Crush-ed

'He looked and smiled at me,

Through those dark dark glasses'-

It set my heart in frenzy,

Creating an unprecedented ruckus.

I gasped for breath

I looked at length

Gathered all my strength

Took a road so bent

Forgot about the money lent

Was about to faint

When found a merry friend

Rushed to a restaurant

Over a drink and croissant,

Discussed him,feeling jubilant,

Only to discover and repent-

As he was her present boyfriend!

So ends a tale of time misspent.

The tale of the perky li'l ghost

There once lived a perky li'l ghost

In the distant old town of Bumper Post.

Its arms were huge and lanky,

It appeared like a floating hanky!

It could pass through window sills,

It had no clear eyes and nostrils.

Its mischievous ways were known to all,

It even climbed over the dams and walls.

It preferred to call  itself their protector,

Much to the annoyance of the town's governor.

The ghost scared the villagers by pulling old tricks

It  took delight in their yells when he flew some bricks!

The villagers were perplexed

By the ghost's jaunty manner,

They longed to be liberated

But knew none who could the task shoulder.

Once arrived a masked lad

In a beautiful shiny armour,

He promised to free the land

Of the ghost's tiring torture.

He cast a magic defensive spell

Protecting the town from the lurking evil,

He waited patiently for the ghost to come

And play its silly tricks on the people.

The ghost did arrive when the clock struck one

But was taken aback to see no one!

Not a soul crawling on the ground,

Not a breath, not a sound.

The deafening silence being unbearable,

It descended to survey the town.

The lad appeared from nowhere,

And chained it in his charms,

The ghost tried to free its arms

And flee at the given chance.

But then, it heard the villagers guffaw

And jeer, calling the ghost a 'coward',

The sprite however shed a bucket full of tears

Speaking in a voice that echoed in one's ears:

"I am lonely, the reason why I scare,

But you're cruel, by Jove I swear!

Not a hair have I harmed during my stay

But you led by a stranger drive me away.

I was your protector all this while,

Now begone I am, here's my goodbye."

The sprite swallowed by flames vanished in thin air,

"Hurrah!", cried the people, congratulating the stranger.

But he stood unmoved by the jollity of the crowd,

He swiftly pulled off his mask, and called out:

"Bow before your saviour, the townsmen of Bumper Post,

Before I came here, you were all so lost.

But now I pledge to defend you at all cost,

My reign will be glorious indeed, I do not boast."

The humble folk looked here and there and lay crestfallen

For they had been embezzled

Of their freedom and independence.

Now, how they longed for the perky li'l ghost to return

But returned he never, to the people's disappointment.

A song of freedom

The 'second sex' lies ensconced in her little hood of shame,

"Free her", "Redeem her" of her inglorious past-

But all you do is try and tame

And measure the hemlines of her skirt to blame

And reason the leering meted out to her-alas!

She is a wild beast, ferocious in her fury,

Weak in her vulnerability;

So you laboriously get a law passed

On the pretext that women need protection

From the unruly mass!

The promises of justice

Slowly withers, perishes with time,

The shallow slogans voiced by hypocrites

Unfurls the farce, mocking all at once.

The shadows of lies doesn't fail to pass

By the lips of politicians pouting words of hope,

In spite of all pamphlets and journals published

Cruelty on women is every minute unleashed

With an air of defiance in regions remote.

Can you feel the air reeking

With the blood of innocent women?

Can you feel the torture and the pain

Of who create life and are worshiped even?

What you fail to comprehend is-

We are tired of all your hypothesis.

We don't need laws to protect our progeny,

We don't need your mute words of sympathy-

We cry out for our rights as individuals,

We demand you to be respectful-

Don't stifle us with your nonsense!

We aren't delicate or fragile,

Our education treats us equals-

We yearn to ring the bell for change

And heal the world, perverse and deranged,

Full of  lust and anger, that drives away sanity.

We here ring the bell,singing the song of humanity...

Can you feel the turn

Of the Wheels of Fortune?

Bringing in winds of transformation..

A hope of a generation's resurrection...

Beseeching mankind to practice Peace

Enabling womenfolk to live at ease.

P.S. This blog was in response to the contest -"Ring the Bell for IndiChange"

www.bellbajao.org

Fly away o little bird

Fly away o little bird,

Today isn't the day to spread cheer.

Today I mourn the dear departed,

Who has left this world forever.

Fly away o little bird

To the distant meadow green.

While I rest my melancholy head;

Lost in his thoughts, I turn serene.

His life swims swiftly by my eyes,

My vision misted by a drizzle.

All I remember is his wrinkly smile

On a visage undisturbed by trouble.

Fly away o little bird

To a land where you can come by his spirit,

And feel his greatness, that lies unparalleled

In the mortal world and all beyond it.

His greatness lies not only in his works,

(Far in number, more than you can count)

With undying passion,he served his purpose,

An epitome of sincerity and virtues manifold.

Awe-inspiring was his heart, so brave and so bold-

Unafraid to break free of the domineering mould,

And usher in the new, which so very few

Could dare to reconstruct, what they believed was true,

And be daring enough, to step outside the existing boundary...

O little bird, now you do realize why I feel so very unhappy...

Fly to me now o little bird,

His body of flesh you see at last,

Pay your respect to the most beloved,

His memories will live on... deep in our hearts.

A tale of everlasting friendship

Life will always have its ups and downs. At times you will face more downs than ups. That can be really disappointing, frustrating at times. When the wheels of fortune aren't in your favour, we sincerely desire a friend, a companion who'll be by our side, not get over critical of the adverse circumstances but reaffirm that dimming faith in ourselves. But frankly, in these tough times, when kin is against kin and is grabbing all spots to get that extra edge, all that surrounds us are the fair-weather friends, hooded in masks of empathy for our loss, who in reality revel in their hearts when we burn up in despair. Love is a selfless and an unconditional emotion. However with skyrocketing progress in technology the above mentioned fact is accompanied by an innocent asterisk mark (which later reveals that certain conditions do apply). And we hate conditions controlling our lives our happiness and sorrow. We were meant to be free, breathe in the air of compassion spread the word of harmony and be united in the face of all odds. Yet, when we hit the rock bottom, all that we stare into is a few pitiless faces, who mock and not console us in our grief.

In such moments of despair, when you're sitting all alone, crying a river, with optimism fading into oblivion, who is the solitary figure who is always by your side, through thick and thin? For me, it's my mother. She is my best friend, my guide, my saviour...my friend.

 I remember how my mother has been always strict with me since childhood. She was my confidante, alright, but a secret was always coupled by long lectures of wisdom. As I entered into my adolescence, I grew opinionated,and serious fights ensued.  My raging hormones rejected everything that my mother said and consequently labelled them as "old-school". My 'new' friends were my best friends then. I looked up to them. I adored them. They were cool, their ideas were "kick-ass" and rebellious and yes, I was all in a mood to break free and assert my independence. My mother in these times tried to shout her way to put me into my senses. She wept, she was disappointed and then finally,silence distanced us. Silence is bitter and cold. It kills the warmth and rots the cheer. Alas! I was too hot-headed to realize my folly, and I kept on believing my new friends. But soon came a day, when things were not so hunky dory. I had friends alright, but only on my "Contact" page on the latest gadgets I acquired. As we grow up, the number of calls diminishes.Why? Well, everybody gets going with their life's big plans. And all that people have time for is to either like your status (happy or sad)on a social networking site or just carry on a mechanical conversation,always beginning with the line, "Hey dude! Wazzup?". These may be the people congratulating you on your success and bad-mouthing you right at the same time. 

There came such a time in my life when after successfully completing my education, I was looking desperately for a job. Yet no interview calls came my way. Most of my friends were well-settled by then. They had their high paying jobs, were either married or engaged to be so, posting pretty pictures all around. While, I ran from pillar to post with my resume, I really didn't understand what I was doing wrong. I was smart and confident, with a good academic record. Gradually, I turned into a loner. For my friends did no good in pacifying my agony. " Arre yaar, relax. You'll definitely come around. Have a pizza. Pay me later." And then friends stopped calling. They didn't want to be friends with a free loader. But of course, they didn't want to be rude, so they just remained "busy" all the while.

On one such day, I received an unexpected call. A call from my mother. Now, it was not that she didn't call me up ever or anything, but she had stopped sermonizing as she did in childhood. As I received the call with a leaden heart, I did nothing but sob over the phone. I was so broken and my self esteem had shattered. Words really did not come to my aid. There was a hushed silence and my mother said, "Don't worry, I am coming." Well, 'coming' really wouldn't be that easy, as at that time I was in Kolkata, while my mom was in Bagdogra, which is a small place located in North Bengal. 'Coming' would definitely be an expensive flight ride. And I was not sure if the mom's 'once horrible daughter' really deserved that affectionate gesture. But I was too depressed to speak up, and 'come' she did. She was there to meet me the very next day. We had a great time together over films and good food. She helped me realize how significant all my accomplishments have been. She resuscitated my lost belief in my self, in all that I could do. She didn't mock me for once nor say 'I told you so'. All that she that day was help me find myself again. And that really was 'cool' and 'awesome'(as the teenagers would say).

Well don't we have that saying..."A friend in need is a friend indeed"? Well, that particular day the one to resurrect me from ashes was my mother. She has always been there- from changing my diapers to helping me with homework, from walking my way to school to motivating me when all hell breaks loose. I owe my happiness to her. I owe her my life, my identity, my being. And it is her presence  that made me realize that Friendship isn't about whom you have known the longest… It’s about who came, and never left your side… 

So, I have discovered my true friend in this life. Have you?

The Search

Looking up a wise line,
Coming up with none,
The wisdom around,
Lives with the stars and the sun.
People in masks-
Oh! look so fun,
When masks become faces,
Make a dash and run!
The knowledge of the world,
Sought by everyone,
But the key to simplicity
Camouflaged in a pun-
The irony of the universe-
We cease to be HUMAN.
Yet,looking up a wise line
Coming up with..20%...55%..78%...99% more than one.

Lady Brabourne and I

Lady Brabourne College. This has been my Mecca of leaning and unlearning many things in life. After completing my 12th standard, I longed for wings that could set me free, something which could give me a feel of liberty. I was desperate to come out of my sheltered life. While my friends chose the Delhi way, I saw the route of Kolkata before me. Well, I was still very scared of the enormity of the decision. To me Kolkata was a safe prospect as my kin would be at stone's throw. But I really didn't want my family to realize that I was scared too move out. Those were the days I weighed a massive 70kgs and was battling problems of my own-problems like low self-esteem, shaky confidence, Acne!!! And yes, the monumental decision... my stream of studies. I was undecided till the very last minute, as my heart longed for Political Science Hons. and a career in law (may be) but my mind desired English Hons. I really didn't know what to do. I didn't wish to disappoint my family or myself by choosing a subject which was not cut out for me. Still now I marvel at those people who are level-headed and great at making important decisions with a snap of the finger tip. I have been a confused person all throughout. With my last minute preparation, my unwillingness to eat veggies or binging on chocolates..I have been a poor decision maker. But then decision making indeed is a ten seconds affair. I chose English over Political Science and have been in love with the subject ever since.

I still remember my initial tryst with LBC. It was our second day in Kolkata, then an alen city. The taxi driver had taken us for a ride all around the city without having a clue where the college was. My mother got very upset and started yelling at the driver while my father got hold of another taxi. Finally, in Par Circus I saw the the name of the college which would change my life forever. There was a long queue in front of the gate. All of us wanted to get through its written exam. Nobody was sure what to prepare. The day of the exam, it started poring cats and dogs. The candidates were almost drenched while entering the college premises.The unpredictable weather had yet not prepared to carry an umbrella,always. While I scribbled lazily into my answer script, I was almost sure that I would not make the cut. But as luck would have it, I made it in the final list and never looked back ever since.

To be very frank, my grasp over the language was terrible when I began. Imagine the first class with ICD Ma'am (a living legend) was on Mimesis...!!! I couldn't even get the spelling correct in my notes.I was really scared and petrified of what lay in store for me. I was hard working and sincere but I failed to understand many things. As soon as I stepped into my first class, our professors treated us like pros and (God!) that was really embarrassing! I was not well read and bearing silent humiliation became quite the norm. However, I still remember the teacher who inspired me silently. Mrs. S.Ghosh. She was beautiful, pretty,smart...everything that I could never be. When I did fairly well in one of her tests, she was the sole professor to encourage me. And that really got me going. I was pleased with myself for a change and believed in the sheer possibility of the impossible. Even if I was never the topper, but I was never at the bottom either. And that was really comforting. Average rules! (to quote the tag-line of the American sit-com "The Middle") Finally, I really didn't do that badly in my final examination. I wound up getting a decent 60% which means securing a First Class in University of Calcutta, and was in fact a big deal. So, I patted myself on the back for not letting myself down after all.

Now,this was the academic side where the world was really not bright and cheerful. It was in fact painted in dull shades of grey and ash. However, socially I was on cloud nine. With an opportunity to enroll myself in Lady Brabourne College, came an added advantage of finding a place in Lady Brabourne College Hostel. This Hostel has been more than my second home. This was the place where I discovered myself, my friends and my future. The experience really added colours to my life. The colours dazzled initially but it started fading with time. Today,after almost 9 years, I can barely see them (literally and figuratively) but the spark and love that they  infused in my life,still remains. I  remember with distinct fondness, the first day in the dormitory. 10 girls from 10 different places, meant to share three important years of their life, together. Scary yet true. And the first evening was the evening of a power failure..a blackout which lasted for a couple of hours (symbolic??) In that blackout, all the girls who were terrified to open up to each other, perhaps realized the brilliant socializing skills of one girl from Orissa, Sonali Dey. She was the one who got everyone talking, sharing their frights,where a few also got a little sentimental while thinking about home-sweet-home. There was the sprightly Saika who could imitate people with ease, Barna and Anita, the nightingales of our dorm, Maria who was synonymous with attitude with a capital A, Sarmita who loved to switch on the lights even when she was fast asleep,Simanti, the most studious girl of our dorm (one who actually started studying from Day 1), Sangita ,the quiet sweet girl. The name of the 10th girl, I really don't remember, but she had long beautiful hair.

In the passage of three years, many things changed. In fact my equation with some people took a U-turn(for the worse). But the positive side was, I also came across girls with a heart of gold like Dwaita, a mad genius and Sangmita...a beautiful human being.  Being elected in the Hostel Union was a high point where I learnt that I had good leadership skills. I shouldered all kinds of responsibilities under the extraordinary guidance of our Hostel Superintendent, Sucheta ma'am. Everything was wonderful, till the time we had to bid each other adieu, and begin a new life outside the walls of our beloved hostel. How I miss the fight over tea table, the queue for Sunday breakfast which comprised only two pieces of bread and a banana/boiled egg (hence creating the difference between the vegetarian and the non vegetarians), the cat that occasionally licked our dinner plates, the dog(Lord Brabourne), the Saraswati Puja madrush, the triple movies day, the Holi bonanza....There can possibly be no end to this list. And yes, one can never forget to mention Chacha's dukaan and Bon Appetit who kept us from starving during the dark days.

I was never a brilliant student, as I have repeatedly said but keeping aside all my shortcomings, this college provided me the platform where I could explore deeper into myself and bring out the best. The teachers were very caring and considerate and took great pains to make us feel at home. Not a day goes by that I thank my stars for having been a part of LBC heritage. Yes, the professors were very strict and expected nothing short of perfection, but it did a lot of good to us in the long run.  The training helped us to adapt ourselves to the changing scenario and readily accept challenges. Today, I am sure that my professors have forgotten me but our laughter has still not died in its empty corridors. The canteens still buzz with our silent footsteps. The dormitories still revel in their midnight parties. Birthdays are still a big affair. After all, even with all the competition around the children within us refuses to die. Faces have changed but the hearts remain the same. The hostel may have expanded but the colours of joy keep the LBC spirit alive. Hail LBC! Today, after so many years when I look back at my college, all that I want to do is say a big Thank You to all my teachers who've made me what I am today. Without their constructive criticism and encouragement I would've been nowhere.  You're a part of me. You live inside me. My college. My love. My memories.

The Plight

Of broken hopes,dreams and aspirations-
Allow me to speak today,
Life's journey-full of trials and tribulations
Where nothing really goes our way.
Born with rainbow wings of desires,
Fed by a humble spoon of love,
Raised by a passion in the likelihood of fire,
Blessed by all angels was I from above.
My fate was to protect my soul from damnation,
I was destined to flower in the Almighty's benediction.
One day,walking through the meadows green,
 I came across a cavern so strange,
Driven by curiosity, I ventured in
But shrieked with fright,feeling deranged.
The dark clouds gathered, with a slow mumble.
Waking up from my stupor, I tried to fumble
A word of apology,of penance,of forgiveness.
However all my pleas fell on deaf ears.
The blue sky bathed in crimson red...
"Behold!the rise of the Undead!"
The rage was volcanic in its intensity,
My doom was inevitable-I could see.
The angels fled, affrighted and nervous,
Shouting cries that none could save us.
The Pandora's box was open for all to see,
Heavens howled in terror and agony !
I raised my sword,my only defense
Against an army monitored  by Menace.
While the battle began-
Headless knights towards me ran.
Raising my only defense,my sword
I looked weak and overpowered.
Through all the chaos that ensued,
Images of innocence got reduced
To dust and dust that covered by lips
Smeared by blood of enemies.
What caused the dissent,what led to the war,
What decided my Fate, I still wonder...
Innocence is lost early in the hands of time
Experience is the only sheath in one's prime.
I am still fighting- till the present day,
Keeping all my blissful dreams at bay.
My old eyes mirror oceans of dismay
Will the mortal ever have his way?-
"Nay, nay, nay."

A tale of Stories

Reality at times is stranger than fiction. And what is reality,one may ask. It is the bits and pieces of the incidents that chalk out our Destiny. Incidents spanning across time, moulding and defining our existence. In fact each and every moment we are breathing a story into the fabric of our lives. Hence, our very actions determine who we are.Actions speak louder than words. The words which merely serve as a catalyst to what we do, what we achieve in Reality.

 Now,what is the difference between the real and unreal? Unreal are those that fail to materialize in the current space of actuality but are infinitely harbored in the core of hearts. It's simply a page with an unexpected twist spelling danger or thrill, anxiety or bliss. Its very uncertainty makes the unreal so alluring. Deep inside,we still dwell in the illusory castle of the Unreal which offers limitless possibilities.Man has been an animal mortified by polarities. We detest food served on a plate. We are by nature hunters. We revel in hunting down answers necessary for our survival too. Dogged by curiosity we are jubilant in turning into the outlaw. Nobody likes to tamed. What is innate cannot be suppressed for long. The storm will rise, unleashing new stories, new memories. And the manner in which we document them is in itself a story too.

 How wonderful! You may think. And considering all the above-mentioned facts, Knowledge will always remain incomplete.Knowledge is rather the outcome of a documentation of perceptions of a specific group of people over a particular period of time. It is lethal as it can be the result of partly accurate observations.It can never be equated with Truth. Ignorance can no longer give rise to the illusory world of bliss for the true taste of bliss is not known by any.Truth and its endless quest is the ultimate reality of all living generations. It is pure. It is enlightening. It brings peace. And most importantly, it cannot be diluted by ordinary facts and suppositions. All that keeps us alive is this thirst-this strange insatiable thirst to know more. Know what, you may ask. To learn about these very stories that outline Truth. To recognize the inevitable and adapt our senses to the changes around us. To adapt and turn wise and add on to the treasure trove of Stories. Each and every speck of dust has something to reveal or perhaps has something to conceal.

There are stories all around us. Stories prisoned in the pages of the books- the yellow dusty pages with zillions of mysteries enclosed,of generations who have loved and lost,of the unearthly creatures who were more so the children of Mother Earth.There are  stories caged in our memory-one that is sung in a lullaby or helps us face  the higher truth. The stories of Nature,of the flora and fauna, the change of seasons,day and night- stories which are immortal as Life itself. And it is these stories that map our History. History that makes us proud of our roots,of the battles that we have survived, of the scars that our race has valiantly borne. It was not for nothing that the 1001 tales of Arabian Nights recounted by Scheherazade got you into the loop too. We have all a bit of Scheherazade in there. We are all eager to narrate our stories and live to see the onset of a new day. And in doing so, something is changing in the inner recesses of the Mind. Perception, may be. Or our Destiny. So,my question,do you have any new story to share today? Good luck, with them, ladies and gentlemen.

Reflections...on mind

"You really have a talent..."

"You were mind blowing...the way you connected with the audience was simply amazing.."

A thunderous applause. A drum roll. Happy music plays.Tears glisten the cheek. A moment of triumph. The moment when dreams come true.

"Real people. Real passions. One Dream"

This is a done-to-death shot in each and every reality show. It appears scripted but screams of "real emotions" weaving magic. This morning I was glued to "The X Factor" on AXN...And surprisingly, there was a good word for every contestant by the judges. Someone had loads of untapped potential, some fought poverty to realize his dreams and some just wanted to try their hands at something different. Its the story of the underdog that keeps the TRPs soaring. A common man with an extraordinary something that sets him apart, that gives him the winning edge. The tears are a 'natural' outcome of years of struggle bearing fruit on live television. People like me on the other side, who may be getting on with their lives clumsily, or stuffing breakfast in a routine manner, are left mesmerized and wonder struck. So they say that Hard Work is the key to one's success. A plain Jane can get a makeover and metamorphose into a stunning  diva...and how is that possible? They flash that perfect smile and look tenderly through the idiot box,as if meeting our gaze,and say-"Baby, you just need to Believe.." A classic fairy-tale moment.

Just the other day I was reading a book called 'The Power of Subconscious Mind' by Joseph Murphy where this power of belief was repeatedly emphasized upon. The significance of prayers, the need for optimism....all of which culminates into a healthy,prosperous life..a life where dreams flower and not devoured by the storms of hatred. Well, all this reading and the buzz of reality shows without fail prove one important thing...each one us is blessed with a unique ability. Each one of us is important in his or her own way. Now all that I have just said is known to you already. There is really nothing "new" that I have to offer. And that is our very problem. The problem of the society in which we live. We are abiding by the old rules, thinking in the way our forefathers used to think, believing what they believed and disbelieved what they trashed. We are still scared to take risks, to step out of our comfort zones, to play with fire without considering how far we'll burn our hands. We have within us the seeds to the most wonderful trees, but we uproot the plant early, crush it, trample it and set it ablaze. Why? We are scared. Scared of failure. Nothing new,eh? Yet, so true. Our subconscious mind(as the book says) lacks the power of judgement. If consciously we filter positive thoughts, our subconscious mind works upon it and delivers miracles. But if we feed negative thoughts, all it does is demoralize us, break our confidence and hurls us down the pits of despair.

“The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven..”....a quote by John Milton[ Paradise Lost (Book 1)]rings true to the present day. The mind is a strange zone. It acts like a puppet but at times treats you like one. You are a slave to your thoughts. Thoughts determine actions. Actions determine your personality. Personality adds up to your Identity. The Identity outlines your Being.So, if we need to be fearful of anything, it has to be the power of one's mind..that can conjure pleasantries or engulf us in absolute darkness. 

Coming back to the reality shows, with all high-blown promises of big deals which at times fails to materialize leading to huge controversies),if we keep aside the money and the 20 minutes of fame, we actually do witness the celebration of the human race....the race that boasts of the power to reason, the power to challenge boundaries and blows off all that is insurmountable. Its magnificent to see how true potential  cuts the divide between the highs and the lows, the white and the dark, men and women, east and west. It is a celebration of ingenuity..of perseverance,of will and determination. Five years down the line we may not even remember the name of the solo artist whose song had driven us to tears, or whose act had made us gape at the possibility of such a feat. All that gets imprinted in the subconscious is the grit to fulfill one's destiny, to 'believe' in one's destiny. To believe and just do it,as the heart zooms its way to success..and the mind pats the tired heart and says..."Baby, you just need to believe.." And if we can believe, victory is surely ours.Guaranteed (drum roll).

Rain and Reverie

The clouds have gathered in the sky. It will rain any minute now. The windows have been shut tight for long. The curtains have been pulled open. It is time to witness the magic of universe. The rain. It initiates an emotional turmoil. It makes me crouch with fright when accompanied by thunder and lightning. But a gentle drizzle floods my doleful heart with bliss. It is also a time when I sit in my room, take out a book that I have been meaning to read for a long time,make myself a warm cup of coffee,and snuggle under the blanket for some quiet time. Quiet..quietude denied elsewhere in the ruckus outside. The quiet which soon takes the shape of disquiet with the buzz of activity everyday. The quiet which is tormented by nightmares in the darkness of the room.

 Look! How beautiful is the weather outside today! Its pouring with great intensity. I can hear people squeal with delight. I can feel the hawkers working at lightning speed to cover up all their goods in plastic. Oh! the sweet rustling sound of the breeze caressing the leaves of the trees that decorate roadsides...the pitter-patter on the rooftop...the excited screams...the thunder...its a delightful symphony which throws me into sweet raptures of joy every time, without fail.

 Personally I detest getting wet in the rains. I cite medical problems and deprive myself of the simple joys of dancing in the sweet waters of heaven. My tonsils get bloated, I am down with fever every single time I have got wet. I scarcely remember a day when I just followed by heart and rushed out of the house as soon as it started raining. Without any wonder, I have been branded as the "good girl" for this added reason. But I believe getting drenched in the rain is a different feeling altogether-it is liberating, thrilling and peaceful. For centuries a "dance in the rain" has been symbolic of  assertion of independence from the bondage of man-made world in literature. Its a symbol of doing away with conventions and exercising free will. Rain ignites passion in its very crude form. And hence the origin of the seductive rain dances in Indian cinema. However,with increasing pollution the water has lost all its purity and it pours down diseases relentlessly on the parched hell in which we dwell.

With all things said and done, I would like to go back and enjoy the romanticism of rain. After all we are human beings blessed with a creative mind. Why mar the beauty of Nature with dull scientific facts? When we can close our eyes and listen to Nature play a song with a brilliant orchestra of its own, why sit in gloom and wipe a tear, living in the past? And while I  share my thoughts with you, I can hear a mother scream out to her child," Come inside or you'll catch a cold." Is it a fear of illness? Or a Fear that controls our every step? A fear that will not let us rest or be the best that we can definitely be? However the rhapsody of the gentle drops lashing against the window sill has something important to tell. It whispers into our ears the mantra of one's survival.."Come, play with me and be alive...for I may not come to you tomorrow or ever...Be brave to feel me caress your cheeks...for tomorrow I may not be the happiness you seek." So... what have you decided to do today?

The Mad Man

No one can be happier than a mad man.
For a mad man is free,
He knows no boundary.
He eats at will,
He pays no bill.
With none to question his deed,
He has no family to feed.
He does not comb his hair.
He sees no despair.
His beard is the home for flies.
He is unperturbed by the everyday lies.
He smiles freely
He laughs merrily
Yet he's met with frightened eyes.
His friendly gestures seem not so nice.
Untrained by Diplomacy
He questions Hypocrisy-
Who cares if he's alive or dead,
He's a mad man...there's nothing to be said.

The Mirage

Walking past the desert of Time
I come across a broken wind-chime
With a wooden bird carved on top,
Its ruined limbs like broken twigs
Dangling loosely to come off.
I hold it close to my saddened chest,
I stare intently at its crumbling surface.
I swallow a tear,for
I refuse to besmear-
The shadows of civilization that lies ensconced
In the thin lines of its broken bones.
I myself am dressed in rags and tears
I ride no fancy stallion or mares.
I walk on two and fours and crawl
The path ahead is clouded for all.
When all of a sudden,my eyes behold
A miracle,a sight ne'er to be told.
The broken bird coos a tune
Bringing up the green in place of dune
The parched air is replaced by a rainbow
Oh how the lambs' jollity infect the meadow!
The moist rain sets me crying again
But I awake in the sand,feeling insane.
I trip,I stumble, and catch my breath
The wooden bird's silent chirrup...in my head inbred.