From the Eye of a Kaleidoscope.

DISCLAIMER: While this assumption is based upon generality…there r always exceptions to it so if u don’t like it..think u are an exception ,now continue reading!! “Awwww!! Darling u look stunning!!” , was the comment by a girl on a freshly uploaded pic of one female friend of mine that actually inspired me to come up with this post. Most women are more sensitive about their looks than their feelings. Criticize how she looks and you risk hurting her and hurtling yourself out like yesterday’s chapatis. And how do you gauge her sensitivity? It’s simple, just try clicking her pic. Slowly take out your camera, aim and wait for the miraculous transformation. Watch her eyes turn into limpid pools of kindness, prepare to get blinded by her dazzling smile. But not before she flips her hair, turns her face 45 degrees north (her best angle), pinches her cheeks and smiles her mysterious smile. The one that makes her look like Monalisa plus the teeths You see, she wants the world...

                       Once upon a time 3 months ago….. sounds strange right?, but this is what we have pretentiously   assumed that it happened years ago, that there had been a girl who slapped our society who was found lying in a road. Bleeding away from a life that she was never allowed to live, and off to a demise that found her dead before it arrived. Her body that’s bruised with an Iron rod, her intestine that hangs out of her body in blood and gore, and her eyes that overflow with gallons of a feeling that no living creature should ever be forced to feel, strips the entire human race naked in a blink. Raped, abused and dying, Nirbhaya is only twenty four years old. being the victim of the animalistic instinct of its Own kind. Time has once again proved that it’s the cure of all pain and pathos.        A lot of things have been said and done in all concern of artificiali...

Little, occasional words find their homes in insecure sentences. An obvious  lack of brilliance. Yet, words tumble out with the humble aspiration of kissing divinity. Like the incessant breathing, in joy and sorrow alike, And therefore I must keep writing.   May be I m  hungry ,for fame and glory hence I must keep writing. Perhaps ,Swallow pain from a distance and ruminate. See pathos in naked eyes  and romanticize. Which makes my soul burps , that I must keep Writing. Oh poetry and prose what have you done. You make me write,from air-cooled rooms About your futility.You are anesthesia for escapists like me. Therefore I must keep writing. I am the one ,Who can see the world and write about it. But cannot do anything else except writing, So I will keep on writing.

Weakest were my limbs Strongest were those winds, Yet I survived and cherished , 'COZ there was Thick Mantle I had, who never  Perished. A tall brown Eyed Man, who worked all day and night like ebullient Swan.             This one belongs to My strength ,my Creator who has always being stood there  as a Mountain ,a worn out Mantle that never needs to  be  folded be it a dawn or twilight of my LIFE ..Alone he stands covering the three weak souls ,and with a strong belief in his mind ..that a Day not too far ,that a Mist not too dense ,when he will find his Solace from these  ‘weak ’ souls ,he armored .My mantle though roughly knitted ,  has taken all care that I get all those finest of stitches .The little what he has, gives me more than the most what he can .These broken soles and those oldest pair of Pants ..tells me the story of this Epitome of Sacrifice, yet he never Complains, never Expl...

This is a small homage to that stubborn woman ,who intricately ,untiringly keeps on fighting ...who had this undying courage to change a lifeless sand dunes into a lush green grasslands and will hopefully very soon would become a dense green forest and its all coz of her unique strongest persistence which  she continuously puts in .This is a homage to my mom/mummy/ma, when i feel the life of this woman its gives goose bumps all over me.When i, being the closest and may be the only observer goes into a flashback , i see her struggling ,i see her undying attitude of sowing those two little seeds,nd turning those seeds into sapling ,from sapling to plant and may be a tree one day .All through the transition of these seeds she always stood by there side ,in the scorching sun and in those sands storm ,whatever happens and had happened ,i saw her standing covering these seeds ,with the little torn clothes she have .she bares the sun ,she bares heat ,she bares everything ...

Tell me that you wake up sometimes and feel inadequate, complexed and under-confident. Tell me that you sometimes feel like the world's biggest loser. That you are not good enough to do anything remotely significant. Or that you've felt weak, and hated yourself for how you can complicate simplicity. Tell me that sometime in your life you've wrecked your ship, intentionally And for the longest tim e, ambled in self-pity and romantic misery. Tell me man, if you have not had the balls to do your thing .And felt a sinking feeling in your heart. You better tell me if you have. So that I don't feel feebler.And unmanly. You see,I don't want to be the only one.