Are Indians listening?

I shuddered as I watched on the TV, news of people killed by their kith and kin.

What were they killed for?

For marrying the people they chose for themselves.

Where did the killings take place?

In Delhi, India's capital.

I feel that as a nation, we are hypocrites. On the one hand, we claim to have a grand civilization of thousands of years, and on the other hand, we commit all kinds of atrocities possible.

In the name of upholding traditions and customs which blatantly go against basic human rights, we have stopped practising what used to be the corner-stone of Indian values, sarvo jeevay dayaa or compassion for all.

Are Indians listening?

The X-factor

Much that we do in life is of our choice, directly or indirectly. However, results are sometimes unexpected. What determines the results? Success or failure depends on a whole lot of factors, some of which cannot even be quantified, although understood. Still, something remains unexplained: the X-factor.

I call the X-factor, God.

He decides; He breaks; He makes.

He plays the tune and we dance.

The Mischief-Maker

The mischief-maker by my side
Keeps me busy the whole day..
And often I regret having no time left for myself.
No answer do I have for his flow of questions;
Thus, he defeats me.


Running all over the house,
My mischief-maker
Makes noise, breaks things
And comes and hugs me
So that I do not scold him!


For all the trouble, and all the worry
I am glad; because my house
Has at last become
A home,
Thanks to my mischief-maker.

Yashoda's mischief-maker has sent my one to me;
To fill my life with joy.
Hence, in my little one's hug and his laughter
I feel Yashodanandan's healing touch,
And can hear the flute once more.

The wind played with her long, dark hair..

Walking away one day from all that is mundane,

She stopped to soak in a moment of silence.

Looking at the glorious setting sun,

And letting the wind play with her long, dark hair,

She rested.

No thought did she let bother her

Nor worry about the next day,

As for the moment, she was her own,

Enjoying every breath she took

While the wind played with her long, dark hair.

(A tribute to womanhood)

The moon running..

No answer could I give

My little one,

When he pointed out with wonder

The moon running in the sky

Just like the car in which he was!

His wonder made me trust

The deep joy of childhood

Which I had thought was lost to me

For good.

Nothing is lost if there is joy

In heart, for

Joy pure proves there is love and faith in the soul.

My child is a sign of God being by my side,

And my fragmented life

Is once more whole.

This night..

This night is

A time to rest, a time to heal.

This night as

I organise my thoughts and

Dreams, and gently pull out the shards of glass

From the soul,

I know that tomorrow the sun will rise again

With new travails, and new hopes.

This night is

A time to share, a time to pray,

For I know not if tomorrow's sure sun

These eyes of mine will see.

The Last Days

Walking down memory lane one day

Since I know my days are numbers,

I asked myself if the balance sheet

Satisfied me.

No, it didn't give me contentment,

As we are trained to look only for joy

Forgetting to accept the fact that

Sorrow is a part of this life.

Today, as I am nearer the exit,

I understand that even the rude balance sheet does not matter.

Battle-weary was I, but am so no longer

As all battles are now over.

Standing quietly in the twilight,

After giving up all that is meant to go

Sooner or later,

I am waiting to embrace rest

Without the terror of battles anymore.

Call me an escapist, if you so wish;

But I am what I am, and my life and my death

Are my very own.