Tag Archives: India

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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The Missing Son

The ball crashed into Mrs. Jadhav’s house, shattering the window glass into pieces. It was stuck with immense power by Sunil, a thirteen year old kid from the neighbouring colony. He was touted to be the next cricketing sensation from the neighbourhood which had seen over ten representations in the Indian cricket team in past five decades. His father, Raghav, a former Mumbai Ranji team member, was a close friend of Daksh, Mrs. Jadhav’s only son. Sunil rang the bell twice before Sunitha answered. She placed the ball in his hand with a gentle smile on her face. “Next time, hit it towards Mrs. Dsouza’s house. She was laughing when you broke mine. It’s time for payback!”

“Dadi, I am sorry.” Sunil replied.

“It’s okay, kiddo. Smash as many glasses as you want but do get yourself selected for the Indian team.”

He nodded, as he handed over an envelope which was lying on the floor of her main door and rushed back towards his friends. Mrs. Jadhav placed the envelope on her study table as she continued to broom away the broken pieces. It took over 15 minutes for her to finally get her hands over the envelope. Her frailing health wasn’t helping either but it was of no match when compared to the grievous pain she had felt since Daksh ran away from home.

He was only thirteen then, he had an argument previous night where his parents wanted him to concentrate on studies than cricket. But like most of the kids from the neighbourhood, even he dreamed to wear the blue jersey. The banter wasn’t new; it had been going on for over a year then, his falling grades and poor performances in local cricket tournaments weren’t supporting his case either. That night, the argument got more louder and finally ended when Mr. Jadhav slapped Daksh and asked him to do exactly what he says. The next morning, when Sunitha entered her son’s room, she found only a letter to settle for. The cricket kit bag, a few crisp notes from Mr. Jadhav’s purse and, most importantly, her son Daksh were missing. All that was left was that letter; a letter which asked his parents not to look for him with a promise that he will return only when he makes it into the Indian Cricket Team. It’s been over twenty five years now, Daksh never came back.

She collected her reading glasses, and opened the peculiar looking blue envelope. And what happened next, was something which Sunitha had expected time and again to happen but remained unrealised until today. It was a letter from him, he was coming home finally.

Part1 Ends.
Picture Courtesy: Tom Shaw/Getty Images.

Can love happen again?- India Gate Episode

31st December 2014

There used to be times when I kept rethinking about the inevitable, the times where I could have found you all over again. The time which was lost had kept me occupied in the present, the shadow of the past kept closing over my future, I thought I was lost, may be I thought that was it. 

Glancing over this note which I had written over an year ago gets a strange smile on my face. I feel sorry for myself that I wasn’t able to understand what true love really was, but all elated because I do now. It’s very simple, it’s this sheer simplicity which makes it look complex to many. Time again there will be instances where you might feel that without the other person on your side there is very less chance of us leading a happy life. But soon we move ahead leaving the philosophy as we sometimes believe that there are things which are written in fate and are bound to happen. If they don’t then we curse our fate, live our life in misery and slowly but finally move forward. That’s what happened to me in this one year, may be its the same with the others too. 

You might be wondering that why didn’t I explain what love is instead of bantering over its logic. I am sorry but for that you would have to listen to my story. It’s easier explaining through a story than just defining it. May be my story needs to be told. 

26th January 2015

Amid the dimply lit morning which was decorated by the extraordinary performance of the republic day parade, I stood my ground glancing at her near the India gate, the very eyes which met mine a few seconds later. We both were lost with no communication in hand, we had searched frantically for our friends in our individual ways but later had to settle at the PR Desk for the time being. 

Me: Hey you seem lost too!

Her: I am. 

Me: Me too.

Her: Okay.

She looks pissed,don’t disturb her I thought to myself.

Her: Do you know when will the metro station reopen?

Me: I heard the security say that they may open in another hour or so.

She: We really are stuck. 

Me: I know. I am Ryan; At Least we can introduce ourselves, right?

She: Why not, I am Tara. I am doing my masters in journalism in Lady Irwin. 

Me: Hot shot journalist then!

She: Not yet, there is time for that. 

Me: I am an engineer graduate, trying my luck at the civil services. I so badly want to join the service. 

She: That’s nice, for the country then.

Me: Always. 

She: I think we do have something in common. 

Me: That explains our early morning fight with the cold to watch the parade, we surely miss our passes. 

She: We surely do. 

As the talk slowly gave away for silence, I fought back.

Me: I write a bit here and there, want to listen.

She: What do you write about?

Me: Mostly romance and sometimes poetry. 

She: So cliched! ~ with a playful smile. 

Me: So you want to listen or not?

She: Angry young man cool down. I would love to listen. 

Me: This one was the last poem I had written, it was about an Air Hostess.

She: That sounds interesting. 

I narrated her one over the other and I could see her smile grow bigger with every piece. The time began to while away and it was time for us to make a move. 

Me: So that’s it, I believe. I hope you had a good time.

She: I think a bit more than that. Thanks Ryan, hope we can meet again.

Me: Hope we share our contacts and make your hope real. 

She: Cliched again. But I would love to hear from you again, here is my contact. 

Me: Ay Ay captain.

I walked her till the metro station where her anxious friends were waiting for her, we bid each other goodbye with a gentle smile and with a hope to meet soon. 

That night when I was about to message Tara, I had an unexpected call. As people say that we could never outrun our past, it proved very true in my case. 

To be continued in the next part. 

#HappyNewYearGuys 

#FirstPostForTheYear.

Photo Courtesy: Bobby Roy on Pininterest.

The Pillows in the sky

The clouds started to mesh around one another for creating those beautiful white pillows in the sky while the sun made his appearance felt by glorifying the boundaries of the cloud. As I lay down on the grass, I felt the cool morning breeze passing through my ears whereas my closed eyes saw those flying strings moving haphazardly on an orange background. All this while, my mind was teleporting me in to various instances, ones which have occurred in the past & also the ones which I expected to happen in the future. I kept replaying those scenes so that I could keep reminding myself of the mistakes I have committed. Those scars of the past & the fear of the future that had made my head a lot heavy which in turn kept squeaking for mercy. But I was indifferent, as I thought if I could sustain the pain then I could solve the problems. However I didn’t know then, that for solving a problem you need a clear mind & for that I needed to accept my mistakes and move on.

I was longing for those white pillows where I could rest my head & feel no worry. I wanted the breeze to be so swift that it could carry my memories with it, & save me from this recurring pain. I had given up hope just like those flying strings which ran in all directions but could never reach home. I had zeroed on this day to decide whether I have the will left to live more or should I fly high to that beautiful heaven up above those glowing clouds. I had almost given up on life, I knew the will was dead long ago but I just wasn’t ready to give up, it was very scary to even think of that. But the mental scars were one too many to handle, they kept bleeding the past in front of my closed eyes till I lost my energy to sustain. But I still wasn’t ready to give up; it was still very scary, so I got up & made my way back home.

I knew what would happen when I reach home; I would have to answer a lot of questions & I didn’t know whether they would understand even if I try to answer. All sorts of things started to go around in my head; what was I going to answer about the letter I had left behind? Will they love me as they used to? Will I be able to see them in the eye ever? As I ruffled out of these questions, I was in front of my house which had the door open. I made a silent entry into the house; I could see my mother crying as she sat inside my room, holding on to my childhood picture. I was shivering as the tears kept flowing down, while I took my closing steps towards her & called out “Amma”. Her teary eyes hadn’t seen anything beautiful as this moment; son who she thought was lost had come back. Her joy was unbound, she didn’t scold me or even ask me anything, but she just pulled me close & gave me a tight hug. As I rested my head on her lap, I finally realized that it wasn’t the pillows in the sky which would make me free, but it’s the mother’s lap which makes any child feel free & loved, and I was no different.


Amma means mother in Telugu/Tamil language.

Pic Source: http://videohive.net/item/clouds-in-the-blue-sky-and-sun/10155826