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Just a story every Indian deserves.

I cried every night to the thought of losing her. I cried every night to every change that life and love had brought to my life and what my love had left for her.

She was beautiful like no girl I could ever imagine in my dreams. She was like a bird who taught me to use my wings. She floated in my heart with every thought that brought me happiness. She was the lotion to every bruise and every scar on me. She heard my calls and dictated my life as no ever had. She defeated every sorrow of mine with the faintest of her smiles. Her words were the song of my days and her eyes were the dreams of my nights. Every inch of her personality is something what my brain craved for and every mistake, it denied.

I loved her, she was my damsel. I loved her, I saw my life within her, that even she could never deny. In every thought, in every misery and every smile, she had her place. For every time she walked past me, it felt holy and I could have filled a whole shrine with verses when she brought me in her embrace.

Every inch of her sweetness brought her lips the pinkness they soaked on mine when she brought me closer to her to call her mine. She was my most beautiful thought of the day, she was my wine. She was a hangover which could last several nights, and I would still be drunk in her memories, drowned in the vicinity of the smell she left over my bedsheets. She was my caravan, my home who walked on legs and I lived in her. She told me she would carry me with her.. ..Until one day a curse made her leave my hand and left me in ruins with this distasteful and dreary tavern.

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A dream she told me she saw with me with every night that we followed towards a day on which we get married, entailing all our happiness and life with it, the disaster was nothing but what this world of hypocrites started, they called it caste, I call it my culprit. I die every night wishing to wake up as a Brahmin. Wishing to talk to her parents as she peeped from behind those curtains where I would only see her confidence that they would agree and let me call her mine which she allowed me already for over a decade. I wish I die here tonight and see her when I open my eyes. See her telling me she is mine and see her call my name the way she told me she would after I kneel in front of her in Paris.

But this could never happen. This could never happen after something I couldn’t do anything for flew in my blood and became the reason I wish my blood evaporated. I hope it evaporates sooner than I see her holding some wrist which does not have the same vein as mine pulsating inside it.

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A new Religion : Hopelessness

Hostels and nights have an undefined relation which many have witnessed and lived. A group of friends in each room, or maybe just one room and a session of conversation arguments and inevitable fights. One such night we sat down to discuss a recent release of that time which conflicted with the ideologies of the Bible and the Koran, as according to one of my seemingly spiritual friend. He had a great zeal to convince all the fellow people that The Bible lasts only till the death of Jesus but the Koran depicts the period even after that. Being a Muslim himself, his lean towards the Koran was understandable.

As I was lost in the discussion, my mind shifted and drowned towards a widely preached yet faintly followed philosophy. When they were talking about the birth of Jesus and the miserable conditions around the time of his birth for mother Mary, I somehow started to link all the holy books, rather I would like to call them, holy puzzles present around this world. Being a Hindu myself, I recalled what Hinduism teaches about the birth of Lord Krishna. How difficult were the conditions for Vasudeva and Devki to give birth to their eighth child in a cell amidst the rain and storm, somehow appears similar to the birth of Jesus. Not in the way they took birth, but the arrival of a redeemer and a incarnation of god in the form of a human,through trouble and misery is common between the two.Similarly, the killing of evil in the form of Kansa by Krishna, Ravana by Ram, and the story of Moses and the evil Egyptian king have similarities.

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All this makes me wonder how beautifully the world has accepted this lie, that God is distributed. That God is bias. That the existence of a single god is just a myth. That Jesus only favors Christians, and that Krishna and Ram would only bless the Hindus.

Moreover, I love to believe the fact that humans started worshiping every little thing that scared the. Some way or the other, every religion promotes the idea of worshiping the sun, the moon, the stars, believing in the influence of the rotation of the constellations on human life, etc. What if all this is wage? What if we are just living a life which is full of lies? What if everything we have been told  for the sake of spirituality is somehow untrue and life is just a result of chemical reactions and coincidences?

I do not understand why do people have to figure out differences when we can cherish the similarities?

I fear, if the race for religious supremacy existed for a few more years, we might just see the beginning of a religion, greater than any other this planet has ever witnessed. I do not know what god they would follow. I certainly do not know what ideas they would preach to recover themselves from the devastation because, this would be a religion, which would certainly teach and make the world remember how it started to end, and they would just sit and imagine the events which would occur when it finally ends. From the time we live in, there appears no solution to the disaster we are facing.

 

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That moment changed my life forever

Peculiar moments can define life much more emphatically than lasting events.
Sometimes it becomes hard to comply with the impacts certain moments have on us. And its even harder to adhere to such moments when they completely change our lives.
God bestowed me inside a beautiful mother. I took birth in her arms, yet little did she know, how health would take me away from her. Maybe a week after the realization of her imperial joy, which was giving birth for the first time, I started growing blue and yellow with pneumonia and jaundice altogether due to some wrong medicines. And she, tired out of gestation and childbirth, suffered my fever all over her. This was the time when a joy of life had overturned into a fear of untoward occurrences. Visiting doctors was the order of my day, and carrying me was the order of my grandmother’s. From my vaccinations to making me sleep, she kept me close to herself as if I was a part of her. I remember my parents telling me how I was ill for months and she used to carry me all the time. I remember them telling me, that she never listened to anyone about anything that concerned my health. I remember them telling me how her arm got dislocated because she was ardent in giving her cold child her warmth and never let me be away from her chest. My doctor once said, when I was going to be put on the ventilator, “He might not live. His health is too weak”. Apparently, for everyone, he was the one who prescribed me the wrong medicines. I remember how much she used to curse him, when she used to tell me this story.
And I smiled seeing that emotion of her anger, because she loved me so much and I could see it.
Every baby is told to have slept all the nights of his childhood in the vicinity of her mother. My mother used to urge me to sleep with her, as I always wanted my grandma to sleep with me. Her stories were filled with emotions and her soul filled with spirituality. She used to meditate as if she was dead for those hours. Not even the sound of a wrecking ball hitting a church bell could disturb her. And then, she would tell me about god and the importance of devotion in life.
She never knew how much I was attached to her. How could I ever repay what she had done for me? She just asked me to be something she could be proud of and I wanted to fulfill this debt of life which she had given to me by being what she had always wanted me to be, until, a brain tumor took this opportunity from me.
She told me once, “Just know I am there, and I know you will be able to handle everything”. I recall her voice everyday, and she smiles in my mind with that same glare. Ten years have past since her departure, I still do not know a way to handle everything that she left for me. Perhaps, she stays around me all the time. However, I am not empty, yet incomplete without her.
That moment, did not just part her from me. Maybe, that moment changed my life forever.

India : The land of Spirituality

India, the land where spirits with diverse beliefs live together to cultivate a nation, whose culture the world astounds upon.

But what makes India a spiritual nation? Here are some reasons why India the land of Spirituality.

The Religions
India is home to people of various religions which have existed here for over a thousand years. Religions such as Hinduism, Jainism, Buddhism took birth in this country and are considered the models of Indian philosophy. Later on, one of the major religions in the country, Sikhism was established. Over the centuries, invaders and rulers of different regions of the world ruled over this country and spread their culture and beliefs which have stayed and are followed even now. These were the non-Indian religions such as Islam, Christianity, Jewism, Zoroastrianism. Beliefs of people in numerous number of gods and goddesses, with celebration of colorful festivals in their worship and remembrance, creates a spiritual India.

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A nation full of spiritualists.
It is a country full of superstitions and beliefs which have existed here for centuries. It is a country where even a new born child is considered comparable to god. A country where people serve and respect every form of life that influences their living in one way or the other. Cows, which provide milk that is a necessity for many food items, people worship it as a mother and serve it with the first meal prepared in the day. It is a country where people worship books and consider it as disrespectful to the knowledge it provides us, if it is left open after use. And uncountable such things make India a nation full of spirituality and beliefs.

APTOPIX India Sikh Festival

A nation that considers the presence of god in every form of matter.
People here, irrespective of their religion believe in the existence of god everywhere around them. From mother nature, to statues and graves, to rivers and mountains, people in India believe that God resides in everything that is as small as an atom, to as big as this universe. Every single river that flows in this country is considered a deity, as it provides water which is the basic need of life. The Himalayas, that prevent the cold northern winds from entering the country, are worshiped by people as a form of God and various famous temples are build all across the mountain ranges.

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The nation which gave birth to Yoga.
Yoga promotes the connection of body with the spirit that resides within every human being. Saints such as Valmiki, Patanjali considered yoga to be the ultimate connection between a human body and the environment. Indian mythology conveys that everything has been formed with the combination of the ‘Panch Tatva’ or the five components which are namely land, water, air, fire and wind. And yoga is considered to be the tool which enhances this combination and provides a peace of mind. It is taught that to lead a healthy life, this peace of mind is utterly necessary. Teachings from the Vedas and the epics such as Mahabharata provide instances where people can gain complete control of their mind body and soul through Yoga.

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Land as a mother.
History portrays India as a country of farmers. From centuries, people have been practicing farming as their basis of living, and even now in the modern age where the world has opened opportunities through the development of technology and globalization, India depends on agriculture as the biggest source of its economy. People here consider their land to be their mother, and it is taught from childhood to pay respect to the land before setting foot on it as a mark of gratitude for Mother India for all that she has given and provided to support life and survival.

Certainly Not Human

How this world has now turned into a planet of people anticipating for consequences is such a regretful sight.

Just as in Micheal Jackson’s Earth song, “What have we done to the Earth? Look What We’ve Done!”. Here, in the 21st Century, people aren’t living the present. They aren’t even regretting the past. What they are doing is speculating a disastrous future. Speculating things that if someday take place, they wouldn’t even live to regret afterwards. Every now and then we see instances of people dying over issues which they aren’t even responsible for.

Religion? Who is responsible for that? Who is responsible for the inception of this word? Is it these mere happy lives who get destroyed because they follow it? Or those lives which are so sadistic, that wouldn’t care even if they had to kill their own people just to prove their rage? Or those indecent fools who cannot ever be credited for leading sections of people just for the sake of their own righteousness and redemption?

Influencing others made them freaks with irrelevant goals. Then, these freaks turned out to world changing personalities. Apparently, changing the world was their mission, but, ultimately, rather than changing it, they created their own world full of colors of fear and wisdom crushed under catastrophes. Somehow, it is rightly said, “You have to be a freak inside your mind with your thoughts, and then the world would acknowledge your wisdom to follow you” or, the other way, fear you.

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Music is a soothing essence that is meant to calm a soul, or erupt it into forms of motivation and zest for something. If a soul is disrupted in any uncanny way, the scars persevere for a lifetime and hurt even without a touch. Wonder how those who survived in Manchester could ever re-invoke their spirits from the devastation it has felt. Wonder how a person could live a normal life when something like that happens to him. Imagine going to a place to calm yourself and returning from that place un-calmed forever. Wonder how would they see another light after beholding so much red tide.

How mysterious is the connection of religion with every aspect of destruction that we see around  us. Is it Islam when two buildings, a thousand feet high, are destroyed for the joy of someone smoking in the land of nuts? Or is it Christianity, when the same land of nuts is destroyed for the sake of the buildings? Yes, its not about the building or the land but the people who lost their lives. But no, its not just the people, its this impenetrable yet transparent cover of ‘terrorism’ which happened both the sides.

Hope this war we think about so much, never happens. Hope if it happens someday, destroys every instance of humanity that existed before it, so that when a new form of life erupts, it builds itself better and creates feasibility for each other, rather than boundaries.

Well, it could only happen, if they restore humanity!

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Grey White Black

Time passes by so,
unnoticeably..
There was a night
of no tensions..
Clear skies and all exceptions..
A cold breeze blew..
And I covered myself
Under the warm quilt..
A sunrise
Deep red..
Swallowing the horizon in it..
Making me make a start
To start a journey
That would be so graceful
But would
Unleash me in pursuit of the unknown..
The noon
So bright..
Full of joy and life
Enlightening and awakening of glory
That would last long
For a person,
Of dedication ,determination.
And importantly
a sweet redemption..
A dusk
Fusing all opportunities…
Its not for those who redeemed,
But for those who lost or forgot,
The pledge..
It brings doors with it,
To the night of deep sorrow,
So tough to last…
Those who atleast tried,
Meet a sweet sleep…
But those who ignored,
They are saviors of the footpath.
A night
So long..
But not for those
who had shone under the bright star..
But for them,
who played it easy.
The beginners who never began..
The amateurs who still need pampers..
In fear of a loss,
This night engulfs the horizon,
And they all,
Go drowning under the waves,
Of a dark freezing night
Below the foots of the houses
Of the noon stars..

Cursing Time

 

Wonder how nude these eyes are. Otherwise, nudity is just a curtain over them.
What if sentiments could have defined the flow of this world. However, time never found its competitor, did it?

Every single second defines a farrago of sentiments inside. If this world has been created by leaders, then it has been manifested by thoughts.
Thoughts, which have always faced the crooks of his time. No man who has ever been known around for his life, ever remembered for following his time. Never has a man been remembered for following the ideals that existed. Never has a man been remembered to be sober. Looking on this world
through their eyes gave them their own hangover.
Wonder how these eyes go high with every drop of this light. This light which has existed all around but only few could understand how wasted the world appears after you let it in. This electromagnetic wave which triggers situational cues and responses, deftly called as emotions. And sentiment is what describes greatness. Incentives erupted when these naked eyes got laid with time, every night, and every morning when they woke up to find the same time escaping their grasp to get laid with every other he can find. Just this crooky relationship. And then these eyes cursed that Casanova who fled to leave her in ruins. Maybe this is what motivated them to fix every victim of time. Maybe every incentive motivated them only when this curtain of instinctive perceptions implored them into indescreptive employs. And maybe incentives only take birth out of sentiments.
Maybe, sentiments only get realized, when waking up every-time, means cursing time.

Maybe, success is when sentiments get realized.

ILLUSTRATION: Elderly man

A Mother

Intrigued with the ambiance
Of a meeting, long pined
Concealed away from all the world
Yet every song contained its line.

Never displayed a cellar carpulence
Until it stored this choice of wine.
Never was a chalice ever happier
As every pouring, with every moment, chimed.

Never was this edifice reconstructed
Never restored to match a new time.
Yet a goal each was sure about
Hence, this yard became a shrine.

Every level in her fulfilled
A destiny longing a lifetime
Every change in her was celebrated
Each glimpse cared for and rejoiced.

Through pains of hammered walls
Retentive thoughts of gleaming recalls
She sacrificed bits she adored
For every dream she once had dismal.

Waited for a marvel which
She raised from within her
Incorporated with all her love
She constitued it for living her.

The pile of rocks
she became for him
Rejuvenated in a shape
she shadowed under

With him, the cellar was empty
With him, the chalice combined
With him, the meeting ended
With him, she became a wonder.

 

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