SHE IS GRIT!

Pic Curtsy: http://www.rediff.com/getahead/slide-show/slide-show-1-achievers-i-have-seen-both-heaven-and-hell/20131025.htm#7

In a world where everything is between black and white and success and failure, human qualities of sham, deception, and shenanigans get glorified in a way that they seem more appropriate than the qualities of probity and honesty.

Gradually abnormal replaces normal.

No doubt, people do get success sans walking the path of integrity, but little by little their grouse from their self-fashioned lifestyle increases. They want more from life but they don’t get it. Suddenly, they stop to realize the beautiful essence of life itself. Blinded by bucks and surrounded by success, they start leading a life that is lifeless!

In such a scenario, Preethi Srinivasan comes to tell us that how important it is to honor a life that we have. I read about her at rediff.com and after reading about her I came to a conclusion that if courage could ever be personified, it would look identical to her.

When she smiles, she teaches us that how a gruesome guffaw of adversity can be silenced so calmly. Her soft-spoken but full- of- aplomb voice disagrees that uncertainties of life has capacity to decimate the zeal to survive. Her eyes have seen worst possible gloom, but still they have an effulgent glint in them that reminds us of her indomitable spirit.

Her unruffled persona seems to be making mockery of our seriousness for a restless psyche. Her theory of life management dwarfs all theories that we know about managing life.

They say that in every one of us there is a tiny part of God, but I think that in the persona of Preethi there is a colossal part of God, otherwise it is entirely impossible to go through so much and still be able smile. Through personalities like Preethi , God leaves its imprint on this universe.  In my opinion, God is about grit and Preethi is, every bit, grit personified!

P.S: Find more about Preethi at :1)  http://www.rediff.com/getahead/slide-show/slide-show-1-achievers-i-have-seen-both-heaven-and-hell/20131025.htm#9

                      

                                                  2) www.soulfree.org 

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My Plati-Numb Day of Love

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon in Kolkata. I was enjoying my spare time with a book of Paulo Coelho -- my intellectual diet. After some time, my parents came to my room and exhorted me to take my wife to show around the famous Dakhshineshwar temple.

“These people will never understand value of finishing a book,” I murmured in my mind.

Actually, it was a ploy of my parents to make me closer to my wife, whom I considered a misfit in my life. She was from a small town in Bihar and a fresher for the hustle and bustle of a metropolis like Kolkata. It was for, just, last two months that she was residing in the city. I felt she was backward as she didn’t know English and didn’t have any intellectual leanings. She didn’t understand even a wee bit of the debates on the T.V channels ranging from coalgate scams to elevation of Mr. Modi as a prime ministerial candidate.

Yes she was naïve, but this is what I abhorred most about her.

 I wanted a life partner who had at least a little intellectual inclination. But she had zilch of it. Whole day she kept herself busy with kitchen chores and tending to the needs of her in-laws. She was happily ignorant to the happenings of the world.

Anyways, after a lot of goading from my parents, willy-nilly, I conceded to take her for the “pilgrimage”.

By an auto we reached the Mahanayak Uttam Kumar Metro station.  Metro trains are cheaper than hiring a taxi in Kolkata, so it was an obvious choice.

There was a big throng at the station in the afternoon as the metros didn’t do rounds in the mornings of Sundays.

I bought tickets at the counter after standing for half an hour in the serpentine queue. I gave one ticket to my wife.  I was trying to be aloof from her and she had to almost run, on occasions, to match up with me. I wanted to make things uncomfortable for my wife so that she never dares to come out with me in future. This male domination mentality was in every ounce of me.

Soon it was announced that train was coming on the platform.  Multitude of people gathered in front of gates of the train to secure their seats.

As the train pulled up, the crowd bundled us into it. However hard I tried, I couldn’t secure any seats for us. Quickly the train doors slid closed and we got packed in the train.  In the process of entering the train my wife and I got separated. I was standing in the male dominated area and she was in the area where women were in larger numbers. In Kolkata metros this separation of male and female side gets created on its own for the convenience. This way, at least, the chances of eve teasing gets reduced.

The train chugged along and suddenly picked up its speed.  After 4-5 stations, the crowd got thinner and now I could see my wife from a distance in her blue saree standing by holding the bars attached to the roof of the train. I was thinking that the ordeal of metro journey would deter my wife from any future excursions with me. I was wickedly happy for this metro mayhem.

Suddenly there was an announcement that the train would not go ahead Park Street metro station ,as a suicide had taken place and passengers were advised to get down on the Park Street metro station.  As train pulled up at the station there was an unusual crowd waiting for us.

I got down from the train and stood at a side of the elevator, waiting for my wife. And after a few moments, there she came in the blue saree. “But where is she going?” I thought. I called her, Suman… Suman. But she didn’t listen. I was really angry at her indifferent attitude. What does she think of herself…. Queen of Kolkata who knows every nook and corner of the city? Now, I decided to walk up to her.

I tapped on her shoulder to attract her attention and when she turned towards me, my face turned pale. It was not Suman. I quickly apologized to the lady.

Now my mind went numb. I could only hear the wordless murmur of Bangla language and see the blurred human frames. My wife had got lost. I tried to search for her trudging through the rush of the station. But she was nowhere to be found.

“Did she get down on any earlier station mistaking someone else for me as I mistook someone else for her?” I thought. Several other ominous and scary things started flitting through my mind and suddenly it occurred to me to make a ring on her mobile. Shit! there was no signal in my mobile.  I kept the mobile back in my pocket and started scanning every female face frantically again.

“It was all my fault. Why didn’t I hold her hand in the crowd?” I was cursing myself. My all intellectual air and male ego had gone for a toss and I was feeling week and trembling inside, typical of any ordinary husband whose wife was missing. Now, it downed upon me that how meaningful she was in my life. Beneath my snobbish façade of the intellectuality, there was a heart of a commoner that throbs for its near and dear ones.  Now, I realized that I loved my wife despite her shortcomings (from my standards). Now I didn’t want her to be a sophisticated soul, I just wanted her, the way she was. “Please goddess, return my wife,” I prayed.

With all sorts of thoughts jumbled up in my mind, I came out of the station to ring her again. The phone was ringing but no reply. I grew more anxious.  After several attempts, I decided to go inside the station once again to give it my last try before going to police station. As I entered the station, I heard an announcement in Bangla and Hindi that had my name. It said: “Mr. Neeraj Kumar of Tollygunge, wherever you are please come to the control room, your wife is waiting.” I felt a new leash of life being pumped into my lungs. I ran crazily towards the control room.

As I entered the room, I madly scanned all around the room and when I turned to my left she was there in her blue saree, standing anxious but clam. I hugged her tightly. She got embarrassed of my gesture. But I didn’t care about the people around me at that time. My most precious thing was in my arms and I was a relieved man. With my choked up throat and teary eyes I thanked the control room officers and with my wife came out of the station.

That day, I came to know that knowing English and listening heated arguments on the burning topics of contemporary India was not all to be called an intellectual. An intellectual was one who handled his/her situation with a calm mind amid the adversity. And to my mind it was my wife who was intellectual on those moments of separation to summon up all her gumption, in a relatively foreign conditions (for her), and go to the control room and seek help.

Later, I came to know that in the pushing and shoving of the station throng, she had lost her mobile phone. But I had no qualms about that. I had my most precious thing with me and at that day I came to know what a platinum day of love is called. It was that day for me.

 I found my love that day: Platinum and Pristine.

I thanked Godess  Kali for my wife’s safe return to me and took a taxi direct to the Dakshineshwar Temple. For the rest of the day, I held her hand like a child who clings to his/her doll even while sleeping.

After return from the temple, I went with my wife to a jewelry shop and bought for her a gleaming Platinum Ring to etch that day indelibly on the timeline of our lives as a day of love!

P.S: This is a fictional account for a contest being held at www.indiblogger.in under title Platinum Day of Love.

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Obituary to Human Soul

There used to be an element called human soul under this firmament. It used to care about pain and emotions of human body and mind. Some ‘eons’ ago it died a brutal death. Now resides an uncouth and gruesome demon disguised as human soul in the human body. You must be wondering that this is a mad person’s blabber. But my argument is that had human soul not died, we would not have been witnessing incidents that outrage the modesty of womb that nurtures life… and that too, on daily basis.

Be it Delhi, Mumbai or name any sleepy corner of India the heinous crimes of rape happen everywhere. Reams are written and volumes are spoken about whys of such incidents. Psychologists, sociologists, social activists and news anchors try to revive the cold human soul by their heated arguments…but alas their efforts go in vain. The beast planted in the human body at the place of pure soul guffaws at all endeavours of intellectual minds to terminate its deadly intentions. It roars and devours one more body, tears one more life even before the talk shows on television get over.

Someone again feels that earth is hell; someone again feels that she is only flesh. Amid the blabber of talk shows and clatter of printing machines, the pain of being bereft of joys of life begins to disappear only to be replaced by a new pain.

What are you doing? Trying to raise an alarm? You fool, don’t you know we are a soft state, we will deal softly with everyone even if they try to defile the womb that is very reason for our existence and therefore should be sacrosanct.

Oh! You are trying to invoke life to the dead soul… no problem, try friend my prayers are with you.

The drought and the destiny!

Maharashtra houses Mumbai: the citadel of moolah. Famous film stars, sportstars, and business moguls all make an envious gang that any other city of India would love to cradle. Opulence is slave of this city. Some politicians of the state might give IIM alumni better ideas about running a business than Kotler .

Despite all positives ensconced in the state, its people are today bound to collect water from toilet of trains. People in general will feel squeamish about the use of water from toilet flush other than ablution of bottom. But hapless people from drought hit areas of Maharashtra are collecting water from toilets of trains crossing their place to quench their thirst and douse the hunger of their belly.

India is in the race of becoming a superpower. It has super brains that make the economy soar, it has intellectuals that can debate with their la- di -da english accent  at any international platform to prove how immaculately developed a nation we have become after the years of  independence.  Many a time they speak on the minute financial or strategic issue with such finesse that you can have an illusion of listening to an omniscient who has solutions to the world’s every problem. But how come their probing and piercing eyes overlooked the tragedy of drought hit region of our country?

India has enough rivers to quench the thirst of its children but despite the fact, today a part of the country is wailing silently due to dearth of water.

In the state that has glamour of film-stars, glimmer of sport-stars and gumption of political-stars, is it so difficult to bring relief to dry lands and perched throats? 

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The Fog

I have been stopped by ‘the fog’ in my journey. It is white in color. It is spotless and immaculate. But it intimidates me. It scotches my way further.  I had always associated fear with the color black, but today the white color of fog has scared me to death. My sight and vision had got paralyzed by the misty monster.

I am restless to reach my destination but being unable to hash the serpentine labyrinth of the fog. As I try to pass through it, my strength is sapped by its mighty power to make my eyes see nothing. I feel feeble trudging through the fog.

The formidable fog has blanketed my Sun. The Sun-rays are distant and aloof. I badly need its warmth to recover the numbness in my body given by the frosty fog. The fatigue has embalmed me.

Waiting eagerly for the wind to blow away this fog, so that I reach my destination safely. Join me in the waiting.

The Pebble and Me

One day, walking on the sandy beach of my destiny, I came across a pebble.  It was lurid, maligned, and caked with mud. I felt a connection with that stone. I picked that up and brushed off the mud attached to it and put that in my pocket.

You know that stone seemed as listless and lifeless as my efforts in life. And only because of these characteristics I felt attracted to it. In its submission to the mud I found an alter ego. Sometimes in life, the rains become so brutal that they create only mud around you. You get blanketed by suffocation and breathe only slushy repercussions of life.

I brought the stone home and put it on the table close to the window of my room. I felt in the vicinity of the window it will receive the sparkling sunshine and forget its muddy past.

Gradually, it showed signs of interest in life. It gained a certain shine that we humans have when we giggle.

I guess that its interaction with shiny sun, velvety moon ,and lovely wind had rejuvenated it. Sometimes, I had heard it rattle on the table as if someone was dancing with the wind.

I was proud of my decision to be able to give the pebble a rejuvenated leash of life.

Days passed by, I got busy with my mundane job while the pebble was enjoying its life well lying on the table. One day when I came back home in the evening, I found that the pebble was absent from its place. I combed every nook and corner of my room but it was not to be found.

Dejected, I went to the table where my dear pebble used to be. I was replete with water in my eyes. I thought, no one wants to remain with me, neither success nor the pebble. Seeing me crestfallen, a dove from a tree in the vicinity asked the reason. I explained it.

Then it told me that my dear pebble has become a Star,hanging in the sky, now. The dove continued telling that :" after coming from the mud, it developed a habit to dream. Lying on the table it used to dream about being a star in the sky. It got itself chiseled from the rays of the Sun to receive the brightness like a star. I donated it my wings and with the help of wind it learnt how to fly."

"It practiced hard every day when you were gone for your work and every night when you were asleep. I have never seen such determination in my whole life to fly.  And today when it made flight to reach the sky, it certainly did and joined the gleaming sheet of the sky. See upwards,it is smiling right up from the sky." indicated the white feathered dove.

I could not decipher my friend but if it had certainly reached that place then I should be happy for it and not feel dejected.

"The pebble was so sad that it could not bid you Good Bye but it told me to convey to you that how indebted it is for your help. It was you who had brought it out of the mud. One needs someone to get out of mud, so be proud of you dear that only because of you that pebble is a star now", informed the dove.

I guess it was its determinations instead of my help that has reached it at the place where it is now. But then it reminds me of my efforts and determination as well. Whether I am doing enough? I really don’t know.

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.

Kyra: The Perfect Lakm`e Girl.

The sea was tranquil and looked innocuous. The beads of sand gleamed in the blinding sun of May as minute diamonds scattered all along the beach. The wind was roasted in the heat of the sunrays but the shade from the palm tree provided a balmy relief. I was buried in the Paulo Coelho’s “Like the Flowing River”. Everything seemed smooth until a point when a shrill voice rattled my eardrum: “Please save my child… he is drowning!”

I ran towards the direction of voice. A small crowd had gathered around a frantic woman who was obviously the mother of the child. The sea had suddenly become rude and was hell-bent on devouring the child. Unfortunately, I am not a swimmer of any repute but when saw that no one was venturing to save the child, I moved ahead but was soon surpassed by a girl in her early twenties. She was quicker than me. My scrawny body got thrown back onto the seashore as soon as it dared the fierce force of the sea, but she kept on making headways deep in the sea and emerged with the boy , unscathed.

She resuscitated the boy and entrusted him to his mother. Everyone hailed the girl. Leaving the crowd behind, she disappeared after a while.

After an hour or so when I was taking a stroll I spotted the girl. She was making the garland with sea shells.

“Hello brave girl.”

“Hi!”

“I am Neeraj, may I know by which beautiful name this wonderful girl can be addressed?”

“I am Kyra.”

“Kyra… so you are enjoying  your vacations here?”

“No… I live here.” Said Kyra, spreading her hands around the beach.

“Here? You mean you live in a village nearby.”

“No, I mean I live here around this very beach… in the sea.”

“In the sea?” I asked startled.

“Yes, actually the Sea is my father and in the middle of it is an island where my home is.”

“What!”

“Don’t be so shocked Neeraj, this is true.”

“If Mr. Sea is your father then why did you plunge in it to save the boy, you could have yelled out and your father would have obliged.”

“The yelling can work on a normal person but not on an inebriated one.”

“Inebriated? I didn’t get.”

“Actually my father is addicted to moonlight and whenever he is high on moonlight he loses his senses.”

“Ok…I see.”  I said as I felt the sun heat unbearable. “Don’t you feel that you should make these garlands in shade, the sunlight is piercing?”

“No it doesn’t affect me.”

“How come?”

“Because I use Lakm`e Sun Expert, actually my boyfriend Dhruv who lives in the sky suggested me this to fight against the lecherous eyes of the Sun.”

“I feel really confused, Dhruv , lecherous eyes of The Sun… I am not getting it.”

“Look the thing is that once Sun had proposed to me but I spurned his proposal because I was already in love with my soothing and dashing  Star Dhruv and this didn’t go down very well with the Sun and he started pestering me with his prickly rays, then my Dhruv suggested me Lakm`e Sun Expert, now I fear not the scorching Sun.”

“Oh! So love showed you the way to fight against the lethal sunrays, I guess you should share your experience with other girls as well.”

“Why don’t you tell about this… you are a blogger right! Tell the world about my experience with Lakme` Sun Expert through your blog.”

“How do you know that I am a blogger?”

She didn’t answer my question and just kept smiling. It was the time for the Sun to set and a crimson sky was beckoning the arrival of the stars of evening on the sky.

“It is time for me to meet my Dhruv… I have got to get ready, come to my home on the island sometime, you will like the place.” Said Kyra and disappeared with the speed of gusty wind in the direction of the sea and towards the place where her home, her island was.

P.S: This is an entry to a contest being held by Indiblogger.in and Lakm`e. Visit here to unravel the beauty secrets: www.facebook.com/ilovelakme

The Internal Matter

They say we are Hindus and should go to India and should not desecrate their land; for India we are Pakistanis and are internal matter of Pakistan. Our ancestors chose to stay back in Pakistan even after the partition, for they didn’t want to get themselves dismembered from their soil.

In the soil …root of people breaths, in the soil… images of past mirrors, in the soil …love of a mother adheres… but when soil becomes sand… it is wafted away by the cruel winds of time and then their remains only callous stones beneath the soles of legs. All recognition of you is obliterated by the gust of time.

So, now time has changed, we are strangers to our own soil. We have our homes but we don’t have possessions to them now. The tents of refugee camps are our recourse to fight against the gruesome realities of nature.

Amid the questions of whose internal matter we are, the internal matter of our dignity and existence is scared.  We had a past, and that is why we have this present but we are horribly clueless about any future. Thus the internal matter of existing at all is in danger. To exist eternally through the progeny is longing of all mortals, but ours is a question to survive the moment… to talk about future of future generations seems a joke at present.

It is said that God is present everywhere but our God seems to have got incarcerated within the walls of a temple in Pakistan. That is why perhaps even he is unable to come to our rescue. But is God also a Hindustani and a Pakistani? Has he also left us because now we are in India? And is it that Gods residing in the temples of India also feel that we are internal matter of the Gods residing in the temples of Pakistan?

P.S: The post and pictures of the post have their root at this link: http://news.in.msn.com/exclusives/it/it_photoviewer.aspx?cp-documentid=250003279&page=7#image=2

  

I Bow Before You!

I bow before you, for I am weak;

I bow before you, for my thoughts reek.

I bow before you, for I am frustrated;

I bow before you, for I am devastated.

I bow before you, for I feel heavy;

I bow before you, for my eyes feel soggy.

I bow before you, for I am tired;

I bow before you, for I am mired.

I bow before you, for I want only calm;

I bow before you, for only you won’t harm.

My Bike, My Blabber!

I am an oldie, you might call me fogey who blabbers, but here I am telling you about my experience with my bike.  So, be patient with my blabbers.

In my days there were no swanky and designer bikes. In my time we had Rajdoot:  Ek  Jandar sawari ,shandar sawari. Though there were others as Yezdi and Bullet as well but I liked it the most.

I still remember vividly when I had brought home my Rajdoot with the savings and some loan from my father after completion of two years of my job in bank.  It was very first experience of my family members as well to call a locomotive of their own.My father traversed mostly on his bicycle to his job and for the odd jobs of the house, for other things we used public transport.  Now we had cut down on the public transport, heavily. Now  I started  going to  office on my bike.  I used to take my parents on my bike to parks, temples, and doctors. Now we were reaching faster to our destinations and that too without any pushing and shoving of public transport.

I used to feel like real Dharmedra whenever my wife was a pillion rider. But I never went berserk with speed to show off. I was a calmed version of  Dharmendra: Full in emotion but balanced in energy. In those days getting some time alone with wife used to be a real luxury in Lucknow. I used to make pretext that I had an invitation from a friend and going to his house, while in reality we used to go to movies. It used to be a sheer experience watching movies like Jugnu,Charas with my real life Hema Malini  in the old time movie theatres that were far cry from today’s multiplexes. 

Gradually time passed and we got blessed with two lovely daughters. I gave them ride to their nursery… to their colleges. My bike has been part of their jitters before an exam and their giggles after the exam. Whenever they fell ill, my bike worked like ambulance for them as well. Once my youngest daughter had severe toothache while she was 4 years old and she was crying like hell. I made her sit on the petrol tank of the bike and rushed her to the doc. But when I reached, I saw that clinic had still half an hour to open. Amid the uproar, created in my mind by the tears of my daughter, I had forgotten to notice that my daughter who was crying badly some minutes ago had a light smile on her face. The ride of Rajdoot had worked as a therapeutic element.  I gave her ride on my bike for another 20 minutes before coming to the clinic. I always felt weak when my daughters cried, I am thankful to my bike for making them smile.

Times changed… many new models and brands of bikes started running on the roads of India, and my Rajdoot grew an oldie with me. Now with the change in the design of the bikes, the change in the style of motorbiking came as well. Now it was time of youth who were ready to touch the sky with the fierce celerity of their bikes on roads. I meet several youngsters taking over me on roads, everyday, with a feeling of “king of the road”. Today also I met one king of the road, on the road. I have brought him to a near- by hospital and now some neurosurgeons are operating him for a serious brain injury. I sit outside the O.T praying for positive news. Join me in the prayer.

P.S: This post is a fictional attempt and an entry to a contest being run by Castrol Power1 @ indiblogger.in.  Feel the pulse of biking @:http://www.facebook.com/CastrolBiking

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.