Love, Life and Happiness

Notwithstanding the guilt-trading post which became viral on the valentine day, which yours truly was shamefully guilty of forwarding before being scolded to sense by some enlightened and better-informed soul, 23rd of March is the Martyr's Day of Bhagat Singh. Not that I am presuming for a moment that my lack of knowledge was representative of many in today's world, but the term Martyr's day has been used so loosely that it is rarely a surprise that the confusion hounds most of the citizens. In India, we do celebrate Martyr's Day on 5  occasions at the very least, depending on the ideology we follow and our allegiance to the political ideology.  Such abundance of symbolism has killed any thought which might justify the observation of Martyr's Day- any or all of them. The greatness of souls which died is not based on the fact that they are dead today. It is based on the greatness their soul ensconced, the thoughts and values that they stood by when alive, eve

There's nothing international about the woman who taught a three year old alphabets at the doorsteps of a kitchen, handed rolled paratha on way to school.  There's northing international about the woman who held a young man's hand in a smouldering summer day and sat in a lonely prayer outside an ICU fourteen years back. There's nothing international about the woman who took a part of her being and handed me over the most amazing of her creation six years back. There's nothing international about the woman who struggles to keep her space in a hostile and competitive world and still try to teach alphabets to her child, at the kitchen door and hand her over the rolled paratha as she leaves for school.  There's nothing international about the woman who ties a thread to my arm every year, and looks at me as if I were a guardian and protector of her soul.  There's nothing international about the woman who reads what I write and sometimes, even loves

The mob is an outcome of fear. It feeds on fear and emanates fear. That is the basic anatomy of mob. It resembles a people rising, which is nothing but a pathetic attempt to cover an evil, selfish and feral rising. What differentiates the two is a distinguishing cause and a well-defined decency. People uprising is a chorus of empathising voices rising in a perfect harmony, while the mob is a cacophony of voices trying to outshout every dissenting voice. The line between an overwhelmingly beautiful note of music and the shrill noise is insanity if often very thin. The possibility and dread of falling to either side is always available to each mass of men (and women) coming together. The mob becomes an end to itself and threatens to muzzle those who do not agree. It no longer seeks to convince or convert. It demands slavish surrender of every voice of reason. It tries to crush you into supplicant subjugation. Unfortunately social media offers another platform of anonymity to people who a