Category Archives: Philosophy of Life

Little experiences leave a lasting impression on oneself; Elaborating a few while silencing the others. Philosophy of life is about seeing things through, which might seem opaque, and sensing alert on the things which might seem clear.
“A Little paradox, a little happiness, and a little grief, doesn’t the life seem complete? Maybe or Maybe not.”

Rainbow

“Why do our movies and us try finding our answers in black or white while our life remains grey from start to the end. Isn’t exaggeration a ploy we tend to use to put our point across for wide unrelenting attention.
I find people mooted for an ideology, giving irrelevance to change while exaggerating the untrue to make their side of truth, the only reality for others to believe. The left think they are right, the right think they are no wrong, while I stand with many in the middle, watching the sheer Idiocracy both try to paint. I like many fail to understand, what does ideology have to do when you know humanity triumphs all. Why do you want to paint red or saffron when we are still unable to help the Gandhi’s Talisman.
Seventy years is a big number while poverty still remains an unforgotten cousin. When there is no food to eat or water to drink, there is no teaching or color better than food and water itself. Empty stomachs, malnourished children, trafficked women, landless labourer, construction worker, these Gandhi’s Talismen still search for a voice from us, the privileged. They ask for a helping hand, a voice to narrate their stories, a heart to accomdate one and all, isn’t that a lot to be asked? I don’t think so.
If you are still stuck in the black or white, red or saffron era, don’t worry I will simplify. There is no Antagonist in our story which might dishearten you all, but if you are still adamant then try finding a solution to the problem of poverty. Try all your colours in this effort, I like many won’t mind, but get me that rainbow when you finish, a rainbow of inclusivity and life.”

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Freedom Call

“Flying high away in freedom,
The birds find their way in the blue,
A clarion call amid the silence,
And the flock gets ready to glue.

The breeze from within the gather
Catches the eye of an aged soul,
Famished and battered by slavery
His old eyes glitter at sight of one whole.

The idea spells fire in the hearts
And the minds of the ravaged, the conquered,
It strikes deep within a place called hope
As the heads long fallen rise towards the sky.

The wind kisses their zeal, enriches their spirit,
As they gather together under the old man
To march their union, to show their solidarity
To make themselves the master of their own fate.

They stand their peace, they hold their chain,
With their sight in place for freedom and freedom alone,
They gather their courage, they bury their hatchet,
To see the long whisper become a roar again.”

Roopesh©

Photo: Getty

V-Day

“I usually heed to those who question why we celebrate a particular day for love; isn’t every day, one for love? I silence myself with a makeshift happy nod while trying hard to keep that itsy bitsy part of me that still believes in this day from exploding all over the other. But today when I look back at all those questions, and my stand of supporting the naysayers, my silence sounds completely illogical to me. The hard truth that we happen to realise a little late is that not every day we give for love, I mean in literal sense; just try to question how often do we go out of our way and compliment someone or how often do we utter the words, “I love you” to that special one, even though we know that the other might be the perfect one for us. It just doesn’t happen; it stays in our mind for an eternity before vaporising in the mystery of our confused mind. So sometimes all we need is a day, however cliched it might sound, we need it to ease the unease and give a push to one’s hopes only to see where the thoughts in our mind finally lead us upon to. So in this world of unlimited technology decorated with artificial emoticons, I meant the emotions, it’s okay to take a day off and be with your loved ones to make them feel special in the best possible way. It could be with that friend you fell in love with years ago but still are too scared to say, or it could be your parents who haven’t seen you since ages because you are too busy making excuses, or it could be as simple as a compliment to a random stranger who you find amusing while your lonely walk back home. It could be with anybody, it could be anywhere, but make sure you convey your emotion, your care, this day. Because the other thing about cliched things are that everyone knows about them, making things a lot easier for us to convey. So go take your chances, and make this valentines worth remembering.”

All the very best 🙂

#HappyValentine’sDay

The Writer

I often find myself staring at the blank word document absent-mindedly, lost within my train of thoughts and the little world I so price upon. The music breezes around these phrases, the incomplete things which I had never chanced upon to say and probably would never convey. In between those “I wish that happened” and “I regret doing that” thoughts, I find my piece that fits for me to write. The piece which stirs my universe, pushes the boundaries, and allows me to live a character of the stories that I try to sketch. That moment of time, when everything comes flying together, I see my piece wide and clear. Rushing with this sense of enigma, I journey along with my ambivalent thoughts to finally arrive at the top of the mountain from where I see my piece coming to life. And the time when the journey ends, I find another story sprouting out. The process remains unfinished; a story more remains to be told.

#Writer
Picture Courtesy: Google Search

Leap of Faith

“There would be life within the fall.” Those moments when we languish among the dirt, we come to know what survival is really about. It’s like climbing a mountain every single day only to end up falling from the very cliff which separates a winner and a loser. But the addiction with survival is so fatal that with every dawn we make an attempt again. The pain, however, gets excruciating with every fall, and with every passing day we lose our devouring confidence of making it ever. But a ray of hope is like the tinsel town in a dead city which lights up at every bit of goodwill thrown at it. So with scars all over the body and the moment of giving up not very far, we make a final attempt.

The eyes get shrouded with mystery as the dazzle of fear from a loss slowly wanes away from the fingers, and the moment arrives when the leap is finally made, and a new winner emerges from it. The paradise that we had awaited for time and again had finally fallen to our will, and our footsteps behold the change the world would now bear upon. We get a wish in return to clear the scars on the quest for greatness, that we respectfully ignore “Those scars define me, they make me who I am. They remind me of hope, and hope is eternal.” We march ahead with this memory in mind and with a hope to rise with every fall we encounter in our life.

“No pit is ever so big that we could never escape; there is always a way, there will always be.” We thump our heart, and take a leap again.

War & Peace

Work of Fiction

“Did you see the rainbow in the morning?” enquired Tara with her curious eyes still stuck to the sky.

“I was too immersed in the drizzle that I failed to notice it” Neera replies back as she continues tapping her hands playfully over the pool of water that had formed in the verandah.

“There was a faint lightning that I could see around the rainbow, it was like the story Kishore ji was trying to tell, the story of Lord Indra. Do you remember?” hinted back Tara.

“I do. The story where Masterji had said that when there is a war in heaven, Lord Indra uses his thunderbolt weapon to destroy the evil forces and thus causing lightning in the sky” Neera still wondering as she says; why rain, which comes after lightning, is so beautiful and serene; how could war provide something as beautiful as the rain?

“Do you believe in this story Neera?” It was as if Tara knew exactly what her little sister was thinking.

“I really don’t know. War never produces beautiful things, it only takes our close people away. It can never produce something as beautiful as rain, it surely can’t” Neera answers as she moves closer to her elder sister, though only by a year.

“Neither do I believe in it” Tara replies with her vision moving towards the sky again as she holds her sister close. Her eyes carry a bit of gloom as if she is praying for someone’s safe return, who she knows clearly will never return.

In the meantime, a woman cladded in a white saree with her hair tied closely behind her back with a faint fickle of greyness in her hair walks up to the verandah of her home where the two little girls are sitting and gazing the innocent sky above.

“Neera, Tara, It’s going to rain, and you don’t want to get yourself sick again. So rush down, there are hot jalebis which your grandfather has brought. Go eat them before they become cold” the lady, their mother said in full authority yet with love.

As the little girls in their pre-teens run down, the lady stands there for a while. Trying to savour an old memory which she had shared with her deceased husband in the past. It brings up a smile on her face but a sense of anguish runs parallel with that beautiful smile of hers as she walks her way back down.

We find a hustle in the house, complimented with cheers by the little girls as they play with their grandpa while relishing their jalebis with a wide smile. The one storey house was slowly returning back to become their home again; it was over an year since Major Rajdeep had been killed in an enemy crossfire at the border, leaving behind his two daughters, wife and an ailing father.

Key:

1. Masterji- Teacher.