Some Wounds Never Heal

The last week has been a slow drift for the Bharatiya population. I’ve seen the most depressed faces at work that no amount of Monday blues, office bullying and conspiracy can’t elicit. 

Two months upon a time, a happy Bharat stood shattered.

No, it was no terrorist attack or market crash. No, it was no natural calamity either. What had festered nearly 95% of Bharatiyas was the game of cricket.

Bharat’s cricket team, comprising perhaps of the world’s prosperous and most influential players, had yet again broken a promise. They lost the World Cup finals and miserably! Look at their body language in the photos and replays. You will see they didn’t care two hoots about the loss. The only one who looked unhappy was Rahul Dravid, ex-batsman, and current coach.

Bharat’s honourable head of the state visited the team in the dressing room and tried to lift their spirits. That is the only time you’ll see these cricketers look a teeny bit embarrassed.

It’s not the first time the team has let us down. Our players are scared of winning finals, or perhaps they are scared of getting into trouble with the match-fixers. Who knows? Possibly, there are traitors in the team who put money over the country. Who knows?

This country has given male cricket players

  • respect
  • ad endorsements
  • best facilities 
  • access to the best sports technology

 Yet they bring us down every time. 

The Bharatiya Women’s/Men’s Hockey Team, or for that matter, the Women’s Cricket Team, would have gotten us so many laurels over the years had they received the exposure and privileges that the Men’s Cricket Team does. 

Footballers like Baichung Bhutiya and Sunil Chettri never got the same opportunities. If there is a shift of focus from Men’s cricket to Hockey, Soccer/Football, Women’s Cricket, Kabaddi, and Kho-Kho, our sports in future can look so massive and successful. 

But Bharatiyas love tragedies. We are the Shakuntalas of Men’s Cricket (The Dushyants), Karns of our Cricket Hopes (The Kuntis)! It’s our love of cricket that eventually makes us hope again. 

And that is why our pain is epic! Because when the next World Cup arrives, the Men-in-blue spins us another disaster. 

The never-ending cycle ensures that the wounds of millions of Bharatiyas never heal. Yet, our PM Modi leads us from the front in continuing to believe in the game and the men of cricket! 

Yet our PM showered them with the love they didn’t deserve. I wish all had a heart as large as yours, PM Modi. Yes, we can still hope, but unlike you, we can’t forgive!

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Volcano And The End

He was hands-on. Digging away! He didn’t care for broken nails or dirty fingers. He just kept at it. Dig. Dig. Dig!

As nature took its course and overpowered his enthusiastic endeavour, he felt a tinge of pain in his fingers. And the thumping pain grew, slowly and steadily.

But the pain couldn’t cower the child’s motivation. He rummaged through the dried grass and the dirt to find a sharp stone.

Hard blows! One thump. Two thumps. Three thumps and on and on. The Earth cried silently, but the child didn’t hear or feel the pain of the soil. He kept on the violent act.

The topsoil yielded. Scared if she didn’t, the boy would continue the torture. The boy put his fingers through the hole to find the elusive prize but had barely covered much ground.

So, he searched again. This time, he found a stick. And he poked. Poke. Poke. Poke. The stabs got harsher, but the boy didn’t relent. By now, the ground was soar and wounded. She whispered a prayer, “Please, little boy. Not more!” But the boy remained oblivious to the ground’s plea. He continued to rain torture.

With sweat pouring like rain, his body was as hot as coal. Skin as red as cherry, the child collapsed and began howling in exhaustion.

The soil heard the boy’s cries and put her pain aside. She nestled the boy, tilting. Oh, so slightly. She let the grass brush his skin as if to pacify him. The boy felt a warmth surround him. And he began to pacify. 

At that very moment, the boy’s elder sister peeked out the door. She was glad to find her brother miserable. His dirty face was plastered with tear lines. His white shirt was now off-white and muddy.

She couldn’t stop giggling. She skipped in merriment while she ran up to her brother and asked, “Hey, Toma, why are you crying? Don’t worry about the dirt. One bath and it will all be gone. So, tell me, why the tears?

Toma said, “You said you planted that coin Papa gave you so that she would grow into a tree of coins. I wanted your coin. I dug and dug, but I can’t find it buried anywhere! Where did you bury it, Mona?

Well, you tried to take what isn’t yours, Toma,” said Mona, having the last word in a war of sibling drama. Shaking her head in disapproval Mona continued, “And that is why you couldn’t find it. You have messed up the garden. Do you know the soil that you are sitting on can feel pain too? That is a very bad thing to do, Toma.”  

She turned and started walking away from her brother. Then an afterthought made her return to her her brother, “Oh, listen! I never buried it, silly. I have it right on me!” Saying so, Mona took the coin out of the silver pouch she carried. She smiled like the empress who had won the world and walked back home with her head held high!

Annoyed, that his sister had had the last laugh and she still continued to own that prized coin, Toma stared back at his sister. Losing hurts. But losing to a sibling seems like the end of the world! And Toma felt just that! In frustration, he kicked his feet! Each kick brought a wave of agony to the Earth. The Earth shook at the boy’s self-centeredness but the boy didn’t care.

This is not fair, Mona!” Cried, Toma. “I won’t let you win!

Laughing at her mischief, Mona danced on the porch, celebrating. She shouted loudly, “I am the champion, my bro. La! La!! La!!!

Toma, too upset with his sister, kicked the Earth again. Crying, he tore the grass and uprooted small plants. The Earth protested the child’s vagaries. But Toma wouldn’t listen. She begged him to stop, but the boy didn’t.

Hysteric, he threw more stones and crushed the tiny vegetation that grew on the soil and thumped his way back to his house.

The trampled soil cried in anger. The ache of the torture throbbed from her surface to the core. The insensitivity of the child peeved her. But the Earth, in its motherly love still gave the boy a chance. She thought if she allowed the grass to tickle him, Toma would calm down. But Toma grew angrier.

The Earth remembered how mankind had ignored her pleas for thousands of years. People had stabbed and kicked and hurt her relentlessly. Some were kind to her and tilled the land with the right tools. They watered her and loved her. Some even prayed to her. But the number of such individuals was dwindling every day.

The Earth had tried her best to communicate with Toma but the boy just wasn’t hearing her. He was destroying the vegetation, killing the little helpless beings that lived in the soil. Toma’s craziness was just the last straw. The Earth decided to take the matter into her hands and took a human form, hoping the child would finally hear her pleas.

The boy was so consumed by his rage that he didn’t absorb the magic! A beautiful lady had conjured out of nowhere. He kept crying and hurting nature. The Earth knew she would have to do something to stop the boy before things went south. Because the earth knew her fury. If she lost it, the world or at least a part of it would be destroyed!

She took Toma’s face into her hands looked deep into his eyes and said, “Boy, stop hurting the plants, the little beings and the soil. They are crying in pain and asking you to stop. Listen to me, please stop!

Toma struggled free from the Earth’s grasp and said, “I don’t care. I hate my sister. I hate my dad for giving her a coin. I hate everyone.” He pulled at the Earth’s hand and bit her hard and ran away saying, “And I don’t talk to strangers!

The unruly child’s fit was the last straw! She had tried. She had taken the human form many times to communicate with mankind. But like Toma, no one ever cared for nature. They plundered and exploited the land, its produce and its natural resources. Man only took. Man only hurt!

How long could the Earth remain patient? How long could she allow other living beings to suffer at the hands of man? Toma was just a kid, but he was like the many men she knew. The more she thought, the angrier Earth got. And she quaked. Cracks began appearing near the hole Toma had dug. And then Earth’s anger burst out in the form of scorching lava from the epicentre Toma had dug up!

Gurgling with fury, she went on and on till Toma’s house and the neighbouring area were all turned into ashes.

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I Don’t Have A Sad Song

Created by Kleio B'wti

There was an online quiz titled, “Everyone has a sad song. Find out which one is yours!” 

The title got me thinking. Sad song? Do I have a sad song? And then I understood something profound; something important. It is a truth that defines me and drives my creativity and choices in music, art and entertainment. 

I don’t identify with any sad songs. And there are no sad songs that I listen to when I am low

Even in my saddest hour, it is a peppy number that I reach out to. Songs with a good beat and beautiful lyrics make my darkest day bright. 

Perhaps, the saddest song I can think of is the duet, ‘Thunderclouds‘ by LSD (#Labrinth, #Sia and #Diplo), which is more about the anxiety in a relationship and the partners reassuring each other about their mutual commitments. And that’s an ideal situation, rather than a painful manoeuvre in any romantic relationship. 

When I was really young, a good friend gave me a Ghazal album by #AdnanSami– ‘Kabhi to Nazar Milao‘. It is rated as one of the most romantic #Ghazal albums, ever. Unfortunately, I found the album to be the most depressing ever.

Songs without a happy tempo, hold no light for me. 

For me, music is a conversation with the soul. Anything that pains the soul is not worth a listen. Every bit that lifts the soul is worth being a part of my music collection. I rejoice with music even on the most depressing day. 

I am unsure how many people would recognize my need to search for happiness in everything I do. But that’s the purpose of my life. To find and spread happiness. 

And what is joy without pace? 

What is delightful touches the inner core!

So, how can I have a sad song when it just trickles through my life unseen? 

Yes, I don’t have a sad song. And yes, the happiest song makes me teary-eyed!

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Birth- A Short Story

As the pebble from the tree fell, the apple from the deepest dungeons of the Gaia sprouted a tiny leaf. When the sky was green & the seas were yellow. Violet was the sun, and red was the night, a worm of utmost beauty; conceived in the minds of the writer and her influenced romanticism, wiggled its way through the beautiful meanderings.

The confluence of feeling and the stress of life created the ashy surroundings of a shiny cave. The eyes of the pretty worm twinkled like stars as it seeped in knowledge from its environment. With every nook of understanding and corner of doubt, the worm changed shape.

Time passed. Seconds. Minutes. Hours. It grew in size to take a floating form- translucent and radiant. Confident of all her learnings, this wonderful creature took its first peep from the caves.

The trees quivered, the earth shook, and the skies vibrated an ancient hymn. And the clouds shed happy flowers.

The universe resounded a victory thump as the entity made herself known. The very first rainbow formed to add an extra oomph to the happenings.

Thus, an exquisite extravaganza began, announcing the birth of the mighty PAIN- the shaper of destiny, thoughts, imagination, good, bad, and evil. Of life!

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I Am A Woman

What Is A Woman?

Watching Piers Morgan Uncensored on YouTube, I wondered what the big deal is.

What is a woman? Seriously! Who is a woman?

As a woman, there’s a list of things I want to share, especially after a guest on the programme answered the question with, “A Woman Is A Woman.” Well, it sounds like someone saying as in the song by Shania Twain, “I feel like a woman”. But being of feminine gender is more than a feeling!

Then another one in the aforesaid show, said, “Anyone With Boobs Is A Woman”! Hey! How about male breasts? What if a man with male breasts knows and believes he is a man?

What about chromosomes? And how about Carl Jung’s Anima and Animus? The unconscious aggressive, go-getting part of a woman, is the masculine aspect of a woman’s psyche. While the kind, caring side of a man’s psyche has a feminine aspect.

In a world where women are battling for equal rights at home, at work, in sports or arts, is it okay to really lose the perspective on woman’s identity?

Coco Channel always dressed in pants and shirts, but she designed the most exquisite women’s clothes of her time. Was she feeling like a man when she was wearing men’s clothes of her time or was she feeling like a woman when she designed those comfy and perfect dresses?

There has been enough debate since time immemorial about women, who they are and what they want. But our century has taken all the years of women’s struggle down several notches.

The identity of a woman is in question.

Trans women who are biologically stronger than natural-born women with their men’s genes may say they are woman enough to compete in the women’s category in sports.

But why take undue advantage of womanhood? Have not the women, who were born a woman, enough unfairness to deal with? Why add to it by taking advantage of one’s choice of identity?

We are either born a man or a woman. While the male body is stronger, a woman’s body is more enduring. Men have more body power, while women can bear more pain. Who is better? Who has the advantage? It all depends on the situation at hand.

You are born a woman or a man. Even those of the third gender, generally choose the feminine identity. But it is up to you what you will make of your life, irrespective of the gender you choose to live as. Freedom of choice is a right no one must usurp. So, creating an uproar just to cause chaos and confusion is in bad taste.

Why debate, What Is A Woman or Who Is A Woman?

When the woman in me hears these questions, she laughs. Womanhood is my identity even when I Act Like A Child, I remain a woman.

Trust me, it is not because I have boobs, but because I have the guts to give every male I meet a tough fight. So, here’s my answer to What A Woman Is.

A woman is not a chattel. She is not a property. She is neither just a mother, a sister, a wife, a friend or a trouble. A woman is her own person. She is totally and utterly unstoppable. And she is her biggest fan. She Is Her Number 1. And She Is Proud To Be Born A Woman.

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Short Story

The alarms went off. People woke up and then realised it was still night. They went off to sleep again.
The early birds work up, then thought it was a night nocturnal that woke them up. They went off to sleep again.

Some tossed and turned, waiting for a morning that never came.
People missed work by 100%. Shops remained closed.
The scientists and rocket people were wonderstruck. Then the news started flashing.
People tired of their good night’s sleep turned on their TV. Some surfed the internet, and others ventured on social media.
And the world read and heard the declaration that the governments around the world shook while they declared-
EARTH has Gone DARK!

Nights went by. Dates changed, but the world remained DARK.
Night schools became a vogue, as did night shopping and night dates!
Some revelled the change. The others tried to take it in a stride. Then there were the night owls. They organized bonfire parties and barbecues.

The activists took out night rallies and processions. They blamed the government or the state enemy or spoke of conspiracy theories. But no matter the rush, the world remained DARK.

The people of the globe were getting accustomed to the change, some with gusto while others with apathy.
With the change in the earth’s condition came new problems. Soon, there was a food shortage and a power shortage. There were regular power cuts in some countries, while the others, even an hour of power supply became a blessing.

World alliances began falling apart. War for coal and natural gas rose. The world weather system went topsy-turvy, and food became so scarce that many didn’t have anything to eat. New diseases came into the foray. The darkness of the environment was percolating into every living and non-living.

People began night prayers, but soon the candles fell short. Temples and churches still tried to spread hope in the gloom. Spiritual gurus encouraged people to remain hopeful. The governments of the world promised it was all temporary. But the DARK hours only increased!

Some blamed it all on the new masked world. While others said, it was an opportunity to find sight in the dark.

The truth, however, was alarming- A dark world can’t exist for long. DARK earth meant the end was near.
The Musks and the Gates had surrendered. The scientists had given up too. There was no way they could bring light back into the world.

The ominous blackness spread and spread a little more. Like many children, Kali, a young girl, had remained in her room. She had seen her parents struggle to keep the household going with little food and water to spare. She had watched the power cuts become longer and she was watching her favourite plant dry. Her teacher had said, “Children, once there is light, everything will fall into place. So, don’t give up hope. Keep looking for the light.”

In a Dark world, Kali could find no light. But she resolved to leave her bedroom only when she had found a way to disperse the darkness.

Nights went by but Kali didn’t leave her room. No matter how much her parents coaxed her, she refused to relent. She consumed chocolates from her chocolate box to keep herself nourished. But, she didn’t leave. One. Two. Three.

Three days went by, but Kali remained self-imprisoned.

Day Four: On the fourth day, as a young girl turned the knob of her bedroom door, a sheen of light came about the night. As the door gradually opened wide, dawn came about. As Kali slid a coloured paper with a ball of golden light on it through the door, came out a glow in the atmosphere. The darkness dispelled. After many, many months, the sun rose again.

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Waking the Indian Within


In the mumbo-jumbo of our current times, sometimes we forget the meaning of freedom and independence.

August 15- is a day of celebration, pomp, glory, loads of patriotic songs and good food! It is our way of celebrating Indian independence.

However, have we endeavoured to find out what independence really means? Our ancestors forsake their all for a generation that’s losing itself in being ‘western’, ‘modern’ and ‘right’. Sadly, that is not what being independent entails.

When we are unswayed by public opinion, untouched by hate, and confident that we can make a difference without getting carried away by what other people are doing- it is independence.

Sahid Samarak- PatnaWhen PM Modi decided to encourage every Indian to fly a flag in every home, he was probably trying to teach us to look beyond the trimmings of society and follow the heart. What could be the true embodiment of the courage one carries but the country’s flag?

Modi went a step further by sending a gift to every household- a tricolour, nicely packed. He not only shared a vision. He also shared the resources to make that vision come true. That is what a true leader does. And here is how he wants to build more leaders like him- with compassion and generosity.

Patriotism is internal. No one can teach true patriotism. Yet it is infectious. When everyone stands up for the national anthem or sways a flag, don’t you itch to do the same?

This year, when you stand up for the national anthem, don’t do it because the constitution says so. This time when you pick the flag and raise it to the skies, don’t imitate the person next to you.

When you sing, “Hindi hai him, Vatan Hai, Hindostan Hamara…” feel the words, mean the words. Then pick up our beautiful flag and say it with your heart- “Sare jahan se accha!

On this independence day, understand our leader’s inclination. He has sent you the gift of the national flag to tell you that this country belongs to you.

Thus nurture your country. Be the wind of truth that blows from Mount Kailash. Become the quencher of thirsts like the mighty Brahmaputra and Ganga. Be the bells of our sacred temples. Find the tiger in you. And be proud of being an Indian just like a peacock.

Strut honestly. Move with pride. Walk with conviction not to get an international VISA or to the airport but to build India stronger. This year raise your cup of chai to an India we so want to build.

Jai Hind!

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Before the Blues

As the pebble from the tree fell, the apple from the deepest dungeons of the Gaia sprouted a tiny leaf. When the skies were green, and the seas were yellow, violet was the sun, and red was the night, a worm of utmost beauty; conceived in the minds of the writer and her influenced romanticism. The confluence of feelings and the stress of life created speckles of ashy snow. And a ray of pungent-smelling, offensively bright light left her nonplussed. As she convulsed and her body rattled, her shut eyes opened wide! Voila! It was Monday again, and she would carry on the blues till a more appropriate time- when dreams and craziness merge again; before the blues!

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Remembering Larry

Obituary: Larry Binion

Friendship knows no bounds. Age, geography, gender, race, interests, finances, occupation or marital status; nothing matters when there is an intellectual connection and a common interest.

Such was my friendship with Larry. We discussed family, experiences, his love for his wife, Nancy, how deeply he cared for his children and how his daughter was his favourite person on earth! When I was the lowest, he would tell me about her, the lyrical story, he wrote for her- Flea, Fly, Floo and on my lowest moments, he’d make me smile.

A retired teacher, he inspired many, and he inspired me. He wanted to write; compile his life’s work in volumes. He often said, we have to write together! He prayed for all, he loved all and even when he was unwell and in the hospital, he dropped in a message on LinkedIn, “I think I have the COVID virus.” And when he left the world, he ensured, I knew instantly. This was Larry, a true friend, a soldier who lost the war to COVID.

He was a friend I had never met. He was someone I met on LinkedIn. But just like him, I have found the world’s best minds and hearts on a professional social media channel. Can I say more but in a line- The world is a much smaller place now.

Sadly, with all the going on’s, he would send me a message, “I’m glad you are okay. I shall wait for your message.” I shall always feel guilty for not messaging him enough. And I shall always be grateful that I had a friend who was there for me, even when I couldn’t show I cared.

Remembering Larry is about remembering true friendship. It is about giving hope and courage to your buddies even when you may be in a dark place. It is about motivating and keeping it in momentum. It is about giving and taking just a smile as a gift in return.

As long as I shall remember the word ‘friendship’, I shall remember Larry.

To Read Larry’s Awesome Work Check this Page Out

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God Complex Attack? Shut Up or Slide Along

Say little mean more

Good intentions can actually sound like a threat to someone.

Have you heard it before? So, a super insecure person can sometimes not embrace happiness or good things coming their way. Instead of rejoicing, they brow-beat those they consider soft targets. However, the truth is, no one in this world is a soft target. When well-wishers are put to task, because of their good intentions, it’s a matter of huge concern.

For who is a human to put another through penance? Isn’t that the work of that ageless Almighty? And the Almighty always wants pepople to celebrate others’ happiness along with our own. Why should a mere mortal put you through a test?

Is this a God Complex?

Perhaps the truth is that people have forgotten that they are mere mortals. Their money or ability to employ many, or their capability to go an extra mile, it is all a blessing that needs utmost gratitude. It doesn’t give them a right to replace the all serving, all-loving, the one and only.

No, God didn’t ask me to write this post. Nor does God want me to tell the great people exuding greatness for the moolah they keep or manipulate others to accumulate. Every moolah is a blessing as in prosperity, respect and abundance. So the pseudo achievers, wannabes and the privileged, need to introspect, they need to change their apprach.

A thin line divides being a blessed human from being God Himself. To forget one’s impermanance in a hue of false greatness can only land one in a moral holocaust and social superfluousness.

The humble ‘newborn’ approach to life with gratitude for all the blessings bestowed, is a good way to check the itch to thrust fleeting loftiness among others. Mortality is inevitable. Nothing will last forever in this world. Thus the preconcieved notion of personal greatness will eventually dissipate into insecurity and sorrow. The only immortal is the one who doesn’t judge, doesn’t hurt, doesn’t create politics just to sustain their self-interests.

To be immortal, make a happy place in people’s thoughts. Don’t get influenced by the travesty of prodigiousness. And in case you are being subjected to a display of God Complex, don’t reason, don’t judge- Shut Up or merely Slide Along.

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