A Lone Stranger

This sure makes sense....so please read carefully.. During a training session on "Prevention of Sexual Harassment', the trainer asked, "What should you check for, when you sit in a hired cab?" The answer to that, "The child lock". The room fell silent for a few seconds, as no one had thought of that. The trainer went on to say, that in the last 4 years, all cases related to rape/ molestation in cabs/by cab drivers, had one thing in common. The victims were in cars that had a child lock on them. The trainer, who was himself a lawyer, had served on the advisory board for drafting the "Vishakha" guidelines & had also represented victims. All the girls & ladies, what you are now going to read, is of extreme importance, so please read carefully.... The next time you enter a cab, first check if the child lock lever is on the side of the door or even better, please do not open the car door from the outside. Instead, ask the driver to open ...

"Shantaram", by Gregory David Roberts, has these interesting passages - (Excerpt from pages 349 - 350)...... "The world is run by one million evil men, ten million stupid men & a hundred million cowards. The evil men are the power- the rich men & the politician & the fanatics of religion- whose decisions rule the world & set it on its course of greed & destruction. There are only one million of them, the truly evil men in the whole world - the very rich & the very powerful, whose decisions really count. The stupid men, who number ten million, are the soldiers & policemen, who enforce the rule of evil men. They are often brave but they are stupid, too, because they give their lives for governments & causes, that use their flesh & blood, as mere chess pieces. Those governments always betray them, or let them down, or abandon them, in the long run. Nations neglect no men more shamefully, than the 'heroes of their war." And the h...

She Waltzes Through Life.. Shadow lengthens not; yes, walking on a tight rope she waltzes through life She waltzes through life; sun, moon, stars, trees and flowers fail to catch her rhythm Fail to catch her rhythm; a wife and a mother too, she waltzes through life.. Dedicated to my wife and all the respectable ladies out there

Being "in the right place & at the right time"..... A mother camel & a baby camel, were lying under a tree. Baby camel asked, “Why do we camels have humps?” Mother camel considered this & said, “We are desert animals so we have the humps to store water, so that we can survive with very little water.” The baby camel thought for a moment, then said, “Ok, but why are our legs long & our feet rounded?” Mama camel replied, “They are meant for walking in the desert.” Baby camel paused. After a few seconds, the camel asked, “Then why are our eyelashes long? Sometimes they get in my way.” Mama camel responded, “Those thick long eyelashes protect your eyes from the desert sand when it blows in the wind". Baby camel thought & thought & then said, “I see. So the hump is to store water when we are in the desert, the legs are for walking through the desert & the eye lashes protect our eyes from the desert. Then why are we in the Zoo?” Lesson: Skills &...

Run your own race.... I was jogging this morning & I noticed a person about half a km ahead. I could guess he was running a little slower than me & I felt good. I said to myself, I will try catch up with him. I had about a km before I needed to turn off. So I started running faster & faster. Every block, I was gaining on him just a little bit. After just a few minutes, I was only about 300 feet behind him, so I really picked up the pace & pushed myself. You would have thought I was running in the last leg of an Olympic competition. I was determined to catch up with him. Finally, I did it! I caught up & passed him. Inwardly I felt very good. "I beat him". Of course, he didn't even know we were racing. After I passed him, I realized I had been so focused on competing against him, that I had missed my turn to my house. I had gone nearly six blocks past my turn & I had to turn & go back. It then dawned on me, isn't that what happens to ...

Once again it’s that time of the year when the clouds of darker shades start covering the sky. The smell of newly wet earth fills your senses; birds you never see through the years fill the world around you with their excitement. It’s that time when the six-year-old wants to run away to the neighboring orchards to reclaim his mossy throne in the shadowy world. It’s that time of the year when the teenager wants to go back to his bedroom window where he can spend the lazy afternoon watching the non-stop rain drops. It is that time of the year when newly adult wants to walk under the shared umbrella – shoulder to shoulder – dreaming about the world he wants to create. Monsoon Clouds It’s been quite some time that I didn’t find any reason to complain about rains. Wherever I went, I felt it’s a party arranged by you. Standing under the grey canopy – absorbing the ballad of life around – never saw it coming. The gust of wind caught me full on. Lurking behind the unseen dark corners of ...

The jagged line falls crooked upon my face, splitting my features into a grimace of subtle carnage. It emerges from my throat and swivels its way across my lips, around my nose, and between my eyes. It finds its final resting place on the left side of my forehead. As I reach my fingers to touch it, it moves- skipping slightly to the right or left as I try to feel it, as I try to know that it is there and tangible. With spidery legs, it crawls across my face, turning into swirls and scribbles - turning into fragments and scars - and I can't quite touch it. I see it thought - a red, angry line with furry edges to it, with shadowy energy that stretches across my features and mars any attempt I make at feeling good. Something isn't right and I'm not quite sure what it is. The feeling of uneasiness creeps throughout my being and as I stare at my face in the mirror, my heart starts to hurt. I want to take my hand and punch through the glass, reach to the broken figure on the ...

Last weekend like any other weekend was simple and rolling when suddenly hell broke loose with the news of a close, rather very near and dear one being hospitalized and that too in a critical condition, and yet another blow saying that blood is being transfused, yikes...... Entire week huff puff and all efforts that could be thought of and gathered were put to do whatever possible, but alas its always man proposes and God disposes and the efforts went away in vain, for he didnt make it through, a simple symptom like jaundice claimed his life...... grief stricken we are and pray for the beloved soul to Rest in Peace For life goes on and on 

The remaining grains of rice on my plate cling to each other as if they are trying to avoid the fingers hovering above them. They seem to move about the plate without my even touching them - fleeing, rolling, sticking to the remaining clump of wasabi guarding the edge. When I look down at my plate, I see the food that had been there with them, but that has now disappeared - gone into the jumbled up inner-workings of my body. Gravy is no more, it is now gradually cooking at body temperature, mine. That's when it starts - sometimes it begins with a low rumble in my hip sockets - a vibration that spreads through my muscles and settles uncomfortably in my elbows. On occasion, the pang will come directly from where the food has supposedly gone - a naked rumble that I think everyone can hear. That, I think, is when my eyes start to melt backwards into my body. This, I believe, is when my auditory system starts to shut down to the world. This, is definitely when I start feeling that t...

Those words have been haunting me all day. They're not particularly harrowing words on their own, in fact, they are quite the contrary - affirming, validating, smile making. I spend hours and hours and hours and years of my life pouring my soul, my spirit, my skin, my blood and my tears (sometimes literally) into my writing. It is my release, it is the way that I pick at the layers - sometimes flaky, buttery, and delicious - but often times grimy, scabbed over, and moist (yes I went there) - that surround my core and my centered self. It is how I burrow through blocks and explore my inner and outer demons. I write out my alternate universes, my deepest conflicts... With that in mind, who wouldn't want to hear such a statement? This morning, my self-doubt got a serious smacking with it. I heard it as a reprimand - I got it with a tinge of hurt and "really?"...from a dear friend, from a mentor, from an inspiration. My precarious self esteem around my own talen...

I remember feeling. I remember laughter. I remember crying when I was sad. I remember rain. I remember acid on my skin. I remember clouds shining on the surface of a river.  I remember scratches. I remember bleeding. I remember sinking, thinking - useless. I remember strength. I remember focus. I remember knowing what it's like to be raw. I remember dying. I remember falling. I remember my heart exploding - sacrifice. I know feeling. I know laughter. I know to cry when I am sad. I know rain. I know acid on my skin. I know clouded surfaces of murky water. I know scratches - cuts. I know bleeding - pores - screech. I know that right now I feel bruised. I know strength. I know focus. I know a rawness right now - that needs to be held. I know dying. I know falling. I know I want you to hold my heart. Take care of me tonight. I remember.... I know... I hurt.

I Want To Relive I wanna relive those moments when my heart melted, When I lived my entire life in one beautiful moment, Those moments that enlivened my life & made it scented, And made my living spectacularly different. I wanna relive those magical moments once more... The moment when I first opened my eye, My Mom’s exhilarated eyes glanced through my heart, There was an unconditional adoration in that novel tie, And yes, what wonderful was that start. I wanna relive that affectionate moment once more... The moment when I walked my first step, And looked into that anxious eye, There was an unbelievable motivation for my tiny footstep, And hands waiting to hold me, on whom I could easily rely, I wanna relive that reliable moment once more... The moment when I gave my first exam, My Dad’s confident eyes assured me of success, There was an unsaid belief that told me that capable I am, And then I had to succeed for I had my dear ones for me to bless. I wanna...

Though the day is still in its nascent phase, the collective heaviness in our breath is felt as the muggy sky frowns down upon the world today. A week of rains and murky atmospheres both in daily and nightly lives has dripped this city in a sluggish glaze that leaves me wondering whether we really did avoid the end of days. The sky slivers in and out of a brown-hazy half-smile - one where you can't help but focus on the side that isn't smiling.  I can't help but focus on the grimace formed by hardened eyes whose colorless abyss sucks me into place I haven't been for a long time and don't care to return to. I can't help but wonder why I long for a velvety embrace from tentacles writhing around my wrists, my knees, cracking my joints. This mood has been permeating steadily through my subconscious and I feel the fragmentation from last week growing steadily more apparent. Some mornings, I awake to find a new face in the mirror - one that has returned form a nig...

The image that I have in my mind right now is of a hand reaching from deep down inside of me, from somewhere inside my core, beyond my sternum, beyond even the physical limits of my body and coming upwards and outwards through my throat, outwards and upwards from my face and reaching......just reaching. It seems to want to stretch out from the sinewy nodule that it has been living in and turn my entire being inside out. I couldn't find picture to portray this through a Google image search. I have a very raw layer of emotion misting up on my skin - it is unsure whether it wants to be sweated out, or cried out, or just examined and held. The palpitations in my heart haven't stopped since I noticed them yesterday, within about an hour of getting to work. True to form, I decided they had nothing to do with me. The pounding on my ribcage, the thrusting upwards on my lungs, the twitching underneath my collarbone...no, not mine. Today, I laid a painted circle, a bit of weara...

I am masking a dull throb in my core with the smile on my face. There is either a tiny creature digging through my organ tissue - burrowing tunnels to connect parts of my body that don't naturally connect.  I'm not sure whether I want to reach in and rip this little creature out or drown it in an acerbic mixture of tea, coffee, and SmartWater. I'm not sure, but I believe that she has invited a few friends to tap dance on my duodenum. She has taken her drumsticks and is playing beat out on my chest cavity. Thump thump thump badump thump... Is there any way to evict a sensation? I wish I could close my eyes right now and sleep them away. I wish that I could spread a layer of material with frosting-like qualities inside of me and drown them into a stupor of silence. Thump thump thump badump thump... I wonder if all of this has to do with how I felt yesterday? I wonder if my nerves need more serious rewiring? I wonder if cold will ever feel cold or just painful? I...

A smokey swirl forms on the surface of my coffee this morning.  It embraces the meniscus lapping at the sides of the cup and coils upon itself. I watch as the vibrations from the room, or the souls in it, urge it inwards, until it pierces through and dissipates. My coffee grows cold and the once sweet promise of robust aroma evaporates into a bitter porcelain brew. The swirl seeps further into the murk - drowning in uncertain shadows. It baffles me to be staring at my coffee this morning, lying still in its simplicity - as if the last week never happened, as if it has accepted its natural death as a foggy memory of the velvety bean that it was born as. It lies there, stupid and still, and I wonder if it was consciously aware of the way in which it was picked, prodded, perpetrated, peeled, and perjured until it burst through its pod of life into a death of ground molasses swills. Was it even given a choice when the khefir came down and severed its life-force, herded into the wel...

Your heart is born new every day. The greeting of each day is another breath of light for your heart to take in. this makes it vulnerable, sensitive, and open...as a baby is...every time it is awakened. A heart, much like an infant, will continue to reach towards the love of acceptance and understanding, even if it meets the reality of pain and continuous wounding. It is why, although we physically carry upon our hearts the wounds of times we have opened towards another...although we feel the stretched pins of healing in those wounds within us, we continue to open, and continue to reach towards the unity of knowing the rhythm of a lover's beating heart within us. Our souls, however, are reborn each day with the loves it has known in other cycles and the lives it has been with in other times. Our soul searches, continuously, for the loves it has known in previous lives, while present in this life. The soul that is able to find a love it has known before...or many times before, e...

Every morning, my body is dismantled In this blog words Teacher and Mentor is referred to "Dada" Dada is the one to have changed my perspective in all aspects of life I awaken to find that I have traveled far within my dreamworld and that I have returned to my body with new lessons to learn, and new parts to put together. When I sleep, I face some of my most feared monsters, many of which, upon reflection, wear my very own face. I awaken to find that I am looking beyond the depth of my own eyes - beyond the reflected pools of light that show me the world beyond my touch. The world within me rages within caverns of unexplored crystals - where deep pockets of strength lay hidden beneath deceptively protective membranes of anger and fear. Every morning, when I awaken, I am struck by the innocence that lives within me - I am humbled by the miracle of having woken up for another morning. There was a time where I dreaded the moment that my body would awaken, that my...

The road is crowded and the air is littered with the insistent shrillness of a horn being leaned on for far longer than is acceptable. Whistles shriek as traffic controllers are desperate to let cars pass without causing a traffic jam, and without letting themselves become part of the pavement. Sweat drips off their tired brows as they pointlessly gesticulate at the crowding busses and unyielding anxious drivers, racing to get their kids, to the destination  to whatever the next stop of their day is. On the sidewalk, panhandlers crowd around in ephemeral shapeless forms that seem to hover on the outskirts of personal space. Panhandlers desperate to get rid of their ill gotten goods fill my retinas with stolen bags, fake watches, and cheap cheap t-shirts that declare how much I love Noida. Impatient music blares in my ears from the tiny white buds that somehow, by connecting to the slim black contraption in my pocket, smoothly absorb music like a perfectly blended milksha...

My fingers have gone still on the keys. My spirit is a river that has tired swaying from bank to bank and has found its stagnant center. Within it, I flail my arms form side to side, and try to advance, but find that all I can do is stand and and stare. Everything is different, and yet everything is the same. On the west, willows stretch out majestically with limbs intertwined to shake off the early morning dew that has settled on their leaves. An iridescent ribbon of brown and green hues playfully hides from the sun as the leaves stretch out into the water. The trees have welcomed the day with their power, their grounded spirits, and have gracefully stepped into their roles of life givers, shelter providers, protectors. I see the land of sands and savanna's, and of wild animals preparing for the hunt, for the tasks that stir their spirits awake each morning. The willows and lions take drink from the stillness of my spirit. I stand in my spirit rather than with it. I watch, thr...