Love, Life and Happiness

TS Eliot said "If the word Inspiration must mean something, it must mean..the the person is uttering something..that he does not completely understand." By that logic, I am pretty inspired today since I want to write about something which I do not fully well understand. I will write about guilt. I will write about the inherent fallacy in striving for a Guilt free life. Guilt is a constant companion to most thinking men, and by the quantum of guilt that I have been carrying around on my shoulders ever since I could gain senses, in a way, by implication, qualifies me to be a thinking man who has in him, well, a great deal of thinking. Guilt lurks around from the dark alleys and damp corners of your room and suddenly leaps at you and holds you by the neck, its claws running deep into your skin, when it is least expected and you are wearing the toughest hide of yours. This ubiquity of guilt among rich and poor, prince and pauper has created a great business opportunity to

 Rating - 5/5 It is not very often that one comes across a book which holds you in such tight an embrace that you don't even dare to move, having picked it up, before finishing it from cover to cover. Even rares is it to find a book which is so universal in it's theme and appeal that even when you know very well the context and local references to which it has been written to; you feel it is for you and it talks of the world around you, a world you grew up in and know as a life-long enemy or foe. This amazing book by Marta Moran Bishop is one such rare treat.   It is a fictional world, but the agony and tribulations which you find sewn into that world of fiction is so real, that you feel you can almost touch its ugliness with the fingers. It recounts the horrors of the leadership lacuna, which we are burdened with irrespective of the country we live in. The references to the corporate greed paving the way to the collapse of the economy is so real and draws fro

I had, as would many, many a friends connected on the social media. Though not unknown, I have not come around to appreciate many of them, who probably read my words in silence, occasionally leave a like on my pictures. It rained a night before, right in the middle if the last leg if a trying winter. I heard the rain tip toeing in my roof and remembered a blissful, albeit lonely childhood and posted the same on the Facebook. Possibly reminded of their own childhood, many friends liked it. Well, who as a child has not felt the felicity dance through the rain tapping on the roof, not smelt the sand smiling at the water falling on it and not watched the rain drops, moving along the iron window frames before bulking up and dropping down, with a sense of admiration and charm. Well, lot many people liked what I posted, some said the words I wrote, they loved. One message which stuck was from a young girl, a cousin of mine. She was connected for long, but seemed for the first time, we con

India has just come out of a tumultuous year, which ended with the sordid saga of the gang rape of a twenty three year old, on the streets of Delhi. Culprits caught, what haunted the country was the rage that filled the streets of not only the capital but also the rest of the country. Driven to the brink, the outrage pushed the envelope and made the fumbling leadership sit up, and try to regain the lost ground with some new measures protecting the women, and a near autocratic ban on all protest neat the citadels of power in Delhi. The city having faced the ugly face of autocracy and those in power, having seen the audacity of the unheard and unseen, got back to life as usual, with the fault lines dividing the ruled and the ruler, more prominent, more clearly defined than ever. One could not have asked for a worse start to the new year. The enemy inside, the Maoists, fed and nourished on the same state they claim to hate, attacked CRPF jawans and taking a leaf out of the brutal savage

A charmed life of a charming personality. The book is written in an, should I say, extraordinarily lucid and eclectic style, moving to and fro between different life stages of the genius author's life.  I picked this book wish a sense of trepidation, Mark Twain (November 30th 1839-21st of April, 1910), or Samuel Clemens' stature being some sort of nobleman of highest order in the world of authors, a high royalty in the royal court of literature. Notwithstanding his excellent repute as world's leading humorist, I found it hard to pick the book and run through it without a sense of awe and an inexplicable fear of not being able to raise my intelligence to a level required to comprehend and appreciate the humor of the great writer, and thereby exposed to my own blatant stupidity. But I did pick the book up, scared and bewitched.  The Autobiography of Mark Twain , the illuminating words of the master, splendid enough to brighten the darkest of the nights, supplement