The Despair Of Helplessness

The Patriot’s Day Marathon in Boston ironically martyred 3 more people and injured hundreds Less than 24 hours later, a 7.8 Richter scale magnitude earthquake hit the Iranian city of Zahedan, killing more than 40 people and again injuring hundreds of people.
Earthquake in Iran on 16th April 2013
This post is not to blame anyone or any organisation. Neither it is to preach a lesson of peace for the simple reason that I’m sure, both the parties responsible i.e. Mother Earth and those ghastly insurgents or non-state actors who bombed the Marathon would not be reading this post. Rather this post is a simple cry of anguish, an echo of sorrow and a reflection of pain at my simple inability to do anything about this situation.

Take a moment to think about it. 43 people just died for absolutely no fault of theirs. They could have been fathers, inspiring their children with patriotism or simple men working to earn bits of their livelihood, awaiting nothing but the trip back home, back to their family. Some children will never see their mothers again and some mothers won’t see their children again.  Imagine an average person with an average person’s dreams and aspirations. All gone; crushed, if you will. The car he had been saving up for all his life will never be parked in his garage. The engagement she was celebrating will never turn into a marriage. The smile on the child’s face will never return as the cruel game of death destroyed his face.

Bomb Blast at Boston Marathon on 16th April 2013
I ask myself why, why did this happen? I’m unable to answer my question. Some crackpots believed that they will achieve their motives by blowing up people whose singular crime was to be present at that spot, at that moment.  Ignoring the terrorist act, I find myself flummoxed even more. If vengeance or twisted motives were to be blamed in the first case, whom or what do I blame for the Earthquake in Iran? The tectonic plates?  Natural processes?  The answer is not to be found. No one can reasonably explain this destructive event.
I may not be making sense but I sideline this due to my grief. Helplessness is a situation every human being hates, and being put in that situation, is deranged. Today, every person on this planet is feeling helpless. But at the end of the day, we have to move on. We can help them, rehabilitate them and do hundreds of things for them.  I end by quoting a track which has always lead me on in life, Across The Universe by The Beatles

Sounds of laughter, shades of life
Are ringing through my opened ears
Inciting and inviting me.
Limitless undying love, which
Shines around me like a million suns,
It calls me on and on across the universe

Jai Guru Deva.
Jai Guru Deva.
Jai Guru Deva.
Nothing’s gonna change my world
Nothing’s gonna change my world
Nothing’s gonna change my world
Nothing’s gonna change my world

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Aazadiyan:A Look At Life

NOTE:This is guest blog post I wrote for Nelton D’Souza’s blog Just A Minute Here’s the link to the post http://justamin.blogspot.in/2013/01/aazadiyana-look-at-life.html Also,I recommend you read these posts as well : It’s Okay To Be Confused, Debugging Life and Debugging Life(Rebooted)

Something which all of us acknowledge is the presence of the nagging voice in our hearts. It’s the voice which tells us what we really want, what we are or what we have become. It’s that tiny little poke which reminds us how we have somehow screwed up life and we should “un-screw” it. One of the common commands it issues is to break free and change everything. Call it whatever you want, I call it Aazadi.

Don’t mistake me for the colloquial English synonym “freedom”. To me Aazadi expresses much more than freedom. It reflects the pride of achieving our dream, cherishing our passion and our inexpressible joy at doing all of that. Someone finds solace in snapping pictures of animals while someone loves to play the drums. Someone loves writing poems while on the flip side, some find sadistic pleasure in being a critic. My point is that everyone has his or her own forte and guilty pleasures. But not everyone gets to do that. Some bow down to the pressure of economic troubles and some to social ridicule. Some are scared by the magnitude to scale and some have plainly lost hope.Some,like Santiago are still searching for their Alchemist while some are being their own.

It’s a funny thing how many people claim passion to be hokum,dismissing it as lore.I pity them because they don’t know the feeling  of true happiness. I’m on the path of achieving my own dream, and the rush,the feel,the emotions,the passion and the pure unadulterated exhilaration is simply unmatchable.
People ask me with awestruck faces “You’re 17 and you think you know your passion and your dreams?Yeah right!”. I tell them this: Dreams don’t have age,nor does your passion or happiness. As to how I stumbled on to my Philosopher’s stone, it was easy. Just think and ponder over this question: “What would you do if money didn’t matter?” and you’ll find the answer. 
To all those who still believe their thoughts and their dreams are entangled and chained in shackles, I quote my favourite song
Pairon ki bediyan khwabon ko baandhe nahi re, kabhi nahi re
Mitti ki parton ko nanne se ankur bhi cheeray, dheere dheere
Iraade hare hare, jinke seeno mein ghar kare
Woh dil ki sune kare na darre, na darre

Subah ki kirno ko rokein jo salaakhein hai kahan
Jo khayalon pe pehre daale woh aankhein hai kahan
Par khulne ki deri hai parinde udh ke choomenge
Aasman aasman aasman



Dream and dream on friends 🙂

The epitome of freedom

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The Sunset Of Daybreak

A poem about how life has its own oddities,twists and turns. It’s rare to observe and feel these nooks and crannies.

The crack of light reflects,
In a mirror of fine make
Perhaps it’s a play,
Or something my thoughts deflect
Because all I see is the Sunset Of Daybreak

The moon shines red
Or is it an illusion fake?
Perhaps it’s the time of the dead,
Because all I see is the Sunset of Daybreak

Drowsy as fresh dew,
Time is all I take.
Moments such as these happen few,
But, with thoughts new in life sinew,
All I see is the Sunset of Daybreak



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Life,Shife Tey Cornetto Khana

As I walk down the street, I see numerous eyes boring towards me, in an almost hate inciting manner. Men, with unkempt matted hair and bloodshot eyes, women with a slight sneer and noses flared in the not cute way. Even little children seemed to hate me, as they looked at me with the looks reserved for the uncle who takes away your ball when you break his window. I quickened my pace and kept walking, with admittedly a creepy little feeling right at the back of my neck, ignoring the sudden cold I felt. Damn! This bad phase was getting to me. Just yesterday I had a mock paper for an entrance exam I will be taking with lakhs of other students sometime next year. I still couldn’t remember my result and not suppress the feeling to throw up. Like all those moments, I start seeing flashes. The whirring of the fan as I read “Saransh Sharma, All India Rank 68”. The not-good enough look on my parents’ face, the slightly pale but reminiscent of the original white color tiles of the floor as my professor hurled his sarcastic comments, everything.

As I reached the odd looking shop and smiled at Jagran Chacha, he appeared to be in a bright mood. Here’s why it was fishy. Jagran Chacha was infamous for his grouchy expressions as he read the Dainik Jagran editorials perennially. He last smiled during the monsoons of 2010 when apparently his village had been nominated for a development award. I plonked three moldy 10 rupee notes on his table and wordlessly picked up my Ice-cream. That’s one thing I loved as a regular customer! Every afternoon at 1.30 my double chocolate Cornetto awaited me at Chacha’s shop. The small talk with Chotu and Chacha, was admittedly not the day’s highlight, but yes, it did figure into my daily dose of indulgence. Ironically, I decided to forgo today the one thing that I needed the most, an off chit-chat.

As I stood outside the shop and took a bite, I wondered about my precarious decisions and the mess that I know called life. One of my friends had once postulated “If you’re sorted right now, it just means God’s planning some mischief, Satan-style”. Strange isn’t it? Life suddenly changes paths without a warning, everything loses order or sense and you descend into chaos. That’s what was happening to me. I had potently decided that I needed to take some bold steps to curb my problems. Giving up on the supposed vices of teenage life was a priority. My sister already laid claim to my cell phone, and social networks were to be closed at the click of a button. Sorting and planning were my buzz words for the day as I miserably started off with the waffle of the cone. I don’t know why, but ice-cream, especially a Cornetto always brings me to my senses. Once I actually sat down to find the reason behind it. I even tried to interpret some deep meaning behind the melting of the soft chocolate flavored disk and I reached a sensible conclusion which read “If it’s hot, it’ll melt you dummy!” So I let it be.

Biting into the bottom half of the cone, I saw an uncanny scene. Right across the road, a small little boy, perhaps the age of three or four, the rags made him look older though, was walking. An insignificant empty can sat right in the middle of his path. The boy stopped in his tracks, and with eyes full of snide yet innocent curiosity, began examining it. He prodded it with small squishy fingers, stared at the nearly gone label and measured its size. Perhaps it was a religious thing or maybe an odd fixation, but he wasn’t going on further, as if the can was stopping him. Seemingly seeing no alternative, he did what most of us do to feel good; he started crying. He cried et he wailed, but the can didn’t move. How was the young child to know that like most people today, metallic cans too didn’t have hearts that melt at the sight of someone else’s anguish. Just as I bit into the best yet unfortunately the last bit of the cone, I saw the child wipe his snotty nose of his rag like clothes and angrily stand up. If I had not known better, I would have thought it to be the angry young man look of Bollywood. He raised his leg, and in perfect arc, swung it with force towards the can and kicked it straight across the road where it rolled over to God knows where. With a smile, the kid walked on.

I hastily wiped my spectacles to remove the oily, sweat smudge. As I put them back on, everything seemed to change. The bloodshot eyes stare seemed to be more of a stranger’s courteous acknowledgement than hate. The woman’s flared nose as she bargained with Jagran Chacha over something seemed cute again and Chacha’s grouchy expression was back. The kids were giggling at me and my slightly displaced look. As I exited the shop, the afternoon seemed brighter and so did my mood. I wondered why I was thinking so oddly. Maybe, it was the spectacle’s smudge or perhaps the ice-cream. I’ll never know, but the best part is, I don’t want to know.


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The Wind Urges Me To Go On

A Poem About A Person Who Is About To Quit But Finds Solace Instead
As the night descends and the sun transcends,
The horizon seems to never end.
Rays of light wash over the freshly mown lawn
Somehow, the wind urges me to go on.
Dew drops sparkle or perhaps the grass cries
Confusion abounds as I’m befuddled by the lies.
But still when I gaze on to the dawn,
Somehow, the wind urges me to go on.
Life has reached lower than the low,
Joy has completely ceased its flow.
As I sit by the ledge, distraught and torn,
Somehow, the wind urges me to go on.
Everything will be fine, it promises.
Give it some time, it says.
One day you will know why you were born,
Until then, let me urge you on.
Seconds turn into minutes
And slowly the will to quite diminishes.
With a smile, I see the dew, all gone,
Because, come what may,
Somehow, the wind urges me to go on.


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