saying that sooner than later, your creativity will find soil, but making you view a glimpse of what lies ahead. I know, you're just a kid. For you, only the present matters, and you don't have the vision of experience to help you guide you. I'm just being that friend so as to not let you suffer at the hands of inexperience. :)

One more thing, don't convince yourself for doing this task, instead focus on it. Let it grab your attention, open yourself, allow it to interest you, give it its deserved opportunity to lure you. I'm sure, you'll fall in love with it.

So, my nicey kiddo, let the things flow like the blood in you... the only thing that you need to do is pump!
Pump, till you scale your goal!

Love

^PS: Leaving a rather harsh quote:

"Life is a compromise of what your ego wants to do, what your experience tells you to do, and what your nerves let you do."

-Bruce Crampton

Image Courtesy: Google Images

Idle Nature

Flickr

through the lens in idle times.

What does this picture make you think?


Pictures instill thoughts....and make you read the desires that lie buried in you.
And, I hope you now know/ remember one of yours!

Attempts

Flickr Download

Photographs are not about scenic places, or beautiful people. It is about experimentation and passion.
Playing with the tool has made me more aware about this being an amalgamation of art and science.

This click is special, for more than one reasons:

*This is the first picture which made me believe that photography is magical and soothing as well.

*This is the picture that motivated me into clicking more often, trying new angles and learning the features of this amazing gadget more extensively.

*Most importantly, this is now the wallpaper on Dad's, Brother's and Ankit's systems.

:)

Sublime

^ Sketches have a beauty of their own.
Whether detailed or minimalistic, they take you to your first lessons on art.

Tried making one. The initial opinions have only motivated me.
Will try and put a picture of it soon.


^ Zindagi Naa Milegi Dobara & One change it made to my writing:

I've started formulating thoughts in my first language.
Building on from there, though might seem easy, but is not.


^ Gifting your dear ones, induces joy and pleasure.
I, once thought, that I was pathetic at choosing gifts.

Only now did I realize that it isn't such a difficult task, if you heartily wish to gift them.

When giving a gift is not a formality but a strong desire to make the loved one feel special, the gifts fall in place, in beautiful fashion.

Got back to crayons {after Class 4th or 5th, I guess} for decorating the gift, and was super glad to hear the chirpy, happy voice!!

Trying new things. Picking up old forgotten robes. And enjoying all of it.


The sublime beauty of life.






[The beauty of being with him.]

Walking Complete

Google Images

Narrow cobbled bridges led to the bare-soil-lanes. Lined by the trampled grass stubs on both sides, they transformed into dense forests in less than half a meters breadth.

Naked tree branches were playing wave games: stooping low, rising high; creating the second best curves God as an artist drew.

Forest's fragnance were filling the air breeze, delivering the soothing sound bytes of rustling leaves, birdy chirps and the calls of the feline. All in a rhythm, to the eardrums exposed usually to the traffic horns, lecture loudspeakers and human chatters.

Lake waters, stiller than cadaveric skeleton, were the abode of a happy boisterous family of geese, laughing, conversing and joking around in loud quacks.

Iron railings were dividing the water body from her fellow, earth. Beyond the borders, the spooky leafless branches of trees rooted in the middle of the lake, with the dusk sky in the backdrop gave the perfect lifeless picture.

With the cooler night breeze as a constant company, the half of my soul and my half of my soul, were walking complete, in silent synchronicity, in steps as short as ant's. Timing time we were, buying, enjoying, and depositing it in memory circuits.

Deer Park, South Delhi
His Birthday.

Journey Back Home

Its quarter to ten post meridian. In a hustling AC public transport bus, covering the distances of this vast Delhi, are tired people from work. And some are like me, tired from classes; all on our way back to our resting abodes.

The shuttered shops are making some great listeners to the horns of the innumerable vehicles, whose red rear decorates the roads like the Diwali lights does to my balcony railings. A peppy number is being aired. In the serious expression on every face, quiet rested mouths and isolated world of thoughts, tuned taps of an old uncle's fingers on the seat just shook our indepedent mundane subconscious.

To follow, now the person next to me is fine moving his fingers on his laptop bag in synchronicity to the musical notes. The middle aged lady staring through the wide glass pane of the bus, at the vehicles and the skyline of Delhi, is making subtle tilts and musical movements. Needless to say, I too am humming my stress out and miming the song.

Contagious and refreshing.

One fine journey back home, I must say.

Dear Daddy,

I am nothing but a reflection of you.


Imperfect.

Virtual.

Sometimes miniscule.

The other times magnified.

Skewed a bit.

Smudged some times.


But.

My presence and virtues will always be retraced to you.

My identity is in you.

Which is what I'm proud of.

Love,
Daughter

Is this an escape?

Sneak out from
this world,
I wanna.
To Alice's
Wonderland.


Shrink and grow
giant sized,
I wanna.
In the very
consecutive seconds.


Roam around
like her, free.
I wanna.
In the dense
forests & palaces.

Meet that
talking rabbit,
I wanna.
Cuddle and
converse for hours.

Wear those
fairy gowns,
I wanna.
In the ice cold breeze
around white trees.

Traverse areas
unconquered,
I wanna.
Live alone, isolated
in thoughts.


And then, break free
from that world,
I wanna.
Whenever I wished.
Pinch. Ouch.


Dreams a lot
I concoct.
All strange
and weird,
I know.


Reality is a
bit less dreamy.
Work and duties
are many. Hmm.
Is this an escape?

Is there an escape?

Crazy Superstitions!!

She believes in the presence of that Supreme Almighty. She has grown up that way, amongst superstitions, around miracles, believing magic exists in the stone-statues, accepting the co-existence of spirits - good and bad. When she was young, she used to regularly visit that temple, where the bad spirits were extracted from people's bodies. She had seen absolutely normal people turn wild, change voices, and act weirdly. And, she had seen how in the premises of the temple, they had healed, calmed down, and after losing chunks of energy, returned back to their hometowns. Her elders had told her, that the energy was lost for the soul was fighting the spirit. Those nights she just used to sleep cuddled to her mother. She never slept with her granny. Granpa had told her not to. Also, she never ate from her granny's platter. All this, he had instructed her one fine evening, when she was busy doing her homework on the dining table. She said, she didn't have a study table those days. And, ever since then, she never had the habit of studying on a studying table. She always preferred a dining table, if not her bed. That evening, her granny had suddenly started shouting 'Allah Allah!' in a very hoarse manly voice. Before, she had been able to figure out anything more, her father had taken her in a room and locked the door from outside. Some days later, they had gone to that temple again, but, she was left at her cousins place.


As kids, she used to talk with her cousins at her maternal grandpa's home about how bad an omen was a cat crossing her path, about how the flickering of the right eyelid was bad and the left one, a good omen. They used to tell her how true it was for them. She had ridiculed it. It was then, when she heard her mother stating instances to her sister-in-law about how she believed in it.

Her mother's father was quite a spiritual man, she told. People from across the town used to come to meet him. Her mother had told her, 'Grandpa is blessed, He can read the signals of the God. Infact, he has conversations with the almighty.'


As a teenager, she used to be amused by such talks. She had no reason to not believe that this was nothing but a figment of people's imagination and blind faith. She remembered having a few conversations and discussions with her father. He had not dismissed it altogether. She remembers, he had said, ' But, they are non-existent is not the truth either.' He had quoted a few strange instances which could not be explained otherwise.


When the financial downturns took place, some years later, her father had become a regular to vastu-shastra consultants, astrologers and tantriks. She had seen him do crazy things at home. She had overheard him one day talking to her mother,'...an old lady lies buried in our very house, whose spirit is cursing us.'
She had slept sleepless nights for months together, when lot of learned people had agreed to such influences existant.

They had shifted to a new home. She had enrolled into a new interesting course. She had visited that temple that spring. In front of the statue she had stood, staring direct and deep into the well carved beautiful eyes. She had stared for quite long, not batted an eyelid, and had kept on mumbling verses. She had a flash of light in front of her, and the statue had moved, the temple had disappeared, and only blue skies behind the statue had existed. Tears had flooded her eyes. She had been awestruck. She didn't talk about it to anyone. She had felt it would be laughed upon.


Few months later, she started noticing some random patterns in the things around her. A fixed pattern seemed to have taken a shape. She had noticed a relation between some involuntary eye movements and the instances that followed. A few instances later, she wrote what she was expecting to happen. Twice and thrice when it did happen, she knew it was for real. But, it was vague. She only knew the nature of it - good or bad, and knew that it would only be about her or her near and dears.

She has been doing this - noticing patterns and firming a belief that she is told about the good or bad expected next by God himself - since 2 or 3 years now. She doesn't tell it to anyone other than her mother, who believes in her intuitions. She reads them, sometimes they are true, sometimes they are not. But, most of the times, she finds out a reason to justify her intuition. She lives an alternative facet of life, where knowing a bad intuition causes her inners to split. She's left thinking and asking for more from the one, who she thinks empowers her. She has started to believe that it exists, so much so that even in day to day living her subconscious automatically deciphers the signs.


She's here with me, for she wants to get rid of this belief. Reinforcement has lend her a disturbed soul and an extinguished peace of mind.

Crazy Superstitions!!

Hoping she heals soon!

Understanding Love

Taking the path of Neophyte, today I have sat down to 'understanding love': The most talked, the most written and the most criticized subject ever.

Love: the emotion, most frequently named inaptly for the attractions, infatuations and innocent crushes.

Love: the new found craze of the youth, who illusion it as an essentially. Much like their illusion about cuss words sounding cool.

Love: the entity that, in its truest sense, takes birth only when you've risen enough to shed down the mask of 'being with someone';
When that someone becomes 'you', and they share 'your soul' with you;
And when that someone is no more a separate individual but a component of your individuality.
Anyways, immense literature has been created on the definitions of love. And I think, it is better to leave it to the scholars.

What I have mentioned above is, according to me, the difference between the 'new age trending fashion of being-in -love' and the 'actual romantic love'.

Leaving it here itself and getting back to the point of when an 'I Love You' is worded by me...
Love, for me, holds another essential dimension apart from the Supreme Purity in Emotion.
Of Supreme Purity in its Expression.

The dimension where love sees no borders of caste, creed, gender, whenst expressing, and is not caged in the resultant implications, consequences, interpretations.

The biggest of an errand to the tiniest act of care...all receive the deepest 'I love you'.

The bond of ages to barely a month old relation...all are told an 'I love you'

Whenever someone makes me feel blessed or loved, by their words, actions or thoughts...And, they might be a kid down the block, an old lovely lady across the lane, a long lost buddy or an enstranged relative.

For me, an 'I Love You' is not restricted to family and partner...

For me...
Love is Love.
Plain.
True.
Simple.

Uncomparable.

Without grades.

Without a classification.

Since love is such simple, I believe, such should be its expression.

This emotion is meant to be pure, sans any bothers and manipulations.
And, I make it a point to not let its expression go polluted or inexistent...

More importantly, Say it, only when you feel it.
Besides, Saying it as and when you feel it. :)

Valuating My Assets !!

In the times of double digit inflation, 28K for 24K Gold, and soaring estate prices...
I'm rich. Super Rich.

In the times of US debts, 22% hike in Electricity rates, and raise in telecom tariffs...
I'm satisfied. Content ful.

For I have what values most.

Love.



For I have what money can't buy.

Blessings.

Ex-pression ??

Yes, I might sound silly for this very post. But don't I majority of the times do that anyways?
Ohk. Don't answer that one.

So, here I go...

There are certain things that one can't help. They are ingrained in us. Not that a therapy might always be worthless. But then, who's going looking for one!! We are good as we are. For we like being ourselves. At least for that wee bit of time, when we actually be. For that time, when we don't have to think before saying or acting. Our real time with selves. The time when we shed our clothes of social behavior, and talk to ourselves sparing the conditioned brain circuits of thinking, and not letting the worry of interpretations alter the feeling. The feeling that we basically feel, one which we would have expressed had we been a kid. And the kind of kid, who could word his/her inner within aptly.

On a second thought, that doesn't exist. For,before a kid learns about the various kinds of emotions he harbors, he's trained about taming them.
Yup, they say 'To foresee, is to be forearmed.'
Arming a kid with the weapons of societal mannerisms.
Not that it is bad.
Mannerisms and conditioning are essential for a society to be healthy. After-all, curbing the instinctive actions to the random array of thoughts, IS the crux of a civilization.

Google Images

But then, nothing in this universe is absolutely flawless. Even an atom has positive and negative particles.
In the process of civilization, the rawness of natural expression is, somewhere being subjected to such high pressures that if it goes on for few more centuries like this, then we could only be left with fossil remains. The work-culture and the stress is, already enough the heat to make the conditions more conducive for the transformation. Transformation to the soul which lives for the society and not for themselves. Whose each action would be planned so that it does not fail in the process of scrutiny and ends up building the perfect image that they want themselves to be portrayed in as.

Sometimes, all one wants is, to do a thing. Out of random, instinctive impulse. Or whatever you name it. Not thinking about whether it is right or wrong. You just wanna say/do it. Sans any cortical inhibitions.
Those, in my view, are the true emotions. Which when expressed/ given way to, can rejuvenate you; make you feel alive and kicking; make you feel like that bird in that vast sky- free; make you soak every bit of that feeling and bask for a while in its aroma.

Expression is the gift of nature. And, we shouldn't be keeping it wrapped in us. The joy in letting go our real self, for a few seconds even, is far beyond a millenium years spend in this masked life. No matter, how silly it might seem to others, the utmost satisfaction of being true and expressive is one, which no one can take away from you.

PS:
It's silly, to update a relationship on social networking sites. But, the joy of seeing his name with mine, on my profile, is another feeling altogether. One which I can't put into words.

Yes, it is kiddish. But, it is like that chocolate to me, that I wouldn't have traded even for a toy.

Not that, without it, it won't be a truth. But then, there are certain things which, when you see/remember, give you an exemplary feeling, the reasons to which nobody knows why. They just act as euphoric shots. Some might get it with drugs, the others with appreciation. I, strangely, have felt the same whenever I look at his name integrated in my profile.

This IS the first place where publicly I'm documented to be his. IT IS SPECIAL.

And, I totally love it.

It is like shouting from the top of Mt. Everest and letting the whole of the universe be a witness to the awesomest thing that ever happened to me.

PPS:
Btw, ever tried that? Shouting from the peak of a mountain???
Do try it once.
I'm sure you would love it.

Trains, Lathi & Movies

In a ladies coach of an intercity...over the uncomfortable 3 blue planked upper seat...lay me...tired, exhausted and deep into dreams. (After a 5 hr class, I was traveling in a general class for an urgent work at hometown.) Dreaming of a wonderful, smashing, late night discotheque party...with 'Char Baj Gayi Hai' being DJed with 'DK Bose'. In the zipping zapping zooming lights, feet moved like they were on Everready 9 batteries. Red cat jumping across the buildings and trees. (No, Jitendra, if was a Jumping Star, he happened to be the 'White Cat'.)

Amidst the Jazz moves and Bollywood jhatkas, suddenly, it seemed there were Duracell rabbits out-casting me, and my feet started to hurt. Like the moment when Geet misses her train, it was being played in slow motion in my visual cortex, and with each step that Duracell took, pain in my sole rose.

And then, in a flash of a second, I emerged from my dreams to the real world, a la Harry Potter coming out of the pensieve basin, to realize that a police lathi had just hit my soles. It couldn't have been the Wanted scene, and I could no ways be treated with the 3rd degree torture. I knew I was innocent. And when I was about to shout, 'Mein nirdosh hu!', a lady's voice said, 'Get this man down.' As I sat down reflexively, the male handkerchief over my face vieled down, and my untidy hair spread hitherto over my face let go my gender-identity. The policeman's lathi was inches away from my feet for the second hit, when the women in my compartment gave loud laughs, 'Arre aa to chori hai' ( Oh! She's a girl.)

My feet, my easy jeans, the brother's t-shirt (which I always wear for train journeys), and Dad's handkerchief (which are the only kinds existing in my closet) : All were being cursed. By me, for the pain was being felt by me, not those ladies, who had complained, and later enjoyed and laughed like one does on a 'Jaspal Bhatti's Ulta Pulta' comedy jig.

In that very moment, the 'Karz' Rishi Kapoor in me woke, to remember of a similar train journey, where clothed in a similar sense was a girl traversing some coaches. Quite a few passenger's faces felt familiar. One of those known guys, told her...W.A.I.T...he was talking to me...So, I was the girl and he was telling me. Ohkay. Feeling like being in a 'Source Code', I still gave an ear to him when he said, 'Boy, I've seen a girl with a similar face.'

Before I could figure out, I was removing the CK woolen cap. I, then, had retorted back flat-on-the-face, 'I love cross-dressing in Indian railways. It might be funny to you. But, it is safer for me.'

Subtle shaking followed, and my elder sister asked, 'Does it hurt much?'

'No, I'm fine.'

Getting the thoughts back in sequence, the 'Alice' in me realized it All Was Real. It had happened to me few years back, on my college trip.

Phew! Wonderland Instances I've had. Seriously.

'More such later. Night.', I wished my mind, and slept during the remaining journey.

Tele Says, 'Don't watch too many movies. They might just start living into you.'

Added word of Warning: If you're like me, Don't you Dare watch '404: Error Not Found' It is an insane psycho-thriller.

Mummy, My Kid!

Google Images

She greets a chirpy 'Happy Morning' every dawn
plants a kiss & hugs as we let out a yawn.
The enthusiasm, freshness - she exudes of a kid
learnt the ways to wish, who recently did.

My Mummy- She's my kid, my baby...
like her, one day, I pray to be...

She reads my thoughts, insecurities & fears
looks deep into the heart, strips my soul & washes it clear.
Her presence is divine, like that of a kid...
You share yourself out, keeping nothing hid.

She scolds, shows an eye and goes cross
when I err, fight, lose focus or try to boss.
She then explains the right, advices & preaches in mid
And, then loves unconditionally, truly, like a kid.

She teases, plays, laughs, cries along
teaches me the virtues & makes me strong
Night falls, she hugs & sleeps cuddled like a kid
with her soft skin & her smell - all the worries do get rid.

My Mummy- She's my kid, my baby...
like her..
one day...
I hope to be...

Destined

 

Google Images

It was destined...

Your stability

My experiments

It was destined...

Your clarity

My tangled veil

It was destined...

Your sarcasm

My rebounds

It was destined...

Our love

Our life

For no reasons did God make me name you Mr. Nobody!

It, all was destined.

All set...All perfect.

Relatives: The completely unrelated people in terms of mentality.

Never before have I cared about what the world says, and neither do I now.

Nobody has ever had the right to judge my actions, other than my parents & friends; and they wouldn't have it now, as well.

This is my relationship...how it all started least matters...and how it will end or will not, it depends on me. Not on some, random people.

How good the world would be, if people kept their opinions and story making capabilities to themselves!!

I'm a happy woman, for I was destined to have him in my life, whatever route it was, it too, was destined. I, am, and will always be, a puppet in His hands.

Status: In a relationship with the best of my buddy, with the wishes of each other's parents.
:))

The Boy who Loved...The Chosen One

The first time it was when in his name she was putting henna on her hands.

The zeal was evident by the mere fact that she hadn't put henna by herself, since the last few years. She did it quite frequently as a child, when she wondered how her cousins managed it, loved trying it on her own hands scribbling the worst designs ever, designed 14-15 times a year & waited eagerly for an occassion to become the reason.

This was the perfect reason...the auspicious most occasion. His parents were to meet her for the first time.

For the first time as 'The Chosen One'.

In his name...

Under his spell...

She was.

In love.

No more...

Heart's no more blood....it's all about air.

Body's no more fat....it's only anti-gravity substance.

Skeleton's no more bones...it all is soft fur, now.

I'm no more a human....
                                      ...but a soap-bubble.

Suspended in mid air...free...weightless...gentle.

Touch, and let the joy, brimming uncontainable in me, sprinkle onto you.

Night Sky

Google Images

Memories are like the night stars...

Most of them fade, only the special ones shine apart.

Cruel

Mum asked me to de-clutter the bookshelf and re-arrange the books in an organized manner.

Google Images

This was the 8th time she asked me to do it, in the last 3 months.

I get this feeling that she purposely makes me do it so that I get a factual realization of the amount of hard work I actually have to put in.

She does succeed.

More so today, as she has made a place for the books right in my room, in front of my bed...where the books do not rest anymore inside the bookshelf but on an open table...stacked 14-15 books high in three rows.
24*7 in-front of me...

The tasks impending...

Every time I raise my head from the book that I read, I see 70 more books to be read.

Giddy.

Being Cruel.
:x

Salman Khan, Please..... teach her to 'Be Human' !! :D

Inky Pinky Ponky!! :P :P

Inky Pinky Ponky
We saw a baby monkey

Baa Baa Black Sheep
Specy monkey, now, we keep

Ooo-Maa-Yu-Shii, Yay Yay Yay!
Hairy he is, named J-J-J !

Twinkle Twinkle Little Star
Now, my baby is so far

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall
Wishes were sent, yesterday, through a call

Janu, Janu...Yes, Papa
Happy Birthday...Thanku, Mumma!

I'm a little tea pot, short & stout
Tiny said a 'Cue-du' & I started a bout.

One, Two, Three, Four, Five
This time, he knocked me down, alive

Little Miss Muffet...
Win the next bout I will, I bet B-)

So,
Jack & Jill went up the hill,
Bro Li'l, am waiting to see you & just Shrilllll.....

Inky Pinky Ponky!!
Janu is a monkey! :P :P :P

Janu is a monkey!! :P :P :P

Hap E Burr Dey J Bro!!

Second Birth

A bud just bloomed...


The rain just drenched...


A ray just illuminated joy...


The petals just opened their arms...


A dew drop just fell to the ground...


The leaves just hugged...


A breeze just shook it to dance...


The grass just got puddled...


A butterfly just tickled...


...A bud just bloomed.




This is it...

The spring...

A Second Birth!


- Tele says

Love. Ordinary. Earthly.

Some loved me with their puberty pimples...

Some loved me as the beauty of nature...

Some loved me in the rhymes of their prose...

Some loved me in the spirit of their tumblers...

Some loved me over the fine artwork of hands...

Some loved me in the 'bhaavas' of 'nratya'...

Some loved me for the caress in my company...

Some loved me for the clarity of my mind...

Some loved me for the innocence of a kid...

Some loved me for the divinity of soul...

Some loved me from the first sight,
and then, some loved me for the mere sake of loving someone.

All....

Loved me...

With reasons...

And,

I...

loved...

Someone....

Who loved me as a true friend.

..'The Thousandth Man'

With bits of all reasons, but none 'The' reason.

...Ours is not a heavenly love...
It is an earthly love. Of Humans. Like Humans.

Ordinary Yet Special.

The next turn on the right

Google Images

'The shop next to the Mother Dairy outlet.'
After a smile and a Thank you, We exited 'Unique Cyber Cafe' to wander in the busy day market of Hari Nagar. The electrical goods shop owner was talking to a customer about how beautiful handwriting he had, and giving some tips for the customer's son to improve his'. Now and then, cycle rickshaw's would ring their bells to clear ways.

I held Mumma's hand. In the other, I held the shopping bag. The flour shop had come. She climbed two steps to reach to the raised platform of that kiosk. Asking her to do the rest shopping and meet me at a commonplace later, I left for the next right turn, which was only a few shops across.

A Mother Dairy board was hanging on the stem of a tree...a yard's distance from the corner. A bunch of school kids were standing on their toes at a stationary shop, asking for Boomer and Kachcha Aam. Dressed in their school uniform...a half tucked white shirt on a navy blue shorts. One of the shortest and thinnest boy clipped his belt, reached for some coins in his pocket, and re-clipped his belt again.

An eatery's chef was kneading the dough, while his mates were putting Mirchi Ka Achaar, Chole in big aluminium containers. It was about time they started serving the famous punjabi dish, relished by Delhites & immigrants alike. Except my Mumma, who hated it.

The tree I reached, but no where in picture, was the Cyber Cafe which was supposed to be having a 'working' printer...

The big fat man on the dairy outlet was busy packing Curd into small plastic bags.
'Bhaiya, is there any Cyber Cafe in this lane?'

Busy in his work, bending over to pick a plastic from the pack, he replied, '1st Floor pe hai.' without even caring his eyes the effort to stop focussing the curd. Obesity could be so disabling. He was sweating by the mere task of bending. His lungs were efforting like that of a chronically constipated person's does.

-----

At 1st Floor, it seemed as if a hundred heads turned, even if the space had only ten systems working. A girl in a cyber outlet- was still weird here. Everyone kept on looking while I searched for a manager/owner. Finding none, I pushed open the door to exit, when one amongst the many staring said, 'Yes, Madam.'

----

Print in hand, I walked only a few steps ahead when I found Mumma waiting. The sight of a familiar face instilled immense security, relief and happiness. I hate going to a public place alone. Even in buses or metro for that matter. Alienating it is.

Giving her the print, I took the shopping bag from her hand. Flour, Pulses and Fruits...added a good 8 kilo weight on my shoulders, to which I tilted my body and changed my center of gravity and we started our journey back home.

A lean, turban-clad 20-old boy was now standing at the eatery shop. The dough balls glistened as they lay neatly arranged near the cylindrical barbecue which smoked hot. 'Slurrrp' shouted the stomach. Eyes would have stopped for a moment, but not the feet. I shifted my gaze to the other things on road. The LML scooter, the Hero cycle. Not saying a word, and not exchanging a glance with Mumma, we kept on moving.

The stationary shop passed, now, having no kids. We were to re-enter the main markets just when Mumma said, 'Let's have a Chola Batura.'

----

Tele says: She reads my minds. And sometimes, she even reads my actions well before their formulation. She let's me have what makes me happy. She's the magician!!

She does it all...for a mere smile on my face. Mothers.....will be mothers!!

Your Opinion...

The toughest part of chosing a gift is the uncertainity involved. Will she like it? Or will she just keep it in the farthest corner of the cupboard to never reach for it ever again?

Shopping is one thing which hangs on the last spot on my To-Do's List. Spending so much of your brain onto what would look good on you/ for you is itself such a taxing task; leave aside shopping for someone else!!

So, this time when I have to chose gifts for my dear friend and my sissy...I have hopped onto books.

Books, they say, are the greatest gifts one can give.

What should I be gifting them: The genre they usually read or the genre which they've never laid their hands on?

Parenting

A younger sibling brings forth the parent in you, and hones it.

Thank you for the wonderful lessons, J !! =)

Back

Not long ago....

He held himself hesitantly in front of me, with a thin yet clearly existant viel to the real self. His expressions were measured, calculated and half-concealed. What made him act this way, I knew.

A bit scared, a bit intimidated and a bit ignorant he was. He didn't want to end up being shouted at. Also, being deficient of the love he deserved, kept him distant despite being near.

Despite my loving him too much, he never understood my emotion. Or so, I always felt.

I had some magnanimous dreams for him. Of getting him the gadget he desires, from my first pay. Of seeing him reading in the best college. Of dreaming him excelling in all the fields...not just studies.
And, of all such plans, I, always conversed with him about studies, co-curricular activities, adviced him, lectured him, and blah blah.

Not once did I realize that it was only ambition that I was expressing, not love.

I did go harsh on him. At an age & time, when sisters should be supporting and diffusing the tension by fun-talks, I advised. And did that too seriously indeed.

Google Images

When he drew away from me, I least noticed. Why he distanced himself, hardly bothered me. All, I wanted were results. For I didn't want to see him suffer at the hands of failure. I didn't want him to ever face that bloody dementor. Care, for him, declined with each passing day.

Not that I behaved like this each and every moment. I had my own reality check times when I tried to straighten this bent of mind.

Finally, with much effort and much time, I did get a bit milder. And, by the time the results came, I had my thoughts completely under my emotional control.

No more did I let my 'ideas of happiness' rule over 'his reasons of happiness'.

Besides, he did give us immense happiness, to be true.

------------------------------------------------

A few hours ago, he told Mumma, 'Tele didi is so good, na! I miss her.'

------------------------------------------------

Yes, I got my brother BACK!
Or better...
I got the Sister BACK in me!

Status: Joyous, beyond words.

Tele says: Love without expression is worse than not loving at all.

Smiling Eyes

Congratulations is THE word!

Engagement, Raise, Competetive Examination Cleared.

Happiness all around me.

And now, it's our turn!!
:)

Ek SMS me kya rakha hai?

Ek choti bacchi apne papa ke sath ja rhi thi.1 pul pr pani bhut tezi se beh rha tha.

Papa- beta daro mt, mera hath pakd lo.

Bacchi- nhi papa aap mera hath pakd lo.

Papa(muskura kr)- dono me kya antar h.

Bacchi- agr me apka hath pkdu, or achank kuch ho jae, to shayd, me apka hath chhod du, LEKIN agr aap mera hath pkdnge, to me janti hu k chahe kuch bhi ho jae, AAP MERA HATH KBHI NHI CHHODENGE.

15.06.2011
23:14

Sender: Eddy Teddy



The only SMS my Dad ever sent me.



No matter I had read this message earlier, No matter I couldn't control my emotions and cried...
All that matters is that he too, sure, would have shed a tear or two that night.


The most complex, often-left-for-later, feelings were expressed and received. Indirectly.


< Behind the tough character of every man, lies a father. >

Take out a minute to re-read the sms, thinking it of as a SMS YOUR FATHER has sent YOU.

Moksha

Smiles, Frowns and Tears...
The bonds of several years
found a new zenith

Laughs, Jokes and Care...
The new entrant, the pair
dissolved in us with ease

What more could a soul want...!
The future blending with the existant
and only happiness to ricochet.

Meaning, Purpose to Life met
The things flying are now, all set
Liberation it is, Indeed the 'Moksha'



< Sis engaged, He taken up...One happy family it is. >

Status: In Peace!

July, The Third

On a humid sunny morning following a broken night's sleep, eyes opening to 6 on the clock is not quite pleasant a feeling. Not, until the mobile screen flashes today's date: July, 3rd.

Fond beautiful remembrances this day holds, which flash one after another in
rapid succession inculcating glee and nostalgia.

The last day of the summer holidays it used to be, at my alma-mater. Kinda weird it was to always start on a 3rd July instead of the usual ritual of 1st. But, the content of your vacations lasting while that of others' don't, is a sweet feeling. ;-)

The dusks of July 2nd always held an element of mysterious eagerness. Was it the pride of writing the Class V on the labels by a barely-two-month-back Class IV student; or was it the thrill of getting to meet a new set of teachers and sitting in the new classrooms? All was blissful.

Come evenings, and Mummy would get to covering the notebooks with the brown papers, and make us do the stapling and label-sticking. Labels were the ones we used to choose for ourselves, when Dad used to take us for pre-school-shopping on his Bajaj scooter in the lanes of the congested city area. I usually selected some cartoons, once I got barbies...and younger brother always got cars, if not pokemons. =) With the labels in place, we used to get Dad's pens. They meant quite much when WE wrote only with pencils till Vth Stdd. And, such an achievement it was, when Dad purchased me my first Ink Pen. I even got a Chinese Pen along with it for good performance in the fourth standard. B-)

Google Images

So...

Quitely, in a disciplined fasion, we arranged ourselves in the room with our covered-book-sets with us. Writing the labels was the only one task where our jubiliation was expressed in silence and not dis-order. Mummy used to supervise each one of us, and kept us reminding to mention the 'higher' class and not the one we had studied the last year on the labels. The best of handwriting was to be inked, which once done with were the reason of another uproar, for we ran around the house, behind Mummy Daddy Granpa Granma...and asked them to judge and name one winner for the best scribbles.

Neat stack of books, notebooks, new HB Nataraj pencils, new pencil box, with the scented bright-colored apple-mango-teddy shaped rubbers, or the Non-dust erasers which took the former's place as we grew. The new tiffin boxes, the water-bottles, and the new bags!!

Sometimes, merely having a new thing in life injects the 'enthusiasm' shot which even the drip of already-having-things-that-interest-you can't infuse.

Nights of 2nd July were dreamy. And early. Eyes wide open imagined the coming day, which came too early, too bright being too energetic as well.
The bathroom area bustled, shouts of 'Towel' 'Comb' 'Paste' echoed. The pressed uniforms that had been distanced and ignored the previous months, tempted; the polished black-shoes attracted. Bubbling bus trip to school, meeting old friends, prayer time in the lawns...'Where the mind is without fear, and the head is held high!'

The introductions that happened in every period on Day 1 and the first recess of the academic year...truly, words were taken in, more than the food. New classmates were befriended, seats were alloted. Every activity had higher energy levels than the previous one.

Those days of innocence, sincerity, zeal and selfless intent... July 3rd makes me remember all.

=)

On an analytical note, Kiddy me usually lives more in me than the grown up me.

Enough a reason to jive...Isn't it?? ;-)

D.K.Bose

Had this title been slated for an April post, the readers would have had lost motivation to read further, for it would have implied a personality sketch. It could still have gathered some readership, had the sketch been a hilarious, skewed, cartoonic character; but any-which-way,it would've been way less than today, when an instant connect exists between Mr. D K Bose and us.

The song's been a rage- rage amongst the youth and a reason for rage amongst the elders.

How we define the limits to creativity and how we define the insults to societal morality is a long ranging endless debate.
With the wide spectrum of development that exists in a society like ours, it is impossible that a unanimous consensus can be reached.

Majority will have no reactions, for they lack opinions on-the-whole; Some will applaud and some will, however, be offended.

The solution of finding a middle path is easy but accepting it is difficult.

Having said that, I still believe that a clear delineation must exist between freedom in creative expression and breech to social mannerisms.
 

For me, the embarrassment of having a skimpily clad Rakhi Sawant bootiliciously dancing in the trailors and the embarrassment of having a lipstick-eaten Dolly Bindra conversing in beeps, is equal. And so is the embarrassment of having a just-into-college younger brother scolding me for singing a song 'Bhaag Bhaag DK Bose' in tune.

Not having been exposed to such swear words, for me it was just another lip-addictive musical number;until the L'il Brother interrupted.

Language abuse is one thing which is the most derogatory and absolutely unacceptable a social norm. (for me and many others!)

The fact that it exists in the practical world doesn't logically substantiate its use in the mainstream entertainment industry which has a wide distribution and mass following.

Atleast, I would not want my kids or even my younger cousins to have such an early exposure to the greys of the world. There's a time for everything and I believe it should very well be adhered to.

All I can optimize is that the kids of tomorrow do find a conducive environment for their innocence to bubble; and not be prematurely bursted by the needles of this-alleged-creatively-free-world.

All seriousness apart, my slang vocabulary; one which was conceived in the 4th-5th Semester and has found no usage till today; had a new addition thanks to Delhi Belly (although I still don't know what does that 'DK Bose' swear word means.)


PS: I don't intend to know its meaning, so kindly DO NOT care to share on the comments page! I would be obliged. =)

A new lease to life, and a new breeze to breathe.

Two months it has been since I left my abode of decades, my home-town, and set foot in this hush-a-hush, 'metro' city,the capital- Delhi.

Had today day been the start of January 2011, you would have been reading a post with lots of Yippies, Yays and Hurrays; for I intended to leave the usual pathway of pursuing medicine as a specialization, and foray into the field of research by taking up a degree course in it, and juggle it with a part-time clinical junior residency. And, Delhi was the dream's wonderland.

But, today is not January, but a June. Mere difference of 6 months in the time frame, but a giant leap in the action frame...a leap across a wrapped, locked closet.

In the action frame, Now: Pre-PG!

The societal Ohhhs-Awwws did get the better of my parents' patience and my ego. They were offended and I was furious.

Taking the step next; leaving all the plans to bin, and shifting to Delhi with a completely different purpose, I now prepare for the Post Graduation Entrance Examination.
Yes, the one path which I did not even turn my heads to look at, in the past; the one path which all my peers run and tumble and succeed on; the one path which is like the storyline of a Bollywood flick- boring, usual and predictable.
Period.

These 60 days have not been exactly the way either my Mum-Dad or I would have wanted them to be.
Yes, somewhere I realize I am not strong to have dropped my dreams for something as volatile as prestige; for I know, one moment, people ridicule you for taking a useless path, and the other they quote you, when success is achieved.

Yes, somewhere I know I am not doing justice by forcing myself to try and do something where my heart doesn't lie.

Yes, somewhere I understand I am not only cheating my parents but also myself.

But, as they say: Your wish is my command!
Such is the motto of my life: To fulfill all my parents' wishes, all which I can, in my capacity.

Even beside this no-so-pleasant turn of events, I do have a new lease to life.

It is the presence of the breeze that I breathe here. It is the fragrance derived from the completeness of my soul.
It is the innocence and the naughtiness of this beautiful phase.

Google Images

God ought to be thanked and simultaneously be bribed for blessing me with even more grit and courage and determination to fulfill their dreams, of which I have taken charge; and the stamina to fulfill mine too, later in the course of time.

Sealed...Closed

No new posts be expected here.

The blog is Closed.

For times Sake...

For times' sake,
For distractions that were fake.
Or might be, they were true...
Unlike some weeds that grew
in the backyard, Unwanted.

Now that I look behind:
the bench, the grass, and the hound;
The garden that I had lived on,
for the years long I lay my feet on,
was just a greener pasture.

Time has powers to nail,
and truth is like that hail,
which hits the soft leaves.
The greener grass bereaves,
for it is now a brown bald patch.

Many seasons a plant has to see
'Twas Rains, Spring when I was free
to flower and smile and giggle around.
Summers are up for this time round,
and it's the sun that smiles now.

The flower in me needs to close,
to conserve, flourish; and pose.
Pose with a beautiful face in view,
Romance and kiss the drops of dew,
when...when my season comes.

Up till then, I'm keeping the things away.
I'm back to becoming
the Little Bud that I once was.
Closed, cute, with a cause.
Lest I become an item on bake...
All...For times' sake...
All...For times' sake...

Last Days...

...Of a common post that we 100 students shared; wrote below our names on governmental papers, on investigation forms, on application forms: Intern Doctor.

...Of the life so youthful in its name; full of friendship, teasing and bonding; over classes, practicals, postings and duties; of functions, fights and re-bonding: College Life

The last days have been interesting, lost in celebrations. Parties every night, and preparation in the days. Gossips attained a new high of all times. All which wasn't done in the college times found an outlet and takers.

Guys and Girls who had never shaken a limb even in chilly freezy winters, danced for hours incessantly. Happiness does that to you.

All the love harboring lockers opened up; a few new couples were made and a few new heart-breaks. Still, the broken hearts are happy, at least they tried their bit.

The old, going-strong couples moved a step ahead. Happiness did that to them.

The fun-lovers are yet the fun-lovers, enjoying the transformation of the serious souls to party maniacs. 

Graduating after 5.5 long years gives a satiating feeling.
It does feel great.


Forgetting the dilemmas my brain fires, endorphins are up for releases, body waves with the musical notes, lips widen to smile at others' laughs, and heartbeats race with each day.

Happiness did that to me.