The songs of my heart

The vastness of Himalayas is itself enough to make you realise how negligible your existence is. And there at foothill of a mountain they call tololing , lies another monument which reminds you of that fact. This time even more painfully. Here you are at the Kargil war memorial. There is so much i want to write about this place, but i am at loss of words... I mean, what do you call all those feelings? For once, I know i felt proud when i entered the gate. Yes you read the gleaming "forever in operations" slogan and the tall fluttering tricolour and you have a pleasant proud smile on your face. It slowly fades when you  see a documentary which narrates how the war and other events unfolded. And you get a sudden shock. What do you call that shocking kind of a feeling you get when you realise that this is not a war movie on screen...dude -this -is -real -war footage. And then one jawan tells you that you are standing in front of tololing and tiger hill and this is exactly w...

'A wave' can never define an ocean My gaze can never define the sky. I refuse to spoil the beauty of vastness by limiting it to a frame. To contain feelings in a combination of alphabets is foolhardy. Words are frames. Body is a limit.  I see 'me' soaring. Beyond. I see love. And no, my love doesn't look like a red rose.

 "Count your life by the experiences, not days." You live this line. The philosophy of indifference fails to convince you. You have decided to live the experiences. Good and bad, happy and sad,the angst, anxiety, love, loss, hope, fear, excitements, surprises, breaking, aching, healing, soothing, humor, sarcasm, everything! Every experience is different when you live like that. Every feeling is new  Except a few.  You find that some experiences are repeating in a pattern. And you don't reject those. Strangely, You hold on and experience them repeatedly. It is as if you are addicted to the feeling. And you are not afraid to face it. You feel love. In all it's forms. You  see yourself going all out about it, giving it all of you. Gambling everything and forgetting that you could lose. You don't fear loss, nor heart aches. There are always tears which drown your soul. There is dejection. People don't understand you and you face rejection. There is ...

Scene 1  venue : college library hall  event : finals of debate competition The very young and energetic finalists of the debate competition are discussing "Gandhian principles" when they digress and start commenting on Gandhi's personal life. and a little before the moderator could bring them back on track, they discuss the word "lust". I know, I know... I can almost hear the "so what"? ringing in your head! there wasn't a  moment of discomfort in the crowded hall. Cheering went on, arguments continued and we enjoyed supporting our favourite teams. What's the big deal about discussing "lust", right? Wrong!!! Later a senior member of the management who was the chief guest, objected to the use of that word. he even suggested in his speech that students  should leave out "such delicate topics" from their discussions the next time. *sigh* Scene 2 venue : classroom event : yet another debate competition of another ...

Unfortunately i say this with all sarcasm today.  And i also illogicaly hope that the people whom this is intented at will understand sarcasm. Which people? My fellow countrymen who think banning the documentary will save a girl’s dignity.   parents, who think the dignity is daughter not sleeping with some guy before marriage & Dignified life is ability to endure heartbreaks and emotional pain. My academically very highly qualified friend who wants a virgin wife so that the religious rituals become fruitful. Brothers who think that it is upto the daughter in the family to maintain the “izzat”. All the people in their sweet little shells who choose to conveniently deny the problem than to accept it. Because finding solutions translates as ‘killing egos’.   People who use foul language more than willingly and are proud of it! People who refer to women’s private parts as a “cussword”... hah!!! Oh.. C’mmon you cowards... accept it! You don’t really care about th...

माझ्या घरात कौलारू छपरातून एक तिरीप यायची . जमिनीवर निट   वर्तुळ काढणारी . आणि तिच्यात असंख्य रंगीबेरंगी पऱ्या रहायाच्या . घराला माळा   होता.   त्यावर जुनी पुस्तकं , नारळ , भांडी , ट्रंका असं   काहिही   शोधताना खजिन्याचा मालक असल्या सारखं   वाटायचं . लपाछपी च्या खेळात सतत जिंकवण्या साठी असंख्य जागा अपोआप   तयार व्हायच्या . फटाक्यांची   पिशवी   अडकवायला   फक्त   ताई चाच   हात   पोचेल असा मोठा खिळा   होता . चौकात   आंधळी   कोशिंबीर    कितीही   मुलं   खेळू   शकतील   एवढी जागा   होती . पडवी   वरच्या सोप्या सारखा सुबक   सोपा मी कुठेही   बघितला नाही आणि पडवी वरच्या रांगोळी सारखी   रांगोळी   कधीही   कुठेच   सजली   नाही . घरात खूप कोनाडे होते . त्यातले बहुतेक सगळेच गूढ दिसायचे . काहीतरी   लपवून   ठेवल्यासारखे . फुलं , उदबत्ती   आणि चुलीतल्या   जाळ णा चा एक...

When it rains No distance is far. I breath in the fragrant earth... And you Have turned into the Wind Carrying it across the mighty sky.