Love, Life and Happiness

No matter how much we would want to credit ourselves with what we achieve or perceive to have achieved in life, truth of the matter is..it is about right timing. You almost save yourself from falling on to the lovely girl coming out of the classroom, catch the hidden sideway glimpse with which the heart almost collapses, attend and miss an interview and land where you are right now, with a laptop, writing a blog, for two reasons, One to take a hit on the contest, first blogging contest you participate and then to take out the frustration out of series of bad timings which off late has plagued your life. Of the first of the two reasons, this is the first blog I am writing with a contest (Samsung Galaxy Tab contest on Indiblogger) on the mind, if not for anything else, just to explore if the contest is not sponsored by some Mugabe with Nigerian cousins with some ill-gotten wealth. The second most pronounced reason stems from the minor financial set-backs I have encounter, which I wo

Death carries a strange ring with it, a ring of cruel truth, like a plain, transparent glass, cold and cutting at the same time. What makes a death particularly painful to look at is that is in someway represents an hourglass, with sand smoothly shifting down to the lower cell, irrespective of all the intent in the world screaming to hold the moment. The moment never holds back, time passes, and people who we assume were to never grow old, tired and out of our lives, do end up doing precisely that, getting old, getting tired and getting out of our ( and in process, their own) lives. Art manifests in many forms. Sometime it is a piece of literature, a ravishing or disturbing painting, a technological masterpiece or a sound of velvety texture which wraps itself around out painful existence, in the divine embrace of which we go to sleep and we sleepwalk across the fire stewn paths of life, intoxicated by the art. I have included technological masterpiece into art here, as one most rece

Nonu has now stepped out of the protected home environ and it has been a fortnight since she has been attending her play school . She is happy with the experience that she is getting, unhindered by watchful eyes of the parents.  There are certain memory cues which we all hold so dear to our inner circles of thoughts for all our lives. Those are not very significant things, usually not the things which we anticipate that we will remember. For instance, I remember, the strange smell of new books I got at the start of the session, the collection of phantom comics, the feel of sunlight falling over me as I would climb on the rooftop to complete assignments in Kanpur during winter vacations in class fourth, or the story told by father of Androcles and the Lion, lying hurt after putting my foot into the wheels of the bicycle.  No one can predict, what are the visions, colors and lights and shades that the child will carry into her maturity. We just spend moment of togetherness, hoping