Love, Life and Happiness

गोवध- निज पुत्र का भाग तज कर मनुज पुत्र का पोषण किया। सम संतुलन सबको दिया मस्तक पर धरा धारण किया। रहट खींचा, खेत सींचे,  धर्म का संबल दिया। अन्न, प्रेम, सात्विक मित्रता, सब कुछ तुम्हें निश्छल दिया। पुत्रवत स्नेह से तुमने पुकारा पास जब मातृवत आई मैं दौड़ी मन में लिये विश्वास तब। जिह्वा के मिथ्या लोभ में हा, वध मेरा तुमने किया, इक मूक पशु को मारकर मानवता को बस लज्जित किया। मैं तो तुम्हारे स्वाद पर, मिथ्या दंभ पर अर्पित हुई इस पाशविक बलिवेदि पर मनुजता ही तो बस लज्जित हुई। माता रही मैं शिव-पुत्र मानव तुझसे मेरा क्या द्वेष था, शत्रु बनाया मुझको अपना यह देखना बस शेष था। जिस देश पर बनता था सदियों पहला ग्रास मेरे नाम पर। मेरे ही भक्षण को है आतुर वह राष्ट्र है संग्राम पर। कौड़ियाँ फेंकी हैं किसने जीत की और हार की। युद्ध है यह धर्म का या प्रेरणा संहार की। कहता है जो पशुवध राष्ट्र का अधिकार है, स्वातंत्र्य है अभिशाप उसका, उस मनुष्य पर धिक्कार है।       - साकेत

I have been pondering about the sense of despondency, the sense of shame which has been imposed on the Hindu thoughts in Indian society. Every act of faith has to be explained, justified. When partition happened, Muslims fought and obtained an independent Nation, while the other large chunk of population, which, in spite of numerical supremacy, was subjugated for centuries, got India. In line with inherent openness and flexibility of Hinduism, India became a secular nation. This is a matter of pride, since it acknowledged the basic secular nature of Sanatan Dharm . However, as things would evolve, vested political interests considered India as unfinished agenda standing in the path of a religious empire being built world-wide. Through a well-calculated intellectual conspiracy of neglect and vilification, it came to a stage that modern Hindus where embarrassed of their religion and apologetic of their faith. This neglect also resulted in the religion being left to the guardianship of

Author: Julian Barnes Publisher: Knopf Pages: 163 Genre: Literary Fiction Published: August, 2011 Rating: Makings of a Classic Excerpt: "...What is history? Any thoughts, Webster?  'History is the lies of the victors' I replied a little too quickly. 'Yes, I was rather afraid you'd say that. Well, as long as you remember that it is also the self-delusions of the defeated. Simpson?' Colin was more prepared than me. 'History is a raw onion sandwich, Sir.' 'For what reason?' 'It just repeats, Sir. It burps. We've seen it again and against this year. The same story, same old oscillation between tyranny and rebellion, war and peace, prosperity and impoverishment.' 'Rather a lot for a sandwich to contain, would you say?' We laughed far more than was required, with an end-of-term hysteria.  'Finn?' ' History is that certainty produced at the point where the imperfections of

Solitude is an essential part of writing life. Writing is a lonely profession. One ought to step on this path if one is able to survive through the long, voluntary spells of solitude. We must not confuse loneliness with solitude. Loneliness throws one down the dark abyss; solitude is the pair of wings that intellect provides to lift the soul out of those depths.  The best of the art emerges out of a certain tranquility of mind, a quietude of being. It borrows wisdom from market-places, it derives truth from the people, but the truth which is visible to the writer, is often not visible to the very people from whose life he derives and distills it. What separates the characters of a story and its writer is the ability of the writer to pull himself back from life, to stand away and apart, to have a distinct vantage points, to watch it with an odd sense of detached empathy. The difference in this vantage point, from one writer to another is the reason stories written about the sa

“ Too proud art thou to kill these sweet-tooths. But take care lest it be thy fate to suffer their poisonous injustice!... ..Because thou art gentle and of upright character, thou sayest: “Blameless are they for their small existence.” But their circumscribed souls think: “Blamable is all great existence.” … …Thy neighbours will always be poisonous flies; what is great in thee- that itself must make them more poisonous, and always more fly-like. Flee my friend into thy solitude- and thither, where a rough strong breeze bloweth. It is not thy lot to be a flyswatter. ”  – T hus Spake Zarathustra, Friedrich Nietzsche When politics fails to find answer, philosophy offers the way. A noise in the aftermath of a disgusting crime is unavoidable. However, too much of noise has its own problem. It drowns saner thoughts and it falls on its own head. Two soldiers have been martyred and beheaded on the border. Pakistan’s infamous BAT division infiltrated, attacked, killed and mu