Love, Life and Happiness

Once upon a time,I was very young. Yes, I was, believe you me. At that time a spate of movies, originating from the land of larger than life politicians with great sunglasses, huge fan followings and more than average number of wives, a great many films hit the screen. The movies helped the young grow very fast, encouraging today, after many year for people to reduce the age of consent. One such movie was 'Justice Choudhury'. I have given this explanation to let you know that this piece has no reference to Justice Iftekhar Choudhury of Pakistan, thus prompting their parliament to pass resolution against the post, thereby prompting Indian government to pass a counter resolution and so on and so forth. So for record, I refer to Justice Choudhury of Jitender Starrer, and I refer to it at this point of time, because Justice ( should I say ex, just like Ex Army Chief whose security cover was taken off, coincidentally at the time he was charged with instigating a riot) Katju to my m

The sun is out in its glory. It's bright but not unkind and unloving. Light plays patterns on the ground, filtered through the trees. The cluster of tall trees, right next to the lake stand together like village elders discussing some thing, in the sun. An expat with his son is out to enjoy the Sun. The man should be in his thirties, well built and handsome, and the kid very tiny. The boy wears a blue shirt with shorts of same colour and a cap, which becomes him very much. He wanders around collecting sticks fallen on the ground from the trees from between the fallen leaves, as the father walks with the stroller. Dad must be athletic, wearing Adidas from the top to bottom, the white Tee, blue shorts and shoes. Breeze is calm and refreshing, almost caressing and comforting with its touch. I hope to lose migraine soon, merely by the blessings of this kind weather. A couple settles down in the bench next to me and they laugh, shout and indulge in playful banter. Flowers are in full

She is kind And soft and pink Like the Cinderella, she adores. Though unlike her Glass slippers, She wears a heart of glass, A transparent, shining But brittle heart. The sun spreads out On the terrace With slothful arrogance, As trees With barren branches Watch across the window in melancholy. I suddenly wake up From the siesta, To find her riding Her bicycle on the terrace, In circles On a journey which Takes her nowhere. She rides in circles And talks in riddles, To herself, Sometimes pretending to be A teacher, sometimes a student Like the princess In the fable of sleeping princess Doomed to the sixteen years Of lonely growing up In a forlorn fortress, Albeit without even The company of three Loving fairies. With an confounding Feeling of affection and gloom I watch her As I recollect The broken glass pieces Spread randomly Across the innards Of my being, A heart broken Across the years of my own Merciless, solitary childhood, Whic

The Sun is loosing the kind touch like a young romance struggling the middle age. Winter, like an old friend whose visited stretched for months sometime even causing minor annoyances on hurried mornings, when washrooms are needed is now packing the luggage. A melancholy hangs on the tired roofs, like a spider's web. The breeze is heavy and slow with sadness A sleepy sun wistfully looks at the world which it is soon going to be angry with (and it knows) It will be coming up at the dawn sore in mood and will not find any dew on the grass to wash its face with and will spend the day, sullen. I look at the winter with longing of a childhood friend anticipating the loneliness which his departure will bring about. I can not bear to be separated from him but I can not dare to ask him stay for my rudeness is afraid of his calm and nobility as he reminds me of what I was once. He packs the hard suitecase an old design, a cheap bag of faux leather, and I turn away looking out of the

 Tree Hugging Marta- Picture Stolen from her Blog Author's Bio : Marta is a prolific author and a great human being, both her two defining attributes mentioned here, leaning over one another, to further their impact and ambit. Marta has four published books thus far on Amazon, Dinky: The Nurse Mare's Foal, Wee Three: A Child's World (This first came in as Wee Three: A Mother's love in Verse and is adored by my daughter); The Between Times; A Poet's Journey. She lives in with her Husband, cats and horses. I came across Marta, accidentally on the Internet, and she has been a friend and a mentor since. Her range and scope of writing is fairly intimidating, and her adeptness in different genre is confounding. It is not so easy to have written a kid's book like Wee Three, with vivid imagery and colors, so charming for the kids and at the same time to have written something like The Between Times ( My Review ) , which is near philosophical in the feel, with

Some days are tentative. They hang in The uncertain world Of anticipation. Between happiness And despair, Between hope And resignation, Between light and darkness They stretch like a wide Trampoline, Over the expanse of which I move from One corner to the other, Like an amateur acrobat Not knowing Which corner Will my soul loose A scared grip over the bamboo And where I will Fall by the end of the show, Will it be a happy corner of love Or dark, solitary corner Of scorn, to which I will descend As the applause rises And the breath stops Right there Just for a second.. It is the final fall that I can bear, It is the tentative anticipation That kills me.

Today is the International Women's Day, just as we had the Father's Day some time back and Friend's day before the day. The marketing machines are in overdrive and the rare days in the year without any significant tag attached to them must be feeling lonely and embarrassed with themselves, Ye Jeena bhi koi Jeena hai, lalloo? I admit the thought when a man initiated the idea of dedicating a day to a cause or person must have had noble reasons. But that was before, before the marketing guys across the world noticed the happy fun in this exercise, you are dedicating something that does not belong to you and costs you nothing, at the same time which presents money making opportunity. What more can a marketing man (or woman) ask for, when he runs out of idea and has no place to run away from menacingly approaching deadline. Anyways, I am old and boring enough to be motivated by screaming headlines. This post is not because of Women's day, and not because I wanted to alig

There was a time when I was a very young man, with idealism intact and big ideas to change the world. I was formally attempting to be an Engineer, trying to "use the knowledge of basic sciences for the good of the society" as it said on a plaque at my college, but I was not at peace with the world which I was supposed to contribute towards. It was a society, which was living with decaying laws, and did not have courage to embrace what was true and bright and honest. I was not a happy young man as they say, but I was rather a troubled soul with more questions than answers. I was sad, aghast and disgusted with the world and I knew it. A lot many things around me did not make sense, and I had a point of view, a defined opinion about those things which troubled me. Those were the things which were totally incongruous to my idea of a right world. The world which lived inside me was built around the ideas like love, trust, honour and truth. The world around, the real world e