To My Dearest Friend...

Scratches, bruises, kicking, punching... These were not included in my fight with one of my best friends during the tour. It was all verbal... War of Words. I felt so depressed all through the tour after that, and I still do. But, I have never tried tomake it up to her. Maybe she has, but I definitely have not done so.

On my birthday, I couldn't get this thought of my mind about these fights... And I felt so bad about them. So I was just about to decide the worst thing possible, I wanted to go tell her that I don't want to be friends with her anymore.

Thank God. Thank God it was my birthday... As usual, my sweet cousin had come to rescue. She didn't know that such things had happened, but yeah. Her poem did teach me a lesson. A lesson I hopefully will never forget in life: Care for the people who care for you, a lesson of friendship, a lesson how to respect others' affection towards you.

As my eyes gently open each morning,
There you stand everyday,
To greet me,
To help me,
To comfort me,
As I work through my tensed day.

You are the Sun,
In my blackened world.
You are the voice,
Of my laughter.
You are the colors,
Of my rainbow.
You are the white rose,
In my rose bush.
You are the ripples,
In my water.
You are the sapphire,
Of my stone.
You are the wind,
That blows through my hair.
You are the rain,
That washes down my face.
You are the melody,
Of my music.
You are the stories,
Of my life.
You are the heart,
Of my soul.

You are my best friend.

- Shilpa Vasuki.

Thanks Shilpa. Thank you so much... I love you my friends, and if I ever fight with you, I'm sorry and I don't mean to do so. I love you...

खुशबू रचते हैं हाथ

It was one of those rare days when I went out for a casual walk with my mother in the evening. We saw a small shop selling some irresistibly pretty flowers. It was Friday the next day, my grandma always insists on stringing flowers across the photos/potraits/idols of Gods/Godesses. I took this as an excuse to ask my mother to buy some flowers. My mother gave me the green signal after some amount of persuasion. She was fiddling with her purse to find some change to give that little girl selling the flowers. She asked me to give the girl that money and added, " Don't touch that girl while giving her the money. God knows when she takes bath." Perhaps it was the fact that she didn't know English that she didn't feel bad... Or was it the darkness around me that I couldn't see her pain... Or was it the mist inside me that hid her sadness from me...??? You may understand what I mean by saying mist- pity, anger, embarrasment... everything was woven into a solid confusion... thick mist...

This has happened many times to me, but this one was special. The next day, we had one poem in our Hindi lesson- खुशबू रचते हैं हाथ। I am going to put it in here. Sorry if you can't read Hindi, I shall put down the meaning I derived from it...


कई गलियों के बीच
कई नालों के पार
कूड़े-करकट
के ढ़ेरों के बाद
बदबू से फटते जाते इस
टोले के अन्दर
खुशबू रचते हैं हाथ
खुशबू रचते हैं हाथ ।

उभरी नसोंवाले हाथ
घिसे नाखूनोंवाले हाथ
पीपल के पत्ते से नए नए हाथ
जूही की डालसे खुशबूदार हाथ

गंदे किटे-पिटे हाथ
ज़ख्म से फटे हुए हाथ
खुशबू रचते हैं हाथ
खुशबू रचते हैं हाथ ।

यहीं इस गली में बनती हैं
मुल्क की मशहूर अगरबत्तियाँ
इन्ही गंदे मुहल्लों के गंदे लोग
बनाते हैं केवड़ा गुलाब खस और रातरानी अगरबत्तियाँ
दुनिया की साड़ी गन्दगी के बीच दुनिया की सारी खुशबू
रचते हैं हाथ

खुशबू रचते हैं हाथ
खुशबू रचते हैं हाथ।

-- Shri Arun Kamal.

It tells us about the inequality our Indian society (Right to equality, huh?) . We use agarbattis, I think they are called incense sticks... We use agarbattis which spread a good aroma around our house. But the ones who give us this aroma around us, this comfort... They live in utter poverty. They make aroma for us and have pungent odour surrounding them... They give us our daily comforts but are deprived of the basic necessities of life- 2 square meals, a decent house to live in and proper wearable clothes...

I am happy that people like Shri Arun Kamal are around there somewhere... who write about these disturbing everyday things. They make us aware. They shout- "Yes, this is true. It's happening. Look around you." I don't know how many people out there have read poems of the likes of this. I thank you for writing this poem... For telling me about those poor hands which make my Pooja room smell good...

Thank you!

Our Sense of Honour...

Why only a handful of freedom fighters are known? This is one of my questions yet to be answered. If only a handful are remembered, then why only some among them are really admired? Among Subhas Bose, Jawaharlal Nehru and Gandhi, why only Gandhi and Nehru are a most admired lot.

We must not forget Netaji; he was one of the most selfless freedom fighters we ever had।

Why is the 23^rd of January not a national holiday, why 2^nd of October and 14^th of November are remembered? We must honour those who were willing to lay down their lives irrespective of whether the person succeeded in his/her pursuits। A person like Bose could have happily worked as a Civil Servant; he would have received a handsome salary, luxurious house to stay in and all the privileges that an Indian employee in British India could only dream of.

He was willing to lay down his life for a noble cause.

Subhas Chandra Bose remains merely a name in the list of freedom fighters, all Indians must make a sincere effort to honour him. Subhas Chandra Bose must not merely remain a name; people must begin to value his efforts.

Nobody at his time would’ve dared to attempt such a thing as organizing an army during the world war. He had amazing guts, conviction and an iron will, he had a voice which none could suppress. He is indeed a “forgotten hero”. People like him are one in a million... billion... , a rare combination of intellect, courage, wit and patriotism. One person who stood as tall as his mind. There still are people like him in this world, every human must be valued for his efforts (if they are directed for a noble cause), art of every form must be encouraged and rest assured “luck” will find a tough time, seeking its place in this world.

I would only say that Bose and a handful of people like him were not lucky.

Some people are were and will remain alone…

तनहा राही अपनी राह चलता जाएगा

अब तो जो भी होगा देखा जाएगा ...

P.S.- I do not mean to offend Mahatma Gandhi or Mr. Nehru. I don’t even say that they must not be honoured. I just say that Netaji must be honoured too!

Dejection Point

Often in my English class, we have the usual teenage problem discussions where puppy love/crushes are discussed a lot. We all feel very embarrassed if anything of this sort is discussed. But, we are curious too, at least I am. So, I wanted to listen or read a first person account of this “crush” thing. The first person I thought of was my brother. He is 17, so probably he would have had such an ‘experience’. In my view he is the most intelligent person I have ever met. But I know him to be very shy too. So how could I ask him?

My cousin, Venky, told me that a lot could be told about a person through his folder on the hard disk or his desktop. Now, my brother doesn’t own a laptop, so I had to go for the second option: his folder. Some may think I was poking and prying, but Curiosity is not a sin. Then I saw this word document titled “Dejection Point”. The name is so cute that I couldn’t resist opening it.

I read it. I felt that it was from the heart. So much that I would have felt guilty if I wouldn’t put it on this blog. So here goes:
In the sands of time, I have lost
My new found love….
I cultivated dreams, big ones
Did I not appeal her?

The creator bestowed his majestic presence
Planning two lives for us
I was wrong,
And I hit the wrong gong
Lives are pre planned, love is destiny
Not choice

My beloved I don’t even know
Whether I am seriously in love
I know not the difference
Between love and infatuation
But I know that I am frustrated

There are times when I felt
I didn’t pay heed.
Maybe
I wasn’t the right person

At times I curse the one
You love
At times I curse myself
But times have changed
I wish you all the best

You may not believe that
I am happy for you
As an average man
I felt dejected
Now I’m a little happy
Because little do I know
Whether my love is truly love

God decides what each person
Is meant for. Both of us have a
Different purpose each.
It is at that time when
I sober down that I will be happy
For both our lives.
I only hope that the creator bestows upon goodwill and mercy.
He has been merciful to me, at least till date.
I hope I forget you sooner than ever.
I hope I feel happy for both of us.
If only I happen to see you, I see a good friend and nothing else in you.
I will carry you in my heart
Oh! My long lost love

This ballad I dedicate to you
All my life I promise to carry you
In my heart at least
Ill try be happy for both our lives.

In your praise-----------

You remind me of an angel
I gaze at you; you take me for a stalker
My gaze is such.
I like you at times
When you hate me
I like you at times when you smile at me.

You are as bright as a finely polished diamond
To think of you I need no almond
You are magic personified, possess a strange charm.

I seek mental solace in you.
It is at times difficult to put my mind in place

I made several attempts to forget you
You never seem to stop haunting my thoughts
I wish you all the best that the world has

When you smile you take my heart for a
Roller coaster ride. When you give a dirty look
I feel that something is gravely wrong in me.

In the sands of time, I have lost
My new found love….
I cultivated dreams, big ones
Did I not appeal her?

---Nonds




There might be some ‘poem readers’ out there reading my blog. I request you; please don’t look for poetic devices. The sincerity and dedication with which the poem is written… wow!

I don’t need to ask my brother for anything after this poem. My thirst has been quenched. I am satisfied. And this poem… it is simply… AMAZING. Awesome!

Three cheers for Nonds- Hip Hurrah! Hip Hip Hurrah! Hip Hip Hurrah!