As alcohol went inside his veins,
Slowly blurring the excellent vision he had,
Deepening the sense of judgment,
He still drove away,
Away from the excitement of the city,
Away from the scars of the life he couldn’t call his own,
The lit brothels that sometimes brought him satisfaction,
The gory eyes of all those who had expected something from him,
The lights on his car scurring along the curves of the road,
The loud music that had somehow concealed the havoc inside his heart that he had lost track of,
He stopped alongside the road,
Winded down the windows so that he could feel the cold wind on his skin,
And closed his eyes to feel what it was like to be alive,
Took out a cigarette that he had brought from tiny hands,
First puff, second puff, last cigarette,
The stars seem a lot closer than before,
He told himself,
Sat down on the edge of the cliff,
You win today, he cried out loud,
Got up,
But tomorrow shall be mine,
He said while moving back to the same city he had escaped from,
Alcohol had brought him to his senses……..

Who is your God? 

God, the mighty creator of the world. The one force we all look upon to guide the drowning ship of our lives to paradise,  The one we wish things to become reality, the one we adore, the one we respect, the one we fear. Is God a being, a force or something else? 

Some days ago in the night around 11 my father’s phone rang. A patient he had operated in the day had gone serious. My father told us this and said that he had to go see the patient. He was too tired so I went along with him and took the steering wheel. Our house is about 15 kms from the hospital so it took us sometime to reach. It was cold so my father ordered me to come along with him. We parked the car and went inside. The family of the patient was already too stressed as I could see. My father was calm and asked them not to worry. His junior came upto him running and they started talking something I had no idea about. I took a seat in the hallway. There was silence there except the occasional phone call that the family was receiving. People were sleeping on the floor, some were sitting on the chairs talking maybe about themselves or maybe the people that they had in mind. There were people who brought cups of tea for the family that was present there, some even shared a laughter on a newspaper clipping, while some indulged themselves in heavy doses of self proclaimed nationalism. I was fast falling asleep as I had a sumptuous dinner and the tiredness of the day was getting to me. I closed my eyes and slept only to be woken up by my phone. My mother had called me to inquire what had happened. I slept for two straight hours! I told her that my father was still in the operation theatre. Time passed, slowly for the family of the patient. After six hours he came out. The family was curious about the condition of their beloved. They encircled him and were curiously listening to him. 

He will be okay.” he said and all of them had a smile on their faces. One very young man almost the same age as me came upto him and said, “Sir, if you were not here, I would have lost my father. You are our God.” he came and touched my father’s feet. The whole family followed suit. He didn’t like and tried to resist but he was overshadowed by their love. 

He will wake up in the noon. Take care of him. And I am just a normal being. I just did my job. ” he said and asked for permission to leave. He came upto me and said,”  Sorry Son you had to wait because of me.” “No problem Papa. I had my sleep.” I said. 

We went to the car while he talked to his juniors and briefed them about what had to be done. I started driving and he slept on the seat next to me. We reached home, it was the crack of dawn. He went in his room and slept. I went to my room and immediately dozed off. I woke up after sometime to check on him. He was already at his work back at the hospital. 

This whole incident did something to me. 

God, the mighty creator of the world. The one force we all look upon to guide the drowning ship of our lives to paradise,  The one we wish things to become reality, the one we adore, the one we respect, the one we fear. Is God a being, a force or something else? 

Life began on earth some 3.8 billion years ago. It was rather simple, single celled organisms that had first made earth their habitat. More complex forms of life followed to the present, now forms of life we see all around. At the start of human life, it was mainly dedicated to gathering and hunting for food. Their day would start with the Sun and would end with the Sun. Survival was the sole purpose of their lives. The invention of fire brought a new horizon to the then humans, who before fire were living just like their other animals counterparts. Eating raw. Fire allowed them to cook and their play with food began. Fire also allowed them to be awake in the night as now they had their own Portable Sun. Done with the daily agenda of the day(in this case hunting, gathering, eating) they would have sat and tried to have a conversation (although understanding their language would be very difficult, I shall try to, with improvisations on their language. 😉 ). 

Man 1– hoo hahaa jrr hohoho heee ha. 
(bro, I think we need to clear the cave of the  big rocks) 
Man 2– okokok wiii ka napa  kaaaa hoo.
(It takes a lot of time. And my wife wanted me to get her a new leopard  hide. It’s new fashion.) 
Man 1– eeeee vaaa nnaa. 
(oh bro I understand. I’ll think of something. Don’t get eaten up bro.) 

Those big blocks of stones couldn’t have been moved if not for the invention of wheel. With wheel, men, material, ideas and ideologies traveled to far off places and humans would have felt that they want to do something other than just gathering, hunting and eating. There would have been times when they would fear something. The roary weather, lighting or days when they couldn’t find food, faced an issue with health or lost someone they adored. That’s when they would have started to believe in something that existed not among them -a power that would help them when they sought out to it. Something undefined, supernatural. They would have prayed to it and the weather would have cleared, naturally or they might have found a dead animal to eat or a simple vomit would have cured them. They would have attributed this to some extraordinary power as they would have thought it responded to their grievances. 

A saying from a mouth reaches the other ear with the many additions from every ear it enters. Just the way the concept of God would have come into existence. God is the Creator, Destroyer of the world. He is omniscient, omnipotent, eternal, universal and absolute. He created man in his image. God is this universe. He has created this world. Everyone ends up in God. He punishes you for your sins. He will cast you to Hell if you don’t respect his disciples. He  watches over you. God is ultimate. God is true.

Where is God? More importantly what is God? 

Experiments of man with the God brought up the many traditions we see around. The growth of all ideas, the spectacular structures we see around, the rich heritage, the scrolls, the books, art and what not. Even birth of  Science can be attributed to the concept of God. God is the universe. The process of Thesis and Antithesis brought many changes and many developments to the now grown tree of knowledge which once was an unplanted seed. 

Philosophers of all times and ages have tried defining God. But what I think, God is subjective. He or she or maybe it,  varies from person to person, place to place, time to time. 

Human tendency is such that we tend to put the blame of our problems or sticky situations to sometimes destiny or maybe sometimes the God. We try finding a source of happiness, an approval to our actions by attributing those actions as the will of someone supreme, God. Think this. How many times have you thanked the God for a wonderful day or a wonderful meal that’s on your plate. How many times have you asked him to absolve you from your sins, your sickness. 

For the people who don’t believe in God, this concept is really termed as amusing. As how can people trust someone or something they can’t even see or perceive. They believe in the moment, pleasure although not only physical pleasure but a more happiness causing one,  being their only motive. People like Carvaka who dared to think this in the 6th century were looked down upon and were mocked, even prosecuted by the self proclaimed disciples of God. 

If God had existed and if he was the one just and loving, why would he want something he had created to perish. If he wanted them to let them live on his conditions, why would he had given each of us an independent mind, different body structures, capabilites and talents. Don’t you think world would be mundane place with all the similarities? 

Sometimes in my home, when my mother recites a hymn or reads to me a scripture considered auspicious, I just listen, to admire the  amount of work the writer had put in. My parents know that when they would ask me to bow down in front of the statues in temples, I may refuse because they know I am little too logical. But I don’t revolt because as I did say already. Concept of God is purely subjective. I do that just to please them. I would be highly dishonest if I say that I am not frightened or sometimes I am not down, needing a ray of hope. Those are the times I seek some force to calm my inner self. Music, writing, my pen is a big relief in times such as these. But the best medicine is the image of my parents and my brother that just creates an explosion in my mind. A very happy explosion that just casts away all the darkness.

My conversations with God are an extended version of my conversations with myself for I believe if God was to exist, he would have existed in every atom of the universe. When I am down, I curse myself to be in that situation for that much time. I believe in the present. Past as an instrument to mock someone would be wasting the precious moment. Nobody knows what conditions lead to something or the other and above all who are we to judge a person by their past. If past had to be used as an argument, Ravan, the highly intelligent, the wise and the mighty wouldn’t have gathered a more maligned image than the one he has in Ramayan. 

Whenever joy, my still to grow Labrador sleeps, I see his legs moving, sometimes he barks at objects in his sleep. What would he dream of? Who would his God be? The answer would become very clear the next day when he in the morning seeing my mother move, he jumps on her and wakes her up. His universe is our home. His God is mortal. 

My faith in God dwindled when I saw my grandmother dying infront of me. She was the strongest woman I had seen. Medical science had lost hope. To God I turned. And then she went away from me. 

We all are mortals. We will turn to soil someday. Why waste time in believing in something that doesn’t exist? That’s what I thought. 

But then God is purely subjective. I may sound as an atheist. Not believing in the will of God and the theory of karma or anything else. But I seek positive vibes which everything or anything or any person gives out. I find solace in the peaceful surroundings of a temple that is perfect for meditation, to have a conversation with yourself, to listen to yourself. I am fond of these places because of the energy they give out. People say that karma exists and that you will reap what you sow. But I believe why should one think of things that they have already done. Nothing can be done about it. The only thing that matters is how you act in the present which definitely should be done to avoid the mistakes done earlier.  Do good not to please anyone but to come home after a long day of work and be able to look in the mirror. The world doesn’t care what have you done or what will you do. They all have problems of their own. But the only person that matters the most is the one person in the mirror. Do good things so that you don’t get to say, I could have done that thing or I could have been an agent of change.

Be the change you want to see in the world. 

Now the question this article asks. Who is your God?

My answer is quite simple. I don’t think except my parents and my brother anyone or any God  can give anything more. So for me, every day to whom I come back home to, they are my God. And that’s the religion I will always follow. 

If you are ready to answer, go ahead. Ask yourself. 

Who is your God? 

For you!

10 minutes of a sweet pie… 

I picked up the phone. 
Something was to be done about the many thoughts going in my mind. 
I dialed the number and waited for her to pick it up. 
For the first time I talked and she listened. 
I told her everything, she listened patiently. 
My mind was now clear of all thoughts. 
She spoke in a voice so sweet.
And I was immediately happy. 
A voice so beautiful, I had a chance to hear. 
She then said, in that sweet voice, a sweet pie. 
Your internet connection will be soon restored. Thank you for calling the customer care. I hope you have a wonderful day. 

It was a dream come true. 

Hello There…!!!

I have never done this kind of post before and I think it’s high time I do one. (Or I’ll keep on procrastinating this.)

Hi, I am Kumar Harsh. I am a Civil Engineer (Although an Accidental One ;-)) and currently trying my hand at everything ( I guess 22 previous years were a rather mundane one). Serious writing came to me when one day a friend of mine suggested me to start a blog and here I am. wp_002098

I have lived at many places ( owing to the God’s Plan to not let me settle at a place) which has made me like every place and I have a rather wandering spirit. I have seen places which I had dreams of and places where entry was restricted( almost making me run for my life. haha). My love for trying out new things have made my room a collection of many things (including a number of books which I haven’t yet read).  I used to be a chubby kid once( I still am but a little less than before. haha) then I got into a gym and the rest is History.(Miracles Happen! haha) It was the gym that made me develop some good habits that made me control my eating habits(Although I still can finish an entire pizza by myself and still be hungry for more. My soul feeds on Junk food. But more particularly food.) The first thing I tried to learn was Bhangra( An Indian Form of dance.) It was a fun exercise. Also I took some classes Of Salsa( But my fear of the Other gender made me abstain from it.) It was the first time I ever held the hand of a girl.(Yes, I admit. I am still terrible with people other than of the same gender as me. 😦 )


And then I wanted to learn a new language and I did it. I am addicted to some brands and more of a brand person loyal to a particular brand. Be it clothes, accessories or even cameras, if I love one brand nothing comes in my way. But I am always open to trying out new things.

Recently me and my friend, we got a liking for Tennis and let me tell you its an amazing game. Although I am not a master but I love playing it.


I also have a penchant for driving and have driven sometimes even a complete day. But the only requirement is that Music should be playing loud in the background. Oh and by music, music is my second love( first would be food because without food i cannot function). At Home, I have a variety of instruments ranging from a violin, a guitar, flutes, tabla and I am in talks with the High Command( In this case my father) to get a harmonium or a piano.


You all must be wondering why I have attached so many pictures of me in this post. Well I wanted you people to see what the power of change can do (just kidding, it looked cool. haha)

These are some of the transformations I tried on myself. The last ones were really difficult. I feared of being thrown out of the house. My parents don’t consider me as their son. I am now of a religion different as them.(That’t what they say when I go with them for any function) But I am really stubborn and do things any way.

so,this was a little of me. You’ll find more on the journey with me.

Leave a comment below. I am sure we must have something in common. Who knows we might click. As I did with so many wonderful people I found here. 🙂


Thank You for all the love and support. Without YOU this was not possible.



See that hot chick, she gave me a hint.

As I prepared to get on a busy Metro train after a tiring day at work I saw an extremely beautiful woman standing next in the line to me. My friend was standing along with me and he looked at her and exchanged looks. He passed a smile and so did she. 

He immediately turned to me and said, “See that hot chick, she gave me a hint.” 

As the train came I focussed all my energy on getting on it but my friend had a devilish smile. We got on it somehow and my friend left me to go after her. He came back after sometime. 

His face was red and he seemed a little upset. “All of them are Bi****s.” He said and I was a bit taken back. “What happened?” I asked and he was too angry to speak. Later on I got to know that when he approached the girl, she wasn’t interested in something of more personal. 

He continued, “Why did she gave me a hint if she did not want to do something?” 

I had no answer as I was never given such a hint ever before. The next day at the office, there was a party that was organised by the seniors who were leaving the company. Everyone was invited, so we went there too. There was as usual drinking of all sorts and every kind of thing one may find in a party such like this. Everyone was in the mood, even the girls of our office. 

I bet if I ask her to go with me, she won’t say no.” said my other friend who was with me and drinking. ” Girls from good family don’t do such type of things. They don’t party or wear such short clothes.” 

I came from a family where I and my sister were treated both as equals. My sister has been a part of the tennis team for almost all her schooling and college life. And I have always seen her dressed in the most comfortable clothes as possible. No one ever objected. Not my parents and I never listened to the ones except them. I have a habit of calling my mother every night before I sleep so she knows that I had dinner. If I don’t call her she cannot sleep. I had told her before of my party and she had asked me to take care. I called her first thing in the morning and she could guess with my voice that something was wrong.

What happened Karun?” she asked.

“nothing Ma.” I said.

“Take Care and have healthy food.” she said and I started to get ready for my office. But checked to find out that it was a holiday that day.

I rang up my sister who lived in other city. She picked up the phone and answered. “How are you little brother? Did you find a Girlfriend? Was her somewhat satirical comment she always would make on me.

“Who needs one when I have you?” I said and she melted. 

“What do you want” she asked and I had some questions which I need answers to.

“Did you ever give a hint?”  I asked.

“What do you mean?” 

“Did you ever gave a smile at a stranger when they smiled at you because that’s a hint?”

She didn’t answer me but asked me to meet her the weekend she would come to home. 

It was a day after we met at the house. Something had caused between us because of that conversation and she didn’t talk to me the way she talked. My mother was the first to notice and she immediately pointed out. “Nothing Ma”  my sister saved us, the way she always did. We both got comfortable and after  healthy chat we went to our rooms. My sister came to my room and sat besides me.  

“I am sorry if i hurt you.” I said. 

“I think I never had this talk with you before. I guess we should have talked about this before.” she said while adjusting the covers of my pillow. 

” Do you remember the day when I came back from the school and went straight to my room and didn’t open until Ma came, When after college Papa was so furious he almost was red with anger, when I came back from practice and the next day changed my location. Those were somethings a smile cost me or something people termed as a hint. “

There are at times when the sentiments of the moment take your tongue away and nothing can fill that silence except the sound of two beating hearts. 

I wasn’t sure what to say so I stood up and held her hand as she held the pillow tight in her palms.”It’s Okay Didi “,  I said and she just tapped my shoulder. 

You know Karun, I want to cry”, she said as she saw tears rolling down my eyes. “I feel sometimes do I commit a crime by asking for what I want to be or what or how I want to express. Why is that such a simple emotion of smile is interpreted in such different ways. Have we lost the sanctity of human emotions.”

I had never seen her like that before. She was the strongest person I had ever seen. Stronger than my father, than my mother. She was my guardian, my angel, my God. She cried like a baby that day and I wiped her tears. She wiped mine. 

I took the pillow from her which by now was strangled to death by those long held back emotions, which couldn’t see the light of the day because she wasn’t of a sex that the world wanted her to be. 

Didi”, I said “What you have achieved I don’t think I would be ever able to achieve that. My respect for you is always something I won’t ever be able to explain.” 

She moved her face towards me and said, “I know little brother.” and went out of the room smiling. 

I have always respected living beings just because of the two women in my house and my father who always taught me to treat a living as a living being first and then think of any other thing. 

My holidays ended and I went back to my city for my job. The daily routine started and I headed back to my office. I met my friend on the way and we shook hands and proceeded towards the station. We saw a beautiful woman yet again and saw her in an different dress we were used to. 

She definitely must be that type of girl.” my friend said to which I replied. ” That’s a great talent brother. When you can judge a person by their clothes, I think you must be interviewing the top most positions. The country needs people like you who can judge a person’s character by their clothes.” He couldn’t make an eye contact with me for the entire day. 

Back at office I got busy in the official work and took a break to get a cup of coffee. A lot can happen over coffee, I had seen a TV ad someday. I got to see it happen that day. 

You know Karun”, my floor manager came to me and said, “I have heard that our group mate is interested in you. She was asking about where you belonged and where do you live and how are you.”

“Oh is it.” I was excited as I had a liking for her. 

“But Karun, I will advice you to stay away from her. She drinks and parties. I don’t think she has a character one can rely upon. ” the Floor Manager commented. 

” Sir, have you seen a cuckoo bird. She sings so melodious. But she invades another nest, kills their kids and make it a home for her children. When someone so melodious can be so evil, we still are humans. And I think we have an evolutionary advantage of a better mind. Perception may not always be true. ” I told him politely. 

What you read above was all fictional. But I wrote this story with authenticity of emotions and sentiments. It has always been said that we need to save our girls so that they are safe. But the reality is, the girls can be safe only when our boys are taught to save themselves. We need to save our boys. We need to realise that a NO means No and that a simple smile isn’t an invitation for any type of favour. Respect a being for it is living first, then comes the purity of their heart. If one can see beyond the purity of heart then I don’t think that person will ever be deceived. Clothing is an expression of the mind and it should not be linked with the character of a person because character is something you make over the years. You don’t change it because it is old fashioned. Drinking has always been associated as wrong for women but not for some men who find it a matter of pride to drink. There is this popular TV ad about a scooter that has a tag line why should boys have all the fun. Indeed. Why should they when everything here is made for everyone here. Why is clothing or drinking or partying or even smiling considered a mark of bad character. Shouldn’t we look beyond them? 


The prompt for this post came from an excellent movie titled ‘Pink’ by Shoojit Sircar. I would highly recommend watching this movie. 

I now see a beautiful girl smiling at me. Is she giving me a hint? 

What do you say?  Should I take her home? Or should I go upto her and grab her hand? Or maybe if she rejects me I can go and throw acid on her? Will my manhood be questioned if she rejects me? What if she wishes more than to be someone’s wife? Should I strangle her and call it a suicide? Or beat her until she suppresses her emotions? 

Or maybe it could be a start of a beautiful friendship.. 

You tell me. Should I proceed? 

My Mother Lies…… 

The title of this post may seem a bit weird to everyone who reads this. But what today I am going to say is the truth- My Mother Lies!

How can one expect someone so sacred as a mother to lie and that too to her own blood. This may sound strange, maybe upsetting to many. But as hard as it sounds, my mother lies.. 

I have only heard stories from her and my father how I was brought up and how we are what we are. I remember not Vividly but still in pieces. Since the day I had an intelligence to take decisions (which mostly included which junk food to go in for), I remember my mother lying to me. The first thing that I remember was that she told me whenever I used to take out my red shiny tricycle(which I mostly dragged) to ride it in the neighborhood. It was about the man who will come and take me away with him in his big bag which was full of children who never listened to their mothers. I went outside most of the times. That man never came. But my mother did and whenever she came I was rewarded with salt and sweet. Later she applied some cream on my red cheeks and would give me a small candy that she used to put in that highest shelf which I couldn’t reach. Whenever I asked for one, she would say that I will lose all my teeth and will never grow them back. I remember getting the candy once when no one was around. The whole almirah came down with it and so did my teeth. I remember having a fist fight with my brother and some of them falling with it. I later took them out on by one(I was an adventurous kid) That man never came but my mother was always there. She thrashed both of us to make us sit and then would say. If both of you don’t sit in one place I will call the teacher and tell her that you have been a bad kid. We feared our teacher. She used to search for us when she was mad. We were the popular punching bags of the class. So we sat down maybe for a second. She came sprinting towards to separate us. We were fighting like cats. 

I had a very bad habit of sucking my fingers(they tasted so good). So one day she told me. If you do it one more time, your fingers would dissolve and would no longer be there. I knew this won’t happen. So I continued doing it. But when she saw me, I did not feel my fingers for sometime. I think that was the closest i got to losing my fingers.

Whenever we were out and she and my father were tired of carrying me, they would lay me and my brother down and make us walk. They would say just around the corner is our destination. The destination came but I remember seeing them tired and exhausted and yes the destination was not always around the corner. 

My parents had to work very much with the food I took. I was a spoilt kid and yes I never did eat the good stuff. My mother devised something. She made pizza one day. And she put in it Spinach and everything green. I ate it. But now pizza is ordered from outside. I now don’t allow her to make pizza at home. 

As I grew up her lies became even more profound and well thought. She used to give a lot of thought in telling a lie so that we are tricked into believing her. 

One day while we were out for dinner, I looked at her and asked her if she wants that last slice of pizza. She said she was full. I later saw her eating the various things she keeps in those small little boxes. When I asked her why didn’t she eat it. She said she didn’t liked Pizza. She likes extra seasoning and wants her pizza to be extra spicy, now I know. These days were one of the many. You see how clever and cunning she has become. 

My mother has a habit of eating all of the food that was made a day before. I always ask her why she does that. And she always say, the food of the previous day tastes good. And when I started doing the same, she started throwing it away. 

Recently she got ill and I was scared. I didn’t knew what to do but didn’t tell anyone. You see company affects you. I lied that I was okay when on the inside I was breaking walls. While I took her to the hospital, she said nothing. When she came back, she said she was fine. The only thing I did was didn’t listen. I closed the door to her room and took her phone with me. She had the best sleep. Later in the day, she came out the bed as my father was making dinner. She came all the way to the kitchen and started arranging things. None of us said a word. We stopped doing what we’re doing. I am fine she said. We know, all three of us said and she went back to the bed. She slept like a baby only to be woken up by the morning alarm. She was preparing the lunch boxes for all of us. When I asked why did she come out. She said, how could I have let you all go put empty stomach. I let her make the tiffin and I tried finding the tiffin box, I failed miserably as the terrain was alien to me. She was done with the lunch boxes and I again forced her to rest. All the time she was saying that she was fine. 

I don’t know what gives power to an individual to have the courage to tell a lie in the eyes and still be able to live that lie. Since when I had the eyes to see the unseen,  my mother, my father, my brother have hidden from me, I have become a different person.

Love in the purest of forms changes you. It grows something inside you that is unique yet universal. It never wants you to hurt. But when it does, it gives you a remembrance, something iridescent, something that stays forever like a scratch that can never heal. You see it, everything flashes infront of you. You imagine what gave it to you and how it added to you. 

Humans have a life to give to others. My family has been the greatest teacher who taught me this simple fact. And purest forms of love is not about receiving. It’s about giving. 

Of all the lies my mother has told me, the one she clearly wants me to believe is that doesn’t like to be treated like a little girl. But yes one day or the other, the three of us try making her a queen and let me tell you the smile on her face that is something all of us can do anything to let it grow. 

She is the one who wakes up before the sun and sleeps after the moon has fallen asleep. But we three are aligned to her. 


She is our universe. 

Joy is a teacher

Things joy has taught me:-

  1. When you wake up, stretch your legs. 
  2. When you are hungry, follow your mother( or in this case, who you think your mother is). 
  3. When you are angry, bark. 
  4. When you don’t want to be disturbed, stop responding. 
  5. Someone who returns to home after a long day, make them fall them over and lick them all over. 
  6. When you destroy that expensive mobile phone, act guilty( but not for too long, or else who will give you food). 
  7. When someone eyes your house or the ones you love, bark.
  8. When you want to play, bring the biggest rug in the house and create a mess. (It can always be cleaned later). 
  9. Show your love everytime you come near. 
  10. When someone disturbs you, bite him. (it maybe illegal in some countries; maybe all.)
  11. Find excitement in small(I mean everything) things. A rolled up newspaper, a ride in the car, maybe a furry cat, a biscuit, a treat, a guest or a simple Plank of wood. 
  12. When you want someone to take you seriously, bark. 
  13. Stand tall against any difficulty. 
  14. It’s okay to be feared. You may walk cautiously. But keep on walking. 
  15. When you want to go out, how difficult it may be to bring the leash, you bring it and make people take you outside because life happens in the open and that you don’t dirty your own house. 
  16. Sniff things. Good things, bad things, smelly things, gross things. Because how will you then get to know what’s good and what’s not. 
  17. Life is as simple as wagging your tail and letting things come your way. 
  18. Sleep, sleep and sleep. But you can wake up to eat and bark,  of course. 
  19. And Yes, get lots of body rubs. Body runs are good. 

In short, speak up things you want to say like you own the your listeners, live each moment like there wouldnt be next, eat like crazy, play like crazy, love like crazy, live like crazy and still of those who don’t believe Joy. I would like to tell you, he is offended very easily. But I think he won’t bite you. But then everything is unexpected, just like life. 

And for those of you who don’t know Joy, he is my yet to grow Labrador baby. 

That’s him. 

I don’t respect you. 

I have been watching the television a lot lately, mainly because anything productive was not coming out of me. As I was surfing through the channels I came across a reality show in which couples had to live with their in-laws before marriage, get to know them, learn about their culture and everything that would make them better Son-in-law or Daughter-in-law. In the episode, a man who wanted his fiancé to meet his parents asked her to dress up. He came to pick her up from her parent’s house and when he saw her he was bit taken aback. He had asked her to wear the traditional Indian wear and she was in the most casual dress one could ever wear. As he requested her to wear what he wanted, she threw up a fight. It might look completely normal when we see from a perspective of the girl but brings an all together different light when the thought process of a boy is taken in to consideration. 

Parents of nobody ever think ill of their children. No matter how much they grow up but for a parent they will always be their little child, the one they have spent their time and energy to make them someone they want them to be. No parent will ever want any harm to befall on their children and would never want them to make an outcaste, someone who is not a part of the society. So they feed their kids with values, with basic necessities of dealing with people so that they don’t lack at any place. These values form the basis of everything the child perceives. Sometimes the things he/she learns by themself,  helps him overcome something troubling him/her and sometimes he may remember how his parents dealt with a similar situation. The importance of what a parent teaches is not measurable. It stays with us at every part of life.

I, being born in an Indian family have always observed how my parents dealt with situations and people. The first thing they always did was to be polite because they always believe in seeing the reason behind something rather than raising their voice. But sometimes some don’t hear the polite, so they become the rudest person I have ever known. This is very fabric of adaptation that we as living beings have always taken very keen interest in. Studies conducted have shown life to evolve from Amoeba and as a single celled organism Amoeba needed to reproduce so that it may survive. It did and it did very simple and beautiful. It created parts of itself and created another being. Similar were the other levels of evolution. Fish came out of water to inhabit the land, so came the land animals. Then the sky had to be conquered, so came the birds. But then, someone had to maintain harmony among others, so more intelligent forms of life evolved. Home Sapiens came into existence or the more popular Humans as we all know. Adaptation was always the very essence of evolution. But evolution never meant starting from something new, it was creating something better of the already available. Do you see –  the already available. Yes, that’s the thing that helps evolution function. 

The programme I was watching had a twist of turn and the girl revolted against the decision his to – be husband had made for her. She cited the many modern laws in practice and told that this kind of thing is a thing of past. I was taken aback. Why would someone discard something that has been existing far longer than the lifetime of a single person, something that took a long time to come into shape, something that was infused with lives of the many who sacrificed themselves for the larger good they saw. 

Culture is the basic identity of a human being, more than any other living being.

Humans during the evolutionary process have realised that living  together is much safer and better than living alone and when we live together, we live as a single unit. Much like the cells of Amoeba, who when divided creates different but same organism. As humans came together and spread, they imbibed many things owing to the very ability to adapt. Some grew very tall, some grew very short, some developed a different skin tone, some were fast runners, some were heavy lifters. 

But all of them were the same. 

The circumstances, the environment, the situations made them what they became. But a man is nothing if he forgets his roots. If one day we decide, the only living thing that can live on this planet will be us, then apocalypse will come, nothing will remain. Similar is the case with culture. Kingdoms, many great Nations have fallen just because they thought of themselves more suitable than any other. But no civilisation ever flourished if they couldn’t adapt or in some form or other forgot their roots or started identifying themselves as other civilisations. Think this of if one day an elephant starts thinking itself of a dog, how will you take it out for a walk and the amount of you know what it would produce. You’ll be soaked in it. Or if someday you decide you want to be a bird or a Pizza(those things are addictive), God knows what may become. Possibilities here are unlimited. 

Modernity in the name of imitation is a preposterous concoction because then you won’t remain original.

 We live in a world of globalization, everything and anything is accessible to anyone who has the resources to get it. Ideas, things, people, money and cultures travel. Maybe not faster than light(because then how else will you be reading this) but it does travel at a pace which some may confuse as something better or something more likely to be ‘in fashion’. One must take pride in what they are because they have travelled a road to come where they are. It may not be a long distance but the fact that they kept moving is much greater than not moving at all or moving backwards. We can only appreciate the greatness of where we are only if we keep our roots in mind because no matter how humble roots were, they still are the strongest. But one should never let one’s pride blind him because once a great tree was a seed and once a now CEO of an organization started from the bottom. The example of Raavan is best suited here. Raavan was a pure genius. He was a scholar, an astronomer, a mathematician, an administrator, a warrior, a scientist, he had mastered the highest levels of meditation. But the only thing that killed him was his ego.

Pride can very easily turn into ego. The difference is hairline. 

I take pride(notice pride)  in wearing the traditional attire which has been laid down by my culture because that’s my very identity. I do sometimes wear what the dress code for a certain place demands but that doesn’t mean I would any day want to give away my identity for a new one. And why should I. There must be reason why we or for that matter any of us are the way we are. And it is perfectly fine if we don’t understand it right now but it will reveal itself to us one day. If some kind of attire brings happiness to the faces that mean a lot to us then the purpose is fulfilled. 

Respect is subjective. 

Respect for someone maybe touching feet of his elders or not honking unnecessarily when a person infront of you is as helpless as you are or maybe letting someone enter before you or maybe standing up when you speak to someone standing while you are sitting or listening to someone before you speak. Possibilities here as well are unlimited. But respecting the one’s and other’s culture is the most important of all because if it was not for respect, mutual coexistence would have never been possible. 

Later in the episode, the girl decided to wear Sari and she looked beautiful more than ever. 

The question I want to put up here is, what is your notion for respect. Mine is realising the presence of a living being in a surrounding around me. I may interact with you or maybe not but I still respect you until you do respect me and my presence and if you don’t, Then I have learnt a thing or two from my parents as well with a tinge of the globalized culture. 

I know five languages. 

Why blogging is better than other forms of social networking…..

This blog started when a friend of mine thought that I should write everything in one place. I remember the time before I started my blog. Coming with name took me a lot of time but then I thought of my motive of starting the blog. Just like geography or history, I wanted to create something unique, something that has never been used. Caring for art- Caringraphy that is how I came up with this name. Throughout my journey of blogging, there were days when I was disappointed. The first two years rarely anyone even read what I wrote except my close friends and my family. But I kept writing just because I wanted to write whatever I wanted to write. Not everything I wrote was good. But whatever I wrote was still mine. My blog started getting attention when I started using tags. 

The essence of blogging are the people who comment on whatever you have written. Feedback carries the writer and reader to the same level. It is just like the stream of river. The river carries the fish to its destination. 

I had stopped using other forms social networks when I had involved myself more and more with blogging. 

Blogging or blogosphere is one such space where the amount of exposure one gets is phenomenal. I have shared many experiences with so many people from so many different parts of the world which I couldn’t have even imagined if it was not for this wonderful space. Anyone and everyone can read and comment on whatever you have written and that is the beauty of WordPress. It doesn’t apply privacy filters to the content one can view or write. It is your personal mind for everyone else to read. This form of writing is best for every type of people. Be them be the talkative ones,  those love to talk or the ones who rarely speak.

Whatever one has written, usually the discussion is related to that topic and it gives each of the writer and the commentator a view different from what they might have understood from the writing. I have been left speechless many a times when I was involved in a conversation with someone on a post I had written or they had written. It’s too many emotions when one can feel the amount of weight a writer put in while writing something. 

This is something not any Facebook or WhatsApp can provide. Although their use is completely different from the every other form. 

Blogging is something a little more personal and yet so accessible for everyone else that once affected by it, the person usually never leaves it again.

Many people who I have met here may share the same thought. But then other forms may be necessary for many other people. 

What is your view? 

For me blogging is the best and only form of social networking, except the days when me and my group of friends are out, checking out every new thing that has come up in the city during the time we were gone, asking about each others life. 

Except blogging, I prefer a deep, long conversation over a cup of roadside tea, a little bench, the cool wind and some noise to cover up the instant loudness our voices sometimes catch up. 

A little story –  3 The end? 

This story is in continuation with the previous parts. Please read the two parts, it will definitely make you smile. 

Part 1
Part 2
Thank you. 

All of them moved towards the room. They were silent now and slowly moving so as to cause as little noise as possible. My uncle reached the door and knocked. They went inside with the biggest smile on their face. Congratulations Suresh. You are now a father! They said and the whole family hugged each other. I laid in my mother’s arm and was asleep. My father took me from my mother’s arm and handed me to my Uncle. He was silent, didn’t speak a word. He looked at me for sometime and then said, “We will call her Mudrika.” 

Everyone applauded the name my Uncle had chosen. Nobody ever doubted him or his decisions. The hospital gave us leave the next day and we all headed back to home. It was early morning and Gods had woken up, the ringing bells in the temples marking the start of day. We stopped by the temple near the house. The priest knew us very well. Almost every marriage in the family was arranged by him, every special occasion, every birth was incomplete until he had used his ‘Laal Tika and the Moli, he tied on everyone’s hand.’ By the grace of the gracious God, Lakshmi has come to your house, ‘ and he touched my feet with his head. We asked for permission to leave. At the house everyone was so ecstatic. Nobody slept the previous night except the kids who were too busy absorbing the energy of the previous night. My Grandmother took one look at me and she couldn’t stop herself from crying. She carefully took out some money, waved in circles over me and handed it to my mother. “She is as beautiful as an Angel.”  she commented and welcomed us in the house. So much commotion for someone too young to see the world, I became restless and started crying. But nobody seemed to care. They admired my every movement, everything that I did. But my father, he became too restless seeing me cry. I think he knew what was going inside me. After all, I was his part, an atom of the stature he had acquired in so little time. 

Suresh, or whom I gladly address as Papaji was the youngest and the last Son of my grandparents, so he was adored the most. He was always interested in learning new things and was the best among all his brothers and sisters when it came to studies. He went to the best of schools, best of colleges all by himself. It ran in the family genes. Nobody asked for any help. But they always helped. Suresh(I think I need to address him more respectfully) chose to be a doctor and he became one. The initial days of becoming a doctor are quite difficult. Nobody recognises you until you specialize in something. Papaji(Suresh becomes Papaji here) was always good in reading minds so he became a Psychiatrist. After years of practice, he was the most sought after doctor in the entire city. With Psychiatry, he had some hobbies. He was an excellent Tabla player and a wonderful singer. “I had a huge fan following in College.” he used to tell me whenever we used to get together.

It’s fun. It’s fun talking to people about their talents, about things that bring passion in their eyes, which drips down their mouths in form of words so elegant that they make you fly along with them. 

I always saw Papaji on Sunday evenings. He would switch on the Music System, play Jagjit Singh and would play along the Tabla and sing. He was shocked to core when he saw the death of his favourite singer. 

That day and days after it, our family celebrated my birth with so many occasions. (There must be a DVD lying somewhere in my rack, somewhere.) As I grew up, I realised the world around me, the world outside the world of my family. Many a times I cried, many a times I wanted to shut the doors to my room. But everytime I decided to do something foolish like this, my family was always there to help me. We lived in the same house, the one my grandparents built for us. All of us. Everytime any of us needed anyone, we would just call out. There were happy times, then there were fights.I have seen my parents fight, my uncles fight and even my cousins fight, sometimes over unnecessary things(no, always on unnecessary things.)  Who else fights for tea not served to them in the morning or tearing the homework(this one,  I think that sounds legit). Everyone else used to watch them fight. There’s a saying, we cannot make a blind see what he cannot, so why should one try. They fought when they had no energy left and when they sat down, breathless from the hurling of abuses or utensils or my favourite Red Velvety shoes( God, I loved them), they would realise they wasted some precious time and My Red Velvety Shoes(I must have them in my trunk. I need to stop drooling now) and would hear each one out. My grandfather always said that If one can listen properly, most of the problems won’t exist. And listening for him or for any of us shouldn’t be just the said, it must be the unsaid as well. 

Every Sunday morning, all the ladies in the house would take to cooking the best meals in the house. My mother always scolded me for sitting and not helping me with her work. But everyone else in the house came to my support. I had to bend to her one day when she asked me to do my hair. (I realised that I was more turning into a boy than a girl.). It was not like the males didn’t knew to cook. When my uncles and father would get in the kitchen, they would make something extraordinary (most of the times, except that one time when we had to call the fire department to save us from the fire.) 

One day I was asked at the school to write an essay on what I wanted to be. I approached Papaji who had just came after a heavy day at work. “People take so much stress these days.” He commented while putting down the glass of water I handed to him. “What is it Mudrika?” he asked. Almost as he knew what was going inside me. “I have to write this essay and I don’t know what I want to be.” I said while making circles with my feet on the floor. He opened the buttons of his cuffs, folded his shirt back and held me by my hands. 

Mudrika, this family is something to which we all have given back something or the other in some form. You have seen your Uncles, your aunts, your grandparents, your mother. They all are an inspiration most children lack. Have you ever seen how effortlessly your mother works day and night so that she could make all of us happy, how the eldest uncle manages his business, how the other two uncles have made a name for themselves in politics and academics. Your Aunts are trendsetters for many ladies out there. Do you know your mother was a successful doctor before she left everything for you. The thing is I believe you are capable of everything you want to be, anyone you want to be. People say one must do what their hearts want. I say one must do what can bring a smile to the people you care about the most. We are here for you whatever happens. We will always be happy in whatever you are happy with. Always remember, family comes first and that you must respect your roots. And I think you will be okay. “ He said this to a nine year old who had just asked what she wanted to be. He went outside the room to help my mother with the food. I sat there absorbing every iota of what he had just said. Next day I went to the school and submitted my essay. 

The title of my essay was” I want to be A Scientist. “

He never asked me again what I wanted to be, nor did anyone in my family. But yes, the Sharmaji’s and the Vermaji’s always did. (I always smiled on their question. My grandfather had taught me this while someone asked him what he was doing after his retirement. His answer was hilarious. “I think I might take part in the Olympics this year.” ) 

There were times when I failed. 

Ideal doesn’t work in the real life. You don’t always win. You will fail. You will fail miserably. You will fail so hard that you would want to quit everything. But no matter how hard you fall, you have to stand up, again on your feet. Try again. Fail again. Eventually you will learn. This was the first lesson my father gave me while I was learning to ride a bicycle. Repeated several times when I was shattered during my course of life. 

But he always kept hope in me. Always believed in me when I failed to do so. 

What is a man? A collection of some orderly tissues and cells that together form something concrete or something more. Does the color of skin, the tone of voice or the abnormalities in a person make him someone? Why is it people cry on seeing a dying bird or don’t even blink while ordering to murder hundreds? What makes a man give his life for a nation when he has a family to take care of or makes him work in the scorching heat so that he could feed his family. 

A man is much more than a collection of tissues and cells. In Samkhyan Philosophy, a school of Indian Philosophy, they believe that a man is product of Prakriti – the one unintelligent, unconscious, matter,  ever active and that has three attributes which define its state; and Purusa – which is the consciousness, the soul of the body. The balance between the three attributes found in the Prakriti defines how the person would be.

I believe, a person becomes what his family makes him. A child is a clean slate when he is born. His mind is ‘tabula rasa’. The society, the situations, the people he comes in contact with defines the character he builds over time.

Mahatma Gandhi had once said, “Hate the Crime not the Criminal.” 

No human is at fault when it comes to something not acceptable. Pity is something cruel to a soul. Don’t pity, just try to understand what the person might be going through and you won’t ever be misunderstood. My father Suresh told me this many times. 

I remember his every word of advice, the way he walked, the way he ate. Everything right here in my mind. I have been asked many times do I miss my family. 

Yes, of course I do. But when I see myself sitting here in my room among the top most researchers of the world, I think they must be smiling. 

I have given them a reason to smile. 

This story was a work of Complete fiction. None of the characters are real nor do they bear any resemblance to the real world. But it totally depends on you, the reader, what you want to be real. Every character here can be real or unreal. The only thing that matters is what you take with you when you finish reading this little effort of mine. 

Please do comment and tell me how this was. I am highly grateful to the few people who have admired my work. Your appreciation is something I cannot define in words, although some of you claim I have a way with words. Funny, isn’t it? 

You must be thinking about the question mark in the title. That question mark is something I will leave to the imagination of the reader. If this is the ending you would want or something different. 

Ideals don’t work in the real life. A belief I want everyone of you to take home with you when you finish reading this. 

Thank you for reading till the end. 

A Little Story – 2

This is in continuation with the Part 1. If you may like, you can read it.

Thank You.

Room number 29, the already too tired receptionist told them. My Aunts had managed to prepare some Besan Laddoos, both my parents were too fond of. They had carefully wrapped it in their shawl and the little blankets they had brought along with them. My Uncle adjusted his glasses, there, there it is.

My Uncle was a rugged man. He had long moustaches that sit on his fair face, making him a man of admiration. But he had a beauty far greater than his face could ever show. He was the eldest of all the brothers and sisters in the family and was more of a father to them than their elder brother. He grew up faster than his age. There were too many mouths to feed. Although my grandfather never said anything to him or to anybody about the high toll of work that was falling on him to keep the stomachs and aspirations of everyone full, my uncle thought he should do something to ease him. He had learnt a thing or two about selling things when he would visit his friend who had a flourishing business that ran in their family. He was inquisitive right from the day he could sense and would take interest in anything new that fell upon him. He had quickly made friends with his friend’s father who inspired him a lot. While kids of his age were buying things, he was busy selling them. With every passing day, he honed his skills to perfection, so much that Alok Ji his friend’s father called him a day when he was going back home.
Son”, he said ” I have been noticing you selling those colored stones after school. You are pretty good at it.” 
Yes Sir”,  my uncle said. ” I love selling things. They make me feel someone important. I provide whatever the time demands.” 
“Time? “ Alok ji’s curiosity was now centered around him.
” Sir, at the school, we have our geography lesson. There they teach about the various types of rocks that are found in our city. So I sell rocks when they teach about them. When it is too hot, I buy milk from the vendor next to the school. In it I add sugar which is cheap and also bright colors. The days when I am free I sell them for Rs 5 per pint. And when I am not free, I take the boy who comes to my house for cleaning and make him sell it. He doesn’t take money from me. I give him two or three pints of the sweet milk. Sir with this business I have managed to collect Rs 500 in a week.”
Alok ji was silent on hearing this. He asked, “Would you be interested in doing this at a bigger scale?” 
My uncle was calm, a reaction  unexpected of a boy of his age. He said, “when do we start?” 
He had found what he had to do. School never seemed something that would hold a person like him.
Education is like a drop of color in water. It doesn’t depend what the source was. It colors you anyway.
There was retaliation by my grandparents at first. He was locked in the room, beaten hard, given many things to just keep him away from this idea of his. But nothing worked. He sat down one day with my grandfather while he was on his chair reading the newspaper.
“Papaji”, he said. My grandfather has a habit, if he doesn’t want to talk, he won’t say, but he would always listen.
“Selling things excites me to my very core. Everyday I wake up to devise new ways just to improve myself. I have worked so much on myself Papaji that if this goes in waste, then I would be of no use to you.” he finished and sat near his foot.
My grandfather stood up, went to his study and brought along with him a box that he used to keep his collection of his favourite songs. “I give you this box. You have a month. This box should be full by the end of this month or else you will do as I say.”
Then there was no turning back. My Uncle gave all his time and energy to setting up his work. He had realised while working with Alok ji that he needed to be his own boss, which Alok ji accepted with a smile. He helped him set up a business of his own. He worked day and night. His hard work paid off when he was able to buy a furniture manufacturing factory just outside the city.
Grandfather had cut the ribbon on the day of its inauguration. He had the widest smile that day, his chest had expanded by few inches.
All of them moved towards the room. They were silent now and slowly moving so as to cause as little noise as possible. My uncle reached the door and knocked. They went inside with the biggest smile on their face. Congratulations Suresh. You are now a father! They said and the whole family hugged each other. I laid in my mother’s arm and was asleep. My father took me from my mother’s arm and handed me to my Uncle. He was silent, didn’t speak a word.
He looked at me for sometime and then said, “We will call her Mudrika.” 
I was so filled with gratitude with the response I got on the first part. This is my try to write the next part. I hope all of you like this small piece of work. This type of writing is new to me and I am doing this for the first time.
Please do comment on how this part was, it will be my inspiration to write the next part.
Thank You!

A little story. 

My story is not unique, then why would you be interested in reading it. I won’t tell you this, because then what difference would it make in your life, in my life. To feel something, one needs to perceive it. And yes, I am here to help you perceive a story in which I am not in the lead role, but yes it’s still mine. 

The day was October 25th, the family was worried. The uncles and the aunts ran here and there, there was commotion in the entire house. Rarely it happened that the whole family became excited at a single moment. A series of phone calls were made, the kids were made to sleep, the old given a dose of tea to let them bear the obnoxious amount of energy the house had suddenly collected. 

Suddenly the phone rang and everyone left their work to listen to what the caller had to say. My uncle had received the call. As soon as he hung up, he was showered with questions. He didn’t answer anybody and went closer to my grandfather. He touched his feet and hugged him. 

Congratulations Papa, you are now a Grandfather and with it the whole house burst into laughter and started hugging each other. 

Come on everyone, we need to go to Suresh, he must need us, said my Uncle and took out the only car we had. 

Suresh is the name of my father. Born to a Clerk in the colorful city of Allahabad, he was among the three other sons and two sisters that had come before him. They all lived in the house, my grandfather could manage with his service to his office which did leave him with little time and energy for the family. But he was always there. He attended every function, every parent teacher meeting of his children so that none ever felt left out. Whatever he did, he never brought work to home, his policy was simple, Manage your Work so it doesn’t manage you. 

The car started with a little effort, it seemed as the cold wind had made it lazy. It did wake up from its sleep and so they started heading towards the hospital.  Everyone was smiling, their face glowing with beaming happiness. The females were too busy in deciding the things to do, the males quietly listening. The streets of Allahabad that day looked different. The usual people were not there as the Sun was still asleep. They reached the hospital and asked for Suresh.

Room number 29, the already too tired receptionist told them. My Aunts had managed to prepare some Besan Laddoos, both my parents were too fond of. They had carefully wrapped it in their shawl and the little blankets they had brought along with them. My Uncle adjusted his glasses, there, there it is. 

To be continued…. 

This will be a series of little stories that I will make according to the response I get from the previous one. 

Please do Comment if you want to see more of this. 

Thank you 

Have a great time. 

An Empire in the making…..

He lacked the cement,
She lacked the supports,
Together they built the biggest empire,
For the world to see,
It didn’t start well,
Many a times it fell,
Sometimes the cement, 
Sometimes the supports,
But they kept going,
Every night, 
Every day,
They woke up, 
Buried the day before,
Sometimes they broke,
Wanted to separate,
Sometimes the cement,
Sometimes the supports,
Kept them together,
Kept them moving,
The plan didn’t work out well,
The ground shook,
The Empire fell down,
Salvaged their pieces.
Started again,
The world would laugh,
See the crazy peeps,
They would say,
He was hurt,
She was hurt,
They both were hurt,
But the cement was strong,
The supports rigid,
They worked day,
They worked the night,
Sometimes when it rained,
Or the snow would fall,
Festivals were a distraction,
Lights were too expensive,
An Empire was in the making,
One day they made something beautiful,
A life, moving hands and those cute eyes,
Oh, I am not hungry,
One would say to other,
One day or the other,
The life grew like a plant,
The cement was strong,
The supports rigid,
One day it became a tree,
With roots strong, 
With branches that could support,
They both sat together,
On a Sunday morning,
A cup of tea, some cookies too,
Looked at each other,
Bodies not too strong,
Eyes that needed glasses,
Looked upto the tree,
Congratulations! The Empire is complete….

It’s hard for me and many people like me to say things out loud. This blog gives me something which is definitely difficult to explain in words. 

For a long time I wanted to say these lines for my parents. The way they toiled so that their sons could shine. 

This little piece cannot ever compare to what they did for us children. But then we mustn’t let our feelings go down the drain, something I was taught everytime. 

This little piece is for all the parents out there, who struggle everyday with their lives and yet come home to a smiling face, just to see their kids. 

And as they say to us brothers everyday, We are the Empire they have built over the years,

This is for my, Yours and everyone’s Amma and Papa…. 


Trains bring out the common in us. They don’t distinguish between any because at the end of the journey we all are passengers…

I remember the school days when we were told the duration of our summer vacations. The excitement was so much we couldn’t wait to tell our parents that the vacations would start soon. With vacations came time when we would go away from the mundane or maybe stay at home doing nothing. Flights were for the affluent back then and none of us had ever seen an aircraft for real. One of those days my father came upto me and showed me a ticket to my cousins. I jumped like a spring and started shouting. We will go in the train! We will have this for lunch! Let me take out my red Bag! I would say and then used to start bugging my mother who would shoo me away as she had other works to do. Haha. 

Then the journey would come and we would leave the house, lock it, assured that it will take care of everything we leave in it. We will board the train and me and my brother would be hungry already. We always kept on asking our mother that we should have the lunch because that fragrance of Aloo-Puri would make the mice in our stomach punch us hard. My father came in to help my mother in this. He would point at something out the window which used to grab our attention for a lot longer. The tracks that laid along our train would make our imagination run wild. The first thing I ever imagined was what if a car runs on these tracks. Will it able to run? Or will it slip? ( I still do the same. Haha) Then we would wait for another train to go screeching past ours. We tried waving to the ones in the other train but they seemed to run so fast that most of the times our heads would go all round and round. With occasional questions from our parents when the train would start, we would be busy looking out the window. A slight jerk and the train would start. The sight of people and things going back would amaze me everytime I would see a train moving forward. I always used to pack in my bags the things I would do during my journey on a train. My father had always made it a habit to bring along with me a diary and a pen so that I could note down anything I wanted to remember later.

I was amazed by how a single engine would carry along with it the many bodies attached to it. I would feel sometime bad for the Engine as it had to carry my burden. But then, I was quickly diverted to a farm field going past the train. In the earlier days of my childhood we travelled mostly in the sleeper class of the Indian Railways and for those who don’t know, sleeper class doesn’t have a glass that covers the entire window.

It is open so that you can feel the air, the aroma of the surroundings and the sound the many things make when a train gushes past them. The best thing about these coaches was that whenever a train would take a curve, one could see the entire train. I used to kiss the rails on the window just to see how a train looks like when it is taking a curve.

Whenever a tunnel would come, me and my brother used to look at each other and all the other present. We would run that joke in our minds which told of a similar funny situation like this. My parents would guess what we were thinking. They would smile and look at us.

Whenever we travelled and we didn’t get a window seat, our hearts would be broken. We would look down our seats just to have a glimpse from which location the train is passing. Once a while a vendor would come carrying a bucket filled with all types of chips, cakes and chocolates. Me and brother would share a look. Then we again would continue the magical experience.

When you sleep in a train, you could hear the slipping of wheels on the rails, even when the train changes tracks. I had this wild imagination that if the train would derail, I would jump onto save my brother and parents, carry them in my arms(I used to watch Shaktimaan a lot) and would as well carry my red Bag. Haha. I would break open the roof of the train. I tried experimenting once or twice when I got the upper berth. But to my disappointment, it was very difficult.

Travelling by trains is an exhilarating experience. You get to know about the things you see mostly pictures of. The yellow fields bearing crops of mustard, cars waiting in line for you to cross, bridges built over mighty rivers, the smell of sugarcane being turned into jaggery, the many voices trying to sell you things on the journey, everything and many more. Trains offer an experience that is far more difficult to explain than any words can ever do. 

I prefer travelling by trains or by roads most of the times because they let me feel the air I am traveling in, something flights deprive you of. But then, everything has a role to play.

My journey would be incomplete without a train or a road because the coming of train onto a platform for you to board is the most satisfying thing I can ever imagine.

Trains bring out the common in me. They don’t distinguish between any because at the end of the journey we all are passengers… 

Do you prefer a journey by Train..?

When money can buy happiness.. 

Now my trips outside the house are getting frequent day by day. The family took me to a mall today to get me some clothes. We entered the mall and as usual nothing was that I liked. I dragged myself from that section towards the other section where the kids had collected. There was a helicopter show going around there. And I preferred watching that rolling remote controlled helicopter. I tried my hands at that two wheeled scooter the ones you kick by the foot and stand. Haha. 

That was the moment I spotted these two beauties lying there. I fell in love with them at first sight. 

I didnt buy anything except these two beautiful small cars. And the one thing me and my brother did when we reached home. We raced. Hahaha. 

The unfair advantage… 

After a long gap, I came out of my home to visit some friends that had come back to the city. I met them and we headed for a movie. The ticket line was already full with people looking to buy a ticket for themselves for a latest release. So, we also joined them in the same quest. Right then we noticed another line parallel to us which was quite empty as compared to the one we were standing. I asked my friend who as usual was busy admiring the beauty around him( that’s what he says) to go and get into that line. The person behind me said. ” No use brother, that line is for ladies.” When I reached the counter all the best spots were gone and we had to watch the movie up close and personal.

We came back questioning every femine, every quest for equality that the opposite gender demands. We started listing all the irritants that we fail to notice everyday. 

“These women demand equality so much that I feel that I am no one in front of them. ” commented my other friend when we told him about our ordeal the other day. He too added his own versions of the story.” I was coming home after a long week and was waiting at the bus stop for tickets. Every girl got a ticket and we stood for the whole night waiting there for a ticket. This is not right.

“We are humans as well. We don’t ask for anything that doesn’t mean we don’t need it. “he was angry.

And then came the stories of trials and tribulations of men at the hands of women.  Everyone was fed up by this treatment being given to the women. We were looking to vent out our anger so we decided to head up to a food stall we usually go to. We had ordered and we’re waiting for our food to arrive and in the mean time continued our expressions of anger against the other gender. We cursed ourselves for being born as a male. We were angry. Very angry.

Then we saw something really disturbing.

There was a group of three very young men. They were trying to get close to two girls who were there, enjoying their food. They were very persistent in their attempt to somehow get close to them. The girls gave them hard looks but still they didn’t back off. I got a little angry at what I was seeing, started to head towards them but they ran away. Everyone of us was mute after this,  went back home, nobody spoke.

We forgot all of this until a day I met a girl in my college festival. We soon became friends. My other friend always used to irritate her by saying that you people have the most unfair advantage. You are women and nobody questions the claim of a woman. You people are given preference everywhere and anywhere and that you can have always what you want.

It was one day I was talking to her when guessing from her responses, I thought that something was not right. “What happened?” I asked her. “Nothing”  she said. But on pressuring her she told me what had happened.

“I was coming from the market after buying some groceries. There was a boy on a bike. He followed me and was constantly making rounds around me. I stopped him and slapped him. He said he knew my home. I am terrified. I told this to my Uncle. We have reported it to the police. But I fear going out.” 

I was stunned. Didn’t know what to respond. I immediately called her and tried to console her.

” It’s normal. Don’t worry. How was your day? ” she said.

I had no words to say after this. I hung up saying that someone else was calling me.

After meeting her, I got an opportunity to meet her other friends and in due course of time, I started knowing their stories.

” My parents are not allowing me to go to that foreign University I was selected in. After college I am marrying. “

There were days when they acted completely different. Completely opposite from their usual self. Getting angry, backaches, cramps, they complained about everything and anything. That’s when I came to know what was Periods. It was my first experience to know about this bloody process that happens every month, right from the day puberty hits you until the day it stops. I was taken aback. We don’t have to be conscious about our pants. We don’t need to be cautious if any blood spots would be visible. We don’t care. I thought

Then there were series of filthy messages and photos that were forwarded to me by my female friends who had received them when casually they had started a conversation with somebody they knew,  at some point of their life.

” Are you Single?”, we are used to hearing this everyday,  she said when after a long walk on the lake she was telling about her experience on a social networking site.
My perception about women changed a lot that day. All my life I have seen my mother taking care of all three of us inspite of whatever storm she was going through and never let us have any insight. She is the strongest women I have ever met along with my grandmother who fought with their own families so that their children, their husbands can live a better life. They sacrificed everything for us. Their career, their aspirations, their dreams so that they could live their dreams through us.

Women, yes they have the most unfair advantage,  we men can never have and that is the strength they very cautiously hide in a veil of softness the world very conveniently assumes to be their weakness.

In India, we address our Goddess as Maa which in English is mother. I have seen Maa Ambey, Maa Parvati, Maa Durga, Saraswati Mata. They are so calm and so gentle and yet they are ferocious like a lioness. Whenever something happened to their child, Maa becomes a force unparallel to any other force in the world. If she constructs, she destroys as well. If she gives life, she takes one as well. 

A women is one true picture of sacrifice that I had an opportunity to witness. Maybe because of the limited interaction I had with the few women I met over this time.

I feel myself lucky to have met those women that brought out a new me, given me new dimensions to everything I see around. 

This is my personal opinion that still today talking about women issues is considered a taboo atleast in Indian families. We usually don’t discuss about things such as harassment, eve teasing, dowry, domestic violence, periods. Still I have met many people who find it a matter of pride to lock their wives into chains of household chores, their daughters entangled in a Web of family pressure, honor killings. Still, it’s a shame on us, there is one side of us that bends down in respect of the Maa and the other that doesn’t move an inch when the same gender is being molested in Complete sight.

We need to start teaching our children that respecting a women is respecting something sacred and divine. We need to shred our shells and explain our children what it means to respect anyone, be it living or dead. Ego is poison to the mind. It corrupts it and malfunctions it. Equality is just not about providing rights to the neglected. It is absorbing them in the stream where everyone else flows.

I am not a supporter of feminism nor in any way I am inclined to any religious ideologies. But I really feel that there is something more powerful than any of us,  the one force that has created us, that has given us the power to design ourselves. Everything came from it. Be it me, you, an elephant, a whale, that little ant or even that speck of dust lying in front of you. When a force so powerful can be so humble and so calm, we all are just an atom or maybe smaller than it.
But like everything has a bright and a dark side. There are exceptions as well. And these exceptions are in both the genders. Male or female, they will use it till you are dry.

Who says we should be perfect. Perfection till yet only that force has achieved. We can never be perfect because perfection requires far greater sacrifice than anyone of us can ever give. But we are not here to achieve perfection. That is not our motto, not our goal. Our goal is survival. Survival requires struggle. So while we struggle, why not share this with our complementary. 

Women do have an unfair advantage.

Who are we….?

Quickly browsing through my daily feed of news I came across some articles. Some articles that usually fall down on the ground because they weren’t scandalous or marred with utter disrespect for someone or something. They are the ones who inspite of having the vigour and the stature to ruin you into many thousands of pieces, are ignored, left for vultures to be feasted upon. They free you from the shackles of ignorance, maybe make you cry, maybe make you smile or even better, make you smile and cry the same time. Talented are those who can fill words with hue, emotion, tad bits of laugh they had when they wrote it, give them the respect, the boldness, the italics.
I happened to read such an article. This is what I could introspect through it.
You know the equation of human emotions is so damm simple. Laugh is laugh, tears are tears, pain is pain. The dexterity of human emotions come to play here. It so effortlessly shrouds everything we believe that we know about ourselves.

Take for instance, I never knew I could dance. But I did dance one day and I did it wonderfully. (Atleast according to me).

I never knew what it feels to work when you are sick. Until, my mother was out of town and I had to make breakfast for my brother.

It’s simple yet complex. 
Human emotions don’t teach you things in a simple way. Smile may not be a smile. Tears may not be tears. Pain might be imaginary. 


The greatest teacher what I believe for anyone is “LOSS“. Yes, you read it right. Nothing teaches better than a sense of “LOSS”. We cry over lost time, over lost youth, the opportunities that could have been converted into something useful.

Let me bring a dimension of science. Our brain has numerous amount of nerves that together form our nervous system. The brain, a masterpiece that reigns over our body is one complex system of emotions.

Imagine a situation( may God forbid such type of situation), because of some accident, your body is rendered useless, except your mind which can feel and sense everything and everyone. But the loss of body is something very shocking for it. You want to move, hug that person right in front of you, cry out loud, jump, even want to feel pain. But nothing happens.

Life will change when your body starts kicking. Won’t it?
The greatest other teacher to human emotions is visual stimuli.

Have you ever jumped with joy when an unexpected twist in a game happened and everything changed, have you ever despised those heaps of garbage laying around, have you ever cried seeing someone you love, lay still. 

Pictures or photographs come a second close to this stimuli. The first one for very obvious reasons is the human eye. Part of the the five sensory organs- the ear, the nose, skin, eye and the tongue, the human eye is again something very unique. Compared to a camera,  a human eye produces an image of image of resolution of 576 Megapixels. All the organs are yet again connected with our mind.

Albeit every fact, every iota of knowledge we have about the humans as a whole, is still just like a color in the pallette of nature. 

One such color is courage, Valor or bravery.

We tend to compare bravery with muscular strength because that’s what we have seen since our organs have started to function. But bravery is a broad term. A mother working so that her family could sleep without an empty stomach is bravery, a child confronting a bully at school is bravery, thinking against the set lines, the blood that forgets a family for a nation is bravery, raising your voice against wrong, casting your vote not because you know that the wrong may come into power but a greater thought that the country is made by people who dare to chose, that is bravery.

Just like water, that has no shape, no form, no fragrance but a clarity, a purity, an ingeniousness, bravery too is simple but yet complex. 

There is this conception about people who cry out loud. They are weak and vulnerable. What is weak according to you? Is it subsiding under the pressure of something, holding hands when you want to cross a road, giving up, crying out loud when you see something soul shattering, skinny, malnourished, undernourished.

Is weak just about all this or being weak is a state of mind? You sometimes just think a thing cannot be done and you give up not because you couldn’t do it. But it was easier to give up.


Except physical boundaries, everything and everyone is strong or weak, depends on what you tell your mind to be. 

Many things awaken our many emotions. A laughing child, a singing beauty, a bleeding wound, a frail old man, a talkative lady, men running for work, sparrows looking for water, dogs barking at other things, a still standing cow, a gush of cold wind, a surprise rain, separation, friends, friendship, intimacy, love, kiss, scolding by your parents, walking on moist sand, standing barefoot over pool of pebbles, a baby fisting your finger, a pat on the back, a fall, a rise, learning something new.

So much we know about humans and yet we know nothing. There is so much buried deep inside us that most of the times we forget that we can be someone we have not seen.


The question is as real as the universe, as the very earth you are standing on. And the question we must ask ourselves is.

Who are we?

And believe me, I could find my answer even after searching through my remains, my roots, my success, my failures, my senses and most of all, my emotions.

And oh yes, the process of finding something or the other about me won’t ever stop because we living beings were gifted with something not given to the dead – life.

Life, my friends is one hell of a Roller Coaster ride wherein all your emotions, senses and mind trigger and they trigger with a boom. 

Why do I love long conversations?

There is something mysterious about words. The way they find their form from the infinite number of combinations from a limited collection. I am amazed by how every word, every single meaning and the very tone, the pronunciation a word can embed in itself and yet remain humble enough to lie among all its fellow mates. 

There is thing about conversations. They might not be pleasant all the times but still they invigorate you to add something to yourself. For example, consider a conversation between a child and an aged person. They both may not be able to talk but still they say thousands of things. Yesterday, it happened that I had taken out Joy for a walk ( For those of you who don’t know who joy is, he is my 5 year old yet to grow up dog), I saw a pram that was being pushed by someone about the age of my grandfather. He was so excited that I, even Joy could sense his excitement. The pram he was pushing had an adorable little girl in it who wore a pink dress. Her grandfather said, ” See, a Dog.” And she rolled in excitement in her little pram. Eye contacts between them spoke the necessary. 

Yet again , I saw a conversation. A child had come to her mother, all dirty with mud. He stood there and listened. 

As I passed by, I heard what she said. “I just got this shirt for you and you made it a mess.” ” I will wash it mumma.” He said. “Go wash your hands, I had prepared noodles for you.” She said. 

Conversations are something rarely we notice because just like air and water, we have taken it for granted. Distances both of space and time, have introduced yet another form of conversations- texting

I was introduced to texting by my school friend, during the days when SMS used to rule. We used to text. Hi bro, how are you?, tomorrow  we have this test, did you see Pokemon? Simple, basic and yet complete. I was so excited, waited for it to arrive on my fathers phone that sometimes I used to sleep with it. It was sheer joy to see a SMS arrive. He was my first text buddy. 

Fast forward to college life. I was gifted a smartphone by my parents. The first things that came in it were games. It was my ritual of inducting something in the family. It is now as well. My elder brother told me of something called Whatsapp. I had fun installing it, making some use of my phone number for the first time was refreshing!. My friends were already used to it and they started sending me texts as well. LOL! OMG! IDK! WTF!. These were certainly out of my space. I was reading these words for the first time in my life and just like a confused fellow, I turned to my bestfriend. He was my saviour, he sent me a complete list of all the abbreviations used in texting. 

People don’t have this much time to type in complete words, they must be really busy, I thought. 

After my share of good amount of texting, I came to a conclusion that it is not my cup of tea. I used to get infuriated when people sent me those corpses of words in convenient little boxes that I have caught the wrath of many people. I even remember telling a girl, the first girl I ever started talking to, I cannot understand these abbreviations ,can you please use complete words. She was humble enough to acknowledge. There were at times when I wanted to speak so much but the other person would send me a LOL and I would be turned down. 

The magic of words is slowly eroding away with every LOL or an OMG. 

However, after a great amount of torture at the hands of abbreviated textors, I thought let me do something different. I have never used these abbreviations because murder of language is something so brutal. It’s like killing away your tongue with your own hands, chopping it of its vigour. 

I have always liked conversations that last more than blink of an eye. It may not be long in length but yes intensity, tone, hue matter a lot. I want to have a conversation in which you may not even need a medium, it just flows, like light in vacuum, like wind through mesh. There mustn’t be a constriction in it’s flow or else it is not a conversation. The weight of words, the way they sound, the way they should be used, change the complete aura of a conversation. 



” Sorry, I cannot do this.”

See the difference. 

I am a miser when it comes to speaking with a person I have met for the first time or especially a person of opposite gender( and let me tell you I am horrible) face to face. Texting does fine in these situations. But when a person knows me and I know them, I change. I had conversations in which I have cried like a baby or made the other person to do so. I had a conversation that made me throw away all my distractions away and focus on things more important. I had conversations that broke my heart, laid me grasping for air. I have loved a person over a conversation, hated a person in a conversation, grew more respect for a person, was scolded over and even scolded some people so that they leave things behind.

I am not a big fan of short conversations. I don’t want to know what happened to you in the day. But I want you to describe everything to me like a movie, so I could imagine you as a hero traversing through the length and breadth of the story. 

I don’t want a list of your hobbies. Although, I would love to know when you got a sore ankle while you danced, the audience that came in your performance, the dress that tore off, the hard work that went preparing for something. I want to see that passion in your eyes when you describe me something. 

Passion fuels human beings. Brings them to life. Motivates them to be someone they desire. 

I want to hear you speak, so I could absorb each and every word of you, could feel that heartbeat pumping when you remember your grandmother or a brother that stays away. 
Words are something mysterious. They can give birth in you something extraordinary. They need to be felt, questioned upon and above all, must be respected because for every invention, every discovery this human life has been capable of, is the gift of words, language, tone, speech. 
Without words, we are just animals. We may know how to survive. But leaving a mark won’t be possible.

I am in love with long conversations. 

Are you?


I am strong because I was weak. 
I know what’s loyalty because I was betrayed. 
I don’t care because once I had cared too much. 
I am silent now because the words that came out were often misinterpreted. 
I don’t wear clothes that are clean.
I have made mistakes, grave mistakes that shattered me, my image, my ego.

Choice is yours.

It’s a delusional world,  you see. We tend to be attracted towards the ones who ignore us, loyalty, faith, belief have been made cheap, disgusting by people who very proudly say they are the harbingers of love. 
What is love? 
Singing, dancing, romanticising is it love
Or is it something more deep, something more divine. 
All, including me, you, are hypocrites. We wear faces, masks that cover the one face we don’t show to anyone, falsely accusing anyone who crosses our ways. Because it is easy to accuse, get done with the responsibilities and oh yes,  wear a mask so that the entire universe sympathizes with you, glooming over the fact that you have been a victim of an attack. But, the real face, the one you haven’t shown to anyone, yes that one, it is the one true you. 
I admit today I am not happy with what my that face has shown me. The past, the many devious concoctions. But yes, I am ready to improve, ready to let go off everything to start afresh, build new foundations for the future. We were made to make mistakes, mistakes that taught us that fire should not be played with, that a bleeding wound needs to be looked at or else you will be infected, that throwing a stone at the sky will hit you back, sometime.
Yes, I am ready to show my face to the world. 

The question is, are you….?