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Hope

July 21, 2015

Tell me you will remember to remember me
For I won’t be back for a long, long time.

Tell me you will remember to remember me
Even if the distractions are many and the memories are few.
For I will feel your fragrance in the wind
And wait for the day when the whispers bring me back to you.

Tell me you will remember to remember me
For the millions of words are still unspoken
I never thought that I will desire the unsaid
But the silences make me restless and broken.

Tell me you will remember to remember me
For that’s the only desire I have
To know that you will feel my absence
When the nights are lonely and the lips are distant.

Tell me you will remember to remember me
Even if you do not
For the hope will keep me going
And help me survive one more day...

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Untitled Poem - Life

June 17, 2013

When life is a mystery with secrets untold,
survival can’t depend on just money or gold!

If time is an illusion and nothing is certain,
it’s difficult to measure the loss and the gain.

When each one of us is a prisoner here,
what makes us believe we can claim our share?

If change is only constant, and death, an ultimate solution,
forever and always seem nothing but delusion…

Along one lonely road, you slowly lose yourself,
with a desire to earn the mountains of wealth!

No matter how hard you try, you will always lose this game,
leaving everything you earned - your name, your fame!

In the end what matters is how much you share,
without a discussion on what’s yours...what’s theirs

If the people who loved you are all long gone
then, who are these strangers that call you their own!!!

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Memories Are a Persistent Lot

December 24, 2012

“What I like about photographs is that they capture a moment that’s gone forever, impossible to reproduce.” 

― Karl Lagerfeld

There is something infuriating about memories and recollections and there is something “un-put-down-able” about them. However, as L.M. Montgomery stated in her novel The Story Girl, “Nothing is ever really lost to us as long as we remember it.” Memories can be a beautiful dream or the worst nightmare, I chose to pen down the former today!

A strong man with a gentle heart and the most charming smile I have seen till today, whom I always known to be my father, or “Pa” as I used to call him, is one of the few who makes the recollections even more effortless. 

I was in my 9th summer when he vanished in the nick of time. Since, I was not old enough to understand much, cry or complain, I kept mum. The first year without him was about genuinely remembering him and giving into melancholia. Few more seasons whizzed past and Pa started taking refuge in occasional references. The suspected well wishers and people in our relation kept the flame of pathos alive.

His memories started to fade in the din of growing up. Even his clothes, shoes, wallet and saved-up coins turned cold and disappeared from mind’s vicinity. 

But memories are a persistent lot.

The beautiful walks with Pa, narrative nights and Saturday evening badminton sessions are all relived again and again. Not everything was rosy though. Every Math session I used to have with him ended in boredom and disgust – a mutual feeling. Mental Math, as far as I remember, was a complete jerk that tried to create a rift between us. There were discussions, giggles, lessons and a feeling of protection.

Today, when I look back in retrospection, the only question that crops up is why? Why did everything happen in a hurry? Though, I am not among the ardent takers of consolation, and yet I feel I spend more hours with him, even when he is not around!

“Sharing tales of those we've lost is how we keep from really losing them.” ― Mitch Albom, For One More Day

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We -The Real Strugglers

January 12, 2012


Each of us is a Mujahid. A struggler! Although, terrorism, geographical issues and troubles across the boundaries may have covered a large space of the empty canvas but a few corners are still left unsettled and obscure. 

If we look at life and its uncertainties as an onlooker and ZERO the micro moments, we will find bits and pieces of struggle lying almost everywhere around us.

We all are justice fighters. We fight to meet the targets at office, for that extra dose of blessings from thousands of spiritual babas, to catch a public transport to reach at workplace, to make a special place among employees at office, to search friends and the uncertainty of the future. It is human instinct to fight, to move on with the little baggage called struggle.


The struggle for a man to keep his kids and wife happy with whatever petite amount of salary he gets, the struggle for a girl to look as best as she can in front of her latest crush, the struggle for a bowler to pitch the ball in the correct place, the struggle for Sachin Tendulkar to make that “century,” the struggle for a small kid who lost his parents in a car accident and the chronic struggle of an old man to recollect the memories that bring smile to his face can never be gauged. 

It is no less struggle for us to make a mourner smile and grow up with an insensible heart. The desperate attempt of a deer to not become a leopard’s prey is more than sheer struggle. Isn’t it horrific to see a dog walking on three legs? How grievous it is to find a young boy watching a football match sitting on wheelchair?

In the age of technology and competition, everybody is a freedom fighter. If a kid struggles to free himself from the burden of excessive homework, the less fortunate fight to free themselves from the ugly looking curse called poverty.

The craving of an orphan to find a refuge and warm hug when thunder strikes and the frenzied search of a father to arrange blood for his kid lying in a critical condition are more heartrending missions than the terror-mongers or Congress and BJP struggling to win the elections.

We notice an old man’s habit to mumble but never notice his wrinkles and eyes that crave for care or read the lines that come from a deserted wife or an individual soon to meet his death. Notice the forceful submission of a soldier before a fanatic general and a small school boy who hurts himself while boarding an overcrowded school bus.

Open your eyes and hearts, clear your minds, purge over your ears and beckon on your power of introspection before you can mull over this ubiquitous struggle. One really needs to be a struggle fighter for it.

Salute yourself while you survive with a smile even after constant struggles and remember that life goes on while we struggle to solve its mysteries!

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Delhi: It’s My Way or the Highway!

October 28, 2011


After numerous discussions, views, allegations and confusions, I decided to begin with the obvious. Delhi is fun to be 'with!'

I am not saying that because I am born and brought up here (yes, that too) but because my many years in Delhi have taught me that the city can be dicey but only when you are not living “with” it. Accept it the way it is and it can be the best city you have ever lived in/been to.

Board a congested metro train, try “Shamsher ki Mashoor Shikanji”, allow yourself the luxury of “Chandni Chowk ke chole bhature” stuff yourself with plum “aaloo gobhi ke paranthe”. No matter how sophisticated it claims to be, most people here barter sanitation for taste and it goes well with the richest of them.

Never question obvious things. Why are men disinclined to leave the seats reserved for women/old? Why do people take jumbo sized yawns with their hands nowhere near to their “pretty” wide mouth? Why they can spend thousands on “Dal Makhni and chapti” in Le Meridian but argue with a poor vegetable seller for Rs. 5/-. Ignore all this and you will be forgiven.

One major factor that makes the city a ‘must explore’ metropolitan is its capability to remain mysterious and a stranger to the majority of people living in it. You will never understand why some people have 4-5 ACs at home and some can’t even get blankets for winters, why one feels lonely here even with 200+ Facebook friends and why people get hyper for nothing! If the nation rues Fiscal deficit, the city is resident to trust deficit.

“Sutta” will remain sutta because fag is a term reserved for the 'Elitists' and it does not sound cooool. Carelessness runs in the family of the car drivers and the “elderly” CM should not be blamed for any mishap.

If the traffic jams and the complicated ways confuse you, ask someone for the way and you will find that his situation is not any better because he himself is searching for a destination. Soothe yourself for the things you cannot get hold of. Give time a chance and be patient.

Stay here for a year or two and you will be amazed with the kind of surprises the city throws at you and the way it watches your reactions. It is a homeland for strangers – living life all by themselves, busy but lonely!

The Formula One roads, metro rail all over the city, the much talked about Common Wealth games, swanky malls and 7 branded shops in 100 mts radius will tell you how far the city has come and how it has hugged comfort and convenience but has very little space to accommodate your inflated sentiments.

If after all the glitters and discos, the city makes you lonely and creates a pigeon-hole in your heart, “faluda kulfi” and “dark chocolate ice-cream” can work wonders. If the search for jobs and family issues write struggle all over dusty faces of people, just remember that dust never settles here!

The First World stays with the Third World in Delhi. The maid from Munirka gets AC's chill in a plush Hauz Khas bungalow and an amateur helper from Okhla manages square meal at NFC’s expensive condominium.

Delhi can be a multi-talented crook or a warm lover, you either get used to it and its ways or you don’t!

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Jagjit Singh - A Tribute

October 10, 2011

They say people die, voice remains forever! Same is the case with the ghazal maestro Late Jagjit Singh. There never was and will be another voice like his! The uniqueness of his voice and the depth of his songs will remain forever in the hearts of his fans. He has touched the hearts of several people with his powerful music, heartfelt renditions and live performances, and fortunately, I was one of those lucky ones who got the opportunity to watch and hear him live.

Known for his rich baritone and intricate “aalaps,” Jagjit’s voice ruled the music industry and that is reason why he was, is and will always remain “the Ghazal King”. His songs like “Hosh Waalon Ko Khabar Kya” and “Yeh Daulat Bhi,”, teleport listeners to a place of musical nirvana. Here are some of the interesting Ghazals of the King that still provide peace and harmony to listeners.


Tere Aane Ki Jab Khabar Mehke - Jagjit Singh



Koi Fariyad - Jagjit Singh



Tamanna Phir Machal Jaye - Jagjit Singh



Aapko DekhKe Dekhta - Jagjit Singh (Live)



Manzil Na De Chirag Na De - Jagjit Singh

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My Favorites by RUMI

June 21, 2011

A Persian poet and a Sufi mystic, Rumi has always been my favorite. A poet whose words give peace to my soul. Here are some verses that I love of Rumi. Hope you like them too!!!

         The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you
                         Don't go back to sleep
                              You must ask
                      For what you really want
                       Don't go back to sleep
                 People are going back and forth
                          Across the doorsill
                 Where the two worlds touch
                  The door is round and open
                     Don't go back to sleep
                                       ---------

       Today I'm out wandering, turning my skull
         into a cup for others to drink wine from.
 In this town somewhere there sits a calm,
                       intelligent person
     who doesn't know what he's about to do!
                                       ---------

                                    Be Fair  
 Admit that love has in it all the righteousness
                         that we need.
            Confess that you're willing to forget                     
          and be numb enough to call some low

                          desire a holy name.                         
            Live as evidence that there is a way

                       from wanting to longing.
                                       ------------


           When I am with you, we stay up all night.
           When you're not here, I can't go to sleep.
              Praise God for these two insomnias!
                and the difference between them.
                                      -----------

                  When it's cold and raining,
                   You are more beautiful.
 And the snow brings me even closer to your lips.
     The inner secret, that which was never born
   you are that freshness, and I am with you now
      I can't explain the goings, or the comings.
              You enter suddenly, and I am
            nowhere again. Inside the majesty.
                                        ----------

       Keep walking though there's no place to get to.
                Don't try to see through the distances.
                     That's not for human beings
                     Move within but don't move
                The way that fear makes you move.
                                        ---------

         Out beyond ideas of wrong-doing and right-doing,
                 There is a field. I'll meet you there
                When the soul lies down in that grass,
                   the world is too full to talk about.
                   Ideas, language, even the phrase
                         doesn't make any sense.

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"Still I rise" by Maya Angleou

July 14, 2009


You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

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The Will To Win...

June 28, 2009

If you want a thing bad enough
To go out and fight for it,
Work day and night for it,
Give up your time and your peace and your sleep for it

If only desire of it
Makes you quite mad enough
Never to tire of it,
Makes you hold all other things tawdry
and cheap for it

If life seems all empty and useless without it
And all that you scheme and you dream is about it,
If gladly you'll sweat for it,
Fret for it, Plan for it
Lose all your terror of God or man for it

If you'll simply go after that thing that you want
With all your capacity,
Strength and sagacity,
Faith, hope and confidence, stern pertinacity
If neither cold poverty, famished and gaunt,
Nor sickness nor pain
Of body or brain
Can turn you away from the thing that you want

If dogged and grim you besiege and beset it,
You'll get it!
                                 - By Berton Braley



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I Kept ...


I keep six honest serving-men
  (They taught me all I knew);
Their names are What and Why and When
  And How and Where and Who.
I send them over land and sea,
  I send them east and west;
But after they have worked for me,
  I give them all a rest.

I let them rest from nine till five,
  For I am busy then,
As well as breakfast, lunch, and tea,
  For they are hungry men.
But different folk have different views.
  I know a person small-
She keeps ten million serving-men,
  Who get no rest at all!

She sends'em abroad on her own affairs,
  From the second she opens her eyes-
One million Hows, two million Wheres,
  And seven million Whys!

- By Rudyard Kipling

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