I pray God to repeat it again

Morning
	The alarm disturbs
	I wake up
	She pushes me for taking bath
	Forces me for breakfast, chawanprash, milk and a long menu
	Clock approaches 9
	She gives me wallet, watch, spectacles, sprout box and bike key
	Wishes me all the best for office
	Waves a lovely good bye
	Reminds me for helmet
	Looks at my exit from the balcony.
Afternoon
	Opens the door before I ring the bell
	Makes me wash my hands
	Serves lunch
	I sense her happiness in her to-n-fro from kitchen
	I sense her happiness in her drops of sweat on forehead
	Makes me eat some extra
	Eats at the same plate…idiot
Evening
	Serves me glucose
	Makes me pray and bow at Gods
	Googles for snacks dish and put her heart on cooking
	Asks me in child like innocence, "Is it ok at least"?
	I fake anger
	She accepts, and I sense her love in it
Night
	Scolds my serials for spoiling my studies
	Bakes roti (bread)
	Makes me eat early
	Forces me to drink the ill smelling milk…yuk
	Orders me-don’t stick to the computer
	Cleans the kitchen
	Makes sure the home is locked
	Loves me
	and I thank God for the wonderful today, and pray to repeat it again
	She is, who she is – the better half

Dussehra: Are you happy Maa ?

Vijayadashami or Dussehra-the day to celebrate the victory of God Ram over the ten-headed Ravana, of Maa Durga over Mahishasura and other demons like Chanda-Munda and Shumbha- Nishumbha; that is victory of good over evil. We, the religious ones do ‘Havans’ and a lot of ‘Daan-Dakshina’, and some of us even invite little girls (Kanya) to our homes and wash their feet and arrange a grand feast for them. The girls are given return gifts and are guided safely to their homes. We go to visit Durga Pooja Pandals with family, bow to the mother goddess and pay reverence. We ask for health, wealth, success and luck for the coming year, eat ‘Prasad’ and go back looking at other beautiful ones on the way home. 

We ritually believe that there is no greater power than that of a Woman, the mother goddess, and at the same time we do not forget to turn our heads to take a glimpse of the women standing aside. We close our eyes to sink in the divinity of the deity, and open with pleasure at inhaling the ladies deo; we mesmerize at the beauty of Maa Durga, and the same ‘we’ finds excuses to see the curves of a woman next to us praying with closed eyes. We praise the Goddess for saving the world from devils like Mahisasura and Ravan, and happily nurture the demons inside. Maa, are you really happy at you sons? Or you are eagerly waiting for the Bisarjan to hide your helplessness? I think that’s why the cyclone Phailin came on the Astami Day to make the dry lands full of water so that you will find a nearby place to be dumped at. 

We don’t get tired while praising the power of mother goddess, and then we spend the rest of the year expecting that a beautiful baby boy will come out of our pregnant wives ‘this-time’. A part of us, the flag bearers of ‘Khaap Mentality’ looks out for ways to justify female feticide, rapes and molestations in the name of tight fit jeans, skirts, movies, chowmin, mobiles and what not except the ‘male-urge’ to dominate. Some of us will even challenge the right to education for a girl child. We burn the spare candles from kitchen supporting cases like ‘Nirbhays’, but keep a mum on the question about acceptance of a rape survivor in the society.

Dussera night, and we will feel proud after burning the effigy of Ravan cursing his evil spirit, and evidently flaunting our presence at the occasion with newly owned cars or bikes, jewellery and neatly pressed perfumed suits. And then the next Navratri and Dussehra will come and, we the same people will flock in Pandals again asking for health, wealth, success and luck for the coming year. Maa, are you really happy at us? 

Maa, it’s your country, India, where ‘women’ are worshiped as ‘deities’, and at the same time the hunger for a boy over a girl leads to countless coldblooded murders. In a country where a woman represents the goddess of wisdom as Saraswati, literacy rate of women is nothing to be proud of. In a country where a ‘woman’ is the goddess of wealth (Lakshmi), of power (Durga), of satisfaction (Annapurna) and of Spirituality (Gayatri), the very women are getting raped in different parts of the country is not infrequent news. Are you happy at us? 

We can blame administration, police, politicians, system and on and on…but ultimately it is all about the mind-set that cooling its heel inside our frontal lobe. Killers of the female infants are from amongst us. Rapists are from amongst us. Those who don’t believe in the education of the girl child are from amongst us. They are not criminals; they are the product of society’s collective apathy in stopping them.

What will we do? Simply wait and watch? Show sympathy? Shout for the right of the women at the dining table gossip? March rallies to bunk the office than to support the cause? It’s true, the women are shy and physically weak, but they are never ever without power. They are like the mother Goddess who has not lost hope even on demons like Mahisasura and had allowed to rule the paradise for sometime anticipating a change. We are at the same position, and are happily exhausting our lifelines either by committing or supporting or by not protesting the crimes against women. I am sure the time is not far for the women to rise, find and punish the demons within us.

It’s never the late for walking on the path of change and hope. This Dussehra let’s get rid of male chauvinism, ego and fake pride. Let’s hope for victory, not over others, but over the ones comfortably playing inside us like Lust (Kama vasana), Anger (Krodha), Attachment (Moha), Greed (Lobha), Over Pride (Mada), Jealousy (Matsara), Selfishness (Swartha), Injustice (Anyaaya), Amanavta (Cruelty) and Ahankara (Ego). I hope, Maa Durga surely hope us to get Vijaya (victory) over the Ravan inside us. Let us make our dear mother Goddess a bit happy.     

Happy Dussehra!!!

Dear Nirbhaya, you were just a toy with blood and flesh

[“In its first verdict in the Nirbhaya case, a Juvenile Justice Board (JJB) on Saturday (31^st August, 

2013) held that the minor accused was 'involved' in the gang rape and murder of the paramedical 23-year-old student and sent him to three years in a 'place of safety' at a reformatory home.” The following lines are just to fill the page.]

2013, the last day of the month of August, the same month when mother India got rid of shackles from mighty British rule, and the same month that led her to rethink about her own safety from the emerging juvenile sex players. Dear August, you have the guts to bear the judgement at your last day. I am sure, you must be rushing…but surely failed to judge the speed of our Judiciary System.

Oh yes, he was just a juvenile while he committed the bad act (no…no…It’s not a crime). How can a juvenile do a crime like rape? You insane idiot women of India, go and find the definition, a juvenile is an individual organism that has not yet reached its adult form, sexual maturity or size. He had not reached adulthood, that’s why all other adults gave him the first chance to play; he was sexually immature, that’s why he had opted for unnatural way; and to compensate the size, he simply had used the iron rod. See our justice system is simply going by the definition, word by word. That’s it…. don’t do a drama, you helpless women.

Below the age of 18, rape is not the act of forceful sex; it’s just a way of discovering the latent manhood within. It’s just a play where the plastic doll is simply replaced with the one with flesh and blood. He was just playing….a bit hard on the toy called an adult woman. Have you seen any kid playing with a toy? What does he do when the doll failed to amuse the kid? The kid either throws it away or goes for a better one. In this case, the kid was a little (actually very little) violent, he tore the doll apart, gave it to others to play, inserted an iron rod to make it work. And I am sure, with the experience in hand; he will find a better one in future. The rest of the so called dolls of India, get ready to be played… As I wrote earlier, the juvenile accused was simply discovering the manhood within, with the help of few adults as examiners, while playing the new sex game with the poor girl. What is his fault by the way? That’s it. You sadist citizens, instead of being happy on a child’s play, you are creating ruckus, you all must face the charge of strict Indian Penal Code (IPC).   

My dear JJB (Juvenile Justice Board) and fellow citizens, please provide him a better looking toy in the correction home. And my dear women citizens of Republic of India get mentally prepared for this…as you are simply a toy in the eyes of our legal system. Think twice before planting a kiss on the forehead of a kid, seal your lips before smiling at a minor…..or you may curse yourself as usual for being born here which no one listens but you. Don’t even dare to think of suicide, it’s a crime under IPC.

I am happy that Nirbhaya is long dead before witnessing the verdict. What would we say to her? Dear Nirbhay, we have sentenced the juvenile the maximum punishment of three years for mishandling the doll and playing unfair with you. Be happy and feel proud that it’s you for whom the maximum sentence is penned. I know, she must be crying out there looking at our indifference and laziness; the indifference towards the cruelty and the laziness to shout at the verdict on a Sunday. Don’t worry; we will do the protest on a working day just to get rid of our daily routine. It’s a healthy time pass to shout slogans on law against sexual violence, a hot coffee table gossip, a relieving status update on face book, a perfect dinner time news watch…and a selfish kiss on the women we love by saying, be safe. Sorry Nirbhaya, we are a spineless generation unlike you think of us. Please don’t dream to take rebirth here. If you still think so, we are not responsible for your consequence.

As the anger is typed, let’s think why the laws are made? What should we follow, the intent of the Law or the letter of the law? I hope the judiciary system is established to implement the intent of the law, taking the rule book as a guideline and not simply adhering to the black and white letter of the law.  Whenever a society follows the letter of the law blindly bypassing the principal intent or motive behind, it turns bureaucratic, and goes to the dogs. We, in India follow the letter of the law, what is written, keeping a blind eye on the motive. I think there lies the root of the problem. That’s why after 66 years of independence, we have led the extra food grains to rot in the warehouse while thousands die in hunger. It’s the time to introspect. To think about our fundamentals, to ponder on the question, ‘what’s gone wrong?’ I hope nobody is listening.

I promise I won’t let you down

It was the first day, when I was formed as an embryo in my Mom’s womb. “Life emerges out of nothing”, an amazing lesson I was taught inside the womb…I smiled and happily forgot the lesson of my first ‘Guru’, the almighty God. It took me to go through the hell and see the death in my lap to get your 1^st lesson about life.  

Dear God, thank you for being my first teacher. You have given me more than I ever deserve. I am sorry for the late.  I promise I won’t let you down.

I was all cruel from the time I was in the womb, and was sucking blood from my Mom… 13 weeks passed and I spread my legs in laziness, and my Mom was all smiles getting the first ‘quickening’ (baby kick) in her womb… I stayed there comfortably for 40 odd weeks in sleeping, sucking blood and sleeping…and one day she went through the hell of lifetime in bringing me out… I don’t know how she was smiling after that… It was time to thank my Mom for teaching me the lesson “It’s worth bearing the pain for whom you Love”… Huh! I once again forgot the lesson and instead cried my heart out for bringing me out from my cozy sleep.

Dear Mom, thank you for being my first teacher I have ever seen. You have taught me what Love is all about. I am sorry to take years to get your early lessons. I promise I won’t let you down.

Grandma and Grandpa, you both were always there to tell me the stories of price, princess and demons whenever I wish to fly on my dreams. You were always there to be my horse whenever I wanted to have a joy ride. You are the ones who told me I have distant uncles named ‘Moon’ and ‘Tiger’…and you are the ones who taught me the lesson, “Youthfulness is not in age, but in mind and heart” while racing for the butterfly by my side.  It was time to thank and take care of you two, when I moved to hostel for knowing the idiotic physics and chemistry better.  I forgot your lesson of keeping my heart young. I feel tired in 15 minutes bus journey; feel irritated when a kid asks me 10 questions in a row.

Dear Grandma and Grandpa, my old sweetheart teachers, thank you for teaching me the lessons on ageless enthusiasm and youthfulness. I am sorry to get your lessons bit late. I promise I won’t let you down.

You jumped with joy when I started uttering the word ‘Papa’. You made feel there is no word such as “No” for whatever I wished. You taught me the 1^st step I ever took in my life. You were there always when I fumbled to say what 1+1 is equal to. You stood like a wall when I wanted to lean on. You cancelled your office trip to cheer me up in my school sports day. You taught me to prioritize in life. But Papa, I forgot all your lessons and ran behind money and fame.

Dear Papa, thank you for teaching me the lessons on priorities of life and I am sorry to get your lessons bit late. I promise I won’t let you down.

You always shared your chocolate, walked before me to make sure the road is clear. You jumped with joy seeing me stood first in the class. You always feel proud to be called as my elder brother than anything else. You put a ‘full stop’ to your studies to see me get the best of the facilities in my endeavor. It’s you who taught me by action, “Life is all about giving and forgiving, living for others, sacrificing and in return seeking for none.” I forgot all your lessons and started competing with you to increase my bank balance.

Dear brother, thanks for teaching me what sacrifice means in life. I am sorry to get the lessons a bit late. I promise I won’t let you down.

You entered the classroom flaunting the shiny French beard and few grey hairs. ‘Learning is fun filled’, you taught us with periodic clapping and compulsory singing in the class. When my learning horizon started and stopped at the classrooms, you taught me to look beyond; when I was about to be a bookworm, you gave your splendid touch to transform me to fly like a butterfly. You showed us how to be strictly disciplined, you laughed at being called as ‘arrogant’, ‘autocrat’ or ‘Hitler’. You are the one who taught me the lesson of life time, “Life is a classroom and we all are work in progress.” Huh… I once again forgot the lesson and instead started blaming others for my failures, not trying for at least once to understand what it means to be always ‘work in progress’.

Dear Sir, thanks for teaching me ‘change is the essence of life and constant is death’. I am sorry as I took a lot of time in understanding the truth. I promise I won’t let you down.

Happy Teachers’ Day to all those who taught me to go ahead in life, and bearing all the pain in making me what I am.  

No, not at all

9.00AM, The alarm started buzzing again indicating the time for my medicine. I was in no mood to digest that devil bitter pill. Kept my eyes closed...and pretended to my own as I am sleeping. But then someone touched my leg with a bit warm blanket... It felt wonderful though winter was getting ready to say good bye in a week or two. I started loving the warmth and tried to shut my eyes... then all of a sudden I sprung on my bed to see who did this...

More than the discovery of the blanket, I shouted in pain as my broken leg started paining like hell. I gained my mind after few seconds to see who put the blanket...

Oh it was she, she came early in the morning to see me...a wild thought fired in me, 'Has she ever slept last night?'  When I tried to hide my emotions, my lips made a curve and welcomed her with a big smile.

I wanted to see her face, but she had fixed her beautiful eyes on the plaster which was made to heal the broken leg. I wanted to say, have a look at me, my pain will go...could not spell. Her eyes started pouring, which I really hate to see, but that time I felt good. Don’t know why, may be it made me feel that she still cares for me.

A drop dropped. 'It will dissolve the plaster', I teased.

'Idiot', she said and punched slowly.

'Aahh!' I faked pain.

'Sorry, sorry, sorry.....ry' at least ten times she told by heart.

'It’s ok', I could not stopped smiling revealing it’s fake. She raised her face; I could see the broad temple.

'You haven't changed a bit, still the same idiot.'

'Yeah, I am the same, at least for you.' I stressed the last few words.

My mom came in smiling. Her smile even grew big after seeing her. 'You are so early!' my mom asked casually.

'Aunty, I could not sleep last night, thinking about this idiot.' I marveled at her frankness. 'You carry on aunty, I will be here,' she said. My mom smiled and said, 'I know', while leaving the room.

I was literally bored to spell the same thing, how the accident happened, when someone come to visit me as a goodwill geasture. But I was enthusiast like a kid to tell my so called adventure to her. She was all ears, fixing her eyes at mine. Nothing would have motivated than her black eyes to stretch my story at all possible angels, true and false at sometime.

She closed her eyes and uttered ‘aah’ when I told about the number of stitches… I felt somehow guilty to make her feel that way, and closed the adventure episode and started talking about her and him, his boy friend, bloody demon.

When I exhausted my little brain with the unwanted gossip, she knew that too, she started. ‘Don’t talk all this bulls**t. Can’t you keep your mouth closed for a moment?’ She saw me like a school teacher asking some naughty students to keep their mouth shut. Those students must be idiots who keep quite with this loving gesture of silence... I kept my index finger sealing my lips.....

'Good boy,' she said......  She has not changed a bit. The same killing orders...same silky hairs and same dimple when she moves her cheek even if for a shy smile...

After a pause, I resumed by saying, ‘I think you know better ways to make my mouth shut,’ felt awkward after touching the weak thread. I turned my face away.

She paused for few moments, and then smiled back. Girls are the best in switching the topics. I had to return to her face when she tingled her bangles in front of me.

‘So tell me about your life at Hyderabad. We haven't met for months, what’s going on there at Hyderabad? Have you got any hariyalis (she calls all beautiful girls as hariyalis)?’ Asked all these in one go like she was in a hurry or maybe she wanted to change the topic as soon as possible.

‘It’s all fine,’ I answered the two questions with three words.

‘How come you are so miser in choosing words,’ she pretended to be surprised when we both knew it was otherwise.

‘So, do you have a girlfriend?’

I shook my head.

‘You should get one. It wonderful to be in love. A feeling even better than dreams.’   She told.

‘It’s wonderful when the other has the same feeling,’ I regretted on choice of words instantly.

She looked at my eyes. I turned towards the window and focused on two birds chirping contineosly and caring each other; I imagined, the cute one being she, and the other.....

After a pause, she said, ‘you can find someone nice, if you open up.’

‘I don’t need,’ I told still looking at the window; the two birds were still chirping on the branch. What the birds talk…

She held my chin and turned my face towards her. ‘You have a good job, fat salary. I will be just a school teacher uttering A B C D. You can get someone better.’

‘Someone better than you?’ I said.

‘Absolutely,’ she said.

‘That’s not possible,’ before she could answer I dialed my cousin’s mobile to drop her at her place, although I knew she had all the time on Sunday and her parents won’t mind a little knowing she is at my place.

I was quite, she too. Sometimes being quite makes you hear the storm. I was quite okay with the storm at any form, but her silence was killing...

I opened my laptop and started showing some dumb useless pictures to her to avoid any more talk. When she wanted to say something, I intentionally diverted the topic and prayed for my idiot cousin to come early.

My cousin came greeted her. She stood up to go, but suddenly told to my cousin, ‘Go and start the car, I am coming.’

She turned to me and said, ‘Don’t tell me that you still have feelings for me?’

I swallowed hard, faked a smile and told, ‘No, not at all, .......it’s over,’ and offered for a hand shake without looking at her eyes.

I didn't know what else to do. She came forward, kissed on my forehead and whispered, ‘Take care.’

Cow dung

Normal human being is like a piece of cow dung. We all are. We are supressed quietly under the burden of daily routine, family, prestige and becomes history. Once at least let someone burn the pile of the history. Then we will say; all of us, how it feels to be like cow dung.

For you

Oh beloved!
O beloved darling!
On my knees, alive but dead.
Look at the invisible blood, I am dead.
I'm not gone, my mind has drifted.
Don't expect much,
I am wrapped and twisted.

The clouds have gathered every time,
but it rained not once.
My beloved never come close to me,
the night passed on.

it’s selfish

There is nothing selfish than Love,

it doesn't ask for sacrifice, but a determination to achieve,

no great intent, but a small wish to be with the one you love,

this is its secret, and this makes it success.

 

What others will say, think, what's right, what's wrong,

all have no meaning,

when one sheds off all these worthless burden over heart,

road will be clear, life will be easier,

destiny will give it's pen write it your own.

Happy Rakhya Bandhan

She loves me, fights at silly, fumes when teased, shares the smallest of the chocolate, opens door at my late night return, waits till late to make me eat, lies often at papa for me, acts as spy for my mom, fights often…shares all…loves limitless…and on the day of Rakhi ties all her faith on my right hand…feeds me sweets…prays for my long life…and gives me a hug i can ever ask at almighty.

Love you dear sisters…

HAPPY RAKHYA BANDHAN

Happy Friendship Day

Hello Buddy ?

It's been more than years and we are more like enemies than friends !!!And the irony is, you are my lucky star all the way along. It’s not a different Sunday today but a day to recall all the sweet n sour moments with a glimpse of half moon on your lips....are you smiling ??? (Kamine nahin hasa to tera khoon pi jaunga)

I still remember you being philosophical on stupid topics,

Of being quite and talking the most,

Of headaches and hand aches  of loosing and smiling together,

Of winning and shaking heart to heart,

Of being teasing each other,

Of telling lies on each others and smiling together,

Of getting fear and saying …cool, dude,

Of watching late night movies (which movies U  know better) and telling white lies to parents,

Of proposing the same and being enemies,

Of getting rejected and crying together,

Of going to unknown parties to eat free and getting caught,

Of ignoring each other and caring,

Of agreeing and disagreeing,

Of talking all unparliamentary words and listening carefully,

Of fighting till blood and searching for band-aid,

Of being accused of useless from parents and smiling at each other,

Of listening and forgetting,

Of crying to see at sickness …. to fight with doctor,

Of forgetting B'day and asking for parties,

Of applying cake as facial and eating that,

Of scolding each other and smiling,

Of sharing the ladoos from aunty,

Of writing each other’s love letters,

Of forwarding SMS and calling to ask...Got it ?

Of copying each others project and swearing on God...'Its genuine'

Of copying paper in Exam and smiling with pride,

Of searching job together and telling....'interviewer was dumb'

Of getting job and partying late night

Of telling 'my boss knows nothing'

Of till date challenging the sentence "CHANGE IS CONSTANT"....cos getting a friend like you proves....at times the ever true ‘Change’ is helpless at this divinity.....

Happy Friendship Day

 

Love,

Sakti…a devil by choice !

Work in progress

We mostly live life on the path 'destiny' set for us,
too afraid to explore any other,
but once in a while 'the one' comes along,
who knock down all the obstacles destiny puts on the way as planned,
to realize  free will is a gift
one will never know how to use
until one fights for it.

 

I think that's the ultimate plan of the almighty...

...to see more people defy the destiny
...to see more people fight for it
...to see more people write it for their own

 

May be one day, we wont to walk on the path laid by destiny,
but on the one which is always 'work in progress'.

The whole universe is transforming towards the day,
when 'we' will stand near the writer's table and say...

"Will you hand it over to me, I want to write my own destiny?"

Because I know no other!

That broad, strong frame,
Those blushed up red cheeks,
Bright and chirpy eyes,
That curly asset — his hair
Like the tendrils to hold my little fingers in,
And sometimes my ball pen and paper rocket
I can never forget those mystery coils
Smooth as bed, pitch black, oily and shiny,
The hairs of my Papa.

His small sharp black beard
From where I learnt what sensation was all about
When he rubs his beardy cheeks on me
I chose to forget the world
And he, his’ on my giggling...
The soapy creamy lather
Just like the butter on the b’day cake
The walk of the razor on his face
And the small toffee as gift for holding the mirror.

Neat, clean and firm
With few bluish veins
I remember those hands
I think of them often
They were the only set of hands
Capable of lifting me up whenever I fell
Tailor-made
Just to anchor me anytime.

Those hands
Walks through my naughty hairs
Making me fearless
When Mom shouts at my mischief
And becomes a slapping machine
When getting caught smoking the half burnt beedi* of grandpa
Full of mystery
The hands of my Papa.

Holding me through my testing times
Nurturing me out of my pain
I can never forget
Rock solid, passionate, loving, and artistic—
The hands of my Papa.

The waiting for festivals
The early rise in the morning
The searching for the new dress
And fighting with my elder bro
For telling his dress better than me
Papa’s rescue hugs and kisses on forehead
Forgetting the fight on the joy of being dearer
Still pondering, still searching for the same
But can’t get with 30K** Armani or 50K Tuxedo.

Bank for me was his wallet,
Shoulder as vehicle…
Love for me was snuggling up to his nose,
Just as I did when I was a kid,
Smell for me was his sweaty shirts,
Which I could smell three rooms apart,
Touch for me was when he pressed my head
And I would pass out into deep slumber,
Religion for me was his prayers in the morning
And above all,
Happiness to me was a picture of him in his handsome, glorious past.

I often ask myself:
Why this obsession?
Why this undying, untainted love?
Why these urge to spot him in a crowd?
The only answer I get to all these baffling questions is — because I know no other!

No wonder, today, when I think back on these words
Love, happiness, religion — I can’t seem to find meaning in them.
Their connotation and implication in my life has changed,
Just like my Papa
But, the one thing that has not changed is his hands,
They still can lift me up when I fall,
Hold me through testing times and nurture me out of my pain.

He is, unfortunately, not the same,
His broad-strong frame has shrunk into a fragile reminiscence of his past,
His cheeks are shrivelled, thus can’t blush up,
His beautiful, bright black-eyes
Are glazed and tainted forever with an ocean of pain, responsibility and experience.
His curly asset, they have shed, balding him of his demeanour.
My handsome hero has surely changed,
But my love for him never will!
Because I know no other!


Notes:
* Beedi = Similar to cigar but mostly used in Indian countryside
** K = Thousand

Thank you

No picture is perfect with single colour

Happiness has no meaning without pain....

I am thankful for your kindness

For the lesson you taught on life

How can I complain....

You have given me enough to think at...enough to smell for...enough to love with...

I have no time anything else...

Thank you...

I am thankful for your kindness [1]

 

Let me witness the story of my luck....

It’s sometimes killingly insane....sometimes lovingly darling....

When my luck freed me to love...I became the king...

I started loving each and all...

Then how come I hate my killer...

It’s so lovingly insane....so intimately hateful...so unusually caring...

I started believing that life has no meaning without death…

Thank you...

I am thankful for your kindness [2]

I don’t know what is that?

 

Where ever my feet are going

However far this way may go

Even if I am faltering

I will come with you…

 

Even if it’s a small separation

I cry

In my every heart beat

Am I not there?

 

You laugh or slap

I’ll be your shadow walking behind you

I know

You are the one…

Who cared to wipe out my tears

 

I don’t know what’s between us

The bond which I hadn’t heard in my mom’s lap…now become life

Giving me enough love for my life

 

Where ever my feet are going

However far this way may go

Even if I am faltering

I will come with you…

Who am I ?

I was born fool; my mom’s ear pulling made me smart!

I was sleepy; my dad’s smiling face on the field made me a bit otherwise!

I was lazy; the homework made me run!

I was selfish; unconditioned love of my brother made me a bit otherwise!

I was a loner; my friends made me social!

I was a looser; my sisters’ faith made me a bit otherwise!

I was calculative; the mother earth taught me to open up!

I was all brain; my niece’s smile made me a bit otherwise!

I was all serious; the autumn flower made me smile!

I was all complaining; tree’s shadow made me a bit otherwise!

 

let me think…without all the learning…who am I? May be a Devil

Short story: A night that was

8.30 pm .Welcome to Cuttack Railway Station. A big sign board is glowing. But there is no glow on Malini’s face. She is fully tired.13 hrs journey extended to 21 hrs. Indian Railway. How India will grow? Irresponsible……She came to reality when the TT asked for ticket at the gate.

The night was unusually dark. Few auto rickshaws are there in the stand.

“Will you go to Buxi Bazar?” Malini asked

“No”, the auto driver slapped a spare answer and left.

This problem happen every where .Auto rickshaw fellow generally don’t agree for small distances. Is it my fault that the station is near to my home? Malini was murmuring in anger. She tried her luck with 4-5 other autos hoping to hear a single word ‘YES’….but….

Sky was not clear due to clouds. Moon was walking slowing continuing the hide-n-seek game as if Malini will ask for help. A rainn drop touched her cheek and followed by the 2^nd and 3^rd. Rain started, If she were at home, then she could have enjoyed the rain, could have danced like mad in the rain, Rain dance always reminds her about the good old childhood, the paper boat,……..She came to station from the childhood by a big horn.

“Mam don’t dream in rain, give me side, the auto drive threw a comment while going.

How to go? Bablu, the young lad in malini’s family, also not there in home. He could come to pick. Bad luck he is at uncle’s home for marriage function.

Oh God…how I will go? The rain is going hand and hand, Ah…The first smell of the soil. Its like someone put an incense stick. She got some faith. At least mother earth is there. She has not changed in giving the same fragrance.

She stepped the 1^st step knowing that there will be no auto to take. After Ravenshaw college turning, she took the shortcut to reach early. Road side trees are welcoming her for her home coming. With each step she was entering the memory land, the good old college days. Asmit, Sukanti, Nalini and…..Prakash……she breath a heavy breathe. Why it happened? Why and how can he marry some other girl after 5 years of relationship,……..Let it. May God give him all happiness……………..What is this? No street light. She stepped back for a moment. The pitch black night and the snake dark road. Shall I….go?....else what? Thinking to go back she stepped forward. May be that her mind said. She remembered her mom’s saying. “Remember Hanumanji” when in fear. She did same thing though she laughed when her mom told that first. To her utter surprise, she is strong now.

Dum……, she shocked. A mango dropped from tree. She breathed heavily and started walking bit fast.

Naked road, No one is there. Oh God, Please send someone. Please. How I will cross the next ahead. It is full of people with whom no one would like to mingle with. I should have thought that before choosing the route……

She heard of an auto sound. Yes, an auto is coming form back. She flew her hand like a traffic police asking to stop.

Oh…It stopped, Without asking anything she got into the auto asking to take her to Buxki Bazar.

“Mam, it’s reserved. Sir will go to Buxi Bazar too, if he agrees then I will take”, the driver replied. Malini realized that she is not alone. It is reserved one she thought of getting down…..but knowing the danger, she looked the man sitting in auto with a hope.

He did not reply anything. But slightly moved giving her place to sit, without asking or giving thanks she sat. God is great.

She was poured with thanks. She saw him letting him unknown. Mature face, Small beards,…….Moustache. face is not bad…..can be told good, straight body…..can protect her from danger, But over the top he looks very helpful and sober. Nice guy….like Prakash. No….No…. She should not think like this…….

Don’t know why but she felt secure. She sat in relaxed position. The road is not straight. When the auto turned left, she moved towards the man and her hand touched him. “sorry”, unknowingly the word came from her mouth. She felt shy.

There is no reaction from his side. “Very sober, Malini thought. He moved to his side though there is no space. She felt ashamed, in the same time she felt happy that the person is very sober and at least she can reach home safely.

She thought of talking something to him. But could not get how to start…..thought of telling him “I am grateful”….But could not utter.

“….Mam, Buxi Bazar, where I will drop? The auto driver asked.

“Next lane”, she replied with bit hesitation. May be she was thinking that the journey should not stop, but…. always there is a but…..

“Surylekha lane, and an arrow mark”…indicated that she have to get down now, “I will get down here”, Malini uttered.

He paid the driver, though Malini was thinking to pay, but could not stop him. How she could stop? She does not know his name……

No…No…I have to call him for a cup of tea else it will be indecent. At least I can do this for a person, who came as a God’s Messenger.

“Please come for a cup of tea”, How Malini uttered this line she does not know.

The man stopped for a moment. Turned back and after a pause, “I am Razak Khan, of 3^rd lane, hope you know”.

Malini pushed herself few steps back. Shocked Razak Khan, the Gunda….the man who collects weekly money from shopkeepers, the man who beats like crazy the man who is never ever welcomed to anyone’s home…..is he the same?

The street lamp blew at a go…Oh yes, She can now see his face clearly. Yes he is Razak the so called don of the society.

She looked here and there. Is there anyone who noticed that she came with Razak, else she will be blamed……Thank God, and no one is there…..the auto driver?

No, No,…….. he does not know else he could not take the fair.

God saved me……She thanked God.

The illusion of gratefulness vanished by a cloud of hate on Malini’s face. Razak understood and without uttering a word he left leaving a blank.

Malini was busy in scolding herself….how come she sat in the same auto,,, how come…..how come……

She is clear now that, all that is told about Razak may not be true fully, but still she is not comfortable.

She opened her home gate. It is like opening the thought that anyone can be trusted at the dark but in white light…..among the so called civilized people……..We can’t talk what is right. We can talk what is right in a crowd, in a dark path, but in the day light in the society……..we step back to accept the truth……..She was in a whirlpool of thought regarding what is good…..what is right……

She was pulled back from the thoughts when her mom told. “How you came? You know how much I was worried?” Malini knew the answer….She can tell that I came with Razak…….But she simply smiled and entered the room.