The sense of achievement

Thankfully I am writing this after a few days India became the Twenty20 Champions, for it will put my views in perspective. I like any other cricket enthusiast was/is over the moon after India's success at the cricket's world stage. But seeing the associated vain display put on after that, my euphoria is withering, and thakfully for good measure. It gives me time to reflect on the right side of it, before the opinion is actually forced on me after the subsequent bad results, God forbid, if any.

India won the world championship, because there was a purpose in their quest, with the related attibutes of fearlessness and athlecitism adding strength to it. They played in a zone where the prospect of gain was more than the fear of loss. Hindsight is always good to have to lavish praise, but the result was destined for success, the moment they took the field in this fashion. That's why it gets more surprising for me, that we haven't shown a similar approach in our celebrations in the aftermath.

Celebration is a must after any achievement, but we do it to make or rather say, refresh our ideas for future. We just don't do it to savour the past; it is also about dreaming of the future. Did we achieve this with our pompous felicitation of the victory? Not in any way. We never put this in context and so, never deemed it right to attach proportion to it. I am not against giving monetary incentives to the winners, but by giving this ludicrous about of money, you are saying as if they hadn't gone for winning anyway. Whether this will effect on the players a boost or an anesthetic, only time will tell. Time in the past has told though that more often than not, mediocrity has followed excellence for the very loss of this direction.

Apropos the media interaction, nobody in the press conference asked the media to refrain from adding adjectives to the team's performance, but it will come back to haunt them when they will lose. Sreesanth was incessant with his reactions on the last catch and his bowling in the semi-final. But what answers he will have when he drops a sitter in another final or Matt Hayden takes him apart in the coming one-dayers? Also nobody talked about the things learnt and what positive steps he is going to take to repeat the success. Worse was the behaviour of BCCI and the politicians ever ready to garner the attention, when they thronged the first rows without ever giving their insight/action into the future.

I do give an impression of a cynic here, but I am trying to learn from the past. I have suffered from this false sense of achievement with cricket enough that I dread of bordering on the excitement. It will help the players and the officials also if they remember, amidst all this frippery, that it is the purpose only which carried them here and it will hold true in future also.

Respect for time

Quite often there are small things in life that make a big impact. OK, tell me, how often did you think that you should be on time at each and every occasion? Probably every time in the beginning. But while doing so, you realised that you didn't belong there. The focus of the occasion always became those who came late, may be genuinely or may be carrying their feigned stardom. You were made to look stupid or even wrong by adhering to the time. So,you jettisoned that in order to be an equal cynosure.

In the process, it became a norm. Also nothing untoward happened to that occasion, as it carried off as usual with some forced haste. But what happened to the future occasions which couldn't bear this laxity? A total mess up and a damned reputation for all and sundry involved.

That is how I felt today when the cab driver waiting to go to the embassy told me all Indians come late by at least 15-20 minutes. To get myself out of his dragnet of accusation, I asserted that I was on time. He replied instantly that I was the only one. May be he told a lie to hold his words but that doesn't matter as long as his perception remains the same. I take it as an affront for all the punctual ones, but I can't deny his observation also about the Indians.

Before we start judging his views as a myopic thinking, just ponder, aren't we the genesis of all this? At the first place, we believe in dignifying ourselves by being late and then sadly mocking othes for being the opposite. Need I say we should mend our ways. The age-old adage that time and tide wait for nothing still holds true. Time needs respect, nay demands respect. I am really disapponited, hurt and even angry by what happened today. But quite often there are small things in life that can make a big impact.

Who needs the history rewritten?

The moment I feel good , my mind starts looking for excellence in everything. More often that not, the purveyor of such a joy is a piece of art, be it a movie or a book. The most recent paroxysm of emotions was while watching Chak De India.

To start with, it was another movie with the background of sports, where the protagonist seeks to redeem, or truly say, vindicate himself amongst a medley of emoting incidents. There were now-ubiquitous patriotic rhetorics thrown in plenty. There were pretty lasses too with an ample dose of glamour and laughter added. In short, it was a paisa vasool entertainment. But was it excellent?

Hmmm, to say you forth-rightly, it was. The most because it achieved that zone of cinema-making which only great works attain, i.e entertainment coupled with substance. I always believe the single-minded focus, sans any doubt and dither, in the message coming out of 70mm screen, invariably outweighs the temptation of a lucrative falderol in the long run. The movie stayed true to my this theory as it focussed solely on the struggle of an ostracized sportsman to come out good for his country, despite the unjustified and reprehensible treatment meted to him. It wanted to showcase his patriotism, his beliefs , his pain and his ideals. Not anything else.

Not even Shahrukh Khan. Instead here was a much mellowed Kabir Khan. It won't be complete if I don't give a separate paragraph to this role and actor, because I never saw SRK in that. And that's why, he was better, probably amongst the best in his ensemble of works. I am a critic of SRK, no doubt, for the same reason he gives in the movie to the senior players. Being in the vanguard of the film industry, it is also his onus to make it better. I would be fool, if I say he hasn't, for the popularity he has given to it is huge; but he too would be dishonest if he considers that he has done enough meritorious movies becoming of his personality. I hope he is not. For I yearn more of these Chak Des creating history, than his trying to chase history and in turn, becoming one.

Myriad opinions of India

I write it through the eyes of a young boy who used to look searchingly at the morning newspapers to read something heart-warming about India, amidst all those non-sensical political reamings, and depressing but true woeful depictions. I wondered at that point of time, will I ever be able to read about India's economic, and thus related social and political development? It remained more a wishful child's dream but suddenly, I don't know how, out of blue, news of India's emancipation started pouring in. India as a long-perceived lumbering leviathan started to run. And it grew on everyone including me that finally India may be more than just a utopia.
India has moved on since then, and even in most reasonable terms, by leaps and bounds. It has started appearing on the world's radar with everyone knowing, at least, where the signals are coming from. I too, like a gratified child turned adult, remain enchanted with every new positivity added to it. I really pinch myself then, "This isn't real !"

But then on the same note, I read the horrid tales of exploitation, corruption and injustice, reminiscent of those quondam ghastly days. I try to run, telling myself that we have come over this , but sadly, in the end, I have to admit that this is what is real. My whole exaltation dies down and again those clouds of doubt re-emerge.
This has practically been the tale of all my related euphoria ever since the seed of Indian liberation has sprout. Mediocrity has followed excellence, turpitude has garbed the achievements and things have moved on with never-to-leave shadowy degeneracy clung to it. A sense of deja-vu remains attached to every conceivable facet of Indian system, be it polity, economy, sports or business. Yes, a sense of deja-vu hidden under the realised dream of that chuffed boy. Ironically, a quivering realised dream, which he also knows.

Forgiveness

Forgiveness found its way to me
Through dark clouds of my pain
As well as anger, but now I see
I will never be the same

A warming gift of letting go
My choice to cease to hate
It came upon me for me to know
To forgive is never too late.

Why did it take so many years
If it was waiting all the time?
It matters not for now it's clear
The choice was always mine.

The brightest of forgiving love
Has captured me now forever
A treasured wonder from above
To hate will now be never.


PS- I picked it from somewhere. I liked it so much that I am posting it here. So all credit to that unknown author.

Sex and the lies within

What is with this little word that spins the big world around, you ask someone, and he will greet you with a grin and then ponder over it affectedly to associate it to it being the most pleasing thing present. Is it just that, or much more? Surely it can't be that simple, otherwise many other things in life would have supplanted that.

For me, it is the manifestation of love, that greatest thing that God has ever made. And if love is so pure for all , why is this tainted for many. Since childhood, we are taught pedantically every moral and righteousness in this world, and we sadly mark it out on top as a blacklisted zone. We tend to distance it, for fear of getting it close, and that is where we get defeated. The real adaptation of it is by learning its 'dos and donts' and not marking it as a don't. And idiot, who can mark it as a don't when this is the most real thing present. The truth of it shouldn't be hidden with the lies within it. I certainly don't defend it, as subjugation to it prematurely is bad, but what is not bad in excess and prematurity?

Let it come out in open and I believe the fear associated with it will wither. The best way to fight our negativities is to fight them upfront. And if every moral guardian in this world let go their parochialness, the failings in this world will reduce. There will be less violence, less warped minds and less diabolical designs, for everyone will be immersed in it. There will be people looking at each other with love and not with myopic look of caste, creed or colour. It won't be an orgy but a celebration of festivities within us. Won't that be wonderful?

Brown Magic

If magic is what an author needs to weave, then Dan Brown is certainly master at it. My words of praise for him would look like an oft-repeated ovation, but here I write with all my gratitute to him for the boundless joy he has given to me till now while reading his novels.

I am a literature aficionado, per se. But there have hardly been times when I have liked an author's works so much . Though my personal favourite remains Frederick Forsyth, Dan Brown's novels have much more appeal to them, for their easily identifiable themes.The first novel I read of Dan's was Da Vinci Code, and what an experience it was! I read it continously throughout the night, getting immersed in its backdrop. I hadn't had nor have such sort of excitement till now. The puritans might scoff at the scholastic simplicity of the work, but it doesn't lessen its captivating power. The research put in it was great and it showed in the facts enlisted by him in the novel.

Angels and Demons too was great, though it moved more on a cinematic path in the end. The other two novels, The Deception Point and Digital Fortress received much less attention but they too could compare with the very best. While it was just fascinating to read about NASA and its drama in the former, it was equally riveting to pass through the maze created by the Computers and Cryptographical Algorithms in the latter. I wait with bated breath his next work, The Solomon Key, which too would hopefully be a great rollercoaster ride.

Summing it up with the feelings of a normal reader, it is not in the literary grandeur that the greatness of a novel lies. It is in the impact that it creates on the reader. I still feel those twitches inside me while remembering those moments in his novels. Sheer moments of joy and I put a toast to this masterful storyteller for giving me those.

Watching Vivah........

I am a bit undecided on how and what to write about Vivah, the movie that I watched just now. I want to write, or rather scream so many things, but I am still under its sway, so might be words won't just suffice.As the initial words would have made it clear, I am simply blown over by this movie right now, and it takes some doing when you kinda scribble these stuff at 3 o' clock in the night. OK, enough of my excitement!
Coming back to the movie, Vivah, for me, isn't just a narration about a marriage ceremony or a story of two young people tying their nuptial ties amidst a chiaroscuro of incidents going around.It is far more developed with every shot dripping those inexplicable only-to-be-felt sensations. It isn't real , to be very honest, as you will hardly find a similar that-good backdrop in the contemporary world. But its reality lies here only that we actually want our life to be that real and pure as shown in the movie. It is essentially a celebration of goodness, that thing which we sorely lack in our society now.
To sing its hosannas just on the fact that it is very traditional in nature and doesn't have any cosmopolitan allure will be doing a grave injustice to its sincerity. It is good because it is true to what it wants to say. In this world, people don't become good because of anything other than their heart. And if it is pure, there can hardly be a situation which can faze anyone. The lead characters here, Shahid and Amrita , had the same pure love which battled any other impediment. You have to look through their eyes the whole scenario to feel their twinges, be it the goosebumps of Shahid when first seeing his would-be bride or the eagerness of Amrita while waiting for her hero. The whole backdrop of marriage scenes are truly redolent of the actual scenes in our family. I, living so away from home, can still share the chirps going around while sleeping on mattresses on the floor or relishing the jalebis at a local corner shop.
Those are the days we wish never go. So if a movie comes, which bring a refreshingly homely feel-good twinge to our hearts, it is just lovely. It was so low on hype scale, that it had almost missed my notice. But I place it right after LRM and RDB in year 2006. I know many might squirm at this much lavish praise showered on it, but who cares when after so many days, you feel synonymity with your inner self which wants to be as good and pure as our very basic life settings are.

Shame on me and us

I was to write this post with the same first half of the title after the World Cup cricket matches yesterday, but the recent developments forced me to change it to insinuate it at everyone. Bol Woolmer died of heart attack after being under extreme pressure over the first round exit of Pakistan team. It is still to sink in but it shows how hollow our passion related to this game is.
Nothing can be bigger than the game, but not the life of men truly dedicated to it. Then who are we, many of us who never wielded the cricket bat or threw ourselves on the field, to force our opinion on their commitment, or express our wrath on them.
Every nation's citizens are extremely passionate about one of their games and want the players to win at any cost. It is within their rights but it crosses the boundary when they start identifying every move of theirs with the team's. Why, who told we guys to relate our every dream to theirs, when we are not even an iota connected to them. Don't we have our own dreams to fulfill, and our own areas to excel in? Getting a Nobel Prize in Literature is as big a achievement as winning the World Cup. So, why put our everything on this game of cricket?Burning effigies of the players doesn't do them any harm, rather show our ineptitude. Tendulkars, Dravids and Kumbles have done more than these combined multitude of senseless people.
Shame on us. It is from we only that the team becomes. I have seen teams changing, but performances remaining same, because the guys playing there are from amongst us only, some of them who sit back when even something minimal is achieved, and attainment of excellence is subsequently booted out. The team gets a high-falutin coverage on even a small win and then the next day, when it loses, it is thrown into dustbin. Neither the team performs nor the fans.
It all then gets in this vicious cycle of derogatory denigration and farcical encomiums.
Let us get away from this, when this is so senseless. Let's savour the beauty of life not looked into by us till now. Let's celebrate Viswanathan Anand becoming the World Number 1 as much as a Sachin Tendulkar's century. Then only we will do justice to both, we and the players.

The Story of New Year

Every year on 31st December, I would remain awake steadfastly till 12 midnight, and at the stroke of the hour when 'Old Year Changeth, Yielding Place To New' I would raise myself up and solemnly make a heap of promises to myself, only to realise later on that they are the repetitions of last years one's. But reaffirming my faith to turn those resolutions into reality, I would seamlessly pass into another year's opened arms. Then a perked up soul and Happy Greetings to all and sundry.

This year though,it was a sleeping soul, into the arms of pillows, only to be woken at the midnight hour by the creatures bursting crackers to felicitate another year. I put the pillows on my ears, mouthing them names, and cursing their insanity of being overjoyous on yet another day.Only till yesterday, I was one of them. But now having changed, I had the right to admonish them.

Yaa, this year I slept at 11 o clock with the biggest resolution in my life that from this year on, no more promises and no more repentances. Why on earth, there should be an earmarked day, where in one out of every two person on this earth makes false pretences to himself, only to look like a buffoon at the end of it. More resonably, it takes the sheen out of New Year by marking it an 'Asseveration Day' to fight battles ahead in life. Which battles, nobody knows but they sharpen their weapons, only to fight their own demons in the end. Why to tense yourself that this year too, it is going to be a helluva sort of ride and you have to gird your loins for it. Beneath all those celebrations and greetings, lies those simmering disquieting thoughts of struggles lying ahead. Give me a break.

So I slept on, again murmuring the unmentionables to those blockheads, into the abyss of time, and woke up next morning refreshed and with a hitherto energy bereft of any more lurking singeing feelings. I had a good day, passing it like yet another holiday and at the end of it, I had the wherewithal to declare before you and everyone my this year's resolution, 'Not to have any more Resolution'. Oxymoronic !!! Oh, but the bottomline remains, this way, at least this year, I will turn my resolution into reality. The long awaited cherished desire. Over to you 2007.

Days of bliss

We all are human beings and are moved more than anything else by humane feelings. Our heart has a direct connection to our faculty of senses wherein we experience each and every feeling around us. Quite often, we have those wonder feels of inexplicable moments of abandon gaiety, but how often?
May be a few minutes, may be a few hours. But definitely not more than a few days. Days when you first experienced an eternal joy emanating from your unknown side. This thing finds petinence in the movie 'Bluffmaster', when 'Boman Irani' lists out those countable days of bliss. When you started reading, when you topped the class rankings, when India won numerable cricket matches, when you fell in love with the girl of your dreams and when you touched a girl for the first time. The effusiveness of those times are hard to indite.
It gets upon us then how to extend those bilssful days into eternity. But it is hard to get happiness if one goes around seeking happiness, instead of seeking life. Yes indeed, 'life is happiness' if one lives with it every day, every moment. Let mirth be the metaphor and sorrow the sarcasm of our life. Then only we will be able to truly experience the life in our years and not years in our life.

If You Forget Me

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists:
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats that sail
towards those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgetten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.

---- Pablo Neruda

The language of love

Love is a passion of ineffable ecstasy. The vibes of the heart, emanating as fumes of aromatic olfaction, take wings of flight and fancy and ride to the rubicon of the firmament as a condor, oblivious to the parade of life underneath it.
Who can claim to define it? While others merely read the word 'love', those swathed by its satiny fabric feel the tactual luxury of its silkiness. The reverberating pulsations of the heart, rhythming with each and every sinew, metastasize the aeonian fixation of love. Some say it's morbid, but those who have never kissed the petals of roses always fear the thorns.
The language of love isn't comprehensible in a listless soul. He only who reads more than just the semantic links can actually revel those inexplicable moments of artful titillation. And that is probably the best thing a person can ever wish to have.
"God has never made anything better than love"-the words remain as true since time immemorial as the very genesis of our identity. Let its magic and mojo continue to mesmerize us under the marquee of this world.

The power of nostalgia

I never felt I would ever feel this.

It felt I again landed in the classroom of DPS Bokaro. Dressed in whites, getting bored, looking at the first opportunity to talk to a girl, waiting for the break etc.. etc.. it was a few days back only. Oh ! the days.
It had to pass n they passed. The imprints remained though n often come out now n then.The friends of yesteryears. You were so young then, now I don't know how u look like. In fact, never met most of u since then. But your memories remain. Some are settled abroad, some engrossed in jobs. Some have got married too. Life moves on n so has mine. But how can it be unchained from u. That was when I made most of my best buddies, that was when I first had the wonder-feels of love, that was when I first had the identity.

I never thought I would ever scribble these things here. But I m passing out again. Again in a few days from one of the best places of my life, into the open world of aliases. IIITM, u were great. The farewell happened a few days back. But it will really take a few days to realise what I am going to miss. Sports, Com Science, Cricket, AOE, bakar......will they happen again? I don't know...
But what I know is that I will always have those reminiscences of u n my days at SST, DPS n IIITM etched in my memory till I bid adieu.

That is the power of nostalgia n u....

Rang De Basanti! Another league, another me, another Aamir

Spellbound! The word most often used when you watch something out of the ordinary. It gets more substantiated when u await for something special n are on ur heels waiting tantalisingly what will be in store.
That is what I felt after watching RDB. Also relieved-ya relieved, for I and Aamir Khan go synonymous, at least for me, that with RDB he has just confirmed that he is not lost after the blip of Mangal Pandey. In fact, he has come back stronger.
RDB is not only a great movie but has the makings of a trendsetter in the industry.n that is where Aamir has been the best. I just fail to understand what stuff this guy is made of. How his movies are so crisp n full of flavour never smelt before. I won't enlist his films but the ensemble does inspire one's awe.
RDB is so current that everyone can feel oneself out there on the screen. A topic so tough to handle has been presented with such freshness that people just gel with it n so the movie has just sent the nation in a frenzy. I would have never written this before checking it out, for there were some spectics of the movie.
n neways, whether the movie scores financially or not, it has come as a whiff of fresh air amidst those routine mundane stuff. A league of its own.
As per its impressions on me, ya I do feel to do something for the country. n I m gonna be part of it. What I always believed about the youth, the movie has just emphasised that. So that much more grown attachment.
In fact, some of its settings are so novel that ithey can be part of the filmdom's folklore. There may be and are better movies than RDB but there will never be a movie like RDB.

Aamir Khan and Sachin Tendulkar

Aamir Khan and Sachin Tendulkar-the two persons who are the masters in their trade, have been my role models for years. It wasn't based on any reason but just some sort of affinity that drew me towards their talent, discipline and work ethos. I remember Sachin getting into my memory when he hit Abdul Qadir for 4 sixes in an over in a game at Sharjah. He was driving the whole country wild then with his prodigious talent.
Similarly Aamir had become the nation's new wonderboy and heartthrob with his cute arrival in QSQT. He was instantly recognized as an actor made for acting. I dunno how and when I grew such a big fan of him but I distinctly remember getting uneasy when Salman's MPK was faring better than Aamir's Dil. No hard feelings but it was like that.
While Aamir made debut in 1988, Sachin played his first cricket match in 1989 against the arch-rivals Pakistan. Both got noticed at the first instant only. Since then they have been delivering grand performances on a regular basis. It is not only about their records but the sheer discipline and attitude towards their work that stands them out. Both are methodical and nothing less than perfect satiates them. And so, it is no strange that both are big fans of each other. While Sachn was amongst the first to watch Ghulam while away on the Srilankan tour, Aamir has always been a cricket follower, esp. Sachin's. n they do meet quite often.
So where does it leave me then? I too, since they are my role models, to say at least, would like to emulate them.n what about my wish? Ya, it is to have a dinner with both my heroes together. But will it be possible? If yes, then when?

India and Sourav

O India! Wake up. Sourav is there and here to stay. U tried to oust him with the help of an Aussie Kangaroo. How mean? See Kolkattans fight for him burning effigies and giving their soul for a just cause. Well Bengal thinks today what India thinks tomorrow, n after all Sourav must play. What if he hasn't scored runs for last few years, he has his backers n that is what matters even if Chappell says to selector,"Don't kid he is a test match bowler."
But I do remember the day when I woke up at 4 in the morning, rubbing my eyes to see clearly India setting off their tour Down Under. India reeling with 3 wickets down, in came Sourav, and lit up the Brisbane ground with majestic strokeplay paving the way for a magnificient display by the team there after. Oh that was great, but a long time back. Now everyone including I swirm in my seats seeing him fending off the rising balls with uncertain ease. See the vagaries of life.
But the undeniable truth is, it catches up with everyone, I , you or Sourav. The wayout is tough , varying from one individual to another. But the hypostatsis of the matter is working towards the goal which probably every sane mind knows where it is and how to attain it. Sourav u have to bat for India whether in the garb of captain or not. Chappell u have to guide him, putting aside his lethargy and bring forth his regal
touch. Selectors u have to pick the right team based on conscience and not on phone calls. n what about we, the lordly viewers. Oh we r the critics, n can burn tyres in protest, leave alone other things, in protest unmindful of its usefulness. We do rule. But for a change dear, let India play. Let India play sans those bickerings and parochialness. Let sanity return to one and all for a better morrow.

The Road Not Taken

Here is my favourite poem:-

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the differenc
-By Robert Frost

Explanation:-

This poem tells the story of the poet who is travelling on a road in a wood when he comes upon a fork in the road and, even though he would like to travel both, he has to make a choice. He contemplates where both roads will take him. While one road is well trodden and safe, the other road is grassy and has not yet gone through the rigours of time and thus, as he says, had the better claim. He also remarks as to the fact that on that morning, neither road had been travelled upon. He took the road less trodden, keeping the first road for another day. But he realizes that he may probably not have a chance to go back on his choice, because the world moves too fast for one to look back.

Later on, when he is recounting his tale, he says that he has no regrets of his choice and that choice has made all the difference and led him to where he was that day.

The poem states that "the passing there had worn them really about the same" meaning neither of the two roads was less traveled.

After a long time

It has been quite a while since my last post. Not really busy but just lethargic.
Anyways it was a usual routine month, nothing more nor less. But suddenly there is a big giant stride to be taken in a few months. Life seems to be beckoning me finally, with all its intensity. It can be the time, of something big, which probably I had always been waiting for.

One does introspect and restrospect at times. Looking deeply into his self and the world around. How is he with respect to his beliefs and ideals? How is he going to cope up? Similar questions keep coming up, pushing me all the time to put my best foot forward. But do I , or will I , or more importantly, can I? Earlier I would have said God knows, but now I say yes, because I know what God knows and what He would have said.

Who said it's over?

Do you know a great thing about life? It never gets over, except only once. Before that you can always feel it keeps coming back with the same or different hues and tints. You feel it's all over, yet it becomes the start; u feel u have failed, yet u realise it's the chance to start afresh n u really think the road is blocked, u find there is a tool aside to remove the boulder.
So where do I move from here on? The big CAT, my idiosyncrasies, learning words, skipping classes,
remaining in fantasies, watching nonsense stuff, reading poetries..the list goes on. But still it's my life. Very different from others n in itself, a great delight. Probably prabs never thought it could be so involving sometimes.So living with it as life lives with me (wink).

And now time for writing something literary. Another poem, this time a different one:-

The India that I live in

Leaning against the wall
And jostling for the space
It was getting really difficult
To keep myself on my legs

Such was the rush on that day
In the Puri-bound Utkal Express
That an incomer had to climb
Over the rest to gain an entrance

Wedged in amongst the people
I prepard myself for the pain
"Why the hell, did I board
General Bogie of this damned train"

All stowed with people, the train
Did leave the New Delhi station
Bringing in the much-needed draught
And a general sense of elation

Gradually the squeezed in populace
Distended themselves to cosier postures
Scowling at the callousness of the
More fortunate seated passengers

I too manoeuvred myself into
A more standable posture
With my nose sticking out into
The squalid kurta of a commuter

The fetid aura was odious
And made my head go dizzy
But as the time trickled
I started feeling somewhat easy

I peered at my ambience and was
Struck by the nonchalance of others
It seemed I was the only one
Dishevelled and confined by fetters.

They were all of various ilk
Workers, potters and menials
Going through the motion
As if inured to such ordeals

Some sagacious elderly minds were
Rueing the depravity of Indian polity
While a young ruffian was busy
Leering at a newly wed lassie

Muslims talked to Hindus and vice versa
Without the much televised rancour
Quite often there were lewd jokes
Followed by the usual banter

Destinations kept coming by and
People gave way to new members
But India as it seemed kept moving
On the rails of the chambers

Having remained cooped up in my
Own world of gambol and gales
It was an unusual episode for me
To experience those rending travails

Travails- but only for me
For them it's the usual travel
And they keep moving as if
On order from a judge's gavel

My station, Gwalior, came and
I too moved out with my luggage
But with a strangely developed
Homely connection with the carriage

I reached my hostel, carrying
An unfathomable mix of emotions
But immediately got on with my chums
Raving in those usual passions

I had my dinner, and then
Got snug inside my cosy quilt
Again hiding away from the
Real India that I live in.