randomized

The first rule of promises is, 'You keep your promise!' The second rule of promises is, 'You keep your promise!' There is no third rule

'Come on boy, come down now. It’s time to go. We are getting late!!', Ram hollered at the tree without a pause and walked towards and through the clearing. Manu looked at him going out and started climbing down the tree. He didn’t like being left behind and Ram's going to the clearing meant the longer he took getting down from that tree, the longer the distance he'll have to cover to catch up with him; and that man walked fast. So he climbed down fast and ran after him.  It was his favourite pass time, Manu’s. Sitting on that heavy branch, halfway up the tall Peepal tree, and watching the sunshine break way and glimmer over and through the spaces between the rooftops and treetops early in the morning was the best moment of most of his days. He got up early, climbed that single, old, tall tree and sat there each morning till he heard Ram call him out to go for breakfast and start work day. Breakfast meant a steel bowl of milk and a small pack of glucose...

Watching PM Modi on TV boast about the historical feat he has achieved with demonisation had me feeling déjà vu yesterday. Of course the first reaction was a half smirk-laugh that maybe we have reserved only for the most repulsive moments; moments which disgust you to a certain level of discomfort when you wish you could wash and clean your mind somehow the way you do your body. But what followed that was déjà vu. If you watch late night American talk shows like me, or in this case, if you watch news at all, you would've seen a certain Trump conference where he boasts about the how good the Muslim Ban 1 has been implemented and how everything is going so smooth at the airports. And because I had seen that clip so many times on so many shows, you can guess how I felt watching that part of PM Modi's speech on TV. The more you see of these two lately, the more it looks like they are picking ideas and habits from each other. People outside of India even call PM Modi ...

People often associate reverence, piety and closeness to God with a certain wisdom (or knowledge) in the sense that one realises the frivolity of worldly affairs and life and ascends to deeper knowledge of conscience. As one moving out to the mountains and removing oneself from capital and carnal desires. One is wise, people of faith say, if he listens to the reasons of God and not that of the people. Let me try and paint a scene for you in relation to this. Suppose, that you find yourself in a strange, dreamy sort of a place/space; a sort of square with people standing about. You don't know any of the people there even though there are a lot of them. You obviously want to know where you are and how you could go out and back to your home from there. People approach you and you tell them what is it that you want and all of them try to show and tell you the way you should take, very opinionatedly. You get confused and get more worried than before, knowing not who to listen to ...

Roses are red The sky is blue But  Isn't it true, that skies turn red too And boy, I tell you I once saw a rose blue And swear I, such was its hue that left me amazed, the closer i grew And I must tell you of the red sky I knew (it) looked like a satin in the sky someone sewed Wonder fills one's eyes to see it, I'll give you this cue, no other colour makes it more beautiful, that much is true.

She was a girl of a small village town a small town, with fields brown But in the fields, there were other colours too green and yellow yes, with ponds clean & blue The houses were beautiful, and so were the folk but there was a problem, hidden beneath a cloak See in that town, there were no young men only ageing and old, except for the women And women were there, mind you aplenty each home with daughters, less than a twenty And just as the rest, this girl had no boy a friend hadn't even met one she, let alone do some time spend  In all of seventeen years of her life, she never once thought she could be a wife And spent her time she, hearding the sheep sitting by the stream, slipping into sleep But one day, when she opened her eyes, she found a boy standing near, to her surprise And asked him who he is, and whence he come, so he said he was travelling, as it was autumn Travelling where, the maiden wanted to know why, to here my ...

Mommy, is it true? Tell me, is it true that outside, there is a place where, water flows freely on the rocks, and it flows and it flows and it flows, it never stops; tell me, is that true? Yes dear son, my baby, it is true; but that place is in heaven, it is not here, here is only the small tanks, which you see; you see, the water is very costly, only so much for you and me But tell me mommy, does my friend lie? Omar, my friend, who lives three containers away; he says, there is a place outside, where so many trees stand,  that you cannot see the sun; he says, it is called a forest Yes love of my life, there is that place, but not in this world dear child; he must be, talking about the heaven again, where lie hundreds of fruity trees, for you all waiting in line No!! But he says it is here, in our world, and he says there are so many animals, on the ground and even in water, all outside the wall; tell me mommy, how can anyone live in water? don't they eve...

From Google The sun climbs up quite early here For it has no mountains to mount, no buildings to shine through not even trees to filter from The wind comes charging with might making a scandal with land breaking it apart into tiny pieces,  carrying it along, changing its face The rain comes too, sometimes, seldom, does it quench the thirst a thirst of thousands of years, a thirst that remains, much before it has gone Nothing lives long here; nothing, of colour can walk and retain that beauty for long unless you are a cacti and have thorns it's as simple as you dry, you die and get born You will find spirits here though, spirits of old age; the ones who survive, along with the crawlers of the sand, the ones who know the place and call it their own land

There are days when you, think of the wonderful past © anonymous. From google. those beautiful memories, which will forever last Meeting new people who have, come to be your lifelong friends visiting exciting places with them, and trying out blogging trends Discovering a writer in yourself, writing to make laugh and cry feeling up n above the clouds, thinking why didn't you earlier try Experiencing the innocence of thoughts, filling your heart with joy reading those posts by your friend, you so wait for, adore and enjoy The excitement you feel when you, see how similar you both think how relatable everything is, you, might as well simultaneously blink You share anything you find of interest, and eagerly wait to discuss and you talk of many other things, which to you are surely precious You laugh and you cry with them, share your wrongs and your rights and you don't even notice when, you start talking whole nights Then time comes when you, finish each ...

Pool There is a swimming pool where I stay I haven't seen anybody swim in it or play There is no water there inside of it, only dust and more dust and a mattress or two Those mattresses, I don't know how they came to be Maybe they were under pressure, wanted to be free There's clearly a pair of denim there, and a cluster of leaves maybe, finding clothes in the pool, is not of their pet peeves 'Their' you ask, who is 'their'? obviously the 'others', love, isn't it clear? The others, who stay at the same place I do, maybe for them, it's totally cool to let it stew Anyway, not unlike the pool, the fence is a bit rusting, but I don't see why it won't do with a little dusting Maybe it's time, the pool would use a hand or four, to shine it up, and let the water soar

Have you lived in the country, brother Dew you go forth and try it sometime The days break early there,  with the fresh dew glistening atop You can find some ponds still clean, where the sun makes the water gleam The alleyways feel soft and spongy,  like a kneaded dough in brown The nights show you what black is, and you can catch the  tiniest tinkles in the sky And when it rains, oh, and when it rains there is only wonder in your eyes Colors How the colours come out of those boring things and how everything comes so alive You hear the songs of the birds and quiet happiness of your friends in the farm You smell the heavens on earth,  and feel your heart sing along The life is simple there, dear brother and the afternoons are long You will want to sit under a tree, once in a while and introspect on this life Who knows, you might become a poet even and move there with your wife

Dear Princess Listen This world is unequal it is divided into two And that, you must know --- --- --- If I tell you that a birdie, can fly much better than we You can say, sure yes daddy, but can it run faster than me? And if I say you’re small, like a ball of softest wool and the sky is much more higher, that can measure any tool That the unicorn is much whiter, than anything ever made for it lives in wonder wonderland, unlike anything ever made You can accept those things, and still be happy my dear  for they only are a wonder, and you have nothing to fear But if I say ever, that you cannot just fly or cannot just go out there, because you’re too shy And if I say ever, that your dreams are too big, that the world is too scary, too ‘real’ for a girl That you cannot build your own way, like a boy might make his own Or that person that you so much like to, but can never be your joy Then you tell me, oh dear da...

A poem, I was told, had to rhyme, it should ring like a wind-blown chime, it should When the words, take space on the sheet, they must also mean, something, indiscreet, they must And the laughs should be high, like the limit of the sky And the love and the pain, in your loss, or in gain Must be seen through your heart like the colour shades in an art For the emotions must reign, in  the expression of a sight plain And only then, you have a song , you do feel proud, to have it sung, you do

This is a new year. Not very new in strictest technical terms, but new in terms of my blog. A happy new year to all of you. I have been absent from this space for quite a long time; so long that sometimes I even thought that my 'phase' of blogging is over and that I am done with it. But thankfully it wasn't and isn't. And while I was still skeptical about this whole thing, I did never think of, and would probably never will, think of or have the courage to close it down. I cannot do that, it has too many good memories associated with it. Having said that, I will still not make promises to whoever stumbles upon here, that I will keep the updates coming on comparatively regular intervals from now on. I can't make any promises about this; I know better of it. Instead, in this post, I am going to just thank you all who still remember this blog and sometimes come to see if there is anything new cooking about. To thank you for being part of this journey and ...

Okay, here is the thing; I am not a hero. I never was, nor am I now. And I don't think I can be one in the future. My father once said how all your good deeds cease to mean anything once you do a terribly bad thing. 'What is the difference between a bad and a terrible thing, father?' I had asked. 'That depends,' he had said, 'on what you consider a bad thing and what you don't.' I never understood that remark of his. Surely, I thought, bad things are bad for everyone; that bad things were considered bad universally, that was the deal, correct? Turned out it wasn't. Not always were bad things considered bad. Not in every case were guilt a visible emotion in the guilty. But when I understood this, my father was not around; neither was my mother. Both had departed in their sleep on the same day some years ago. And I was left alone to comprehend the terribleness of my deed; a deed that had wiped all my good ones, if there were any before it. ...

She stared at the keyboard and the blinking cursor on the screen in turns. The blank page seemed intimidating; too vast to fill. The keys looked like strange tools, each separate; not part of the whole. - - - Next day, she stared at the tip of the pen and the lone dot on paper it had made.

Today is a full month since I left my home and my home. It is a strange place that I am in. Different yet not so different. I don't know what it is to be like outside your home. I didn't know. I still don't. I am learning homesickness; it is all coming very slow is what I feel. I am not sad like how people are when they leave home for the first time. I am in fact very happy; I am staying in my aunt's home. It feels just like my home, almost. I feel strange sometimes though. It feels like I would roll my always-ready bag to the ariport in a couple of days and go back home. And carry some tales with me about the vacation I had. I use 'home' to refer to my country too, in some of these sentences; specially my city, Delhi. I am in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia right now. I boarded a plane for the first time in my memory, that night. I say 'in my memory' because it wasn't technically the first time but rather practically the first time. After all, when y...

Ever since Deepa had opened that café opposite Hari's, all his customers had migrated.  Don't know what hari told his drunkard friend one night that many  civilized men came and set Deepa's shop on fire the next day.  They said they wouldn't allow prostitution behind doors, in the name of a café, in their colony. - - - - - - - - - - - - - -   

        Dear brothers and sisters, As you all know, there was a shooting incident in France last week in which around a dozen people were killed by armed men said to be 'avenging' the prophet(PBUH) of Islam. It was a horrible act. I am not going to be talking about what happened and whose fault it was. What I want to address you with is the issue that is happening today and continuously. Even as many people start to move on to the next big news, the terror, feelings of anger and hatred hasn't exactly died down. The effects of these feelings can be seen through any of the numerous incidents of assault and voilence that have happened throughout France and elsewhere. Even at places where such things are not happening, loosely all over the world, many people have a fear of and repulsion towards Islam rooted even deeper, more so now, inside their hearts.

Okay this is completely random. I watched an advertisement on TV today and it was so funny I wanted to share it, but then I thought about two other advertisements that I liked so instead of sharing that particular one on facebook, I thought I'd make a quick blogpost about it. Chances are, you might have already seen these commercials. But I am betting on at least one which you haven't based on what channels you watch on TV. I haven't done this kind of a silly thing for a long time here, so yeah, keeping the randomness alive, here are those three commercials. 1. Snoring Husband