And headaches It does cause For every time One comes up I think I should applause For what does one do? With a word So hollow That it echoes In its own labyrinth And a series of un-truths Follow For if they meant What they said And they said What they meant Sorry would never …
It’s been a long time since words like terrorism, bombings, jihad and infiltration were not part of the daily headlines. As we sift through words like jihad, al-Qaeda and ISIS in our daily dose of information, we expect news of bombings, suicide squads, gun-fire and destruction. It is almost as if these people have nothing else to do but to follow a chaotic agenda of spreading violence and terror.
I grew up with the legendary tales of Robin Hood, Asoka, Lord Ram, Akbar, and Shah Jahan and recited the poetry of Khayyam and Mirza Galibh. Their beautiful words had a resonating impact on me. I imagined them as a part of my ancestry. It never dawned or seemed important to me that Robin Hood was actually British, and that Akbar, whose chaste Urdu in times of grief and anger resembled my grandfather’s, did not even belong to me or my…
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What if the devil lived in your branded shoes?
No, this is not a write-up about food! This is about Kumaoni – a musical language from the hills of Uttarakhand. A language that is slowly losing its identity due to migration of locals and very less written content available (even though the language is based on the Devanagari script). Folk tales in Kumaoni are …
A beautiful life lesson
I washed my hands clean, as I wished to meet the person who could read me between the lines on my palm and predict my past and future if not the present. I have seen him for the past decade and only now had decided to consult him and understand him and myself.
There he was sitting beneath the peepal tree, his only tool being a magnifying glass. He sat there the whole day where a few would come and sit with him and understand what lay in store for them in the near future.
What do you need to know son, asked he, as I stretched out my palm. Nothing in particular, but would like to know how my life would shape in general. He looked at me, reading my face rather than my palm. He did a cursory reading of my palm, a few seconds is what it took him to gauge my future and after looking again…
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One of my favourite poets in current times
When my Maker brings the heat
I feel the sting
He smelts the silver of my soul
To reveal weaknesses
Dross rises to the silver’s surface
There for me to scrape away
Or let sink back into my essence
To rise and mar another day
Life’s fiery lessons
Are but beauty on the journey
He was a swindler deep inside - a used car salesman for the world. Trading under shady deals of things his mother remained unheard. The old fifty's song plays on the gramophone. She sits on the arm chair tucked comfortably with a blanket. Her eyes are closed but she is aware of all the sounds …