The Scenes of My Life

Scene one:

There is a house beside the tranquil pond with swans splashing in it.  And I am sitting outside the house in a chair with legs splayed on the table across it, in an  evening intoxicated with the ruddiness of the setting Sun .The cool breeze carrying the fragrance of flowers  is touching my every pore and rejuvenating them. I want to soak up this ambience. No work, no worry, no hurry. Only flowers, fragrance and feathers.

Scene two:

It is the surface of the moon and I am wading through the garden of stars with different colors. Here I meet Chanda Mama and he tells me how he was waiting for me to take me through the orchard of chocolates and rivers of milk. He shows me the fairy with whom my mom had promised to marry me off. She is stunningly sultry. Chanda Mama leaves me be alone with her for few hours.  When I go close to her, the meaning of beauty gets a new definition. She embodies the word beauty in every inch of her body. Her juicy lips, curvaceous hips, fragrant hair and skin fare cast a spell on me. I am captive of her existence. I want to clutch her in my arms and become a part of her for the eternity.

Scene Three:

It is a night of Madhuvan, and an adolescent boy with a peacock feather sticking out at his turban is playing a flute. He is lord Krishna with his flute, creating magic and making all gopis (including Radha) and cows go mad for him. I have only heard about this musician’s ability to conjure up a spell that helps one  forget that is trivial(the temporal yearnings) and achieve that is magnanimous (spiritual acme), now I am watching him in person. The sound of his flute is so mellifluous that even sweetness of honey will feel ashamed. For the very first time in my life I am having a taste while listening to a sound. The dark and handsome lad is a sorcerer. When I lift my eyes up to the sky I see something that is unbelievable. The stars and the moon are dancing to the tune of the flute. And all planets are swaying in a rhythm to the sleight of the sound from a person who will recite one day verses to argue the meaning of life and death in this universe.

By now I must be sounding mad to you, but this is what I would like to be in the extra two hours that I get in a day. I would like to be mad and foolish and relinquishing all rational and reason to enjoy a part of life that I might never get to savor if I think practically. I would like to live all these scenes on daily basis with some variations of course to experience happiness that I might never taste amid the demand of the life to be rational and practical.

The way stains are good for cloths a bit of madness is good for mind!

P.S: This write-up is the part of a contest being held by Surf Excelmatic at Indiblogger.

The Journalism that Jars

Yesterday, I was watching the news on Zee News at 10 PM in Hindi. And it had its presenter: Punya Prasoon Bajpai.

There was news on the nose-diving plight of the Kingfisher Airlines. The presenter briefed about the news to the audience and entailed how the crony capitalism has been responsible for the deplorable state of the airline.

Mr. Bajpai was rubbing his palms frequently (that can be termed as his style) and making all roundabout sentences that he is famous for to make the audience understand the occult reality behind the Kingfisher’s plight.

What amazed me was the insensitivity with which he presented the news. He even sprinkled his inopportune smile on the news as well. Though his rubbing palms and inappropriate smile may sound natural and appropriate to many of his regular audiences, but to me it seemed out of the place.

 I mean as a news presenter he should be aware of the fact that such news has two aspects. One is related with the newswallahs being excited about being able to understand the nitty- gritty of a situation (good or bad) that is transpiring or transpired and other aspect is about those people who get affected by the activities related to the situation (news).

What I am trying to say is that when there are talks in the air about the Kingfisher Airlines being on the verge of shutting down, it directly means that there are people who will lose jobs. And such news should be tackled with utter care that it doesn’t hurt when it is informing.

I know that I am not a part of the intelligentsia that these senior journalists are, still I am of the opinion that such news demand sober and sensitive attitude. Patrakarita (Journalism) is not about only informing but also about how it is informing. Feeling elated that you have presented the news and used all your trademark sentences (without caring whether they are intelligible or not) is doing injustice to the responsibilities attached to presenting a news.

Digital age journalists should understand that it is not the omniscient-beard or the squeaky-clean suits that make a presenter worthwhile the job but the attitude adopted towards presenting the news-piece.

I think that the race of TRPs have squeezed the anxiety and restlessness (that a gloomy situation engenders) from the minds of people who were once regarded as thinkers on social upheavals (developments).

P.S: I don’t have anyone, be they relatives or friends, in the Kingfisher Airlines. I don’t have anything against Mr. Punya Prasoon Bajpai at personal level either. The views are just the outcome of the observation of a situation.

Air and Hair!

I have experienced some amazing and beautiful moments of human hair. Being air works to my benefit to know about the characters of a host of hairs to a tee.

When I breeze through the hair of a child, it makes me pure and innocent as well as the child itself. I get lost in the silky smoothness of cherubic hair. When I find myself unable to control my anger (that gets manifested in shape of storms on occasions), it is the innocence of these hairs that help me calm down.

When I breeze through the hair of teenagers, I get shiver. They have a tense hair. Tension of exams and their Ex-es is always entangled in those hairs. But you know what these hairs also swing with the dreams of future! I love the complex beauty of such hairs.

The hairs are at their raunchiest when their owner is in love.  They are, round the clock, in a trance that is away from any realization of time or space. To be part of such hairs is about losing one’s existence and becoming a part of the emotion-- called love-- that humankind has understood less but claims the opposite. Every curl and every swirl is smeared with fragrance of that person who has conquered the heart.

The hairs of parents, who are busy completing every ritual religiously of their daughter’s marriage, are quite an emotional one. Despite a dream getting shaped, the hairs are as much restless as the heart is. They have an amalgam of emotions entailing simultaneous grief and glee.

The grey hairs have twilight of time splattered over them. These hairs are embodiment of experience, struggle, and achievement: experience of the life, struggle of the world and achievement of the efforts. These hairs have a foresight that sees the end that is eternal yet inspiring to live on.

Love your hair because it expresses you in return. And its expression is its love for you. Indeed love is a two way street.

P.S: This article is a part of competition being held by Dove titled: Love is a two way street, love your hair and it loves you back.

A Part of You is mine!

Image Courtesy:dreamstime.com

Even if you are away, a part of your smile is still mine.

Even if you are not in my today, a part of your past is still mine.

I know you are not near, but a part of your fragrance is still with me,

I know you are not here, but a part of your essence is still with me.

Even if you are perfect now, a part of your dither is still mine,

Even if you are prudent now, a part of your error is still mine.

I know you run well now, but a part of your wobble is still with me,

I know you speak well now, but a part of your prattle is still with me.

Even if you are a star now, a part of your shine is still mine,

Even if you are popular now, a part of your oblivion is still mine.

Your Eyes and My Wish!

Little Sudeethi who inspired this post

I wish that your eyes savour every hue that nature has,

I wish that your eyes savour every new that future has.

I wish that your eyes ask questions that change the world,

I wish that your eyes bask situations that arrange your world.

I wish that your eyes see beyond the veneer of ordinary,

I wish that your eyes break through the layer of quandary.

I wish that your eyes witness flight of try,

I wish that your eyes witness height of sky.

A Magician’s Magic

Every time he put his ideas into the magical bag and chanted abracadabra, he brought out a new chapter in human evolution. He told you to keep eyes shut for a moment and when you opened the eyes at his behest after a few moments, you had entered a different age. Anybody save for a magician can hardly even think of wonders that he performed with sleight of his thoughts. Yes, Steve Jobs conjured up a magical lifestyle for people living in his age.

The word impossible never thought visiting the aisles of this magician’s mind fearing a brutal welcome. Passion and pluck defined the personality of the man who became legend and led the world to several awesome dawns. If it wasn’t for him, the technology would not have had experienced the emotions of utter restlessness and outright yearning from close quarters. The serpentine lines at the stores before the launch of his products are true testimony of it.

Whenever he thought, he created horizons that had rainbows full of future and fortune. It is wonderful to observe that how meticulously he designed our way of life. Always rapt in the world of software coding he devised new ways to make life enriched with a meaning that is very far from being mediocre and monotonous.

Now when the magician is sleeping, his magic is enchantingly awake and still making life unbelievable.

A Tiger that Roared and Routed!

The 22 Immutable Laws of Branding (A book by Al Ries and Laura Ries) stresses the importance of being first in the market. And first he was in giving the Indian team its true Indianness by dragging the Indian team out of the alleys of regionalism and factionalism. He was also first in snatching an overseas match and series victory for the country.

Yes you guessed it right, I am talking about Tiger Pataudi.

With so many firsts he remained an unparalleled character among his peers and juniors.

Difficulties are meant to rouse not to raze and Tiger Pataudi proved it right with his sheer diligence and dedication. Any lily-livered person would have chickned out of the game of the life but he remained and resisted.

 It was seriously no fun to face the speed of Griffiths and Halls with all body parts responding well and when it came to facing them minus one eye, it must have been a very daunting experience. But the indomitable zeal and a valiant heart compensated for the loss of one eye and he fashioned many golden chapters for himself and for India.

The Indian Cricket, which has been leveled several times with charges of nepotism and regionalism, can take a leaf out of Tiger’s book, who only gave weight to the welfare of Indian cricket and valued only meritocracy during his tenure as captain. Even if he belonged to the alleys of aristocracy, he very meticulously sewed the talent of middle class in the fabric of Indian cricket. The fruits of his efforts are being savored by Indian cricket today which has its stars from middle class families.

It was not only cricket that he played a part in but it was life in general as well that witnessed the magnanimity of his. Being a Nawab of Pataudi he ensured that the patchwork of Hindu-Muslim unity doesn’t get a beating in the area even in the worst of phases of religious upheaval in the country. He himself used to take part in Ramlila.  And this only goes to show that he could sense the subtlety and nuances of being human to a tee.

Now that he is enjoying an eternal sleep, his roar will continue to echo in the universe infinitely to make us remember that the tiger had sometime travelled on this earth and tried to make it a better place for   all those people whose lives he touched in person or otherwise!

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!

Sisters: Fountainhead of love and life

Image Courtesy: Google

Care and affection has personified in the shape of sisters. Whether they are elder or younger, the longing for their brothers refuge to recede. The unqualified and unconditional warmth that they proffer to their brothers is unparalleled in terms of relationships.

Irrespective of age, sisters understand and fulfill their responsibility to a tee. Even if she is a toddler of five or a dodderer of sixty, the level of love remains the same in her heart for her brother.  Despite making  several relationships in her journey of life -- such as being a wife to someone, being a sister or daughter-in-law to someone-- she never forgets that she is also a sister of someone and her love remains undivided and unscathed for her brother.

They are as delicate as the petals of a flower but will support you in your need of hour with toughness of a rock. They are like melodious note of a flute but will roar like a cloud when you are in a danger and save you. The fortitude and valor of sisters make feminine emotions sublime and on many occasions the hollow hubris of masculinity seems dwarf before them. Because women are sisters also, the womanhood gets a different angle of fondness that is as limitless as the bosom of the sky. 

The purity of care and sincerity of affection makes the role of a sister inimitable in a life of a brother. A sister never stops to be a sister even if a brother forgets to be a brother. And that is the beauty of being a sister.

People are lucky who have sisters because they can experience the love that is divine and care that is pure. The female feticide in our country makes many brothers bereft of this wonderful feeling of being in a cozy and lovely company of a sister. I hope some sense prevails on the psyche of Indian population and a day comes when the birth of a sister is not considered a curse in this country.

Happy Rakshabandhan!!!!!

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.

MAHANAYAK UTTAM KUMAR

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The life of luxury and decadence is characteristic of film stars. But when their existence gets adorned with utmost respect from their fans, their acting gets real and they become immortal and sublime.

Such is the case with the legend of Indian Cinema: Uttam Kumar. (I don’t want to categorize the Indian cinema with the tinge of regionalism such as Kollywood, Tollywood or Bollywood for that matter, India is one and for that very reason its cinematic endevours should be recognized as only Indian not Bengali, Tamil, Kannanda, Telugu or Hindi.)

In Kolkata, a metro station has been named after him.  The portraits and photographs of his, deck up the walls of the station. Every time, I see those pictures a sense of awe wraps me up. Mind you, I have hardly seen more than a film of his (and that is ‘Amanush’ in Hindi) and despite that his aura leaps out of the walls and catches me with utter charisma of its. His panache seems divine, his effect magical.

Every expression of his face emanates serenity and sincerity of his existence. His eyes, his lips, his cheeks, his forehead work in a synchronization to create a bewitching appeal.

The debonair, suave and uber-simple Uttam weaves a halo that seems enigmatically enchanting. You are certain to get the influence of a hangover after visiting the station.

No wonder he has been given the appellation of Mahanayak (The Great Hero). If he can cast a spell from his inanimate pictures, what used to happen when he used to come across his fans in blood and flesh! Indeed he is the great hero, because he speaks with his fans even with mute photographs of his.