Remedy

Nowadays everyone is eager to proffer remedy to you. They know there is something wrong with you and they waste no time in hoping with a remedy. From sparkling stones to health herbs, everything is purported to provide a miraculous remedy to every pesky problem.

How strange it is that despite having so many outlets of remedy, the problems, like tough stains, refuge to get washed away from our lives. Every generation has had these remedies in different forms despite that life has always remained complex and tough.

Are remedies eyewash? Can a society take risk to believe in such remedies?

But then are we that strong to avoid the lure of getting rid of our problems?  I think no! We as humans are simply not that strong to resist the urge to be duped.

The net is scattered, the mirage of happiness peeps out off the net and our helpless desire for a better tomorrow forces us to lunge in the net. Human will to struggle submits before the shrewd tricks provided by cosmetic remedies. Adverse situations triumph over the frailty of soul. The guffaw of the remedy drama silences the feeble voice of reasoning.

When life runs but we crawl, when life roars but we bleat…the specter of remedy holds us by its clutch and instead of caressing us, it crushes us. We break by and by and one day we evaporate with our problems and situations without knowing whether our decisions for the remedies were right or not.

A thing called change!

Change: a word that is deeply ingrained in the ways of this world. The Earth, the Sun, the Moon change their positions and we experience days and nights. And in these days and nights we see histories being made, civilizations being flourished. 

We witness the power of the nature to influence a change in the scorching heat, macabre clouds, bubbly blooms and feeble foliage.

We know nature can change things and situations at its will. We are off-springs of nature so the eagerness to bring about a change in the age and era that we live in is only natural. The human mind keeps on   thinking about change. After walking on all fours human mind thought of a change about walking on two, after roaming around buck naked for a while the human mind thought of a change about being wrapped in clothes.

So change has been integral to the thought process of human mind. Being a part of the human civilization I also dwell upon several situations that I want to experience a change.

We often see heads of two states playing one-upmanship game on the name of power. The main thing about this power is that it has a nuclear angle to it. The angry words, threatening vows complete the communication between the countries involved in this nuclear game. I want this situation to experience a change, where nations seem ever-ready to clear off each other in the name of nuclear.

People of this country follow a religion that teaches peace but turmoil is the destiny of this nation for past several decades. Its spiritual leader had to flee and its population had to take refuge in a neighboring country. I wish a change that with every bead of their rosary completing a circle; the dream of their return to the motherland gets near to them.

They are part of a magnanimous and one of the most successful democracies of the world, but their own countrymen couldn’t care less when they suffered the economic blockade for more than 100 days. When they were facing exorbitant prices of essential commodities and all sorts of problems related to survival, their countrymen were busy betting whether a sportsperson will reach a landmark in a particular match or not. I wish for a change in this situation. I want the rest of the country to stop and listen when a part of its yell and wail silently.

 This post is an entry to a contest being run by Indiblogger and Stayfree @ indiblogger.in. Go to   http://www.facebook.com/sftimetochange and be a part of change.

Poroborti station Kalighat to Agla station Kalkaji Mandir hai!

Yes, I have been transferred from Kolkata to Delhi, the capital of India. It is more than a month now that I have been here. The place has changed, the language has changed but one thing that remains unchanged is the indefatigable pair of legs that run, run, and run. They have to catch the metro and reach their destination. The destination that satiates hunger…the destination that fulfills dreams.

There are some other things as well that didn’t change.

The young couples, lost in the eyes of each other and roaming their own destinations between themselves, are here as well. Their behavior shows as if the outer world doesn’t exist for them. The crowd doesn’t matter to these people as long as they are crowded with the emotion of love.

Yes, there are also those intellectuals, as in Kolkata, who read English novels or some complex statistical research papers in the train and intermittently look up with an erudite gesture to survey the uninitiated masses around them. A sense of superiority is clearly etched in their looks while supervising other ordinary beings of the train.

The toddlers pestering their parents are found in the Delhi Metro as well. They will try to run in a crowded train, will sit on the floor and take a round or two around the poles in the coaches. Their parents try to stop them because they understand the parameters of social behavior. But perhaps in the unshackled behavior of these children there is lesson for all of us to be free from what is preventing us from feeling liberated.

Commentary from a vanquished soul!

I have been running indefatigably, amid the rivers and ravines of life. Frazzled and famished I feel.  I don’t know if the whole running had any meaning. When I look back I find my footprints charred by the flames of time. There remains only ash of my footprints behind me.

I feel thirsty but there is no water around. There is noise of nature around me but I seem to have gone deaf. I am yelling in the wilderness but no one cares to listen. I know it is not the fault of others; it is my voice that has become so feeble that it can’t reach any ears.

It has started raining and I feel as if the raindrops would melt me beyond recognition. The thunder of the sky will rip my heart off and steal the last drops of courage contained by it. The air is pricking me from every side and the pain seems unbearable.

I know everything ceases and this catastrophe will stop too but what will I do with only my eyes remaining after the tempest has calmed. I can’t run with my eyes. I will stop. I will cease to exist with cessation of the tempest.  And my eyes will have to go through a painful experience of my reticent devastation. I feel sorry for my eyes.

P.S: I know there are some people who will worry about me after reading the post, and I would like to clarify for those that this is just an attempt to sketch the gloom of life in general and not necessarily reflecting my life.

I don’t know why?

The stars painted destinies; but I don’t know why I still remain lackluster,

The nature gifted everyone apogees; but I don’t know why I still fluster.

The sun has risen in far horizon; but I don’t know why my eyes still see darkness,

The night has bid good bye long ago; but I don’t know why my sky is still lightless.

The god has sketched rainbow on the sky; but I don’t know why I can’t see any colors,

The god has spilt the pitcher of fragrance; but I don’t know why I can’t feel any flavors.

The whole world seems sprinting, but I don’t know why I can’t walk a mile,

The whole world seems gloating, but I don’t know why I can’t manage a smile.

The whole world seems blessed, but I don’t know why I feel cursed,

The whole world seems caressed, but I don’t know why I feel hurt.

She is speaking, but is anyone listening?

Image Courtesy : 

                          http://www.bbc.co.uk/hindi/india/2012/02/120207_mushar_kushinagar_ns.shtml

There is clamor of democracy in the state, everyone is busy yelling but no one is ready to listen to the silence which just spoke. And when it spoke he became mute. He was my husband. He died of T.B: a curable disease. You must be wondering why? Because we don’t have money and hospitals that treat poor is still a distant dream in India of five star hospitals.

Family members are coming together to share the pie of power, but my family got into shambles in search of a piece of a bread. Power they will always have and savor, but there is no guarantee that the bread I will have and my family that is remaining will share.

This festival of democracy has many colors, and one color or a mixture of colors will win at the end of the day but I, the daughter of democracy, will be left with only one color to mourn the success of this democracy and that is white.

I am no clairvoyant but can see vividly that the drums of democracy are making a noise so loud that my future’s heart has failed and it has also fallen down (like my husband did) on the ground: motionless and lifeless!

P.S: This post is inspired by an article on website of BBC: http://www.bbc.co.uk/hindi/india/2012/02/120207_mushar_kushinagar_ns.shtml

Being Mediocre!

According to the legend,  Adi Shankaracharya’s parent Shivaguru had a dream in which Lord Shiva gave him two choices: either a prodigious son with a short lifespan or a mediocre one with longevity. And Shivaguru, opted for prodigy. And thus Shankaracharya was born.

My focus of this post is not the Shankaracharya, but the fascination with the prodigy and indifference towards mediocrity that lie within human society. We all long to be the best in life. We admire and adore that is the best. It is in human nature to yearn for extraordinary and perhaps this yearning is behind the many feats that human civilization has achieved.

But is being mediocre such a sin that Shankara’s parent opted for a prodigy? No doubt that the prodigies contribute to the world in more substantial terms than who are not, yet the value of being mediocre in this world becomes no less.  Being mediocre means having no special skills yet having strong zeal to excel. Being mediocre means having the opportunity to improve upon with every single day that is passing by. And learning new things everyday  accomplishes the goal of being a human. And as long as we accomplish this goal, there should be no shame in being mediocre. 

All gods of ours have to be extraordinary in their image. We cannot tolerate our gods weeping and being weak. That is why we often glorify their lives with events that make them a larger than life existence. But we forget that our gods have also felt average and mediocre on occasions. When wife of our lord was abducted, he must have also felt being average and mediocre human being, when our lord had to retreat from a battlefield, he must also have felt average and mediocre.

 What I am trying to say is that being average and mediocre is also about being part of God and Nature. So being mediocre should also be respected when we consider about traits of human beings.

We should celebrate mediocrity for it ensconces in itself the seed of grit to grow with life.

P.S: This post is outcome of some ‘inspirational talking’ from Sujatha Sathya (an accomplished writer and a fellow blogger) at the time when I was feeling de-motivated to write anything.

Such is Life… But Why It is Such?

They had gone there in search of the light of life but the smoke of cruel destiny blanketed the Sun of hope. The administrative brass of the hospital was busy polishing the veneer of the brand and ignored the layers of the rudiment safety. The brand kept getting the gleam but the aspect of safety, being ignored for years, reduced to dust. And one day this dust got livid and choked many lives.

I know such is life… but why it is such?

They knew the hooch is bad for health, despite that they smooched the hooch. It became their last philandering with the intoxicating water. They are gone but the brunt is being born by their families. The wives, mothers, daughters wail but the person who was a husband, son, and father a few moments ago is just a body now, it is bereft of any sensation of relationships. They are gone leaving a tough life ahead for their families.

I know such is life… but why it is such?

They smile like any other child of their age. They have dreams of being engineers and doctors like any other child of their age. They are also the apple of their mothers’ eyes as any other child of their age. But one thing that separates them is that their mothers are a commodity unlike other mothers of the children of their age. She is traded in the market of sordid desires every night.

I know such is life… but why it is such?

They pretend to be gathering at a place for few days to discuss the plight of farmers. The farmers hope that this time they will provide solution for their debt-ridden lives.  They debate, they create din in the house in the name of solving the problem. Days pass by and at the end of the day the result is cipher. After sometime, the politicians get back to the froth in the tumbler, while the farmers get back to foam in their mouths.

I know such is life… but why it is such?

Once Upon a Time

Once upon a time, a human being decided to make a product. He collected all the materials necessary to create the product and started putting the materials in a combination so that it gets a form…a shape.

When the product was being created, it was extremely happy seeing every part of its coming together to give it a form.

Even if it was incomplete, it could sense the diligent efforts of its creator to make it complete. The painstaking concentration of its creator ensured that it will become a great product and will be a proud member of the pantheon of products that has helped human beings achieve their goals of life: be it ordinary or extraordinary.

By and by, the bits of its body were being put together and it was dreaming of a life that would be extremely useful for the mankind. It had dreams of getting into the history books for serving the mankind in the best way possible.

Towards the completion of its body, it felt a palpitation of something being weaved into its body. So, I have a heart now as well that can throb: thought the product.

The product was put in a case and was carried out of its workshop.

Now the product was really happy to have got a complete body and that too with a heart! Though, it was still clueless about its use.

 Anyways, it was hoping to reach its destination quickly so that it can get to know about its use and be satisfied that it served the mankind with its best of abilities.

Suddenly, the case was put down.  “Oh! My destination has arrived. Now my creator will get me out of the case and then the whole world will know about me. And I will go down in to the history books as the best of all time products that the mankind has ever experienced. Yippee!!! I will be taught about in Management Schools in Product Development Classes and one day I will emerge as an indomitable brand. I will be talked about among the best brains of marketing world, around the globe.  And I will have a long life!” dreamt the product.

This dream got broken by the increasing heartbeat (by the passing of every second) of its newly designed heart.

 What is it happening to me? My heartbeats seem to be pacing more than normal. It wanted to yell to its master for help. It cried: O! My creator, please help me get rid of this heavy heartbeat.

But its creator didn’t listen because he wasn’t there to listen. And its heart exploded!

And with its heart, exploded the emotions of compassion, kindness, and humanity on the earth. Instead of it becoming a source of happiness for mankind, it became a source of havoc to the mankind.

It was created as a bomb!

Against its wish, it was designed to rob the mankind of its peace and its dreams.

It cried out aloud and some part of humanity got silenced forever.

I love to love you

Image Courtesy: savingmyrelationship.org

My life was full of questions when I happened to find you. Your warmth, smile, and care touched me and absolved me of the pesky questions of life. You personified all the answers that I needed.

My life was full of confusion when I happened to meet you. Your reason, clarity, and vision helped me see through the clutter of confusion. You embodied all the intelligence that I needed.

My life was full of dejection when I happened to find you. Your magical words and gestures fashioned a pristine smile for my lips and dejection got into smithereens. You testified for all the hope that I needed.

My life was full of void when I happened to meet you.  Your presence and your essence filled that void and made me a person imbued with life. You rectified all errors in me and made me right.

My life was full of noise when I happened to find you. The tranquility of your eyes vanquished the noise of my life and weaved an utter calmness for my soul. You pacified all commotion by giving me your every emotion.

My life was full of sorrow when I happened to meet you. The bliss of your belief in life defeated the sorrow of my life. You showed that there is always a tomorrow that will expunge the sorrow. You painted a future for me that was full of rapture.

Can I do anything less than trying to love you? I love to live you, I love to love you.

R.I.P My Dream!

Image Courtesy: mindbodysmile.com

One day, as usual, I was running to earn my bread and suddenly something pricked one of my legs. I was in hurry, so neglected that prick. I kept on running. I Went to my work place and was busy there the whole day. Amid the din of livelihood, the mind couldn’t feel the pain of the prick the whole day. As usual, the day ended with its routine adjectives and I once again prepared myself to be a part of the restless throng in search of rest after a tiring day.

I got pushed by the power of the multitude to my house.

 I was tired to the core and fell flat on my bed with a thud. The numbness of fatigue kept me under its thrall for half an hour. When I got emancipated from the serfdom of fatigue, the sound of pain in my leg, knocked on the doors of my mind. I lifted my leg and when I looked the sole of my leg, I was stunned!

It was a piece of my dream that had pierced my sole.

 In the frantic race of life, I couldn’t give heed to the delicate dream of mine. And when it slipped from my mind and got into smithereens, I was so engrossed in the commotion of mundane life that I couldn’t hear the cries of my dream. It fell and got mutilated.

I stood up from the bed and ran as fast as I could in the direction of the busy square. Now it was quiet and away from the hustle bustle of mornings. I started looking for the other parts of my dream. Suddenly, my eyeballs noticed the bruised body of my dream. It was trampled badly by the legs of livelihood.

I lifted it on my palms, it was hardly breathing. However I tried to resuscitate life into it, I failed and my dream breathed its last before my eyes. It didn’t have any grievances from me that why I didn’t care for it? It just silently passed away, without blaming me.

I started sobbing but it didn’t care for my tears and evaporated in the sky: from where it had come. I couldn’t help it see the days of youth, my dream died young. R.I.P my dream!

God of Monetary Things!

What is God? Is it a feeling or an emotion? Perhaps it is both. God is alive as long as we believe it to be alive. It is alive as long as we wish it to be alive. And it is alive in those places where we believe it to be alive.

Once we stop believing, God stops to reside in those places. What remains is only a stationary stone.

But as long as we believe in God, there is a crowd around temples. And this crowd is mad to get a glimpse of their beloved God. Serpentine lines before a particular temple is proof that the God of that temple is real and all prayers are heard.

People frazzled with their daily situations seek the refuge of God to get reprieve from those situations.

But their problem only increases when brokers of God (i.e. Pujaris of Temples) trap them and exact several notes of rupees in the name of various pujas.  The real essence of God and devotion gets a beating when innocent devotees of God are cheated.

If God is sold and bought then the meaning of God dies. What remains is a rotten ritual!

I Am Sorry!

Image Courtesy: Google

I still have warmth of your smile (that once you gave me as a gift for becoming your friend) stashed away in closet of my heart. Today, when you seem aloof and away, I am trying hard to keep that warmth warm, as the coldness of time seems to have indomitable will to trounce me.

But I will fight the time tooth and nail and save the warmth at any cost.

I still have shimmer of your eyes frozen in my eyes that you gave me as assurance that you will never move away from my life. Now when you seem upset and angry with me, the storm of tears is wickedly smiling that they will wipe that shimmer off my eyes.

But I will fight the tears with every ounce of energy in my body to save the shimmer of your eyes etched in my eyes. Even if I need to cry badly, I will cry from my heart and shed drops of blood but will never allow tears to beat me.

I still have aroma of your personality ensconced in my soul. The stench of demonic episodes of life is trying hard to wear off the fragrance of your being.

But I will fight till my last breath to preserve the passion of your personality and delight of your demeanor that reside cozily in my soul and will give those episodes a tough fight.

If at any point in time you have been forced to doubt my sincerity to shield your feelings and memories, then it must have been because of any shortcomings of mine. And I am really sorry for that!

The Cage!

Image Courtesy: Google

It is a closed box with sliding doors that opens at regular intervals. It devours people in its belly and digests the fatigue and sweat of them and leaves the people squeezed like a mangle machine does. Here I am talking about the coaches of a metro train.

On a casual look, people hanging to the rods look like monkeys hanging to the rods in a cage. Packed to capacity, bodies get smashed to maximum limit. It is a miracle that you come out of it without dying of suffocation. When you get pressed heavily by other bodies, for a moment the breath seems to be deceiving you, but with grace of heavenly tolerance levels that Indians develop genetically, they resist these moments bravely. Gradually, the tough times of hard pressings pass by and a bit of space gets created when the train moves ahead.

Though the journey is far from a lovely experience, there seems hardly any grievance on the faces of commuters for a lack of comfortable journey. They are so deeply embattled with other problems that these perennial pushing and shoving have stopped to attract any attention. Like a flock of sheep they mount and alight the coaches, hardly ever thinking that they deserve a comfortable journey.

Any desire for improvement in the situation seems to have died down, though it is a fact that they are the same people who brought about a sea-change in the democratic horizon by forcing a long reigning party to abdicate the throne.

Warts and all, it is inhuman to see humans suffer from a plight that would give even animals a shudder down their spine.

But, with every chugging of the metro trains, life of the common person moves ahead as well and forgetting the wrestling of the morning he/she gets ready to wrestle again in the evening with the eagerness to reach home and meet that little daughter who is waiting for the father to bring chocolates and that stubborn son who wants only his mother to feed him.

That is why I cried…

Image Courtesy: Google

I know things have changed and I can never experience the past again,

And that is why I cried.

I know the Sun has set and I can never experience the day again,

And that is why I cried.

I know the flowers have wilted and I can never experience the same fragrance again,

And that is why I cried.

I know the leaves have fallen and I can never experience the same glorious tree again,

And that is why I cried.

I know the smiles have evaporated and I can never experience the same happiness again,

And that is why I cried.

Encore—No More!

Image Courtesy: Google

                                                          

Once again the guffaw of cruelty reverberated in Mumbai and silent became many smiles. Blood that is meant to paint life, painted roads. Innovations that are meant to save lives, primarily, snatched lives. 

Once again there is clamor that there is nothing to panic, so what that some people had to sleep forever; so what that some eyes will never see the light of the Sun again? We must not panic is the assurance.

Blasts after blasts, we have gone numb. It doesn’t matter to lose few more lives in blasts anymore. And that is why; we are lethargic in taking any action to protect the lives of the nation.

We have gone so numb that it has stopped to matter whether a culprit is punished or not. We have resigned everything to the will of the fate and act as an inanimate thing that is bereft of any reactionary powers.

Even if we try, we fail to create an impact.

If we don’t act as a responsible nation towards the threats that scare the existence of humanity, the history will remember us as a nation of weak minds.

Do we want to be remembered in a negative light by history? Surely not!

So, there should be no encore of the ghastly music of bombs that tears apart bodies and lives.

We must pledge to become voice for those who lost it in the attack and inform the mind of terrorism that we are prepared to stop any encore of its deadly dance!

Sycophancy: A form of art!

Art helps understand the proceedings of life in a manner that is deeper than our general viewpoints about life.  Art helps reincarnate situations from life and gives them a shape that human mind always desires for. Art is an escape from tumultuous ways of life and it has various forms: painting, dancing, singing...etc

You must be wondering how other different forms of art and sycophancy converges together. Look, as an escape from the rigorous demands of life to secure a job or to get a job done, sycophancy provides a subtle avenue that facilitates the process of a work.

Sycophancy has been practiced by human beings since eons and has been developed through ages to adapt to the changing times.

But alas! Despite all credentials to qualify as a stream of art, it is yet to be recognized as an art form. In India, it has flourished since the time of kings and queens and mainly sycophancy has been attached to the corridors of power.     

Sycophancy in India enjoys its place in esteemed quarters of politics, business, education, and sports. Despite enjoying the proximity to such distinguished sections of the society, I fail to understand that why it is still out of course curricula in India? The institute based on this subject should be floated. On the lines of IITs and IIMs, Indian Institute of Sycophancy (IIS) should get approval from our HRD ministry.

 This way the progress of the sycophancy as an art can be documented and the coming    generations can benefit a lot from past experiences. The preserved documents can reduce the amount of mental exercise to a great deal for future wannabe sycophants.

They will just have to apply the theories to derive a desired result for a given situation. And sycophancy as a stream will also flourish like other fields of academics. And equipped with scientific training in sycophancy, India will produce world class sycophants who will be unmatchable in their skills.

In the beginning any attempt to organize the valuable knowledge of sycophancy, in terms of an educational tool, will face opposition as other revolutionary doctrines of the world had to face. But a resolute stand on the part of the practicing sycophants of India can ensure that a strong educational citadel is built through legal ways and the IIS sees the light of the day as a proof of indelible existence of sycophants in this world.

Long live sycophancy!

Namaste Sir … Madam

When we enter the swanky malls and supermarkets, we get smitten by the razzmatazz of the environment. We splurge, we dine, and we have all sorts of fun that the money can buy and these malls can offer. We return with all material happiness bought by monetary elements.

When we return home, we indulge ourselves in the colors and odors of products bought. But not even by mistake we tend to indulge in thinking about the person who had greeted us by saying: Namaste Sir/Madam at the mall while we were entering.

( You might argue, is it necessary to think about that person? Well, I am not here to preach anything as to what is right or wrong, I am here just explaining how I feel.)

Greeting is an essential part of services marketing and this way customers feel more valued than without it. But often I have felt that when they greet us they lack the real essence of greeting a guest, which is greeting with happiness. And why is it?

I feel that they don’t feel connected to the materialistic opulence that the malls represent. Despite being an integral part of retail sector, they seem aloof from the prosperity that the sector churns out.

They seem completely unaffected by the retail boom in the country. And perhaps this is the reason that when they greet the customers they feel their lips strained to smile freely. And when they smile after an effort, it is bereft of warmth of a smile.

I don’t know, but I feel pain in their smile for being left behind in the race of the economy and for being only a sightseer of the progress of the country.

I understand everything is not possible for everybody to get, but I also understand how it feels to be so close to the prosperity but at the same time to be so far from it.  There should be efforts, on the part of the economy, to give a slice of economic happiness (that is balanced and reasonable in terms of social framework) to these greeters as well. So that when they greet they feel the warmth of greeting themselves as well.

P.S: This is entirely how I have felt about the situation, you might have experienced exact opposite situations with janitors of malls. And the article is restricted to and based only on my observation about the situation.

Feeling lonely lonely!

Image Courtesy: anshusinha5.blogspot.com

Missing those days when I was with you, missing those moments that I spent with you. Without you there is very few that interests me, there is hardly any hue that attracts me.

I feel my heart ruffled and eyes stifled. When I want to feel something, I find my heart- throb has gone numb and when I want to speak something, I find my eyes have gone dumb.

My mornings are eclipsed with the absence of yours and evenings are bereft of fragrance of yours. I feel as if marooned on an island where my only accompany is the distant hope of meeting with you again.

Today, when I had been to the garden, the flowers that once used to seem luscious, seemed languishing and the drops of dew that used to seem the drops of diamonds, seemed drops of tears -- shed from my heart.

The chirping of birds that once used to seem melody, seemed maddening with surly din. Looking at the moon, which used to seem fun, seemed utter sin.

Since when you have left, the sky is blanketed with cloud and the Sun is coiled in the gloom of it. Suddenly, the drops lurking in the lap of clouds started saying adieu and the existence of clouds were nowhere. When drops and clouds parted ways the Sun smiled with a villainous grin. I don’t know but I felt bad that clouds and drops had to part their ways.

I had never felt this way before!

Everything passes by in this world and these moments shall also, but will I meet you again? I want to keep my hopes alive so that I can live to meet you again!

Different Shades of Colors!

Colors are feast for eyes and fire for soul. They are blessings of nature and source for rapture. God sprinkled color on every part of the Universe: be it earth or sky; be it leaf or reef. God created life out of this universe and painted it with different emotions.  But, despite the artistic endeavors of God, there are some aspects of life that still need gallons of colors to look colorful.

I will dwell upon those ‘some’ aspects that still need to be colored.

His parents got charred in the fire that broke out in the slums due to electrical short circuit 6 months ago. Now he is literally on roads, he has been rendered orphan due to that incident. He had wanted to become an army-man and wanted to serve the country, but today he is an almsman. He feels humiliated. He feels rejected. Sometimes, snatching and pick pocketing also flit through his mind.   The colors of sanity have deserted him. The prosperity around him makes him frantic and insane. He misses his share of color of prosperity, his share of color of justice that is not there for him. I want his dreams to take flight of colors. I want his life to take flights of colors.

She resides in the backwaters of India and is away from the cries of Reservation for Women in Capital.  She was 10 when she became widow and 14 when she was smuggled to one of the metro cities of India. Her father was given the greed that she will get good food, shelter, and education in the city and in turn she will have to do some small domestic works.  The shelter she got was of a brothel and in the name of education and food she received abuses. One NGO with the help of city police rescued her and other girls like her. She was deported to her parents safely. But now she lives in incessant fear of the face of cities. Her heart and mind bears scars of that noxious experience -- even today when she is eighteen.  Another marriage seems impossible and white Saari seems to have become her skin. I want that Saari to have colors of rainbow. I want her life to have colors of flowers.

He toils hard in his fields to decorate the exorbitant Chinese plates with stark white grains of rice. Right from five star hotels to palatial resorts, everywhere the droplets of a peasant’s sweat is devoured in the form of rice, bread and vegetable, but hardly the squeaky clean plates of these places care about the plight of the farmer who is creator of these marvelous things that douse fire of  hunger . It is an irony that the person who colors others’ dream by helping them provide strength for body, dies strength-less and almost in the form of a skeleton. His harvests bring moolah in galore to others but he dies under the burden of unpaid loans and utter penury. I want to see color of opulence in his life, so that he also enjoys his hard work that brings happiness to the lives of millions.

Even after so many years of civilization, we as humans have not been able to give them their due. They born genderless and we become heartless. We call them Eunuchs or Hijras. They become part of our joy and we become part of their derision. They bless us and we make fun of them. Where is the color of respect in our civilization that can give them equal opportunity in a society? After all how long will they keep on suffering for a reason that is entirely not in their control? And after all how long will we keep belittling humanity by being happy in their distress? I want color of equality for them that make the word humanity more complete and full of heart.

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