Flight of joy...

Freedoms....Freedoms....

One doesn't get it by asking.....

Freedoms....Freedoms....
One who snatches it, lives....

There are no prisons which can stop rays of the dawn....
There are no eyes which can stop thoughts....
Just waiting for the wings to open and birds are going to take flight of joy....
in the sky....in the sky....in the sky....

Is it the end of the story or a new beginning is in store ????

Is it the new dawn or the night is going to fall ????

Is the coming time going to shelter us ????
Or are we going to find crossroads again ????

Is it the end of the story or a new beginning is in store ????
Is it the new dawn or the night is going to fall ????

Don't have an idea....
Don't have a clue....

Character Less

Heard nowadays
She rhymes songs
And laugh too much ....

Heard
Just to catch butterflies
she run outside
Barefoot only ...

Heard
Now she crosses the threshold
Without any hesitation ...

Heard
She started ,
taking her own decisions

Heard
She is no more a doll
And not in control to her facilitators
Like a puppet

So much is heard
Guess she has become ....
'Character Less'

She bear it like
Molten glass in the ears
And she just smiles....

In this color changing world
No matter if you are  'Characters Laced'
Or
Characterless ....
She have to just listen ....

खूब जिए हैं ज़िन्दगी हम

राह  पर  चलते  हैं  सर  उठाये 

जूनून  है  हमपर  मंजिल  तक  पहुचने  की 

सबब  क्या  है  इस  रवैये  में 

नहीं  जाना, न  कोशिश  थी  कभी  जानने  की 

दोस्तों  में  रहे  ग़म  छुपाये 

किसीने  ज़ेहेमत  न  ली  मेरी  खबर  पूछने  की 

साथ  ढूँढ़ते रहे  सन्नाटे  में 

राह  न  मिली  जो  थी  महफ़िल  तक  जाने  की 

खुदा  पे  भरोसा  था  हमको 

मगर  कभी  न  उस  से  फरियाद  की 

खूब  जिए  हैं  ज़िन्दगी  हम ?

आखिरी जाम

बस लगा ले मेरे साथ एक आखिरी जाम
भूल जाऊंगा तुझसे गिले शिकवे तमाम

ग़म और ख़ुशी बांटे थे हमने कभी साथ
जब न था कोई तो थामा था मैंने तेरा हाँथ 
ए दोस्त मेरे, दे दोस्ती का कोई आखिरी पैग़ाम
भूल जाऊंगा तुझसे गिले शिकवे तमाम

ज़िन्दगी एक हुजूम है, इस हुजूम में खो जायेगा
पलट कर जो देखेगा तो खुद को अकेला पायेगा
खोजा आज इस मौसिकी में और कर ले थोडा आराम
भूल जाऊंगा तुझसे गिले शिकवे तमाम

ज़माने को बदलते देखा है हमने कई बार
मुश्विरा है मेरा, सुन और कर ऐतबार
दिल भर कर पी,मत सोच क्या कहेगा अवाम
भूल जाऊंगा तुझसे गिले शिकवे तमाम

 मत  भाग   इन रंगीन  ख्वाबों  के  पीछे  इतना
मिलती  ज़िन्दगी  है  एक  बार , जी ले  मिले  जितना
लबकुशा  हूँ  तो   सी  यकीन  के   साथ
एक  नया  दिन  होगा , जब  ढल  जाएगी  यह  रात

बस लगा ले मेरे साथ एक आखिरी जाम
भूल जाऊंगा तुझसे गिले शिकवे तमाम

Chetan Bhagat is indeed the Rakhi Sawant of Indian literature

What is the difference between a leech and Chetan Bhagat? Nothing much just that Chetan sucks more!
Does that bring a lot of flak from the Chetan Bhagat followers? You are welcome because I still fail to understand when folks relate his or her name to their knowledge in reading.
“I love reading”, they say and by the time you are on the verge of getting impressed they tend to touch with, “and my favorite author is Chetan Bhagat.” It certainly makes me wonder as to what category of “Moron” they belong to. Ultimately taking away any regard I might have had for them. As for CB (that’s initials of Chetan Bhagat) to be your beloved, he also has to be yours only.
What do these readers who go gaga about CB love about him? His terrible writing? His poor thoughts or his unimaginative story? Or perhaps his usage of Hinglish along with some F-words and C-words. Well, that’s what we get to hear and see in the contemporary Bollywood flicks too, don’t we? Then why waste time reading from the guy who is busy humiliating our sacred lady literature by his writings? Well, if you are really keen in reading a piece of literature from Indian authors then there is Amitav Ghosh, Arvind Adiga, Arundhatti Roy and of course the legendary Jhumpa Lahiri and Salman Rushidie (I bet you’ll love them all, their books are short too and yes, very interesting)!
Coming back to Chetan Bhagat, the uncrowned king of Bubblegum Literature (the one that is read and forgotten just like bubble gum where you chew and then spit) aka Blabbermouth of the lesser known, is what I call a “potty writer”,  You read it while doing a potty, finish it by the time your potty is over and then use it as a tissue paper to wipe! Pure junk like KFC’s and McDonald’s and valued also in the similar range! If somebody is ready to sign my younger cousin who is in 8th grade, do let me know, she can also write the same.
Now I am no expert on Chetan, but his echelon of writing deteriorated after every book. I did read his ‘Five Point Someone’ and yes it was a good time pass on my train journey. Next, I also read ‘One Night @Call Center’ (blame the book review I was supposed to write) followed by his third and my last, ‘The Three Mistakes of My Life’. No wonder picking up the book was perhaps the ultimate mistake of my life and I still regret at having crossed the path by that disastrous book.
I mean all I read was rambling jabber without the least possible bit of style, point or humor. If I have to compare the actions to reading that book, well, I would say it was like eating boiled pumpkin and licking the palm of your feet. Insane? Precisely! Mainly, the book was an assemblage of mundane tale. And I am sure there are many like me who felt the same, right? But why does it bother me?
For the reason that reading a terrible book is something which you can never undo. It takes away a piece of you, not to reveal a good quantity of time spent reading it (thanks to Chetan’s superfluous sentence formation, impeccable grammar, chronic thoughts, home-bred idioms and artless lingo). That is not to declare how sadistic I am and if I could only spare myself from the freedom of citing from authentic literature, “I am here to secrete Chetan, not to admire him.”
Certainly the book (if that’s what you may call) was a bestseller. This is the Incredible India we are talking about, where Poonam Pandey and Rakhi Sawant are a celebrity (oh Jeej!).  Now this guy himself admits that he does not intend to write literature; I think he surely succeeds (chuckles)  His way of writing is “effortless, obvious and linear” in other words his writings are as juicy as food processor manuals.

For the reason that reading a terrible book is something which you can never undo. It takes away a piece of you, not to reveal a good quantity of time spent reading it (thanks to Chetan’s superfluous sentence formation, impeccable grammar, chronic thoughts, home-bred idioms and artless lingo).

He even went on blabbering this on Twitter, “Good grammar doesn’t make you a good writer. A good heart does. Else English teachers would be writing bestsellers.” Did this irritating tweet made your  teeth itch just like mine did? Well Mr. Bhagat let me widen your knowledge that conspiracy theorist Dan Brown was an English teacher and has undeniably sold more books than YOU! Grr…
The so called writer has altered the game in Indian publishing by selling millions and generating a group of young writers who write about the intolerably enthralling subjects of romance, campus, friendship and love triangles. Bhagat has not only brought down the value of books but also the standards of writing in English!
After Bhagat’s success in the literary bandwagon, you don’t need to be an  expert to write a book. All you need is a love story, a campus plot, a petite sex scene along with the C-word and F-word then stir it up with a vibrant book cover and sell it at 100 rupees. Done! Now you know why Satan Bhagat tagged him as Rakhi Sawant of Indian Literature arena. However, it is very disheartening to know that people are reading it and are not going beyond “Bhagatitude”.
Besides, his books, have you ever had a look at some of his articles on Times of India. In one article, apparently to assist women deal with stress, he writes:
“Can you imagine life without the ladies?”
“There would be body odor, socks on the floor and nothing in the fridge to eat. The entertainment industry would die. Who wants to watch movies without actresses? Kids would be neglected and turn into drug addicts or psychopaths by age 10. Soon, all-male world leaders would lose their tempers at the slightest provocation, and bomb the guts out of each other’s countries. ”
Really Dude? I am so shocked to know that Times Of India accepts that kind of thrash and then this guy ends the article with his notable line “Now smile, before your mother-in-law shouts at you for wasting your time reading the newspaper.”
Now that adultery in the literature bandwagon wasn’t enough, CB, just like an itch in your briefs during an office meeting is always in the news, the media, the internet. Whether over his latest book, what was the name? Err…Ok forget it (reviews claim it as sheer mediocre. As expected) or his comments on Salman Rushdie, “We shouldn’t make controversial authors into heroes.”
Well CB, allow me to choose my hero and by the way, I would rather have a controversial author as my hero than a mediocre one!
(img source: indiatoday.intoday.in)

कैसे जानोगे

कौन सच्चा है कौन झूठा...
ये कैसे जानोगे
इस बदलती दुनिया में किसे अपना मानोगे
जब खुद को ही नहीं पता अपने बारे में
भला औरों की कमियां कैसे निकालोगे

कोई अधिकार के साथ छोड़ दे..
कौन से कानून के पन्ने छानोगे
कौन अपना कौन पराया
तब कैसे जानोगे

साथ ना छोड़े वो निर्जीव होते हैं
जिनमे जान है वो दिमाग रखते हैं
और जब दिमाग चलेगा
तो तुम्हारे जीवन का सूरज ढलेगा

हर एक की ख्वाहिश कामयाब होने की है
सभी चाहते है जीवन को अंत तक
सफलता नहीं सभी के लिए बनी यहाँ
थक कर अपने उसूल बेचते लोग
उसूल बिकते ही धोखा होता है
कोई एक हँसता कोई एक रोता है

मैं ऐसी सफलता को नहीं मानता
जो किसी बड़ी सफलता को पाए
जो अपने जीवन के उसूल बेचे
और जीवन भर मुफ्त की खाए

ये भी एक अलग तरह का कला धन है
जिसके लिए नहीं कोई खड़ा हरदम है
एक आंधी की तरह आन्दोलन होना चाहिए
और ऐसे लोगो के खिलाफ भी कुछ नियम होने चाहिए

गर हो सहमत इन विचारो से
तो है आग्रह आप सभी बुद्धिजीवों से
ना बेचो तुम अपनी आत्मा और उसूल
इन्ही में एक दिन तुमको मिलेगी सफलता
और तुम हो जाओगे  मश -- हूर

Life, Lessons and You

Don't judge , nobody remain yours in judgement..
And no face ever remain in mirror for permanent.

Don't keep relationship on your own identity's cost..
For, where the river meets the ocean, the river is lost.
 
Your style is totally different and you are so down..
When I can't find anyone like me in my own town.
 
Love is a fragrance, always smells around you..
Even in extreme solitary no one remains alone , its true!!

Finally I decided!!

Sometimes you need so little to be happy. Even on a Friday when the rain is battering against the window then all it takes is a small act of generosity from a loved one, a small bottle of whiskey to power your thoughts and some diet cola to wash it all down.
That and some rolling tobacco, and I am here in front of my laptop and strangely, although poor and desperate for money, I am much happier than I ever was when I was living the high life of corporate job.

Experiences without soul are frivolous and fade like drunken memories. For last four years I sold my soul piece by piece to people to let them exploit me and experience bloody things and it was only when broken and shivering in the cold light of a new morning in my life that I saw myself, for what I was and what I had become. And I did not like either.
So I thought of sulking two year, desperate to return to creating things. I am enthusiastic about the hobbies that I can resume again which I religiously followed in my teens and twenties, that were rusted like old steel works. I couldn’t get the cogs to turn. I want to get back to painting,writing, music,songs, my core passions, with whom I was painfully away, at least for the last few years.
So in a fit of madness, I have now got admission into management college.Its madness or call it what you will.But I have decided now.
I love to be with people sharing their time , effort and knowledge freely with others. I have found endless possibilities for creation and expression in so many different mediums. Not only is there a core beauty behind the whole transformation that I can see while doing a management program but it will surely fetch me a job which I will surely love to do, unlike current condition where I just feel myself getting wasted.

This is why I am really behind the GOA thing to re-investigate the next possibilities in me. With a passion for creativity I have made it clear now to dive deep in the management program.They are sexy and creative and open up a universe of possibilities. If I can still feel that way in quarter life crisis stage then surely I need an appreciation.

Now back to my whiskey and good night GOA. See you soon.

Delicacies of GHAR GHAR

Recently I have gone through some situations where I had to spend some of my time with kids and play with them. In one such situation it was the all time Indian hit play , "GHAR GHAR" that I had to play. Although I always used to think and still believe that it is predominantly girlish game, but I can confess like many other Indian boys that at one point of their life they must have been fathers,doctors, drivers, gardeners even sweepers too at times while being a part of this "big time small show" .
So playing the game after so many years brought down so many childhood memories of mine when I used to play various roles for the same.  Most of the times I used to be doctor , then a Daddy, sometimes a teacher and worst of all a thief.
But each role was played so well by me. I have enjoyed it a lot. Here I am going to share some such of my role plays and events that will surely fascinate you.

1. DOCTOR: This was the best role. I was always fascinated by their profession and I myself was aspirant of being a doc but somehow engineering felt on my way. Anyways, while playing doc I used to have small syringe with me (off course without needles) that I found in my home, don't know how and where. As a child we can only visualize the doc as a human who can inject a child at his/her bumps. And the same I used to do while being a doctor. All small child used to come to me , open their pants or raise their frocks and keep their tiny butts in front of me and I used to do the act of injecting some medicine. Now when I think about it, it seems so funny. Don't know my childhood friend remember it or not, and even if they do, they will surely act like as if they don't know anything. Chill guys it was all childhood play. Even I had injected it to myself, when in the play doctor himself get sick!!

2. TEACHER: I used to be very harsh in this role. Used to punish the so called students of mine, and specially to those with whom I had to take some old revenge. And since I was a child then, I used to teach Alphabets , number etc which I guess most of us has undergone. Also there used to be Parent Teacher's Meet in our game wherein I as a teacher used to tell real vices of all the so called student (I used to know as we all were friends and neighbors after all)  and then make them public.

3. THIEF: This was very interesting role wherein I had to enter the house when everybody used to act as sleeping and thief had to carry away all the important items of GHAR, be it small cooker or doll or injection, means whatever. My role play as a thief was the thief who after stealing all the things never come back to play again. I used to keep all items with me and take all of them to my home. After very long time all kids used to come at my home complaining to my parents that I had taken away their items, I used to get big scoldings. And on this I used to say innocently "They had asked me to act like thief, what's wrong at my part, I had just done what they said!!"

 

Life Without Google

Google is like smoking cigarettes: "It’s a habit that’s going to be difficult to give up."
As one of the survey respondents put it: "If I lose Google, it will be just like a man without his eyes."
It’s pretty hard to imagine life before Google. From search to collaboration to email, if it wasn’t for Google most of us wouldn’t be able to find distracting content and social meme’s on the web.All kidding a side, Google is playing a big role in the growth and transition from what web was to what web will be.
Life on the internet without using Google is hard.I'm not going to lie, life without Google will surely be hell online. The charm of googling is different from any other search engines.I like their interface and I like where they're going. Their logo customization based on some events or occasions is too fabulous.And their search results are best and hit the point unlike other search engines whose performance in these terms are pretty bad, actually.Without Google I'm lucky if I can find what I'm looking for 50% of the time.
Google even drops in front of you the rest part of what you just initiate to type showing its wittiness to make your life easier.
When Google came out in the late ’90s, other search engines clearly had room for improvement. They were unreliable, and you could never be sure that the results were really what you wanted. Google smashed the competition by giving users both comprehensiveness and relevance. Over time, people began to trust Google’s algorithms more and more. Most users no longer check the second and third pages of search results because they’ve so often found worthwhile links in the top few spots.
You can feel that Google is very intelligent machine.When you write any thing to search about ,it gives very closed results for your search with easy and simple way.It is important site and have a good mail box too you must get one.
I can't imagine surfing online using a different search engine and giving me unsatisfactory results, that must be very frustrating.From helping a coder to helping a grandma in preparing a new dish, Google has all information. Other features of Google like Google Map helps you identify the locations and even helps you in navigation. Google docs let you save your required docs online very well. The best use of cloud computing. Then we have Google Translate where we can translate any two languages and help us in learning and understanding new languages. Sometimes to know what other person has abused you in other language. Again kidding. Then it has Calendar to help you schedule your programs and have alerts.Google images help you to have the pictures and photos of what you require. And last, it has blogger to promote bloggers like us to blog. Even Google only helped me to collect most of the information for this blog.

One more

Break my heart with pleasure,experience one more,
Million toys have been broken, break one more.

Its a painful night today turn off every single lamp,
Darkness is already in heart,make home even dark more.

Someone going to die,along with crowd at least come to see,
Must have seen millions spectacles, see this one more.

Why thinking,just murder after having the knife with you,
Already there are hundred blames on you,increment one more.

We drink

After having an eye to eye ,we drink
After having them sit nearby,we drink

The Bar always remain so dim and dark
Because after burning many home,we drink.

We do not see anything else than you.
After keeping you on our eyes, we drink.

They always remain thirsty in their life
Who not themselves, but let others drink

 

Relation

The eyes are moisten since evening,
Again its you whom I am missing..

Bury me, so that I can take some breath,
Senses are ceased now, as if near to death..

Time do not stay anywhere permanent,

Even its habit is like human temperament..

Although there exist no relationship now, 

Still there is an obvious picture, d'nt know how..

And it was a beautiful night..

The radiance of the lamp was lost
and it was a beautiful night..

The veil of the beauty too, was lost
and it was a beautiful sight..

As I had been offered the drink
The light has gone out itself
Glass got lost, Wine got lost
and it was a beautiful night..

The book where it was written
That love is a forbidden crime
That book itself had got lost
and it was a beautiful night..

When the soul met each other
They just tied each other into one
Questions lost , Answers lost
and it was a beautiful night..

The radiance of the lamp was lost
and it was a beautiful night..

The veil of the beauty too, was lost
and it was a beautiful sight..

Aloo Less Samosa of Allahabad

You take the aloo out of the samosa, you take the heart out of the body. But you put the heart back in with a special mix of spices, and you have 'samosa for the soul'. That's what Mitthulal, a financier-broker gone bust, did about a century ago in Allahabad. And thus was born a mouth-watering marvel—the masala samosa.

Along with the food, Loknath Gali thrived on juicy gossip. The taller your tale, the more sought after you were.

The great and good of the Indian National Congress, stalwarts of Hindi literature, professors and students, high court judges and local goondas—all had a special place in their hearts and mouths for this triangular treat. And visiting dignitaries, having savoured Mitthulal's speciality, would pack some to take away in the shop's distinctive woven-leaf containers.

Winding up his failing finance business in Agra and cashing in on his acquaintance with Motilal Nehru—a flourishing lawyer in Allahabad then—Mitthulal shifted base to set up his namkeen shop in Loknath Gali, a stone's throw from the senior Nehru's house in the city's Meerganj locality. Jawaharlal was born in this Meerganj house and the Nehrus continued to live here until they moved to the sprawling Anand Bhawan (much later, Meerganj would become Allahabad's red-light district). But to come back to Mitthulal and his aloo-less samosa story—he named the shop after his son Hari, and Hari Ki Namkeen in Loknath Gali soon became a local legend, catering at grand parties and weddings, including those of Vijayalakshmi Pandit and Indira Gandhi.

Towards the end of nineteenth century, the British had begun to develop Allahabad as a modern city on western lines. Until then it had been a sleepy, largely agrarian settlement that only came to life during the Kumbh Mela. Now, grand colonial structures began to come up—Allahabad University, Muir Hall, Public Library, Stone Church (aka paththar girja) and Alfred Park. The high court and the university attracted the upper-class gentry and educated professionals to the city, from whose ranks emerged literary luminaries, high court judges, celebrated lawyers, intellectuals and administrators. And since the Nehrus lived here, Allahabad also became the nerve-centre of the freedom movement.

The new Allahabad of the early 1900s was lined with wide avenues, sprawling bungalows and smart shops—this was the Civil Lines. But Chowk remained the traditional bazaar, with its crowded, lively and narrow lanes, and Loknath Gali was its heart as well as its stomach—it served as what would today be called a food court, for traders and shoppers. Here, the chatterati of Allahabad would congregate, to gossip and eat. A typical Loknath Gali evening would follow this course: you started from the northern end of the street—the city side—and sauntered to the end of the gali at the Baba Loknath Temple (the area was called Sarai Meer Khan before the temple was built), sampling the fare on offer along the way. The first course would be an assortment of chaat, followed by dahi jalebi or kulfi faluda. If you were counted among the shaukeens, you would stop by for bhang kulfi or bhang thandai. And as you waited for the kimam-khushbu paan at the end of the stroll, you ordered Hari namkeen's masala samosa to be packed for home.

The time one spent at Loknath Gali depended on one's tale-telling skills. If your masala-of-the-day was gossip involving a city celebrity, you not only had a captive audience, you ensured brisk sales at the eateries around your durbar. Loknath Gali still resounds with echoes of old scandals. One goes like this: one day Firaq Gorakpuri, the famous Urdu poet, pronounced that only two and a half people knew proper English in India. The first of course was Firaq himself. The second was Dr S. Radhakrishnan. And a certain Jawaharlal Nehru was the half in the august list. But Firaq's detractors—and they were many—sneered at him for including Nehru at all. Dismissing Nehru's Harrow-and-Oxford education, they said that what got him onto Firaq's list was simply that the poet had a great weakness for pretty boys.

The other tale you hear is about a certain Sikh damsel who studied at the Allahabad University's English department in the late 30s. The beautiful young woman's name hadn't got suffixed with a Bachchan yet. At the campus, she was known as something of a rebel. Allahabad University prided itself as a place for the liberal-minded and welcomed people with radical ideas and lifestyles. Yet custodians of liberty at the university had to stretch their moral fabric a wee bit more to accommodate our lady's rights of expression. By wearing lipstick and a sleeveless blouse in the classroom, she set the moral police on her hunt. Her English professor—a venerable university stalwart—objected to this attire, and even threatened to resign. But the lady refused to budge and stood her ground. Such was her charm and aura, or so the legends of Loknath Gali maintain, that the vice-chancellor of the university intervened on her behalf and the poor professor had to back down.

Loknath Gali has not changed much since those days. You still hear the tallest tales there. If it was drizzling when you entered the gali, by the time you reach the Baba Loknath temple you would hear people talking about the hailstorm that has just lashed the town. The past exists in easy harmony with the present. In one of the many narrow lanes someone will point out a building that is falling apart—the Sanskrit Mahavidyalaya, set up by Pandit Madan Mohan Malviya, and still functioning.

This neighbourhood doesn't look like it will succumb to Allahabad's new builders, who are tearing down the fabulous bungalows to make group housing flats. A local wag avers the lanes here are too narrow for the builder to move in his bulldozers, so they are safe for now. And safe too is the statue of Pandit Kalyan Chand Mohiley, which stands stately at the Loknath Gali entrance. Mohiley who? you would ask. And why him in a city that has given India four PMs and a refusing-to-retire superstar? Well, Mohiley was four-time MLA from the area. That's attitude, Loknath Gali-style, for you. That deep-rooted self-assurance and unabashed local pride ensure that a Big Mac or even a dosa will never threaten the supremacy of Hari's samosas.

Irony and Fact

Irony is,
Someone judges and find me being judgmental..
Fact is,
It is something,which to human is very fundamental.

Then identified me as cranky, cheap and pervert
which I think, I need to avoid without getting hurt!!

Irony is,
Someone disapproves and criticize my aesthetic sense..
Fact is,
It is conveyed by one, who can't see things without lens 

Then I come to know I am egoistic,stubborn and maniac
Even I was realized by LINDA,the same is listed in my zodiac

Irony is,
Someone say that I don't take or listen things with grace
Fact is,
Said by one who without listening to others talk in own pace 

"There is something missing in me"
Is the only thing that I think about me is true...
And this all non sense saying person
Is none other than the person with loose screw!!

BEING IN TWENTIES - SOMETHING

It is when you stop going along with the crowd and start realizing that there are many things about yourself that you didn't know and may not like. You start feeling insecure and wonder where you will be in a year or two, but then get scared because you barely know where you are now.

You start realizing that people are selfish and that, maybe, those friends that you thought you were so close to aren't exactly the greatest people you have ever met, and the people you have lost touch with are some of the most important ones. What you don't recognize is that they are realizing that too, and aren't really cold, catty, mean or insincere, but that they are as confused as you.

You look at your job... and it is not even close to what you thought you would be doing, or maybe you are looking for a job and realizing that you are going to have to start at the bottom and that scares you.

Your opinions have gotten stronger. You see what others are doing and find yourself judging more than usual because suddenly you realize that you have certain boundaries in your life and are constantly adding things to your list of what is acceptable and what isn't. One minute, you are insecure and then the next, secure.

You laugh and cry with the greatest force of your life. You feel alone and scared and confused. Suddenly, change is the enemy and you try and cling on to the past with dear life, but soon realize that the past is drifting further and further away, and there is nothing to do but stay where you are or move forward.

You get your heart broken and wonder how someone you loved could do such damage to you. Or you lie in bed and wonder why you can't meet anyone decent enough that you want to get to know better. Or maybe you love someone but love someone else too and cannot figure out why you're doing this because you know that you aren't a bad person.

Getting wasted and acting like an idiot starts to look pathetic. You go through the same emotions and questions over and over, and talk with your friends about the same topics because you cannot seem to make a decision. You worry about loans, money, the future and making a life for yourself... and while winning the race would be great, right now you'd just like to be a contender!

What you may not realize is that every one reading this relates to it. We are in our best of times and our worst of times, trying as hard as we can to figure this whole thing out. Send this to your twenty-something friends... maybe it will help someone feel like they aren't alone in their state of confusion...

We call it the "Quarter-life Crisis".

Valentine Blues... वहम

 वहम

 
उसका ये वहम
की बिखर जाऊंगा मैं
और ये अहम्
की उसे फरक नहीं पड़ेगा
सब थी उसको नादानी

सब था उसका भरम

माना टूटा हूँ मैं ,
पर बिखरा नहीं
संभल रहा हूँ,
लेकिन गिरूंगा नहीं

और जनता हूँ मैं ये भी
दावा करे वो कितना भी दुश्मनी का  ,
खुश तो वो भी नहीं है
चाहे जो भी कहे वो
आंखें उसकी सब बयां कर देती हैं




Illusion

Its her illusion
that i will shatter
and ego
of being unaffected
is all her innocence
and all her confusion.

Although I am broken,
but for that matter not scattered
And getting steady
and this time not to fall again.

And I also know
howsoever she claim her hostility,
even she's not happy
and whatever she say
Her eyes just say it all.

Alone at Powai Lake

Standing alone at the promenade of Powai lake,

There are variety of glances that I can take.

At one corner couples are busy in kissing,

And at other, some bullshits are pissing.

And amidst them , I don't know what,

But  something is there, that I am missing.

Is it any company,

or the sense of micturation?

So that like them I can kiss

And piss..

Certainly not, because I know,

Am a loner,but for that matter, not sad..

And can't piss around,

As doing 'IT' publicly, I consider bad..

It is all those unfulfilled dreams

that I had thought once..

Things remained unaccomplished,

And no luck for any kind of bunce.

As I am introspecting my life,

And will surely feel low in some time..

A beggar cum saint kind of person,

reached to a couple busy in their crime..

Guess the beggar is pleading for some money,

Or might be asking for some food.

Couple neglecting him and his vicious voice,

Just increased their intimacy by getting more glued.

"Dude , it is so rude...

And such a bad attitude!!

Give the beggar something and let him go

For some time it will disturb your intimacy although.. "

As I am wishing this for them,

beggar just took a turn with a sad face

And now he is approaching me,

I can see while tying my shoe lace.

As he come near to me

I am getting ready with some money..

But he's asking for something to eat.

I run to get him his food and my own "neat"

The beggar look happy and satisfied

With my thing I am enjoying too..

Feeling happy after helping the old man

Although I am alone , its true!!

Is it too late for me?

I realized now that I am not made for regular office work. My kind of work is something else , where there is no interruptions from outside, nobody should control me and nobody is my manager or supervisor.

All through my academic years I was stressed more towards technical studies and it was incepted in my mind that my career choice can be either a doctor or an Engineer. Though I was good in studies and enjoyed learning them but somewhere there was an artist in me, let it be performing, painting or music.
But whenever I was amused and inclined more to them I was overtaken by my studies, career goals and family pressure. Yes there are students who excel in both..but I am talking of taking either of them seriously. And like me being on safer side many of us has killed the inner artist in us. The later approach has lot of struggle but it do provide the inner satisfaction that is unexplainable. And I am a pure artist from my heart, which I came to realize now. I am not getting joy and fun in what I am doing for my bread and butter.

But for the survival I am bound to do the rotten work and move ahead without any clue in my life what I want to do. I seriously need a deep introspection and then a perfect role model of something new that I really want to do and gives me complete satisfaction as well.  But is it "Too late for me?"