My yearn..My rage..My pain..

It was one those initial days of mine in a new habitat. Sitting in front of a eucalyptus at 2 in the morning, I found myself scribbling my heart overflowing with emotions I never ever stumbled upon before....here they are...


I wonder what will calm down my yearn


Will it be the bitter sweet morsel of love?

After the perpetual state of numbing pain

Will it be the long lost association with my hidden mystery?

Or it will continue ever and ever,

Taking my quests to the heights of zenith...



I wonder what will cease the rage in me

Will it be the acquaintance with my new found patience?

Will it be the aching thoughts of Diaspora?

Will it be the isolation discovered from the corpse?

Or it will continue ever and ever and forever

In the search of a utopian world that’s never meant to exist...



I wonder and wonder

I search and search

I look and look

I roam and roam...



But I often forget

It’s my yearn that lights up the fire in me

It’s the rage in me that spark my veiling beauty

It’s the pain that keeps the smile on

My yearn, My rage, My pain...THEY COMPLETE ME...

My Unopened Book Titled-RELIGION

I completed my metamorphosis (or may be its still in the process) in family with sheer paradox views on religion. Growing up with 10 people with different set of beliefs on the same faith made me imbued with a certain frictional force towards any of those. Having a father who never dared to forth his steps towards a place of worship to grandfather with radical and staunch Hindu beliefs made me more and more remorseless about religion. I deliberately eluded the whole connotation of practicing a religion where ever it was possible. Religion for me became an unopened book in some stranded corner. It was not that I wasn’t aware that it existed but was not just willing to accept the fact that it existed somewhere in a parlous state until today when I unknowingly got my hands over this untutored book.

   I was pathetically busy in the hustle and bustle of shifting my room from one floor to another (pathetically because I get crumpled by the whole process of packing my world which I always tend to leave in bits). The wall of my new room were left clean by its previous dweller expect a poster on the wall above my bed. The poster was carrying pictures of goddess Saraswati and goddess Lakshmi (goddesses of knowledge and wealth). The poster depicted nothing and failed to speak any words which it was supposed to say. I had planned to put up my new pictures in the place, and for that the poster had to find another place to appeal by its unknowing beauty which my eyes were not able to spot.

   In iota of a second I decided to pull it down. I propelled my hands to tear down it but a whiff of thought made me stop. Before I could realise what it was, it was gone with a promise of never to return. It was gone forever leaving with me stranded in the middle of the book which I always tried to elope. Now that I have stumbled upon it, will I ever cross it...will I ever overcome the friction....will I ever afloat above it? To answer these questions I have to read the whole book whose remaining pages are missing and altered. Can someone get me a cenetial edition of the book??

Stop Fiddling With My Childhood.......

This post of mine is especially dedicated to all those who grew up eating, drinking, and sleeping on Enid Blyton. For all the folks who identified themselves as one of the famous five and use to pump up the adrenalin with the adventures of the backyard in Liverpool. The matter is serious. The most beautiful gem in the crown called childhood is getting renovated. You know why? Because the present generation duds are born with fatheads who make them impotent enough to take pride in it. Now our ever cleaved “Famous Five” is being rewritten. How did they arrive on such a connotation to do such a despicable act?




   Those trademark Enid Blyton’s one line syrups like “mercy me”, “awful swotter” and of course my favourite “tinker” will soon become homeless and have to find another yellow coloured thing to dwell on. All of these errands are being run to make the text timeless rather than 21st century with no modern slangs. They statement given is itself a paradox. First of all the text is already timeless and is still being read throughout the world. After all who these days can spare time to write for children when just writing an IIT story can fetch you millions. And secondly, the series is set in 1940’s and the slangs exchanged have to have an ardour of the era. Changing the texts is like fiddling with the armour of the book which will leave permanent wounds on the soul and its body.



   I would just like to question the people who came up with this notion of change. Do we also have to change Shakespeare work to make it timeless? Should we expect Marc Anthony to start his speech with, “hey you people.....can you jus lend me your ears for a sometime”? Should we prepare ourselves to visualise Scarlett o Hara in cleavage gobbling Versace gowns? Or else we can have Elizabeth Benet make witty conversations over her blackberry pearl. This is the way we should expect all are classics to look like in the days to come. I know I have exaggerated the whole scenario (but not up to the saturations levels) but tampering with something which has been a perpetual thing of bliss for over centuries makes me go nuts. If you think that you are breeding morons then create pulp made for them, and leave the classics to their being......because you cannot improve on that.

P.S. Happy Friendship's Day