GOD

I hail from India, a land rich in spices and vegetables, full of plantations and most varied flora. Given the rich varied heritage, it is possible to lead a diet that would be strictly vegetarian. Meat would be an addition only. In a country like India, meat is not primary because of our diet requirements. Furthermore, eating meat wasn't as prevalent through the centuries. The three main religions of the land, namely Hinduism, Jainism and Buddhism have boycotted meat for the same because hurting a fellow being was not essential. Someone or the other should have put up a story of how meat-eaters shall be put down on the scale of humanity.

While I shifted to Arab, I have noticed that meat is not on their religion's no list. Reason obvious. Arab is a desert and barren land. Lack of dietary vegetation. The rules needed to be based on the lifestyle. Thus, Halal came into existence. Like every other, Islam had been trying to kill the wildness in a human being by defying him the pleasure of killing. Pork was put off the list for similar reasons. Chicken meat was inevitable and hence, godly.

Move to the Northern Europe, the colder Europe. You'll see that there are civilizations where alcohol is essential in diet. Yes, reason is obvious and you are guessing it right. It is essential in their diet given the temperatures and climate.

Entirely dependent on what would be an ideal modest lifestyle, a religion adapts and issues its rules and regulations.

Another example I would like to quote would be the tradition of marriage. All the religions, at the end of the day, are doing the same thing. The couple take an oath. The scriptures may be different, and so may be the procedures, but the conception persists. One male and one female trying to recapture the marvel and create a better generation, and a better world to live.

As a physics teacher, I have a great experience teaching that nothing is absolute. So is religion. What would be right for one would be wrong to the other. In total, every civilisation tries to domesticate, read civilize the man more. I'm not saying that everything is relative. The concept is absolute, a better place to live. The approach is relative. 

Peshawar attacks, where taliban kills 150 children ruthlessly is an example. Killings weren't new here. We have heard of Taliban for a lot of times now. Everytime, I heard of two views. Especially having a great company of Muslims throughout my life, I could get a proper logical Quran based justification for the actions of Taliban. Except this one. It was one voice. A very grief toned one. It is dead obvious that no religion, none in human race, would ever encourage the killing of the generations to come. I could hear it in the words of taxi driver who drove me two days later, he hailed from Peshawar. I heard it in what Hillary Clinton said an year ago. Everyone had realized the dire need to be against Taliban. Reason obvious, it is against the concept of God and humanity. It is against the better world. 

In total, all the religions are behind the concept. If you think one religion is better than the other, I would like to call you ignorant and I'm not mistaken at it. 

Look at festivals. We all learnt about diwali and how it's effective in keeping the insects and mosquitoes away, right between the rains and winter. Read it the other way, we all wanted to improve the hygiene of life and started using lights and fire to welcome winter, called it diwali, wrote inspiring stories about it and celebrated it.

The month of Ramadan is another good example. The Islam wanted to teach humility and simplicity to human beings. Fasting through the day had been drafted effectively into Roza. Celebrate the end of Ramadan, perhaps the hottest month of an Islamic year in grandeur. Celebrate being alive.

Christmas puts all the conception into a nutshell. It's winter. Freezing temperatures and chilling winds. Gloomy days without work. In most of the Europe where winters are the worst, people are lazily crouched under blankets for days. Amidst all the laziness, there is an essential need to heat up the homes. There is a need to be not gloomy. For gloomy is sick. So what shall we do? Light up our houses, gift each other and smile. Yes, Merry Christmas. Snow shall no more be a burden, and we will make a cheerful story of a Santa who rides reindeers, his sleighs on the snow. You see it? We wanted to learn from nature, and be with it. Thus, we made festivals, to celebrate being alive.

The word good has been put down terribly these days, but in basic, good is the root of religion. Follow your religion in a good way. If what you're doing is right for you and the generations to come, then you are right. Being right and being good, that should be the essence. Being happy, and being a part of the nature, that should be your concept. If you understand that and put it to practice, whichever religion you follow, you're being a better human being. Or, let me say, you're being a human, for we are the unique species that have civilized over centuries to be a better sustainable part of the nature.

Quoting the best I have found, Trivikram says, *"Devudu anevaadu ekkado undadu. Manalone untaadu. Pakkanodiki saayam cheddaamanukunnappudu thapee mani bayataki vasthaadu. "* 

God is nowhere else, but in you. It is when you wish to help the fellow humans into leading a better life, creating a better place to live, that's when he personifies in you.

The End Of GOD philosophy on this blog. I have understood God. Have you?

Thank you.

The eternal

The flute sings the great tales,

of land where the God hails, 

the strings ring in chords of three, 

of places where the soul is free, 

the voice deep shall in tune sing, 

of how the harps in his halls cling, 

a song shall rise of a content mind, 

that shall its truth to heirs unwind.

The death affliction inspires fear, 

and tells you how your wrath is near, 

the sick voice prays as it pains, 

the bad blood grieves in visible veins, 

 such is the health when one bows down, 

in chants enchanted by the crown, 

that shines and glitters in radiance, 

bore by a head that's vieled to the audience.

Calm and serene waves run on sands, 

to wet his feet in barren lands, 

his heart strays on atoms and stars, 

and how insignificant are human wars, 

the vastness of universe mesmerizes, 

and in his head the setting sun rises, 

to the Lord in mask he writes a praise, 

for hiding behind the clouds and haze.

Happy, sad and lost in the dreams, 

one kneels in stewardship of his realms.

Selfish, caring and random thought, 

or a wish that was never sought, 

one prays to God to offer his wish, 

and embraces the idea of being a fish, 

lives in the sea where waters are green, 

and never sees the sunshine sheen. 

God is a song of heavenly tune, 

sung in a camp of barren dune, 

sing the grace of nature and life, 

and of the troughs of dooming strife.

Lonely

Not one asks me for a drink, none would to cheer and merry,

As the oasis begins to shrink, all try to step in my ferry.
None would know how I feel, all true emotions are dead,
I think I'm a potato peel, rotting in a moist shed.

Many a times I and me, not even once do I hear we.
I know that's lonely to be, you are sad though free.
Some do care but don't ask, none tries to see beyond the mask,
I'm a dolphin with a dancing task, my tears die in my own cask.

I'm individually bound to you all, though none of you'll answer my call..
I'm like a tree shedding in fall, and you sip coke in your silent hall.
There's no light more left of hope, lost I am and too innocent to cope.
Fill me with lies and stories of soap, and listen to me like I am the Pope.

Grief is the grave where my tears lie, I'm not strong and I need not shy.
Brief time I crave for care that does not lie, you just need to leap down to pick me high.

I keep waiting for one of you to cast a light, upon me frozen in the lonely cold night.
I am waiting for a smile that burns bright, as you embrace me dear and tight.

Come come come to me, I am the chosen one,
from worldly bonds I'll set you free, if you melt me like you are the sun.

Selfie

I'm having a coke. Selfie!!! I'm cleaning my room. Selfie!!! I'm in the bus. I'll take a Selfie. I'm waiting for someone. I'll try some Selfies. This list isn't gonna end. You and I know what a selfie is. One picture you click of yourself. Now, selfie has become a way of life. As I was wondering about Selfies, I came up with few conclusions.

Are you self obsessive if you take a selfie? Most people will answer with a yes. But, no. The answer is a clear no. You would be, if you take the picture only for yourself, to capture a situation into a memory. But, is that the case? No, you take a selfie to show it to other people. While some people post it on social networking sites, that are connected to their siblings, thanks to the netted Internet, others do it calmly. They share it with friends and colleagues who are bound to see it, for being such a pleasure to them. But wait, you are trying to show someone what you are. You are not capturing it for yourself. You are capturing for the cause of ego, of building your own esteem, of boasting yourself, of being hyperbolic. So when you have to be looking at yourself, at the selfie cam of your device, you are actively busy staring at the screen worrying about how you would look to others. So, the bottomline being, you are trying to build yourself in others mind. You are trying to build a skyscraper in a land that is not yours, that soil you don't know, just for the reason that it needs to be yours.

When? Where? Why? The answer is random, arbitrary. While some have a selfie on the top of burj Khalifa, some have it in the luxurious toilet of an anonymous mall. While some take one in moments of happiness, others do because they are bored. The emphasis be on the reason, which is pretty much as existent as Indianness in red Indians. These questions fail to have a concrete, conclusive answer. It is good as long as you share it with the purpose of boasting, nothing wrong. The mistake has come with technology. 

My M8, for example, has never ending features regarding selfies. So, you lose the chance of having a person with you for selfies. People make you happy, even though you have dragged them with you to click a picture of yours, for moments will be shared. This will vanish real soon, accompanied by the invention of monopods. On the other hand, suppose there is a good friend of yours who has resolved to share his time with yours. But, he gets bored while you are looking at the smallest mirror in the world busy trying to depict yourself as something you are not. Trust me, there is a very high probability that this might create a dislike in your friend for you. You want to see how others are viewing you? Then, give the camera, your phone, to him. He might be seeing you beautifully, more vividly, differently from what you see yourself. He might be seeing your true beauty. So, shut your front cam up. 

Lastly, the selfie pose. Well, how many of you have ever posed for a selfie with your true expression? None. Not even one. If you ever did, sir, I bow to you. Duck faces, pouts, finger v, cross eyed stares, sleepy me and more. None of it is you. You are cute, you are beautiful when you are yourself. Everything else is a fake world. You are trying to portray yourself as someone who is not yourself. 

Concluding, you are clicking a photograph of someone who seems to be you, but isn't you, of a memory which no more is portrayed in the photograph because you occupy the camera space with your fake face, for showing it to people you don't know, or know in addition with the fact that your image in their brain needs to be manipulated. 

What? Read again, till you get it. Selfie? I hate you. Bye.

The murder

Yes, it is true that we are using people and loving devices. Let's speak about this thing called phone. Nine months ago, I woke one day to open flipkart. I found this Moto G, and ordered it instantaneously. I didn't even know what I was doing. I just saw that it came with Android 4.4 KitKat and went for it. After settling down, I read the specifications and was delighted. A perfect phone for me I thought.

It came in 3 days and I fell in love with it. A Love marriage it was. But the love was, love at first sight. You glance at a girl walking by, and fall madly for her because she throws the coffee cup the same way you do, into a trash can. Two days forth, you follow her, inquire who she is and then dream a lot about her. And there she is with you. Days proceed and you enjoy everything about her. So was it with my phone. Days went by, and I was discovering her features. 

Many a days, I was quite content with it, until a day came when I knew finally she cannot cook for me. It was the day I knew my phone didn't have enough memory to store all the songs I wanted it to. I had no other alternative, but to order a home delivery and eat with her everyday, but to listen to half my playlist everyday. I somehow got used to it, I had no other choice. 

Months passed and I managed to get hold of a Nokia, one of my first crushes. She could cook, a lot tastier food. I repented not proposing her marriage that day. I blamed the world for having carried me away, into false relationships, loves based on similarities and compulsions, afraid that I would have to take the real guilt. The guilt of searching for lust and not love, for status and not affection. But I had to settle with it, for moving back wasn't possible. Yes, life was very beautiful back then, but today, as I see it, it would be impossible for me to live on a phone that wouldn't conveniently stream my YouTube videos. 

Life was where I wish I could have my childhood crush back, but I did not because I was scared it would snatch me of my basic comforts, of being lively, living, communicating more with people and being a good being. But I refused. My ego did. No, I won't blame it. I did. I chose to be with the Moto for all it gave me. 

Then one fine day, I had to finally realize Google was going to come up with lollipop. As if I could see a girl, a hot colleague at work. Days forth was announced that my Moto would get an upgrade. I felt it was girl who could be better than her. I pushed my dearest hard, beyond her limits, to the gym and parlour. I had to root and keep it going, changing roms, confident everyday that at the end of the day, I need nothing but the regular rom to come back. She too tried to work out as I wished, and soon she saw that I was observing her physical beauty, and that I had given up the affection for lust, the love at first sight was no more. 

KitKat was now boring, for I stopped drinking coffee, all that was left was she and her coffee. Days passed by until I gave her up one day breaking the truth to her, that all I loved was something else. She couldn't stand it. She locked herself and wouldn't open, name boot. I was on the other side of the door, down on my knees, crying, begging her to be back. But, it was late. She had found the fan and a long cloth. Soft bricking was inevitable. The file system got corrupted forever and her feet were in the air. I realized slowly when all the adb and fastboot no more made sense. 

I broke open the door only to realize I wouldn't want that. I never wished that. But that was what happened. It was a soft brick, a suicide. But, deep inside I knew it was a murder, a cold blooded murder. I had given up my one real crush for a crazy love at first sight. Today when I saw she was not perfect, I willingly pushed her to the extreme, not waiting for her to go on diet by herself, and thus being the murderer. 

The next morning, I raced back to the showroom and spent a good amount to buy a HTC one M8. It was an arranged marriage, but the girl was perfect. She was easily the most eligible bride one could ever find. But the fear that a marriage that lacks love would stand long, given my randomness for rooting a Moto G was perilous. On the positive note, I feel content she can cook, sing, dance and walk with elegance beside me.

I only write this sad diary, for if I ever think of even changing the phone's launcher, of changing the ideal bride, then I should be willing to give up all the comforts this great device would give me and end up with a simple Nokia.

True love, and I never by my side stood.
infatuation to Moto was misunderstood.
All the commotion led to death and pain,
all my love was a fame game, I played in vain.

Now that I stand married to a bride, a heavenly fairy,
I willingly take her hand, and witnesses this diary.

Ah! Those winters

Ah! Those winds that don't blow are chilling cold, 

I wish my blankets were thicker four fold,

Warmth was sun in the afternoon,

ah! Those winters really were a boon.

Ah! Warm milk and coffee was a heaven to sip,

and never to forget was the cream's whip,

waters so cold that you think twice,

as if it was poison and you were the mice.

Ah!! The water lakes stood huge and still,

and rivers flowed calm down the soft hill,

trains chuckled back and forth the havens,

mesmerizing would have even been ravens.

Ah!! I miss the lands of green wavy fields,

I crave for cladding again in woolen shields,

there I want to lead my life forever,

and for it shall I ever endeavor.

I'll run back home from the scorching sands,

To the nature's pretty wonderlands,

I'll embark on the heart of India some night,

and capture in my eyes that soft light.

Ah!! I miss those winters when I would tremble and shiver,

ah!! I miss the hustle of the flowing river.

The murder of a story

It feels like a baby just out,
perfectly laughing in your hands stout,
when a rash stutters and urges to itch,
and you drop the baby before the womb's stitch,
all in a moment, a cat's blink,
and you know you killed a baby pink,
you would want to bomb and suicide,
swallowed by a guilt's tide.
None could comfort you then, none ever,
you would be scared forever of the pen, write never.
Lost is a baby that could've been a life,
none is more pain not even a knife.

P.S. : I just accidentally deleted a story I wrote, and am excruciating such pain. And if you are a writer at heart, you better know, it's impossible to reproduce an art. It's gone.

A tale of Durag and Seher

Long long ago on the coast of the green bay,
two kingdoms of rich heritage lay.
One of the rulers strong and brave,
for adventure they ever did crave.
Barahin was their reign to stay,
never out of red meat nor dry hay.
Their fields gleam in sun and in wind wave,
never borrowed a leaf to eat neither did they save.

On the shore that wasn't theirs,
was the kingdom of thousand stairs.
Flowers bloomed under the warm sun,
and the breezes danced in fun.
Long and dark were their maidens' hairs,
and naught to be seen were any lairs.
The account of wars they had was none,
to lands of Lorethin never did any knights run.

The prince of Barahin was sixteen,
his skill was unparalleled his eyes ever keen.
Durag had a fantasy to chase,
and his feet had the boon to pace.
He set out on a winter morning when the sky was clean,
to reach out to the lands unheard of and unseen.
He wandered in the vines of maize,
and into the joyous gayful place.

On a Wednesday when the dawn was rose,
were chilling winds but none were froze,
princess Serah set out with her pretty maids,
to secluded greens where never set raids.
She left the company in quest of a purple rose,
and towards Durag their footsteps close.
Clad in his chequered purple plaids,
she plucked what suited her thick long braids.

Thus met Durag and Serah in the East,
where was never known what is a beast.
They spoke long and bloomed affection,
not lust but a pure angel's resurrection.
And such a friendship bloomed into a feast,
that knew no wine nor bread nor yeast.
The night fell as a confection,
a day they penned into perfection.

But no sugar lasts in a kitchen of ants,
and theirs was not blessed nor thrown in grants.
Snaketongue soon knew what was in the woods,
that made the prince wander in his hoods,
he penned in malign ink the tale of lants,
and hissed to the king in silent rants.

The king endowed in him a royal trust,
and let it roast to ease the crust.
He cursed what was heavenly friendship,
and on his son laid a prisoner's whip.
Poor Durag suffered for a king ever must,
and let his feelings for her rust.

Sehar waited in the name of azure,
into an illness that none knew to cure.
Rotting in the shining white bed for long,
she waited for him and his welcome song.
But, her depression for death did lure,
and she met fate long before tenure.
And did Durag learn after months centuries long,
and his head was tempted to wrong.

The sword pierced through his red blood,
as it flushed and Durag did flood.
They met in heaven and lived forever well,
but not in the land where words were fell.
But from the earth had those two souls fled,
And into farther tombs were they led.

In the counsel of a poisonous snake,
a friendship withered for kingdom's sake,
a land where lives were put to stake,
and since then, never such did the God make.

A pair of jenes

EXPLICIT CONTENT!!!

Quoting K.J.Yesudas would be unwise today because it is not the view of him alone that's affecting the society. Westernization, in general, is a topic of great debates in India since 20 years as far as I know it to be. Criticism is evident from either sides regarding the rapid change in fashion industry. Dressing up, especially the clothes one wears had been a focus of many such discussions. While the orthodox society points its finger to the west, blaming them for creating the unsociable, ill cultured adaptation of the fashion, the youth is taunting back for not setting with the global trend and the tremendous Internet revolution taking on.

First and foremost, it is not the dress that decides the appeal. It is the body language associated with a dress that does. Men, in India have long ago adopted to the western style of dressing. I don't see women complaining the vice-versa so often. Indeed, they never complain. The reason being that the dress is decent and, in general, not much different from the Indian counterpart of the ancient times. No worries. The dominant patriarch society that forms the roots of Indian civilization may also be a spotted as a reason for this. The former being more sensible, though.

Now, suppose a woman is dressed in the most formal dressing of the west, a complete English frock, or may be, full sleeves and American trousers, people shouldn't find it unconvincing. I seldom find it to be so. Even though the dress is elegant for a global society, Indians would like to complain it to be way more revealing than it is. Reason? Partly, the perverted mindset that, almost every man, had been introduced with during his schooling, and partly, the lack of layers of clothing as in Indian traditional clothing, mainly sarees and salwars. Yes, in this case, the truth needs to be acknowledged. However, the question should be why? Why do salwars and sarees have the extra layers of clothing? You are right, our ancestors were perverts too. This limits the reasons to one. Orthodox people don't find English frocks convincing because we were perverts.

Coming to the other dresses, jeans and tops, knee-length frocks and many others I can't name on my own, skin show is indispensable. Something different from our culture, quite contrasting, for we never got to see the bare skin of a lady, if not for her hands, feet and faces. I will leave this region undisturbed for the same as above applies here too.

Stop being so supportive to the youth, one would like to say. But, sir, I am one of them. Okay, let me talk about the very own Indian dresses. Sarees and salwars put together. Indians, have globalized, and took to designing new dresses. Women today, look hot in sarees too. Thanks to the fashion designers and fellows contributing to the designs with a transparent fabric and often more revealing designs. So, whether Indian or western is not a point of discussion. Remember the scooty pep ad featuring Anushka sharma as a college student? This one.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V6mb7r2lnG0

I think this explains it all. So one reason is the pervert mindset that leads to these controversies. The other is the mindset of an average Indian young girl, or may be young looking girl. Yes, this is the counterpart. The part that justifies the entire problem. Okay, guys are perverted to see some fair nakedness. But, why can't the weaker gender hide it off? Why should they westernize their fashion at all? Well, reasons again.

First in this category stands globalization and corporate lifestyle. Yes, it is. The dress code of any MNC is a part of their human resource manual. This is indispensable, and should be ignored with due concern. Except for that, in every other case, the reason is to look modern, to look a class apart from the average Indian girl from a town. A point supported by the general psyche that modern people and fashionably dressed ones are thoughtful and smart. A perfect misconception that rises in our society because of our rich colonial history, and directly influenced by the fact that literates are more employed as compared to others. This is also supported by various forms of media. Look around. The misconception that dressing western is being smart and modern can be concluded.

(TO BE CONTINUED>>>)

Mumkin hai?

It had been 2 years since we have started witnessing the change. A huge portion of change, I had been a part of, as well witnessed, in the matters of good governance and effective management of a "savaa sau karod logo ka desh". It pleases me to having said that. It would please every Indian to know that we had not been as worse as 2 years ago. 

The country's economy had stopped declining by a considerable extent after the general elections in 2014. Corruption had been regressive, thanks to Satyamev Jayate and IT development in the government sector. Polio had been wiped off the map, science had progressed well in Mangalyaan, Arnab is also bored discussing daily what would Modi do? Most other heroes of the media are also calm, mostly on leave and tours after the election buzz had faded. Except for the soaring list of rape cases, everything had been towards the good in general, I would like to emphasize. But, really, mumkin hai??

2 seasons had been aired, the third is on the way, and the tv commercial starts playing. An incident of corruption, an incident of teasing, one on harassment, one on communal violence etc are still being portrayed. Yes, I do acknowledge the fact that they are still evident, and dominant. But, I do feel it's not right to advertise the way SMJ team did. Inciting the fear is the point of the commercial. The moment you incite fear into an individual, an anxiety, a tension ripples his mind, and finally, when the time comes, he would give in, to a more destructive way, to a worse world, may be smuggling, rape, racist murders etc.

What SMJ had been doing to the society was wonderful. Teaching them their rights and responsibilities, making people more aware socially, and that had been good for the undetermined ones, those who are genuinely riding a bike on work, without license, and corrupt the traffic police just to keep out of the proceedings. Yes, you and me, we were those people who had to adapt to the wrong system, evil wasn't inside us.

But, around 30 years ago, the odds were for the better. The criminal minds were small and divergent, and hence their wrong-doings. As we Indians watched them, took their methodologies into practice, we came to what we today are. But those criminal minds, the minority though are continually growing in numbers, and hence the crimes. The bad part about SMJ is that these minds are not getting ridden off. They need proper taming and education, to keep it up. May be, we are busy cutting the branches, forgetting that roots still live.

Summing it up, I would like to say that it's very good to have such shows working towards the betterment of the society, but also that this is not a complete solution and some things still need changes. SMJ had been a ray of hope on the darkest night from woods that had been set fire and kindled steadily for the past two years, but that would never be the sun, however bright may it burn. And before long, the thickets of smoke would drench the fire, and people might *might * return to being Indian.

Hyperbolic

To tell a tale is a gift not everyone had been blessed with. As a budding writer, I take a great pride in boasting such experience. But what about those who are set to boast, to weave a story to get your business running, to keep your esteem soaring? Yes, I'm talking about you, everyone of you out there including me. 

We sit to talk our lives together. I am deeply interested to listen to you speak about the past. Nothing would be more thrilling than a real story, a part of one's life, a set of those dots which when connected back, make a beautiful art out of it. But, what if you are busy weaving a tale? What if you are trying to showcase that you had a wonderful life, besides being normal? I would have appreciated your creations and applauded at it, given the fact that I believed it to be real. However, think of the life you are describing it to be. How far had it been to the reality? 

The fact that your body speaks more than your mouth, literally, your actions speaking more than your words, often giving it away, the truth that you're being hyperbolic. Not that I would point out to the flaws, but think of trying to create an account that is not yours. The very purpose of getting together to understand each other is completely being broken. Depending upon your intellectual quotient, the foolishness of your tale comes over. So, you tell me a hyperbolic tale to make me feel enchanted, jealous that you were digging grounds for cashews and almonds while I was plainly boiling my lentils. Very well, as far as my trust is concerned. But, isn't being yourself important?

 
It really lowers you in my eyes to see you boasting. It is not attractive, sexy or the least, making me feel good. It shall depress you that day, into a deep pit, the day you shall realize that you need to cling onto the story just because you blurted it out one day, in the desperate attempt to make your life seem like a Tolkien 's adventure. Contrary to it, think again about telling me what really happened. It may not elevate your personality in my view, but lets me see who you really are. I shall realize the utter beauty of simplicity. I shall share my own life with you. And that, my friend, is the essential purpose of getting together. 

Boast not about being awesome, to fill me with awe. Be the one who you ought to be. Be the one you are. Undo all the filtering masks that veil your life. And that would be when, you live, literally, not figuratively.

A tribute to J.R.R. Tolkien

Three books for all the beings under the sky, 

seven for the special nerds Tolkienism prone, 

nine set out as a company doomed to die, 

one ring into the mount doom to be thrown, 

in a land beyond borders, what a beautiful lie!!!

One author to write them all, one mind to lure them, 

one dreamer to bring them all, and in fantasy bind them,

in a land beyond borders, what an enthralling lie!!!

The opener

There is a soul in you, in me, in every being that shall ever be.
That one untouched being ever free, veiled by many satin hard to see.
The coal is alive fogged by the smoke, a being by any weapon shall never be broke.
Open the window, the wind shall gently stroke, and such freedom shall be revoke.

The soul knows alike, the bright and dark, that a poem is indeed a random ink mark.
Such soul shall see the beauty stark, that every other soul in the world has a spark.
Love shall bloom like roses in dew, and the spring will be back anew.
Our body hosts the soul for years very few, let it sail being the good crew.

UniversaLibra

Some build marvels in the sand,
some grow weeds in fertile land,
some cut down trees to make pages,
and on afforestation some's poem rages,
some fly in the air across the globe,
some across every nook of an island probe,
some dig up the earth for mummy remains,
and some to relieve dearest of worldly pains,
some run to melt down the junky fat,
some stare and starve like a striped cat,
some dance and sing and make the song,
and some thrive for joys all life long,
some hunt for elixir in the deserts,
some hunt for elixir in the desserts,
some live life like you only live once,
and some live like they are the immortal ones,
some crave for soft chairs and water beds,
some for clothes blues or reds,
some live on medicines for near and dear,
and some entangled in the death's fear,
some wait for life to pass them over,
some to help their family burdens lower,
some are alive to torment their fellows,
and some to share with all, their mellows,
every human life on earth has a reason,
some of brotherhood some of treason,
but are most lives veiled by the valance,
such is the mother nature's humanitarian balance. 

A monday morning

As the sun soared in the east on a Monday, a man prayed in the waters for his daughter's feast,
A daughter far away in a land cared for the least, as his bread soaked in the yeast.
Back amidst buildings reaching the skies, his yards wavered to where his bed lies,
And he picked up his bread waving away flies, and comforted his heart with buttery lies.

Honey dripped from the fresh bread, and the phone prayed to be read,
He no more embraced fear and dread, his eyes no more swollen red.
On a holiday after he resigned, running from that life where he whined,
His stars in dreams he realigned, and like a child's his eyes shined.

Bossing the people not his kith and kin, tons of false respect did he win,
Far from his tents and camels and gin, with a golden tooth did he grin?
His wives waited chatting in the heat; his daughters did the western culture meet,
His sons sumptuously gleamed over red meat, but his absence made bitter such sweet.

One father far from his girl, ran all the day that giant swirl,
One youth far from the working whirl, in and into emptiness did pearls hurl.
One veiled man far from children put his minds to let the resort run,
They got the best beef and bun, but their life was not the real fun.

Like its rice like its noodle like its chai,
Lacking life on a Monday morning existed Dubai.

Tears

When my mother denied me a robot car, when I went cycling to the end far,
when I felt hungry as a child, when I was hurt wandering in the wild,
when my teacher said I was bad, when I forgot to take my exam pad,
every time you were there, on my cheeks none to spare.

When I forgot to do my homework, when my room could no longer perk,
when my hero Rex would no more sniff, when I want to jump off that lonely cliff,
when I don't get the best in a test, when I don't get the perfect rest,
you tears well up my eyes again, you flood with anger diluted in pain.

When my crush crushed my little letter, when I know there's someone better,
when I read an emotional tale, when my laziness costs me the sale,
when my dad dwarfs me for Swat kats, when I miss my sister's pats,
there you lump in my throat, never moving like a sailless boat.

There is a I whence I knew, since did I know I hate you.
You come you teach me as I fail, why don't you freeze as if a hail.
You turn my shiny eyes red, you are ready as truth is to be said,
O tears please listen to me, don't make me a weak one to be.

Even today I tried to wash you off with water, but you were bound to make my cheeks hotter,
I was the one to say it as a poet, that tears and smiles make the life's duet,
but tears tears go away, let me have a content day,
tears tears go away, as in my bed I do lay.

Lessons

Well you only need the light when it's burning low
Only miss the sun when it starts to snow

Only know you've been high when you're feeling low
Only hate the road when you’re missin' home...

What Passenger preaches through his song 'let her go' is more than love. It is philosophy. It is the lesson that you need to learn. The lesson that states that your life is moving on, you should be able to understand it, appreciate it, and learn from it. Back to the song, he says it's about the person you love, may be now, it's about the life you live.

Of such lessons I've learnt and my personal experiences, I shall not speak. The reason about such reluctance is the length and boredom to the reader concerned. But, I shall emphasise on how a college, with the life of a hosteller is different from a school life.

People of impeccable intellect are collected from around the country and poured into the institution. Especially in MANIT, the diversity is huge, and all such souls with flying dreams are poured into the hostel. Right from where you place your mobile in the room to the care you take about your keys is now dependent on what to others think about it. The first semester teaches you mostly this, how to adjust. Adjusting to situations, to people around you is something everyone learns. Every time this circle of influential People - classmates, roommates and concerned friends change, you nurture your adjustment to a better level. As a part of the process, by the end of graduation, you shall learn to adjust much better than 90% of your age who live in a room with a separate door. God bless such wisdom upon them.

The formalities to be completed before, during and after the course are way too high. One learns how to use a bank account, how to deal with the babus, alongside venting their frustration every single time they come across such situation. However, in due course of time, we get accustomed to the queues and meaningless procedures, yes, we are being prepared for the nominal governance of the nation and its procedures, where half of them shall forever remain worthless. Accompanying are the capabilities of visiting police stations and courts, nursing at hospitals and booking tickets through IRCTC.

Ragging is inevitable in colleges like MANIT. It is true that it is unhealthy and demoralising. But, given the long-time effects, it teaches you things that you would never learn. Guts get planted deep in you, you learn to face frustration that has got nothing to do with you, and to clearly understand who would stand by you in tough times and not. This ability to distinguish would have otherwise eaten 2 to 3 years of your precious college life alone. You also widen your circles and meet more people, understand what causes frustration and eventually keeping yourself away from it, but yes, ragging despite all this, isn't good. It’s cool... Who cares??

The tough times are in almost every way different, from when you are home. It would be very evident in the one call you get from your parents when you say "everything is fine" when it won't be. Every time you do that, during ragging, illness, accidents or emotional breakdown you are stepping a stone higher towards the real world. You are being independent and mature involuntarily. You are witnessing friends who are worth siblings, who are supporting you to an extent that you can handle things yourself. Such reasons are innumerable and such independence, immeasurable. You only see through it when it's all over, that you have learnt to be tough, to be better and to be clear about yourself.

In addition to this are joys and minor capabilities recorded, a few of them being: your irregular sleep cycles, malnutrition diets, laughing over your own problems, enticing humour over you, learning to overcome almost every physiological situations, the art of cooking and the skill of cooking things up, learning to waste time, learning to waste time in your interests, learning what interests you, pursuing things of your choice, detachments and attachments, night outs and day sleeps, bathing in weeks and staring at stars, listening to stories, fictitious or not, appreciating and firing back. Of all that you learn, one thing is sure, you are learning life.

Accredited to 'happy days' are words that summarize all I said in a pair of lines, “you don't come to college to achieve life. You come to develop the skills and attitude to learn to achieve it."


P. S. I am delighted I wrote so much without my personal life or tears. A blog post would be too small to write the things that aren't either generalized or are personal. Everyone would have their dose of farewell soon after the 6th of May. :-P get ready with your tissues.

Needless

The witch has shaken the potion thrice, bowing to the prince who paid the price.
The prince had walked under the sky, as the countless stars twinkled by.
Half the way he paced to pause, to look at how the sparkle was.
The cork tipped and rolled down the mire, and the magic did the lone prince hire.

His body shackled as if to die, he would have if it wasn't the firefly.
The buzz and light had disturbed his sleep, and into the new world did he creep.
The forest thickened through his rest, and his sight was put to test.
The path was the same mire over the lake, but with tar like cream over a cake.

Men who were clad like butlers all over, bound in speeding steels did hover,
To and fro along the mire, in a way the prince did admire.
The steel carts had lights in the front, which never flickered as they went.
The prince headed back towards the palace, jumping to the buzzes of the carts’ race.

The city had more houses and more light, which never flickered and burnt bright.
The prince made way as people stared, and honked and foul words twice they shared.
The palace he entered where none was same, his family was all now in the frame.
He ran in panic over the stairs, to the roof where his true self pairs.

Into a world that is awkward and new, into a world of lights in different hue,
Into a world that was scarily fast, only did his calm roof top last.
He lied down over the warm stone, and looked up to stars for he was alone.
To his surprise the count was halved, gone was ‘the Orion’ he always loved.

A tinge of orange did blur the sky, that of the lights that below him lie.
He wished to shout loud and clear, for of none should the prince fear.
The glory of the man seemed to fade, like the stars of ‘the long spade’,
All that sped and lit seemed useless, no not useless, needless, needless.

The prince closed his eyes and said his chant, "needless, needless, none to enchant.
O witch, O witch, O ditching witch, bless the magic to switch,
What is a sky without all the stars? A canvas whose artist died in the wars.

Needless, needless, needless is the light,
The light so bright in the darkest night,
That shall blemish the sky with scars,
That of the beautiful sparkling stars. "

Saying so his eyes closed the last time, and into another star did he sublime.

P. S.:  The 'needless' is a campaign that creates awareness about light pollution, prominently emphasising on the deterioration of the quality of the skies. For more, please visit http://www.need-less.org.uk/

The nerd glasses

"The wheat fields wave in the summer breeze, over the Caro Island in Greece, to the port is a stranded way, orange and rising from the Dumtak Bay. To my home it leads mate, on the hill of Bestinlate, come today and embrace us, far away from all your fuss. How does it sound, honey, to welcome your friend in my way?" Teo was speaking loud from the balcony where he rested in his armchair to Hana who was in the kitchen, mashing the boiled eggs.

Teo was 43, a writer with a grown beard who spent his days lazing on the island of Caro. Hana completed him, being a professional cook, and singing all day what she heard in the party previous night. The time when she would put on her long gowns and jasmines and stride down to the beach for wine in the dusk would be that when Teo would let his pen run on the white sheets. "She's coming to us in crisis Teo, don't you dare frighten her” Hana replied smiling as she carried the coffee pot to the balcony's table where Teo would always write. The brew was quickly vanishing in the breeze and the aroma filled the balcony. "Touch it before she comes and I'll push you into the Saturday night's harbour shake" she warned walking back to bake the bread. Teo wondered about how their kids would also be leading the hostel wings, given their mother's petty traits.

The doorbell chimed accompanied by the knock and Teo jumped out reaching for the door. As he pulled the door inside, there she stood, Sushi, her hair curled in a mess over her face, dusted, and her eyes, half closed. Her sleeplessness was painted dark below her eyes, her limbs drooped as she bent forward and her shirt wrinkled and folded up her sleeves. Hana walked out of the kitchen and welcomed Sushi in, pushing him aside, and took her to the couch in the balcony. Sushi lay down and held her palms against the brightness of the summer's hot sun bouncing the golden field. Her eyes crouched behind the lids and shrunk in light.

"Would you like to have a coffee?" Hana inquired already pouring into the cups. She took a cup to Sushi and waited for her to take it. Sushi regained her posture and drank the entire cup in a shot and fell back into Hana’s lap. She blabbered in a murmur, "It was not my fault him hell and principles. Selfish." Even before Teo could pose before her the questions of inquiry, her eyes closed into a deep sleep. Hana moulded her body straight and gestured, mouthing "quiet now and call me when she wakes." she walked back to her mash and Teo sat staring over into the far waters, where steamers sailed calmly, occasionally pumping their buzzing horns. There Sushi slept, her mouth wide open, as if gaping in serenity.

Two hours later, Sushi woke up to see Hana, staring, resting in Teo’s arm that curled up over her shoulder. Surprisingly, he was staring too. She sat up instantly and was searching for words to speak. "Hush sweet girl. Come let's have lunch and then sit to speak. No need to worry. Feel home. It is half past 3 and his tummy has been rapping since ages." Hana spoke, pointing to Teo, as if she could read her friend's mind. Sushi stood, and she wondered if there is any part of her body that was relaxed. She walked to the basin, washed her face and to the table where the couple were busy serving. She snatched a glass that was on the table, moist from the outside, and gulped the freezing cold water. She blinked long thrice and the scent of spices crept into her mind. The lunch was quick and heavy and not a word was uttered. Sushi ate the food, proper food, after a long time she felt. But not her buds knew any taste. All she could tell was that the food was good.

Hana suggested, "The tub is ready with warm water. Bathe long and be at rest. I have my purple gown for you. Call me in case you need me." Sushi stood up silently looking down into the circles of hell and walked in to the bath. She was different, Hana noticed from what she used to be. Earlier, she was a playful child who would always accompany Hana into every mischief. The difference was Sushi loved what she learnt and was always fascinated by the job she would do, and dreamed of enjoying an eminent position in the society whereas Hana loved to be quiet, yet naughty, dancing and singing and passing her life in herself.

The pleasant radio played blues that echoed in the house, as the couple regained their cuddling on the couch. It was an hour since lunch when Sushi returned to dress. She wore the gown and walked to the mirror and stared towards herself. Her wet hair was messed up, her eyes looked sleepless, her cheeks were pale, her hands were thin, and her frame bent. She picked the comb and walked directly to the couch. Sushi dropped it in Hana’s lap and sat on the floor right at Hana’s feet waving her to comb. Immediately, in care, Hana picked her up and made her rest in the arm chair and combed gently, drying her hair and curling it back clean. Sushi had closed her eyes, but still a drop managed to slip over her tender cheeks. Hana bent down and wiped it and inquired, "What’s it darling?" Teo calmly watched. Hana too sat down facing Sushi, her hands folded in confidence.

The sea behind her roared. Sushi spoke, after what she thought were ages or may be, seconds since the last moment of her life when she was at her office in Lika, 40 miles away from Caro by sea. What followed from there was memory vague, running to the port, calling her old dormant friend stopping by the street phone, stealing into the open cargo carrying coal, begging the sailor with the heavy moustache who was kind and running up the steep Bestinlate, her heels tearing apart. She spoke, "Hana, I am sorry for troubling you both like this.” Guilt echoed deep in her voice, as deep as from her heart. Hana spoke in the tone of an angel, her kindness consoling, and “We have been friends since childhood Sushi. You are always welcome here. Countless times I asked you to take a break and spend with us. It has dawned upon us today. Tell me first, what brings you here. What happened to you?” A teardrop already rolled on Sushi’s cheek, Teo noticed.

Sushi continued, “Today I was at the museum by 7. My work was perfect till yesterday. Perfect, Hana, as if I was everything I ever dreamed of. I had everything I wished for. A beautiful house that would look over the far sea, lots of people going around my exhibits and wondering at the marvels of ancient Greece. Everyone at the museum was so pleased with my work. I myself was, too. I walked, like every other day, today to the museum and went to my desk. As soon as I pulled up my chair, I noticed a new foolscap placed under my paperweight. It was not on the top but it was new I know. Even before I read it out, he came up to me, my boss, and pointed to me, a paper stamped ‘UNADDRESSED’ in red. I could notice that it was a copy of the same sheet I had in my hand. It was an invitation to France, I quickly ran my eyes through. I was being invited to work on their plans regarding the Bastille's underground. It would be a dream project to anyone who held a job like mine. If it went well, Hana, everyone in Europe would know our company. The name of Lika would have been heard far as Malaysia and Alaska. The deadline, highlighted in bold, was two weeks ago. I still wonder how it could have missed it. I never missed any before this, believe me, Teo, not a single piece.” Her last words were to Teo who was eyeing her suspiciously, or so she thought. Teo nodded, for he believed, and was curious.

Drawing a long breath, Sushi spoke, her voice more heavy, her eyes moist, “He ordered me angrily to address the board meeting by 8. I could not hear any of his words then, for I could see how furious he was, and how costly my untidiness had been. I was afraid for I would get fired. Indeed, Hana, I was more frightened about the fact that my life would be over, for the mistake would spread like fire on hay. Losing that deal was like forgetting to eat, Hana, will it ever happen?" Hana was keen and nodded in confirmation, that she understood what Sushi meant.

Sushi explained, “So, I slipped out calmly using the elevator before everyone knew, and as soon as I was on the road, I started running to the port. Midway, I was panting and about to faint, but I soon realized I didn’t know where I was headed to. All I could do was find the street phone beside me. So I reached for it and called you. And then, I ran again I didn’t know why, to the port, sneaked into the coal cargo instead of the ferry that would have started in ten minutes. I tell you, Hanna, the sailor pitied me looking at my helplessness and out of everything he asked, all I could say was Bestinlate. So, he dropped me on the shore and I was inquiring ‘Teo, writer, Hana’ around when they pointed me here.” Hana listened, as if it was an epic tale being told.

Teo, with some enthusiasm jumping out of his eyes, spoke, as if he was a kid being gifted a packet of toffees for opening his mouth, "Bastille I know. I received an invitation recently, from Bibliothèque nationale de France regarding an exhibit of the museum this month. Bruno invited me for I was keen to visit the royal hall for my research work. Is it a development after that period, Sushi?" Sushi, who was listening curiously since the start, with her expressions changing rapidly from desperation to fury, exclaimed, "What! I didn't know this. I should have known Maria, and believed when everyone whispered she seduced Antony. I need to go back." she turned back even as she spoke to trace back her morning journey.

She could have gone back, drooping and straining, unless Hana spoke, in the deepest of her thoughts, “Wait Sushi, think about it again. You work. You don't manipulate. You are the one who never got along with mates who hated you, cheated you behind your back. Remember Sushi, as I always say, you are a worker, brilliant and dedicated. But, someday you are to retire. You need to get away from all this fuss. You have worked a lot Sushi and the world needs you.” Hana sandwiched Sushi’s palm between hers’, as an assurance that she believed in Sushi’s work.

Hana explained, in a hurry that seemed to be out of the fear that Sushi would start going back, “Look at you. Look at the change in you, how limp your limbs seem, how tired your body is. Please, Sushi, stay here with us. There’s a big world out there to know the history. Stay, for I need you to." Hana broke down into tears, falling onto her knees and the balcony stayed calm. Teo could listen to a holiday commercial over the radio, as he looked at how both the ladies were kneeling, tears trickling along their cheeks.

That night, long after the dances at the beach, tired Hana retired to sleep. Teo was busy smoking his pot in the balcony, staring into the sea. Sushi tip-toed to the backyard, her mobile phone clutched in her hand.

P.S.: The characters have been inspired from the people I know, thanks to everyone so, in person. A few imaginary places, I have tried my best to describe, excuse at misconceptions. Also, I thank my editor, the old kid, for inspiring me to work. I have a sequel planned if this is good. Tell me, by any means, how you felt, if you could read upto here, please.

It so seemed

I, by my wit, tell the heart wrenching tale, of three such souls of diverse thought.
Tulip was free by thought, free as a content eagle, soaring high above the clouds that mask the blistering truth.
Bunny was dear, or so seemed, for deep inside were webs, woven of treachery and selfishness.
Rose was chaotic, appealing to the thirsty, seductive by sense, and desperate to be plucked.

As do waters merge to fall, into the deep abyss, roaring, so did bunny meet tulip, and was enchanted.
Bunny wanted love, or so seemed, of the divine waters, such of the tulip, for none hate purity, though many envy.
Tulip drowned, weighing into the bliss bunny had garnished, over his deepest trenches of desire, painful and malicious.
Thus, in the sweetest times, when bunny and tulip, fell in love, of Immaturity, and infatuation, the fragrant rose bloomed.

Rose bloomed, to be embraced, and glazed upon, by such fur, as of bunny, despite the rigid clutch.
Bunny ignored, or so seemed, for tulip and rose, in dawn or dusk, in spring or storm, bloomed, never together.
The tulip was in delight, as was every free heart ever, until the moon, rose in the East, red and full.
The day was of nature's summons, the rose was withering, the moon in bloody tears, for none knew why.

Bunny hopped, mesmerized, towards the drooping rose, to help the fragrance, last longer.
The drooping rose, or so seemed, was delighted to see, the bunny approach, to caress and care.
None knew but the rose, of the malice planned, for obsessive was her petals, soft as a velvet.
The tulip witnessed in silence, her petals wet, for bunny was her world, she believed in replica.

The red moon blossomed, the bunny felt the petal, soothing was the touch, healed was the rose.
The stars glittered, the redness wore off, but not one breeze, that passed the tulip, went dry.
The bunny loved the touch, rather obsessed, addicted, drugged by the pollen, that night.
On the edges, then deep inside, into the maze of rose's petals, bunny's fingers circled, into the mire.

The bunny still not knows, what treachery and malice, had he been deceived by.
The rose, evil and thirsty, now enjoys, what's not hers, truly, living a false life, a dream, that none knows, when may end.
The tulip cries, but never is soothed, calmed by breezes of sea, old and learnt.
None knows, or ever shall, how to rewrite the tale, for such have been penned, again, a ton times.

Celebrating the world's poetry day. May the magic in words of people around, those whose works provide deeper insights, with a tinge of humor, into the deepest meanings of life, and of those surrounding them last forever and more. And thanks to every such one in name around me, for all that you have unknowingly dumped on me, making me smile and feel blessed everytime I get to read something penned by you. CHEERS!!!! YOU MADE ME HAPPY SOME DAY!!!
In name, a very special thanks to rebeca for, without her, I couldn't keep the fire kindling, that made all this possible.

Nostalgia

It's the time when owls too sleep,
It’s two past ten when foxes do weep,
I think to write my day's diary,
The one which I love to skip daily.
Tons of mail had been sent,
Puns of Arnab had been re-learnt,
But about today I think I write,
What was a memory faint and light.

Of white shirts and navy blue trousers,
When men who searched were called browsers,
When sports meant cricket and only cricket,
When stones stood on one another as the wicket.
Of times when chocolates priced half a rupee,
And happiness was a pack of Frooti,
Bicycles were a mark of driving pride,
And dreams were of a bus to ride.

The memoirs of Pani Poori gulping,
And of the canes of sugar pulping,
Of sodas of lemon bubbling,
And rainbow sugar jellies wobbling.
Of times when I was a child,
Oh when my mind was clean and voice mild,
Of when world was a happy place to live,
And when there was nothing god could give.

And the clock squeezed ahead into teens,
Into t-shirts and rugged jeans.
And slowed into an ecstasy of paradise,
When into college life rolled my dice.

Staring out of the dark wooden doors,
As the rain onto green fields pours,
Walking up and down a path to know,
Life is more than a yes and a no.
To learn of cultures versatile to me,
And of such mixture am I to be.
I drove off into silences far,
Amidst the deep forests of Kolar.

And then the dead fire lit back bright,
Like a bright star in the windy night.
People to never lose were many met,
Some into whose tales is my own set.
Trips to places which over centuries did flourish,
With sweet memories that shall never cherish.
To learn to understand the right people,
Those who pat your back when you feel feeble.

And today I stand regretting what has past,
For I know the ship has set its mast.
Leave the life of flawless smiles,
And of those grooming weekly styles.
An older life welcomes with ignorance,
I shall rule it with brilliance,
I love what life does to me,
For it knows I am not a routine to be.

Quoting Kiddo if the ending is sad,
You can never be happy about the happy times you had.

The suicide

I folded the letter into two and gave him. He was looking dull and sad. I could read it on his face that he didn't like the idea of committing a suicide together. Unwilling, he too signed it and I snatched the letter back, put it under the pillow. Pulling him by hand, I made him walk out of our home. We had been there for sixteen years, together, celebrating, playing and jumping around. The memories were embossed onto every brick. Our parents loved us.

He paused to have one last look, deep and long, and we moved on. He was panicky, his heart weighed heavier, his pace slowed down behind me. A few minutes later, on the dark road, he finally collapsed onto his knees calling out for me. I was quite busy in my own thoughts to notice that he was lacking behind me. I turned back and called him to catch up. He looked up at me, a blaze raging in his eyes that dug the guilt of taking him along with me.

"If that's how it ought to be, I'm not coming.” he shot the words with a power I've never seen in him. Yes, I am the one who was guilty. I didn't study well, I failed my exam. The pressure was too much on me. Father hated me. Mother felt that I was insensitive to their concern. I indeed was. But, why him? It's been sixteen years and father still fed him. Deep in the heart, a soft corner to let us cherish was always evident in his jovial smile.

"Why are we to die brother?” he pleaded. I was stubborn and I was already speaking before I realised I was. I uttered, “We have failed an examination. We are losers. All we knew was to be a nerd. Today, we broke that only title. Who are we now today? Losers. Why live? Let's die. Come.” I stretched my hand out for him. He didn't move. Instead he muttered, “It’s been a boon to live. Since ages had a man lived without passing any examination. Our parents wish we live. Remember how dad and mum would feel at the death of our cousin? The house went gloomy for what I felt like ages. They are two smiling people who wish we live and let them rest when they need to. They don't expect us to feed them, all they expect is for us to live and earn a living. They are not going to be happy with what we shall do.

After all, what did we do? We failed an examination. A girl didn't like you. What about the hundreds of those worthless exams we cleared in a higher distinctions? Don't they count? Don't we deserve, thus, to live a hundred lives more. Don't we like each other? How add a life to each when die for someone not liking you? I am not coming. We had seen lives devastated. We had seen how crippled could live. We had heard of people, learnt of many more who grew their own food, ate and survived. We have a life today. We are humans. To err is human. We shall correct it. What do you think is easy? Jumping off a cliff or laughing at yourself on a Facebook post that reads, "A failure is all I need, to dry my bottle and throw the weed"? I prefer the second. I am walking back. I can live. You can come back." he stood up, turned away and walked.

I was determined and walked to the edge of cliff. Today, looking down at it, I feel afraid of death. Living a life is much easy. I close my eyes and jump in, but only after I turn around. "Here I come, world." I hopped and danced and ran back to my home. He disappeared into my own deeper self. Quickly I pulled out the letter and burnt it to Ashes. "Life is a gift, live It." the oldest song played on the radio and I slept in peace.

I lost my little examination. I will pass the biggest, my life.

P.S. : It is not about me. I was trying to just reproduce the old suicide note, if you remember.

Telangana

The Irani chai flowed down the mug into the glass, and back into the mug, jumping, being rocked back and forth, as if on a tree swing, as I eyed it intently. The foam was brimming out of the age old glass and the aroma diffused dancing in the air. It's been long I had been in Hyderabad. Ravi's chatter was running since we got down the bus. I barely listened for I was busy looking out at everything new and interesting. He paused and punched my arm. I looked up at him, his face animating a question mark.

"You want to come back?” he asked, the second time, I guess.
"Where to?"
"Hyderabad, of course, after all this Telangana thing?"
"Yes, I love Hyderabad." I replied with a surge of confidence.

I was back on my way in the bus and I turned on the radio. Earphones in my ears, staring out into emptiness, the little ticket wrapped into a ring to my thumb, I thought. "Am I going to come back to Hyderabad?" the question ringed in my mind. I wished it had been a yes. I had a doubt deep inside. What had happened to my city? Where was all the life? The kites were still flying high, but who snatched its sheen?

Telangana was the answer.

I know it very well. It's like seeing a girl, a beautiful innocent adolescent girl, growing into her teens. A perfection. A God's gift. She was the only daughter of a couple, the two parents being, mother Telangana and father Andhra. The city was a legacy of Nizams. When she was born into the house of India, she was full of glamour. She had everything. Yes, she was born smart, beautiful and splendid. She was glorious.

Her father took her life in his hands. It's been many years since, he considered, no wait, assumed her to be his own. He cared for her. He earned to buy her gifts. He loved her. He gave her everything she wished for. Even those comforts that he himself did not enjoy were sacrificed. He gradually gave up helping his wife live. The marriage was not out of liking. It was a union, just because the father couldn't have a kid and the mother couldn't earn a living. The child grew beautiful and great. The mother grew old and dull.

It should not have been so, but it did. The mother wants her daughter. She had been born to the mother. She is her sole property. The father offered to care back, but it was late. The fury mother raged. She wanted her daughter completely. She locked the beautiful daughter in the prison of movements, and the daughter sobbed. Her hair dishevelled, her cheeks shrunk, her happiness gone.

The father was separated from the daughter, he was in tears with what his wife did. The wife was upset that now his daughter doesn't look like she was. And I mourn at the loss of the adolescence to sheer jealousy. Father did a mistake, he should have not ignored the wife, for whatever the reason be. The mother did a mistake, she should have seen that he was spending every penny of his in making his daughter more able. And so my city lies today.

The kite still flies, but the thread is bound to a branch. The chai still bubbles, the aroma is nowhere around. The buildings still soar high, there isn't quite enough market and companies to lease them.

Just Love

The mist was settling on the lake as the sun was slowly dimming into the West, still above the temple's beak setting. The winds hushed through the well set rocks, those steep stepping ones that wound end in the still waters of the lake. In quick long leaps, she stepped down as he trailed behind, enjoying the cool warmth of the lake.

She sat down ten steps high from where waters washed the rock, knees straight, her elbows set over them themselves supporting her chin as she but her nails in a panic. He came and sat in front, his back to the lake, one leg folded onto the other stroking his old shoe's leather staring at her. The camera was unveiled and the position set in his firm palm.

She was ready to rehearse her character in the play. The first time she was set, blew out a deep breath and started. His intense gaze firmly set on her every move. She soon realized with a helpless smile and said, "Take 2." he quickly replied, "it's a play honey, and like life is a play, never will you get a take 2." she remembered it but somehow, the takes went on. Every time she tried to think of him, think of them, they had to replay. 

Take 13 it was. She missed it again. She had to say, "Stop looking at me, I feel tensed. It's embarrassing." The next, he was conscious on the camera screen and the play moved a little further. Every time she set her professional look breathing a huge puff, the stillness of the heart got disturbed as pleasure struck it. He watched calmly noticing her every little moment, being pixelated and displayed. 

The silence would have made it so pleasant that every loaf's rustle could have been recorded. Take after take, her voice was getting feeble, her act more clear, and his love deeper. "The end", she suddenly declared as he realized that it was more than two hours they started. He hadn't followed since pretty long. All he was after was her movement, every fine smile and heartily giggle.

She snatched the camera and went through each of the shoot setting up her material to practise that night. He turned to the hazy lake and sat with his knees hugged staring into the emptiness, his heart enjoying what was witnessed.

She zipped the camera and walked to his side, his long frame letting her touch his hair. "I'm perfect", she spoke confidence echoing. He looked up at her without any movement. She looked back too. His gaze wasn't intense anymore, she felt a pull of the aura. "What’s it my love?” she asked in a caring tone. 

He replied, "I was thinking that there is nothing special about you but yourself. A plain little child girl who reacts out to everything she meets. There is a beautiful girl one guy would like to check out, and a cute sweetheart inside he would like to check in and live forever. Just sitting there looking at you in the sunset for all evening wouldn't be enough, Such is my love for you And that is why I love you, how much ever you irritate me, how much ever you get naughty, that aura lives forever. It’s not about being fair, talking nicely and being romantic all the time. It's about making someone able to feel that even a moment of plainness should repeat forever. And that's what you make me feel, along with all others my butterscotch. You always ask me why I love you, don't you? This is why I love you, Because of the charm around you, Because of the never ending joyous world that you unknowingly create around yourselves. I love you. “She was smiling back.

Books

Heaped together are words in books, meaningful books,
wrapped in covers that marry my looks, my mind hooks.

Exquisite words that convey every feeling, my strains healing,
some teach love some dealing, else potato peeling.

Details too high for any expressive art, too secluded to bart`,
bulls eye is such a writer's dart, right into my heart.

Out of the dreams fantasy, a loners ecstasy,
love drama and philosophy, making my cheeks puffy.

A life inked onto the finest bark, the light of the dark,
some to forever imprint the mark, naked stark.

Lessons to be learnt in the deep, memories to keep,
they are medicines to reduce sleep, to let you weep.

Books are the treasure I found, as life's rewound,
to them am I spellbound, spellbound!!