Things I live for….

A bike ride on rainy day through the lush green to never determined destination.

Walking on the lonely streets under the street light to burn off your day and some calories.

Sitting on a sandy sea shore alone under the palm tree on dusky evening

Waking up to rising sun on the Mountain in a cold morning.

Driving alone at night sipping a tea and good old songs played on the radio.

Calling your parents to hear their stories of fights even after so many years of marriage just to forget ours.

Checking out the old photos just because you miss those time.

Talking to your friend after a long time to catch up the new stories

Having a biriyani and sulaimini just when you are so famished.

Taking a cold shower after hectic summer day.

Reading a book just to get some sleep.

Watching a movie just see your favourite actor.

Getting up early on weekend to take full advantage of the day.

Ecstasy of listening the chirping birds in a place where it’s very rare.

Seeing the hard work you put pays off.

Having a puff and chai at the corner shop with your buddy.

I am ‘The Dead One’

Wake up to the dawn just to sleep in the oceans of thoughts

The eternal complexities of another day is opening through the windows

The whimsical mind started to evade the thoughts from one to another

All are not pleasant

Never had the grit to stand up against the injustices

Bounded by the fabricated social propaganda my voice has lost its strength

The soul has been wounded by the atrocious presents.

I didn’t tell them “No”, I was afraid.

“Everything they did in the name of their faith is not a good deed”.

The world belongs to you and the one you are surrounded.

I was help less.

I was afraid, ashamed.

My voice never came out, and my silence has been misinterpreted often.

The voice will find the new soul a strong, loud and honest soul.

Till then i am dead, Murdered by the bogus society.

I am dead and I will be ..

The Unfortunates

Yes there were four of them 

They were playing football in the beach

How did they become a threat to your life

How would you send a bomb in to their dreams

Why would you justify your horrific act.

Yes you are not belongs to my world.

Yes she was 10 

She was supposed to be at school

She should be playing with her friends

Why would you tied a bomb on her lap

Why would you ask her to blow herself

How could you ask her to blow herself

Yes you are not belongs to my world 

Yes they were in their school ground

Yes they may be sons and daughters of your enemy

Yet they were kids, they have no idea about how cruel you can be

Why did you go to school 

Why did you shot those 132 roses

Yes yo are not belongs to my world

How would you tell your mother that you killed the kids

How would you tell you babies about this

What would you tell them if they ask you

How could you sleep every night without hearing their scream

How could you hold your kids without thinking of them

They were just playing football

She was supposed to play with her Barbie doll

They were solving their pending home works

After all they were kids for god sake just kids

And you killed them, 

Their dreams and their Loved one’s too

You wiped the smiles out from their face 

You shot to humanity 

You shot the god himself

You are not belongs to my world  

The 4.30 Bus….

3.30 am, Mysore bus stand.

 

I had to light up a cigarette to get rid of the 6 hours bus journey from Kukke Subramanya.

As usual there were no buses to Gudallur before 4.30 am, I thought why can’t I make it as a creative morning and lighted one more cigarette (Sorry that was the only creativity I knew). Now i have three left in my packet and I know i have to dumb the rest before I reach home. So the waiting has started, a short waiting for a surprise visit to home.

 

As cloak ticked  4.15 the bus came and parked in its bay. I entered and took one of the back seat, there were not much of passengers in the bus just some college students going back home for Christmas vacation. Obviously there were some couples too. You know college couples right ? they wont  miss a chance to put a hand on the other one’s shoulder or any place. Bus started around 4.30 and I started to feel cold from the breeze that came through the unfinished glass windows of TNSRTC’s ‘Parivahan’. Never mind I decided to just enjoy the trip. Ride on, the dim and bright lights of two axle monster started searching some two legged weird animals on its way. I am damn sure if the monster is driven by the same two legged animal with the same attitude, the monster never gonna leave any of that two legged species with their precious life.

 

It reached near Gundalpet suddenly there were some merchants started to load their stuffs into the bus. I had to put my luggage under the seat to make a way for them. They were old men and women, but the intresting thing was not that, as soon as they entered it started smell great. The aroma of puthina and curry leaves suddenly started to penetrate the nostrils of every noses that sat close to these goods. They were chatting some thing about some thing, thats the only conclusion I could reach from their conversation because I did not get any word they were speaking. Don’t worry I am not duff they were talking in Kannada and in some weird slang.

 

But the smell was great, It refreshed my every senses. Suddenly I started feeling rejuvenated and my sleeps starts eluding me. They were all seems to be very happy even with this odd working hour, they were aged and they must have been sleeping home safely now but they are working. May be they had to,.They paid some extra cash to the conductor to let them transfer these stuffs. My brain started to think so many things like how much would they earn ?, where will they sell this ?, from where did they buy these ? but I never disturbed them with my trivial questions. Sat in my seat just enjoyed the aroma and the cold breeze. The thought of going home and having my Umma’s beef  is started to take me to unknown place called heaven. May be that was one of the best morning travel I ever had in my life. 

They got down in different stops and continued my journey…

 

The Broken Republic

 

 

                                                                               Arundhati Roy a well known Indian writer, 1997 Booker Prize winner for her novel, “The God of Small Things”. The world recognized her as a symbol for human rights and anti – Globalization in India.  Her book, Broken Republic, is a collection of three essays (2009-2010) magnificently narrates unholy nexus between the powerful political elite and the big business groups and points out their interest in the forests of India. The book is bound to unsettle you, make you feel uncomfortable, make you think and make you realize your state of ignorance. It shatters the India Shining myth- as it claims. The three essays evenly punctuated by sarcasm give you a picture of (parallel) world where people are struggling for existence, which we are not ready to acknowledge. The three essays evenly punctuated by sarcasm give you a picture of (parallel) world where people are struggling for existence, which we are not ready to acknowledge.

 The main and beautiful part of the essays is the central one “Walking with the Comrades”. It’s brilliantly describes the indescribable sufferings and ideology of Maoists movements in the dense forests of India. She actually spent three weeks in these thick jungles with Maoists as one among them. Later in one interview to a global media she explained these days as ““Everybody’s in great danger there, so you can’t go round feeling you are specially in danger, the violence of bullets and torture are no greater than the violence of hunger and malnutrition, of vulnerable people feeling they’re under siege”. She met lot of Maoists both women and men in these days, she explains how the women and men became a guerrilla. She throws mud to the government and their police force for their operation so called ‘Salwa Jadum (Peace March)’. She slams the government policies towards these adivasis. Most of the women became a Maoist because the police had harassed and raped them, looted their village in the name of searching, jailed or killed their loved ones. We could see most of the activists are teenagers and ready to die and to kill any one for their ideology. She describes everything about these movements like what kind of weapon they carry, how they move in the dense forest, how they communicate, how they cook, sleeps, walk, attack. The book has some magnificent pictures to for the readers to understand the movements. She explains the functioning of parallel government ran by the Maoists. In one of the pages we can see some of these activists are highly educated in finest universities of India.

 

 In the first part she explains back door dealings of the Indian Government and mining giants. She expresses her anger towards present finance minister P Chidambaram who was the home minister that time for his role-play in the entire drama. She explains how the corporate world betrayed the adivasis by looting their funding and changing policies to benefit the mining giants.

“Through The Veil…”

Through the veil.

Her eyes…

 

A cemetery of miseries.

An aperture to mind.

A reflector to euphoria.

An emblem to beauty.

 

A deep shallow river of tears.

An ecstasy to the loved ones.

A mirror to companion.

 

 

They gawk at something

They seek some one

They converse to some one

They giggle

 

They explicit her

They explore her

They explaine her

 

Through the veil, her eyes told him she is the one…

Then Why ?

You say you love me.
You say you pray for me.
You say you thinking of me every time.
Then why ??

You say you like him he is good.
You say he is just like me.
You say he loves you like i do.
Then why ??

You say you don’t deserve me.
You say we are not destined to be together.
You say i deserve better person.
Then why ??

You say you wanna hold me.
You say you wanna roam around the world with me.
You say you wanna be my wife.
Then why ??
Then why ??
Then why ??

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