God's favourite child

I as such do not have any inclination towards for animals as pets, even zoos would not have interested me, but for the solitude and distance they offer from life. I am scared by fierce looking Alsatians. Have stayed in an apartment all my life, and with both of my parents working never had the time or space to have one. And as far as street dogs are concerned, I never gave them a thought. Kept a track of PETA, just for the sake of my general knowledge until today happened.

Finally winter has descended on the hilly (read mountainous) town of mine. Winter is accompanied by beautiful mornings. And I was on my way to college. Twenty minutes behind schedule. I came across one of the nicest things that life could offer a lover like me.

A puppy, a shade lighter than creamy brown in color, that must have been thrown out from the place it slept in the last night by the chill of the fog of dawn. It slept on the road, bathing in golden yellow sunlight, like God's favorite child.

It was a bundle of joy. The way it slept gave me feeling that life is cozy, comfortable and livable! It was life, reincarnated.

I wanted to savor the sight. Store it in my heart for some obscure poem to be written in that undated future of mine. Someday...I told myself.

I hurried for my class.

On my way back, I found it again. Still sleeping. But with arms out stretched this time. Just the way we take turns on our beds. When I turned back, I saw blood oozing out of its mouth. It was gone, run over.

I didn't stop. I couldn't stop.

And as I am blogging this out here, the flesh of that pariah must be rotting in that silent corner, some unknown corner of this gloomy world. Tomorrow it will ooze out, making things difficult for passers-by.

Do I care?

May be yes...I will shed a drop of tear, is that all God's favorite child deserved? It wouldn't be mourned for...

I miss a place far away...

I miss a place far away,
I miss home
I miss those cracks in the walls,
The shade in my garden,
The still and silent afternoons

I miss the sleepy siesta
And my grandma,
The new bloom of winter
And the blinding fog

The dad I was dagger heads with,
And the rides he took me out for

My doting mom, my nagging mom
Feeding me, being the motto of her life
I remember how her veins would show up
Working for me
Huh! Did I care?

And the kid bro,
And his tantrums
When my youth carried me away
From the child in him

I miss those tired evenings
I miss being fed
Being loved
And a hand that ran on my fore head

I miss the idols we worshipped
The prayers I said
I miss my past
The present is but a burden

And besides that
I miss so many other things
Things whose shape
I try to feel in the air of this place

I wanna go back
I wanna go back home

I was an individual,
I wanted an identity
And look
Now what has happened to me?

liberated...just now...

Have any of you people ever felt empty-hearted? With a heart with no ones name engraved on it? With no one worthy enough …for that great an honor, I am feeling empty-hearted, right now!
Believe me, it’s good this way! You start feeling so damn free. Wild and free! You can feel being yourself… the person you are. Like an adventurer on a lonely planet. That’s what life should be like… liberated! Enlightened!
When you have nothing to laugh for, nothing to cry for, no joyous memories to be cherished, no future to be looked into. Just a smile, so very complacent that it says et al. Lead the life that a gypsy leads. Trotting around on your own. Your soul being your sole soul mate.
Let your hair grow gray, your skin have wrinkles. Let your bones crack down. Let your eyes go blind. Don’t stop. Carry on. Carry on, the way you are….all alone…an adventurer on a lonely planet. You will love it, I am sure.
But …don’t forget me. For I am after all your mentor, your pathfinder. Don’t forget to retrace your steps and thank me after your are enlightened….good luck.

hav nuthin' much 2 say

It has been quite a few days that I have not written anything. Nothing at all. I have stopped blogging altogether. Today that I am a little lonely and I felt like giving a face to whatever my heart felt, so you have this entry here. That’s what exactly happens. I tend to stop talking to myself when I am not alone. I always lose myself in company and in a crowd, invariably. Doesn’t matter! It’s rare that I am blessed with company of my kind. My soul-mates are scarce, extinct. Well! I am almost an online agony-aunt. Phew!
But recently I met an agony-unc. Someone who did show me some light. And that’s why (most probably) I am lonely now. He isn’t there. The absence of ma agony-unc does matter, I have come to know. And that’s why I fell back on an old friend- ma diary. Just that I have lost track of what I wanted to write…


I was the mirage you chased through all your life.
When dawn peeped through your window, I was the first ray to touch you as the sun poured in.
I was the petals of love you trampled under your foot when young.
The shelter you craved for as the mob chased you all along.
The music that healed your heart.
The winds that grazed your face when you stood all alone on the roof looking for yourself.
The first hint of old age, and the nearness of death.
No matter how far you were, I was always near by, mingled in the air you took in, the blood that ran in you.
In every instance of beauty and suffering you witnessed, I bear testimony to all the moments you lived through.
I was your life and your doom.
And look at what you did to me?
You left me weeping in some ghastly corner of time…me? Your soul?

show me the meaning of being in love

This is the hour of love
And love is in the air
The moon beams down
On us earthly mortals

When all wounds heal
And the soul smiles
Wild and free
And there is glee everywhere

When I feel
That I love you
And it’s strong love
This time, true love

No more betrayals
No more of ego
And the gloom of
The never ending wait

And time, give me
A last chance to forget
Ma last love
And live life all over again

I want it to be for ever
This time
For ever
Eternal, ethereal and deep

I want to fall in love
All over again
And get over all the pain
Forget all the pain I spent

Everything that happened
Was but a part of a
Bad dream
A hellish nightmare that would never recur

I want to cleanse ma heart
Of all the dirt and filth
May I call a spade a spade?
I want no reasons or excuses

I want to let the
Moonlight come in
And wash away
Everything that happened

I want a better place
And peace of mind
Angel, would you set me free
Angel, take me far away

I want the stars
To shine all over again
And the flowers to smile
Truly, this time

And want ma love to
Win the war this time
Irrespective of everything
I want myself to win

For ma fragile heart
Can’t take another heart-break
I want wounds to heal,
Pain to go

I want to start
All over again
Fall in love
All over again

And show me the meaning of being in love
some things never die...
like these mountains,
this green,
like beauty, ethereal and unscathed,
like da moon,
like tears,
like love...
yeah, u can't kill love...lest u die...

even if u die,
da marks of love remain
on the leaves of your diary,
where you confessed your love...
a thousand unposted letters,
of anger,
of the dreams you knit-
every moment you were in love,
and of your love...

all that lives on
after love dies?
empty nights,
a bit of remorse,
unsaid words,
a heart that bleeds, every now and then...

u can't kill love...love doesn't die...

born free...

i'm blind with vision
mad with happiness
i feel drugged,
like dissolving into the
sky and the stars

i'm deaf to all this noise
relaxed,at peace
with my existence
submerged in the fragrance
of some distant crysanthemum
i'm in my own music

i'm dumb
i'm enough
for the survival
of a life time
i'm born free
i'm all lost in myself

i penned dis in da middle f ma maths period 2day,while da rest f da class slept n da poor prof kept blurting out tings bout probs n stats ....i jes hope he neva cums across ma blog...he he he


i never believed in ghosts.but of course i literally drank all the ghost stories if i ever came accross them. i never completely agreed with their existence (or denied it either....lol...)until this happened to me.

all of us had new rooms in second year .airy and better lighted than those in the rickety block of first year.
and on the very firat night my roomie deserted me.

due to reasons i had to sleep alone.i dun just want to waste your precious time making you read all that stuff here,all i can disclose is that we din't have a fight.

at around say one o'clock i locked my door,and switched on the allout(mosquito repellant with extra MMR...lol..our campus is endemic to malaria to add our pile of worries) and dissolved into many a dreams in my bed.i remember i had the fans moving at full speed and all...

at six around mum gave her usual wake up call,but i slept well beyond that as it was a saturday.as far as i remember my all out was burning bright then.

and you know what!!!!
next when i opend my holy eyes,my allout was switched off,the fans were switched off!!!
temme could that be a ghost??

like a cart wheel--

muscles shrink
skin wrinkles

no more
no more
the shackles
the bloody
four walled

the cheeks
wet with
with tears
the heart
drenched in

but sweat
like silver
shines on
and adorns
those no-more
meek shoulders

cries unheared
robbed and raped

no more
no more
she stands
the sun
and skin
turns tawny

out on
the streets
she sells
her body
her flesh
her love and labour

a voice
that speaks
shouts for
not an enigma
not a charisma

but a woman
who runs the world
like a cart wheel

i donot rememeber which one....but on some internatioanl women's day...i saw some program on the tv...which inspired this poem....


i hate being nostalgic.

it's all about those sultry sweaty afternoons meandering into my mind long after they are gone .when i am helpless with the thought that i can never get back my past.i can never go back.

nostalgia is also about rainy ,gloomy evenings.the joy of the rain washing the virgin earth.and the intoxication of the smell that so emanates.

nostalgia is about peeping from some corner of my window to get a glimpse of the full moon.its about star less nights.its about dreams that never met reality.

nostalgia is about the wind blowing through my hair.its about the endless greens that surrounded me,long ago.about the tranquil waters of the pond nearby.

about the cuckoo calling from the coconut and my whim to rush out and meet him.

nostalgia is about all that is lost,it's about pain and tears that have dried up.it's about my past.

but i will recall something i had read long ago

the past is not dead
the past is not even the past...

Black and White

I was thinking about colours.And then thought that i would rather have it in my blog.Colours add to the charm of the things .Colours generate a hunger to live.Colours have more significance in our lives than we know.We owe so much to them.So much.

I have not seen much of colourless things.So they can trap me better.

Black and white!I dont think they are colours.And many of you people will agree.This piece is dedicated to these two intriguing characters that have arrested my mind since last night -- Black and White.

Well not many of us have seen the black and white television.I should have been born a little earlier or may be a lot earlier...no idea absolutely!!!So I never cared to visualise life without colour.Never had the time to...nor the interest.

Last night I went to the market(and came back all drenched) to repair my cycle.When the job was being done i strolled into a bookstall and started browsing through all the magazines,as if i could buy them all.I asked for India Today and Outlook.Din't feel like giving up forty bucks(20 for each).And then saw something new.

A magazine.I think I have forgotten what it was called(bless my memory!!!).I din't even wink before shelling out 50 bucks just for a caption that adorned its cover --"let me be me".I got it home.

And the first thing I did today moring after I opened my eyes was see all that it had.Something about the childhood of an indian girl--"little women-Dayanita Singh's photographss flash a light on Indian girlhood. " All of them were black and white.Not a tinge of colour anywhwere.And along with that the black letters gave me a feeling--I was sinking into them.

Thay had Indian girls,of course.But along with them were people indian girls cannot do without--other women ...mothers,grannies.

The dearth of colour made me think more and more.It directed my attention to the soul of what i was looking at.Now that I was just not looking at,I had begun observing.

I fell for the expressions that the eyes of the characters in withheld.Some said they were utterly satisfied with whatever.Some said they were exalted with their lives as a whole and desperately wanted to show it on their faces.Many had supressed feelings of anguish,pain,fear.Neatly supressed in some corner of those catchy eyes.

Many had raised eyebrows.All of them had questions.Innumerable!

Well, as I try to wind up, the name of the magazine comes back to me marie clarie.

not original 2

No,I can’t let you go,not like this,with tear filled eyes,like someone you are not.You know,you mean my life to me and more .Don’t go and leaving me behind to cry alone ,don’t go.For the sake of my undying love ,don’t go;come back,please,come back.
But what if you don’t come back?
I shall never let you die in my heart.I will cherish you like nothing less than a part of my life, remember you as a phase I never wanted to overcome, a time I never wanted to leave behind,as a person I always loved and wanted to be loved by.You were not a passing fancy,or a fad.You were an aspect of my thoughts, which is sans boundaries .And my feelings for you ,are a reflection of what I am.A bundle of joy ,I am at loss of words,and can’t say more…..


Windows ,far away, lighted ones in amongst darkness,make me conspire against my peace of mind,and tranquility of the moment,give birth to all sorts of uncalled for, unhealthy,disastrous imagination,that drives many a men crazy. The glimpse of light oozing out of them compels me to reflect on the lives that breathe from within them and carries me away for a few minutes from my endless brooding,lift me up into my world.Ah! the wonder of distant windows! I wish I were inside one of them,far away from myself.And the pale lifeless light could swallow me in her arms,and I immerse in a unturbulent slumber,to be awoken only by love,and to be free from all cages,have all chains untied.And I accompanied by my whims can go along to breathe the air I have wanted to all my life so far…


It’s a bit too late for a review, I know, but still I can’t stop myself from writing a one.I cannot find out whyt a film like “haasil” flopped.In a previous entry about ‘fanaa-destroyed in love’
I had given a hint regarding my inablility to like a single movie.I liked this one but-‘haasil’; after maye be ‘rang de basanti’.(To the dissapointment of many of you people ,I found even ‘rdb’ a little boring-but that’s another story).So my recent favourite was showed on dd national last Friday night.It stars jimmy shergil and a gal of unknown origin(‘coz I just remembered her face,her name had been wiped out of my memory,until a friend reminded me that she is da ‘asoka’ gal –hrishita bhatt.And there is Asutosh Rana(is killed before the interval) and of course ,Irfan Khan.All that escapes my lips when I think about him is –“woow!!!”

Why I liked the film? Well there are various reasons:
# The modest setting of the film,in some obscure small town(probably bihari or uttar pradeshi) with some university resembling a palace or something of that kind whicht invokes the whim to sink back into ages.I would have really loved it to be there.I don’t happen to like the Karan Johar kinda stuff these days.
#The man who plays jimmy’s nagging (I tried to use the mildest word around)dad asking questions and questions and only questions;dads are eggjactly like that!
#The very pragmatic love story(I have always appreciated na├»ve ones),shows how exactly young people in India’s huge middle class fall in love .It always starts with a letter and ends with one.And there is the song ‘ankhein to hoti hai dil ki zubaan’ -the eyes voice the heart.The rest of it ,again has been forgotten.
#And of course Irfan Khan (“woow!!!”).The wrinkles around his eyes paint him the shrewd shylock he plays,dialogues said with so much of precision, with malice and of course a touch of reality in them.And I liked the way he shot people ,dead,impulsively.
#Though this might sound kiddish,yet another reason was the happy ending-‘all is well that ends well’.The reassuarance that jimmy is not gonna end up in jail,when the CM pardons him for having murdered Irfan.This was because while all politicians are goondas first and then politicians ,our CM saab had been a school headmaster first.
#And then because of the villains uttering dailogues like ‘mouke ki nazzakat ko samjho’and ‘I like artists’.
#I will wind up writing a little about the climax scene that actually has compelled me to write this.
I can’t exactly translate the feelings into the perfect words ,but it made me realise that the feeling of being loved must have been wonderful.I felt jealous of the couple.
Our hero jimmy, hates tying his shoelace throughout the film ‘coz he thinks it to be a sheer waste of time.But at the end on his lady love’s saying so,he ties it.The idea behind I guess is that, he ties himself to hrishitta ,and that the free bird youth of his comes to end-as it time to settle down.

Some north-east guy has directed ‘haasil’(again a friend told me)-I din’t care to find out his name.
Hats off to him(though I am not wearing one,lol).But films like ‘haasil’ are rarely made these days…

i m stuck...

one bright sunny day,i went into the settings of ma blog,and altered something(i dun rmbr wot xatcly i did)and from then on i found the comments link missing in my entries,so if u something to say about those entries post them here...

not original 1

why is it always
the anonymous i talk to
the faceless who understands me
the random who puts me at peace
& the unknown, i fall in love with?

whoz me?

It has been a long time I stopped thinking about myself. I have immersed myself in this world , thinking about people who hardly matter to me. I give them too much of importance.No one matters to me , but me.I’m my world.I’m my world.
I will live my life,unaffected by outsiders.I’m my life.Nothing from outside the frontiers of my mind will matter for me.And I am a believer of the free soul.So I will never cage mine.I’l let it fly free,free from all chains/bonds into the blue unknown,unfazed by the noise of the people who don’t matter.No one matters.
Let my soul fly like a falcon,over the barren desert perching wherever ,if it gets tired.Fly fly and fly away, beyond the last blue mountain.I’l be myself.I,Me,Myself.

I have run enough.Now I want to rest.I have cried enough.It’s high time now.And all my tears have dried.I have never had who either understood their value,or ever tried to wipe them out.Never.No one.

If I start pouring out my woes,my life will end,but ,my thing wouldn’t get over.
Most people have an affinity towards the good things about life-cheer,love,light,affection.One of the best writers I have come across(at times I despise him for his womanising skills) Khushwant Singh,says he has the calibre to feel hatred—he would ,if he could ,murder (of the first degree)all the people he hated with all his venom.

I am much like that—but the feeling is not hatred ,its pain.I can feel pain,even in the happiest moments of my life.Pain is not just a feel.
Pain is another woman who breathes within me.She never leaves me alone.She pokes her nose into every moment that I live.I can’t live without her either.She is the ember who keeps the fire in my hearth burning,my heart beating.

At times I want to leave myself and her behind,and surrender,surrender to the divine ,die.Yes,I want to die at times.And I’m always waiting, with arms outstreched, for the divine hug .

old things...

old things
often lie
in some silent corner
uncared for

old things are
to be forgotten
to be left behind by us
we have to keep pace

old things are
to be come across
once in years
& forgotten again

old things
gather rust
& even if they don’t
they are to be done away with

old things
cannot deserve
our attention
we are busy

of the old things
a few are
antique & immortal
like the ‘monalisa’

but what of those
which are not,
which go gray
and white with time

old memories
old people?

destroyed in love...

tere dil main mere sanso ko panah mil jaye
tere ishq meri jaan fanaa hojaye…..

i think the time is ripe for a review,i went to a theatre after more than a year.. the movie was worth watching in a hall..that’s all I can say….well, none of the films are actually worth the hype that make the market tremble from much before their advent..but I donot regret having dragged the whole lot of six people in the dead of the night …I saw people like me..strict movie buffs…young guys..bloody guys…always ready to shoot out their comments, their quiver never seems to empty.well I happen to like it when such things are done on people who deserve that kind of behaviour ie people who are actually borinng I despise it with all the venom when it is done on women;if it is a sensuous scene at all all I expect people to do is to keep their filthy tounges from whistling…n shut your divine eyes if at all it is that unbearable….but donot make it a travesty…for the sake of the hoi polloi….we still exist….

And yes about the film…kajol had never ever looked so intoxicating…I being a woman give this my stamp without the slightest of green feeling …well she is so enchanting in the first half an hour that no one else on earth has the precision to say that the make up people could have in any ways made her more enchanting…she looks her ever best…for that matter any woman’s best….

amir has those marks of age distinctive on his face now…particularly in the first part….may be he got a face lift in the second part,he manages to have that “I am younger than you think I am” kinda look…and may be I am just used to his acting skills that I can do nothing more than taking it all for granted …I know that is like not giving someone credit for what he is ….but can’t help ….i just cant manage to eulogise the actor for his excellence which according to many others is extinct today….

The story is good…the script must have been better…its fresh…very new….not a bit of plagiarism in it….

But the news for the time is that the film lacks something…somewhere something very vital has been left behind which could have made me kinda satisfied after I saw the whole thing….and the bigger news is that I am gradully turning out to be a very efficient film critic(because I happen to like none of the films these days…absolutely none)..so here is another way to earn the fast bucks …lol…

Good night!!!!

straight from heart...

The worst part of being at NIT rkl(I hope at least a few of u guyz know where on earth NIT rkl is)is the ignominy(I am afraid if I should use that word ,but I am trying to add da boldness factor
to my blogs so that my entries are more of the ME I talk about)of not being in an IIT(read Institue of Infinite Tension).My dear dad still regrets for me not having succumbed to the charms of IIT-JEE and dropped a year at say FIITJEE (read FORGET IITJEE)or the like.And the second worst thing is hoi polloi saying that “We have an NIIT here also in Bhubaneswar(thatz my hometown),what made you go to Rourkela ??”And I have given up explaining that NIT isn’t the NIIT they are talking about.The third pehlu is the LH(ladiez hostel) mess,I warn you the food is so damn tasty that you might chew your fingers up.Everything else about being at NIT rkl is just fine,well, u will know better in the following paras….

The whole of my first semester was eaten up by what the bandiyan out here call BCT(read branch change tension),but I don’t deny I enjoyed all the induction programs for the freshers trying to learn uire maire maire maire alisa baba ho…(the non-official NITR slogan).And of cors I loved the NIT lingo-condensing almost anything those people could lay their hands on—supre for superintendent,repre—for representative,to state the rudimentary onez.I went home for DP(read Durga Pooja),and got pampered for the first and last time by mum,came back dying to go back in Dec.

I saw “colors” , in the second sem ::“the true onez that had kept me waiting for long”.In the Spring and Tek fests I had a real blast.There were moments when I wanted to call mum up and say that “I am relly relly happy,she neen’tworry.”And I meant those words ,seriosly.

Midsems were written with virtual one night stands with my roomie’s notes(shez famous for her sincerety man,wot a gurl!!!).And the started something that I honestly feel now shouldn’t have
started, I was introduced to the WWW(world wide web—read wicked wicked wicked).I still cannot remember who the culprit was who opened my orkut acct—I can’t pardon her.I (and my roomie—epitome of honesty,sincerety and all da good things on earth)became absolute chat addicts(I hav’t recovered yet!!!).But I wont lie you,those days were the happiest in my lyf spanning 18 long years.I couldn’t digest it when I found myself squeezing out time to wind up my assignments(ie xerox my roomie’s in2 mine).All my friendz would blurt out “tu net kar rahi hai?? wot a surprise yaar!”

And of course there were Prof DG Sahoo-hez a joke personified, all you guyz should go to this guyfrom the maths dept. for english tuitions(specially pronunciation) people do what not with this kind gentleman—open fake ids ,orkut accnts etc etc;and along with him the mecahnics teacher—his yellowed notes and antique style of teaching taught me to sleep with eyes wide open,more than the mechanics he taught.

And finally when we got our summer hols,may be my eagerness for home had mellowed,I wanted lyf to remain as it was –kewl and free…

These two and a half months are stretching a bit too long,and I am dying to get back to axon at dear NIT rkl…

broken wings...

I am caged,
and I don’t want it to be this way
my wings are broken,
and I don’t want it to be this way

beyond the last blue mountain
is where
the heart longs to fly,
and see

the heart wants to
sink into an abyss
and reach the infinite
and be where

the waves of time
are as tranquil
as the
stillness of the cosmos

where there is
no pain,
and I am
at peace with myself.

letter of love...

Dear Moon,
U r no uncle to me, u r a friend, (a distant one though,still)a close one.I dunno
if u r a man or a woman and I will never try to find that out.

U have existed for me since the day I began calling myself an adolescent.As a mute witness, you know all about my wishful thinking, my joys,my tears,my endless efforts to be my own friend.Gazing at me from behind the coconut,u have infered every word of what I hava scribbled on the leaves of my diary,ransacking this place for an identity;distraught-trying to step outta the shadow of ‘my folks’.All my romances have begun and ended with u ,dahling!

I donot remember how old was I when I got up,in the dead of a full moon-night.to discover all your light filtering through the rusty iron railing and overflowing outta my bed.I can’t forget that oment till I die.That gesture of yours cemented our relationship.

Moon ,u have never solved my problems.Ah!-but there is no denying that u have consoled me,wiped out my tears for the time I spent beside u.U have been there when I needed a friend ,the most and that is why I love You….
(Dated for ever)

if u r here...

if u r reading my blog,u are making sure that you are different....just kidding....neways pls make sure that u comment on it...my id is durgesh_nandini87@yahoo.co.in...

i shall be noone's love

i shall be noone’s love…
noone’s stealer of sleep…
noone’s object of desire…
noone’s goddess

for there are many loves,
but one heart,just one…
and it’s a real pain
to break apart

i shall seek no rescue,
no refuge from these
rains of life,no shoulders
to fall back on,no lover

for when my heart bleeded
i have not had him near
and he left for…
greener pastures

and so love is but
a difficult thing,
a burden….that my soul
can’t carry anymore

and so
i will rather be
my bundle of joy,
the lone traveller i am,

I shall be noone’s love


This world is a beautiful thing.And Rain adds to its beauty…

Here,it rained for the first time this Sunday afternoon.For many it would have meant a spoilsport,drenching their plans to freak out.For a lone traveller like me,the first Rain brings back color,makes life all the more picturesque…

Amongst the many regrets I have about my life so far,one is never having Rain-danced.All I have done is heard the Rain,the virile wet winds grazing the other side of my window pane,knocking and asking to be let in…

I have never had the guts to defy the boundaries of the snug four walled structure people call home.And so I have deprived myself of witnessing nature at her best.Such things compell me to muse…it must be wonderfull to let the Rain sanctify you…Ah Rain….

Thunderstorms are even better.Every spark of lightening splits the pitch black sky into as many parts…and inspires the morone romance in our very own Bollywood flicks.

But of course,I have faced the aftermath of rain,who hasn’t?Puddles of unknown depth,slime ,mud and mosquitoes…my beloved Rain brings with it hordes of other less wanted things.

Nevertheless ,everytime it rains,I realise one thing is for sure…Time wouldn’t tick without Rain….

My Tryst With Sai....

It was a sultry Sunday afternoon. I had been home for over a month now…and had done nothing except
for brooding and devouring a good number of books,my brother had stolen my diary and was threatening
to show it to dad unless I did his school project to add my pile of worries….so I was kinda dragging my life
along.i simply blurt out to papa,”why not let’s go out somewhere today?” who just seemed up from somet-
hing he called a “short” afternoon nap.”Where?”.Well, I think I am better off explaining it to the people w-
ho are going through my blog that my dad supposes that I m still a kid and replies affirmative to every proposal
I give and I assume every yes of his as a big NO!!! I had to name a place,and I heard myself saying”the Sai temple
there”.i was sure I will be able to pull him to the shopping mall after that….

Now I said so without slightest intention with which people visit temples…my cousin and his wife were regular
people there and I remember him having said that the place was in the outskirts of the city and he had discovered
peace there(I should mention it that he is the most unpeaceful of people around ,always messing up with
the simplest things in life…) I concluded that it was worth a visit for the peace factor and would help me do away
with my brooding,atleast..though I was never an ardent devotee of Sai Baba(with honest apologies to all the believers around)….almost half of my maternal side was brimming with the stories of his miracles…and as such I had
no problems with Him as I was well aware that He did good to people…

So we all got ready and dad drove us away ,away from the milling crowd,into the tranquil moonlit dusk
that shrouded the city….the best I had seen for days….the air was cool as it is often with the advent of the
monsoon….and finally we were there…should I mention that my dear bhai was again reluctant to budge
as that meant untying the lace of his shoes and stuff….

The place had an idiosyncratic smell of its own..that of bibhuti(holy ash)….the temple was like any of the modern
day ones….floored with mirror like marble….clean without a blemish…and I got the first signs of the peace which my
cousin had talked about.

I entered.Alas!!! I was taken aback…in front of me sat the image of Shirdi Sai ….and I had expected Satya Sai(the former
being the ealier incarnation)….the image sat with a well defined calm,tranquil as it was…my dad discovered
that it was made with a absolute precision

I sat cross legged….and felt like talking to Baba…the common characteristic I look out for in a good friend
and my God is that both have to be patient listeners??hai naa??what say??

So I began talking,my lips wide shut and my senses immune to things going on in my vicinity…I dumped
all my woes ,my fears,my pain to this new found friend of mine….i cun’t feel time slipping away ….
My mum had to shake me outta something people call trance…

And I surprised myself twice…first when I found my eyes wet,and second when I din’t want to leave…
Let all the shopping go to hell….

So that was my tryst with Sai…and believe me people ,I am a believer now…an ardent one that too…

sans you....

every thought of you brings a tear into my eyes,
when memories of you keep strolling in and out
of my helpless heart that cant help but think about
you ...day in and day out
the feel of every word that has escaped your lips
makes me smile ,oblivious of myself and the prying eyes,
you make me miss you the most when i am in a crowd
and even more when i am alone
i am famished for your vision and voice,
i cannot trust myself with my life,
if you arenot close by,i cannot
dare to live without you
i am in love with you,
and like every lover i am short of words to tell you so
but i cannot expect more than something from you,
something people call indifference
nevertheless i shall love you now and always...