Paranoia

You wouldn't believe me if I tell you the truth. No! Not because you are a liar , rather you are an epitome of truth and anything resembling it, however,you have become so very much inured to it that its presence doesn't seem possible. Its paranoia , really, it is so. I am typing this blog here sitting in office , fearing that no one catches me doing this. Driving to office poses a challenge in keeping the fear of being hit , subdued. And then when I reach the outskirts of my workplace a mild fear of collapsing building and collapsing economy slithers into my mind. I bet it does with you too, only you have got too inured to it.

Aravinda and Pavan

Who are they ? Well I am sure you know Aravinda Adiga much better than Pavan K Verma. Reason. Former has just won the prestigious Man booker prize for his book, The White Tiger , while latter is the author of a critique of Indian masses "The Great Indian Middle Class". Last week, I had been reading these two and I almsot felt like I am reading the same book. One treats the same issue in an aesthetic manner while the other takes us through some glaring facts.

I will discuss them individually, however.

The White Tiger.

An epistolary, highly criticized, facile English book by a novice author. I had my own misgivings about this book after having read so many bad reviews about the authenticity of the tale and blah blah. However, I took a chance and it paid. For this is an awesome book by an Indian foreigner, who has critically or rather cynically taken up the case of lower strata of Indian society. He portrays a devilish picture of Indian rich class and sad and gloomy picture of a Indian Poor. He has portrayed with craft and ingenuousness of Balram Halwai, the protagonist, the hardships of a poor man and the exploitation of poor by rich and powerful. He has been utter;y cynic in his description of a parallel India that exists and is untouched by the boon of developments. All the rhetoric of Indian economic upheaval are nothing but a lie on their face. He has taken liberty to create self conceived notions of poor people and his metaphor of Village as Darkness would but only enrage many. He could be vindicated on the ground that he has taken up a work of fiction, and in fiction you need to go to extremes to draw out the contrasts.

However, the base story wasn't something which an Indian reader would feel as a novel one. They see it around themselves daily. Maybe foreign readers would find this very surprising, considering the image of Indian they have post Globalization boom. It was the narration which was interesting. The base lacked in originality and authenticity however the topping was good.

The Great Indian Middle Class:

This book is by an erudite author, backed by his IFS post in Indian government, which leaves no opportunity to look for any trace of an inauthentic book. Rather , its a revelation of the way things are around us. The country is doing well in economic terms , but how much share has the 40% of the lower strata of this country have had? He asks this question on your face, and along with that he brings out beautifully the central theme of Indian Middle Class. How it has evolved, what are its inner landscapes and how it has continuously failed to read the writing on the wall. He appreciates the tenacity of ,middle class as successful entrepreneurs, labors ,winners despite all odds, however he shuns them for their inability to look beyond their own personal gain. He shuns the short sightedness of this class and ridicules the way they have got inured to the pandemic poverty around them, forgetting even that it exists. This book beautifully discusses the transition of middle class and their ideologies from pre -independence to post independence to the era of economic liberation [1991] . How has this particular class ,which always looks for an ideology to live by , in lack of it, has become a consuming giant , not looking beyond its own personal interest. He also points out that in a country which is still so vastly poor it doesn't make sense for the middle class to be so ,lost in itself. If they don't see the writing on the wall now, it could lead to a deeper chasms between two classes and also a breakage of social fabric and more so in his own words ,

"If it [the middle class] does not [look at it] , the India of today will be the envy of amoral,cynical,economically lackluster and debilitatingly divided nation that can emerge tomorrow. the harvest of an opportunity lost, a heritage wasted"

Personally , I liked the starting the book a lot , wherein he raises a pertinent question that when at the stroke of midnight India became free , Nehru delivered his speech in ENGLISH, certainly not the language of common masses. He has very beautifully brought forward a relevant point about the Indian freedom movement and freedom. Quoting him over here,

"On 15 August 1947 the bells of freedom tolled for all Indians, but they tolled specially for those who inherited the paraphernalia of giving shape to independent India"

A ride to ....

A gift for you on your birthday; a constrained choice of options and possibilities. What shall I gift you? Shall I weave a dreamland for you or shall I net a fairy tale? I wish to take you to the land unknown, my pen would love to do so.
Come! Lend me your hands! Hold my hands tight for it will be a long flight into those lands. We are out on a long journey. Hearken now the gurgling of waters in the stream flowing down, the chirping of birds and the whistle of the wind welcomes us. Moon shines there , half naked, in the sky. Feel its silhouette on your face. And now hold my hands tighter for we shall go further now to those distant parts , where no one knows us.

Clouds shroud the moon intermittently and so does it do with your basking face. Open up your hands wide and feel the wind on your face, allow it to dissolve you in itself. Watch trees there, reveling in joy with the wind. Come ! we too shall dance with joy and forget the why.

And now the night has grown darker as the moon has faded away. Wind moderates into a gentle breeze. Lets rest now for a while. Put your head on my shoulders and hear our breaths racing against each other, listen to the beats of our hearts creating a symphony by taking turns. You lend yourself to me and I take in the whole. Your warm breath soothes me and makes the cold night bearable.

A symphony arises out of our union and falls on our hearts , spell binding it. Mind goes numb and we get lost into each other. The journey isn't drawing to close however we get lost, never to be found again. And in one last moment of sense I kiss your eyes and whisper into your ears , " Happy Birthday".

A lonely night

Loneliness is the poverty of soul. I have had heard that somewhere, and was observing now. A silent roar was running through my body producing a deafening silence. Things are moving in front of my eyes in one moment, and in other moment they are still. A chaos was running through my room , things were falling apart. Strong wind gushed into my room and it became pitch dark. A thunder growled heavily and I cowered with fear and closed my eyes and ears, and shrieked. Calm down! Peace!

A cultural miss

Being born in Bihar, brought up in present Jharkhand and growing in Karnatka , I have always had an implicit phrase imposed on me that I have had a "cultural miss". I feel alienated to all these cultures that I have lived in. While at my hometown I am being looked as an outsider with an inside root.And while I am in Bangalore I represent a Bihari culture in their eyes. Its difficult for me to deny any of these remarks put upon me, all these tags are stamped on my face by people around me.

My moments

Every few moments
I get a sense of being alive.

At times its the sight of beauty,
and mostly its the call of duty,

Beauty lends itself in munificent ways,
from a charming lady to bright sun rays.

Pulses rejuvenate at the sight of it,
defying any morals that may defy it.

Call of duty, puts all aside;
forced to take strident and long strikes.

What lies then in between those moments,
a lethargy, a tardiness an unnamed power, which clips me down and bringeth the silence.

Ahh! questions comes back looming large.
Am I in search of the peace or do I possess it in those moments.

Or its just an another view of the moment.
I may never know this, and for the moment I shall be the moment,
that lies in my laps.

My pen and me...

My pen swings out of desperation to weave a blanket of words.A blanket that would engulf me into its majesty, hide me in its bosoms, away from all the joys and sorrows , and would take me to a land that promises nothing yet delivers all.

Rudderless boats would get a complex from the wandering course that it takes. Its ramble is hard to be put together in a logical chain. Weave a cozy blanket of love, a poem of beauty, or an epic of duty. Its aspirations are boundless, higher than the sky above and deeper than the faith.

A story to tell, a joke to spill, a night to glorify , a dress to be revered , all seems possible with it. They just wait for their turns, who knows which way shall this philanderer turn the next moment.

Aimless and directionless though it is, however, a solvent of time couldn't be better. A loving friend mostly , a boring pal at times, a critique more often and an element of envy in some moments. It never leaves my life free of its influence. Come O! friend , lets move to where we take each other.

A paean for her.

A dusky beauty, on my laps.
Squirming her body, and fluttering her flaps.


Squirrel eyes and elephantine ears,
laughs at what she sees and all that she hears.


Intermittent though is her smile,
appears to be a laughter wrapped in frivolity.


Pedaling of legs and beating of hands,
weariness of days and waking of nights.

A tryst with nature on the way to ...

It was cold inside , and tired of the continuous boredom I came out of the chamber. It wasn't hot outside, although it was humid. It was around afternoon and skies bore the signs of an imminent shower. A deafening silence prevailed in the surroundings, although there were many things in motion, which either didn't produce any noise or may be their noise was smothered by the gloom in the air. Feeling calmed, I sat at the opening to marvel at the picturesque nature lying in front of me.
Everything has been soaked in rain and bore the wetness. The panorama had a large field in front and a narrow street laid down by its side. Sun shone furtively through the clouds and embellished the scenery with its dusky shine. There were men moving along the track waiting impatiently and helplessly for the signal. In the near distance a crow perched over an electric pole and croaked intermittently. Its harsh noise served as an indication that the world was still moving. Perhaps, it served as a placeholder of human commotion for the moment and thus added to the vitality of the scenery.

The 25th Birthday

With a tick of clock at midnight I turned 25. What did I say ? I turned 25. Whoop! Really! Its only when time has passed away, you find that you have lived through it. A silver jubilee of my birth, and just like that.
Like any other silver jubilee celebration, mine too was nonetheless grand, and the beauty was that I didn't had any idea whatsoever that it would turn up this way. Multitude of gifts, equally greater number of wishes, and much more love. I couldn't have had expected more than this. It was a fresh 25th Birthday of mine.

Adding to this joy was birth of my bhaanji Aahana, the very next morning. Now her fate has been attached to mine, inseprarble and inextricable fate. Not only by dates but also by stars. I have opted the name for her and it means "First rays of Sun", which she would be for many.

And in the end, just one more thing. Its when you expect the least that the best of the things happen, as was my 25th Birthday. Thanks a lot, to all of you.

Music

Standing tall on the boundary wall of his house he would marvel at those sounds that seemed to come from the panorama in near distance. the view had a garden filled with assorted plants and few benches sprawled along. He wasn't looking at them, though, he was contemplating on the source of his continuous intrigue, "Where does that music come from after all?". There didn't seem to be any inhabitants in near sight, it just appeared to come from the oblivion.

‘Bombs and pistols do not make revolution’

[Through this brilliant statement Bhagat Singh demolished the basis of the Sessions Court judgment and emphasised the importance of motive. The motive of action, he argued, should be the main consideration while judging the offence of an accused.]

MY LORDS,

We are neither lawyers nor masters of English language, nor holders of degrees. Therefore, please do not expect any oratorial speech from us. We therefore pray that instead of going into the language mistakes of our statement Your Lordships will try to understand the real sense of it.

Leaving other points to our lawyers, I will confine myself to one point only. The point is very important in this case. The point is as to what were our intentions and to what extent we are guilty. This is a very complicated question and no one will be able to express before you that height to mental elevation which inspired us to think and act in a particular manner. We want that this should be kept in mind while assessing our intentions our offence. According to the famous jurist Solomon, one should not be punished for his criminal offence if his aim is not against law.

We had submitted a written statement in the Sessions Court. That statement explains our aim and, as such, explains our intentions also. But the learned judge dismissed it with one stroke of pen, saying that “generally the operation of law is not affected by how or why one committed the offence. In this country the aim of the offence is very rarely mentioned in legal commentaries”.

My Lords, our contention is that under the circumstances the learned judge ought to have judged us either by the result of our action or on the basis of the psychological part of our statement. But he did not take any of these factors into consideration.

The point to be considered is that the two bombs we threw in the Assembly did not harm anybody physically or economically. As such the punishment awarded to us is not only very harsh but revengeful also. Moreover, the motive knowing his psychology. And no one can do justice to anybody without taking his motive into consideration. If we ignore the motive, the biggest generals of the world will appear like ordinary murderers; revenue officers will look like thieves and cheats. Even judges will be accused of murder. This way the entire social system and the civilisation will be reduced to murders, thefts and cheating. If we ignore the motive, the government will have no right to expect sacrifice from its people and its officials. Ignore the motive and every religious preacher will be dubbed as a preacher of falsehoods, and every prophet will be charged of misguiding crores of simple and ignorant people.

If we set aside the motive, then Jesus Christ will appear to be a man responsible for creating disturbances, breaking peace and preaching revolt, and will be considered to be a “dangerous personality” in the language of the law. But we worship him. He commands great respect in our hearts and his image creates vibrations of spiritualism amongst us. Why? Because the inspiration behind his actions was that of a high ideal. The rulers of that age could not recognise that high idealism. They only saw his outward actions. Nineteen centuries have passed since then. Have we not progressed during this period? Shall we repeat that mistake again? If that be so, then we shall have to admit that all the sacrifices of the mankind and all the efforts of the great martyrs were useless and it would appear as if we are still at the same place where we stood twenty centuries back.

From the legal point of view also, the question of motive is of special importance. Take the example of General Dyer. He resorted to firing and killed hundreds of innocent and unarmed people. But the military court did not order him to be shot. It gave him lakhs of rupees as award. Take another example. Shri Kharag Bahadur Singh, a young Gurkha, Killed a Marwari in Calcutta. If the motive be set aside, then Kharag Bahadur Singh ought to have been hanged. But he was awarded a mild sentence of a few years only. He was even released much before the expiry of his sentence. Was there any loophole in the law that he escaped capital punishment? Or, was the charge of murder not proved against him? Like us, he also accepted the full responsibility of his action, but he escaped death. He is free today. I ask Your Lordship, why was he not awarded capital punishment? His action was well calculated and well planned. From the motive end, his action was more serious and fatal than ours. He was awarded a mild punishment because his intentions were good. He saved the society from a dirty leech who had sucked the life-blood of so many pretty young girls. Kharag Singh was given a mild punishment just to uphold the formalities of the law.

This principle (that the law does not take motive into consideration - ed.) is quite absurd. This is against the basic principles of the law which declares that “the law is for man and not man for the law”. As such, why the same norms are not being applied to us also? It is quite clear that while convicting Kharag Singh his motive was kept in mind, otherwise a murderer can never escape the hangman’s noose. Are we being deprived of the ordinary advantage of the law because our offence is against the government, or because our action has a political importance?

My Lords, under these circumstances, please permit us to assert that a government which seeks shelter behind such mean methods has no right to exist. If it is exists, it is for the time being only, and that too with the blood of thousands of people on its head. If the law does not see the motive there can be no justice, nor can there be stable peace. Mixing of arsenic (poison) in the flour will not be considered to be a crime, provided its purpose is to kill rats. But if the purpose is to kill a man, it becomes a crime of murder. Therefore, such laws which do not stand the test of reason and which are against the principle of justice should be abolished. Because of such unjust laws, many great intellectuals had to adopt the path of revolt.

The facts regarding our case are very simple. We threw two bombs in the legislative Assembly on April 8, 1929. As a result of the explosion, a few persons received minor scratches. There was pandemonium in the chamber, hundreds of visitors and members of the Assembly ran out. Only my friend B.K. Dutt and myself remained seated in the visitors gallery and offered ourselves for arrest. We were tried for attempt to murder, and convicted for life. As mentioned above, as a result of the bomb explosion, only four or five persons were slightly injured and one bench got damaged. We offered ourselves for arrest without any resistance. The Sessions Judge admitted that we could have very easily escaped, had we had any intention like that. We accepted our offence and gave a statement explaining our position. We are not afraid of punishment. But we do not want that we should be wrongly understood. The judge removed a few paragraphs from our statement. This we consider to be harmful for our real position.

A proper study of the full text of our statement will make it clear that, according to us, our country is passing through a delicate phase. We saw the coming catastrophe and thought it proper to give a timely warning with a loud voice, and we gave the warning in the manner we thought proper. We may be wrong. Our line of thinking and that of the learned judge may be different, but that does not mean that we be deprived of the permission to express our ideas, and wrong things be propagated in our name.

In our statement we explained in detail what we mean by “Long Live Revolution” and “Down With Imperialism”. That formed the crux of our ideas. That portion was removed from our statement. Generally a wrong meaning is attributed to the word revolution. That is not our understanding. Bombs and pistols do not make revolution. That is not our understanding. The sword of revolution is sharpened on the whetting-stone of ideas. This is what we wanted to emphasise. By revolution we mean the end of the miseries of capitalist wars. It was not proper to pronounce judgement without understanding our aims and objects and the process of achieving them. To associate wrong ideas with our names is out and out injustice.

It was very necessary to give the timely warning that the unrest of the people is increasing and that the malady may take a serious turn, if not treated in time and properly. If our warning is not heeded, no human power will be able to stop it. We took this step to give proper direction to the storm. We are serious students of history. We believe that, had the ruling powers acted correctly at the proper time, there would have been no bloody revolutions in France and Russia. Several big power of the world tried to check the storm of ideas and were sunk in the atmosphere of bloodshed. The ruling people cannot change the flow of the current. We wanted to give the first warning. Had we aimed at killing some important personalities, we would have failed in the attainment of our aim.

My Lords, this was the aim and the spirit behind our action, and the result of the action corroborates our statement. There is one more point which needs elucidation, and that is regarding the strength of the bombs. Had we had no idea of the strength of the bombs, there would have been no question of our throwing them in the presence of our respected national leader like Pandit Motilal Nehru, Shri Kelkar, Shri Jayaker and Shri Jinnah. How could we have risked the lives of our leaders? After all we are not mad and, had we been so, we would have certainly been sent to the lunatic asylum, instead of being put in jail.

We had full knowledge about the strength of the bombs and that is why we acted with so much confidence. It was very easy to have thrown the bombs on the occupied benches, but it was difficult to have thrown them on unoccupied seats. Had we not of saner mind or had we been mentally unbalanced, the bombs would have fallen on occupied benches and not in empty places.

Therefore I would say that we should be rewarded for the courage we showed in carefully selecting the empty places. Under these conditions, My Lords, we think we have not been understood, My Lords, we think we have not been understood properly. We have not come before you to get our sentences reduced. We have come here to clarify our position. We want that we should not be given any unjust treatment, nor should any unjust opinion be pronounced about us. The question of punishment is of secondary importance before us.

Source: shahidbhagatsingh.org

Sweet Love!!

Love, when given a tag, loses its meaning. Its a feeling , which is so very difficult to be capture and commanded. Its so subtle that none can enforce it upon others , nor can it be felt on its own. Its like that sweet dream which fades away the moment you try to hold it. Its ephemeral.

As with all the emotions, this too doesn't last forever, but, the beauty of this ,is that it can be nurtured and developed into passion which would constantly aflame one's heart. This transition of love into passion is the phase which lets human beings transcend their limits and reach beyond it to achieve it.

This ephemeral feeling of love is what everyone encounters in their lifetime. How many times we have felt that inundation of love into our hearts while talking to an unknown person, or maybe while doing something which we wont even be able to recapitulate later. Alas! the society in its frenzied act tends to bind the feeling into a brand, into a tag of a relationship. Its no wonder then the scandals that we get to hear are the consequence of this foolish pattern. The person involved in thse scandals, furtively drank the nectar of moment under the influence of this emotion. And they are branded as scandals by the guardians of our society. However, there are those coward and hypocrite souls too , who fear this barrier of society so much , that they let this emotion fly away, when it knocks on their doors.

A very common recurrent event corresponding to the serendipity of love is generally found at social gatherings. We meet some affable person sometimes, and we just keep longing that we had spent some more time together. I have felt such serendipity of emotions when sometimes , at public places , my eyes gets caught up with a pretty lady's eyes. We exchange furtive glances at each other. And then going on with our social norms we part away without even talking and keeping that sweetness into our hearts. These moments don't stay with us but certainly the joy of these moments is what we definitely feel , without attaching a name to it. Ah!! Its that pure placid and sweet love!!

Words of Frustration.

Born in a fucked up place and country, I never had a belief of making it big. Into the heated and dusty place, commuting daily for multiple tuition classes, to learn god knew what.I always had to get myself f****d up against all odds. And all those f*****g worries and tensions went into a gutter, drained away to nothing. What was the meaning of all those sleepless nights that I had? and then to make things worse my lust overgrew itself and I landed up into an obsession of love, which destroyed me beyond repairs. Getting f****d up every morning and night, hoping to hold on until things get better, which they never did. The idea of a sunrise after a long dark night never manifested itself in reality.With each passing day a part of me was mutilated, humiliated, disgraced and destroyed. Putting up sham of seriousness and diligence in life I tried to captivate my mind into the bounds of studies, but that never helped and I went into a deeper abyss. The situation was so dimly vague that it led me inwards into the search if my own self, realization of truth and wisdom. Putting up a considerable amount of effort and time I carried out the search of my inner-being, only to get lost at each new discovery. My laziness overpowered my capacity and dreamland became my dwelling point.

And then with an insouciant desire to be something existing simultaneously with a losing faith in self, I was led into the realms of self-realization. They led me to unknown corners of my thoughts and desire,but, as always none of them could hold me for long. The demolition of the soul continues each day, chiseled finely by the hands of clock, and marveled by the timing and sharpness. And , then confusion rears its head once again. The confusion of being something, of having someone. Everything is lost and fucked up. I don't know what the hell did James Frey (Author: A million Little Pieces) think, but I am sure this life is a f****d up place and all I can afford is to be getting f****d each day and night. This is what my destiny is.

A tryst with an Innominate Stranger

He smiles as I do. As I keep staring at him, he gets embarrassed in some time. The smile on my face reflects on his face too, but suppressed in its content, trying to smother or feign a pain or anguish. Now, as I try to move away, he implores my presence in the scene. I turn back and stare deeper into his eyes, the request drips not from his lips but from his eyes, and drenches my soul.

Fear - Our bane or saviour.

Fear as wordweb describes is - An emotion experienced in anticipation of some specific pain or danger (usually accompanied by a desire to flee or fight).
However, its usually accompanied by our desire to flee rather than fight. Escaping from the situation which we conjure up in our minds as the possible outcome, is our oft repeated action. While it may seem to act as our safety valve that protects us from undertaking risky ventures, its the same factor that prevents us from breaking our shells and venturing into the road less traveled. Each fear that we have is based upon certain presumption or notion that we develop. Each fear has its own irrational logic behind it. Its this logic that comes to our mind and inhibits its power to overcome the fear. Its this logic , which has to be fought and extricated from its roots , from our minds , to allow ourselves discover a fearless incarnation of ourselves.

Try to conquer your fear by confronting it face to face and defeating it of its own logic. Each fear that we have kept nourishing within us has inhibited our growth in that direction. Its only by breaking its shackles that we can know what is it that was unexplored up til now, which was hidden from our eyes by this veil of our fear. Fail we may, but it is just one step towards breaking its shell away, if only we are assiduous in our effort .

The reward of winning our fear is unknown to us and it can be only experienced after we overcome it. We can't understand what we dont know that we dont know. Its only by treading on this land that we can feel it. Lets over come our fears. Try one for yourself today.

Remember , an unexplored land awaits there to celebrate your victory. Victory stands tall behind your fear.

That Morning ; To Office...

As usual, I was late to office and geared my Honda up to reach in time. The shortcut way to the office didn't had the scourge of traffic , however you couldn't drive fast on these roads pertaining to the uncertainty of some vehicle appearing out of nowhere. When I reached a comparatively free road and picked up the speed I saw an elderly guy in car was coming in my direction and waving his hands out. I couldn't gather his intent, however , he was trying to point out to something that was lying ahead on the road. Ignoring him I moved further, only to find a women lying on the center of the road, whining in pain. It seemed as if she has been hit by the car, but there was no trace of blood nearby. I turned back and found that the guy in the car was still waving his hands . I pressed my brakes and thought for a moment to wait over there and help that woman, who I guess was hit by the car and hence the guy in the car was pointing towards her . However , with all the zeal I thought of helping that unfortunate woman, and was about to get down from my bike, when, all of a sudden I took an another deep look at her.

A matter of MATTER.

Into one of those moments , time lost its count. It lost the point where it was supposed to head on to. A parched land received a jolt of happiness of the fresh bout of rain and it created in its own entirety something that had no purpose of existence. Strong breeze took over the gentle calm of the land and began plundering its assets. Such was the commotion that nothing could be heard or seen nearby. All the Ideals and Principles swayed away with that breeze.

It did occur to him that there was a purpose behind all of it, however the rationale behind it was lacking in its entirety, or perhaps, he felt, he had forgotten the meaning of existence or purpose, or may be he has just mixed it all up. The big door to a land of imagination was grimy , and he felt that with his hands.It was misty with the emotion which was dilly dallying over whether it is a messenger of joy or is it a harbinger of hell. He wished to dare and cross the door, but the barriers to the door were two long ZIP lines, bound together with probity.

Anyways, his mind had left him at this moment and the actions were those marked by the natural instincts of an animal. Moving ahead he felt a moist universe into his hands and it appeared to fade down with emotions that were still confused of its nature. He didn't restraint himself , though, at this juncture and moved on with the instincts that were sown deep down into his self, and it marked the moment when these confluence of matter lost into each other......

.....Ahh! I found it. Eureka!! Its the confluence of matter that makes us as we are and so does it creates the entire universe around us. Its way leads ultimately into the same blackness that it originated from. This seems to be a revelation to me, a revelation of truth, bounded by mater itself. Perhaps, I am the delighted one now, or Am I the enlightened one? Hold on!

What about the question of the purpose piece of matter is supposed to serve.
There ain't none. Its like the natural movement of earth, the natural singing of koels, and so is it the natural growth of ours. Creation shall invite destruction to take upon itself the responsibility of keeping the wheel spinning, which shall always continue spinning, it has no start or ends attached to it.

Wait a minute! Does this justify a life devoid of purpose? Ahh! That's not the question, its not to be asked about, nature's purpose is to be imbued into one's own self, it attends that purpose on its own, however, when you try to gauze that , its lost.Such is the subtleness of this matter.

But , wait! I am drinking the nectar now, feeding this material its food, feeding this undefined central force, and this I keep moving. I swallow the two poles of this mass and drink from its pores. I continue drinking them until the moment it takes me to an unknown height, the height which couldn't be reached individually. And then, at once my universe collapses infront of me, perhaps, I drank too much out of it. It gets lost and slips out of my hand and I am just caught unawares, longing for more.

Enough of this now! My hunger has died down, I am filled to my core. Ramifications of this devouring act doth seems to take me a step back however. But then, what is it to care about?whom to worry about? myself? There is no me. I am null and nothing. I am the void that has originated everything and its to this void that we keep commuting to and from.

Culture - A Middle Class Prerogative.

Consistent with the human tendency of classifying things in different groups ,I have hit upon the idea that "Culture" as popularly believed is the prerogative of middle class citizens of a country. The lower class denizens and the so called High class society of any nation doesn't contribute its bit to what a nation proudly holds as its culture. Its the middle class citizens who cling on to the idea of a culture that holds them together and serves as a guiding path for them through the meandering paths of life, whereas the set of people with affluence as their pillow do not show a proclivity towards the established notion of culture.

To you, with love!

The power of kiss,and the state of bliss ....
feel of touch ,and the joy of feat ,
all in a sight ,as you see him there
the lanky legs , the sneaky steps
the smiling face, and eyes ablaze
No , not eyes,they are rays of light
Don't dare to see ,rest they make you blind ,
Don't talk you maven!you whisper a spell
and off if he goes , silence spreads like hell.


Then on his mercy, he guides you the way
amid moon and stars,laden with gay
oh my dear! you cry this is night!!
and he tells you ,yet it is bright
fear for the night,then fear for the day
what in the world? , nothing does stay
life with languish,pain ,joy and love
life with a maths of why and how ?


live my honey,you live for your soul
for nothing in the world you find so pure
then do you know,life starts with you
you die and your life then dies with you


Up then he looks and smothers a smile,
holds her hand and stays for a while
love you dear,she cries in pain
and steps away ,efforts go in vain
life moves on and so must you
love you dear, alwaayz love you.