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An Extraordinary Woman

There is something extraordinary in the ordinary every day. The ordinariness is like the ordinary blue glass bangle on the arm of the woman. Her orange cotton saree, with thin and broad green lines for a border; the saree is raised above the ankles. The hair is pulled back into a ponytail with loose ringlets peeking out from near the temple. And at the forehead, a significant lock of hair rests.                        A usual sight for a working woman in India. Nothing extraordinary. S he pulls as much hair she can collect into the ponytail and  lifts her saree up t o avoid water soaking herself completely in her chores. Or to avoid stumble in her way she follows repeatedly while running inside her house: sometimes to fetch water from outside to inside, or to cook food, to serve food to her family members, or to arrange for water in her washroom for her family members. Seems like she does enough for the whole day, yet she was on my office premises now. She has been a regular sight fo
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An Admission of Truth

There are times when you can control the weather around you. Sometimes the mental affliction plays a role so predominant that one sails through the sweltering heat outside without complaining. Similarly, the euphoria blankets you and your environment and colours it the way it looks through those rose-coloured glasses.  La vie en rose!  Without frittering it away, let’s explain away the control over weather as an unfazed response to the mind under siege. And it is definitely a stroke of genius on a subtropical day with high humidity. He arrived at 12 p.m. Dot. I really don’t understand how one achieves this kind of punctuality. Did he first measure the distance between my house and his? Detailed all that could go wrong and cause delay and chalked out contingencies for each of them? He could do that! After all, the bond we have is worth that kind of effort. Or it is simple: the guy is punctual.  We had talked about everything. The world, the country, the politics, the business ecosystem,


“She is drooping, Hold her alright!”, Someone, who came to c heck  Upon on the sprite, cried.   “She can’t hold her neck, Stick a yarn from the ceiling She could then may hold up straight And face up with her weight.”   The lips quivered with a faint croak “They say it’s hung in shame, They have a list, a mile too long, Stay away or the curse rolls along.   Lack of compassion, and secession. Derision, condescension, a Scarlet, one hollered. Too many to recall, I can hardly remember.   Empathy was chic and so lack of it was chalked in.” Yet in pain so visible, She felt at ease.     “The list was now too long, So, superfluous sympathy was left out.” Every second she seemed less pale, And more eager to tell her tale.   “Bear along, you kind soul. I won't budge till you stand up straight.” “Shhh… It is not the consequence, Missy, to droop down is the choice.   Let them have the illusion of win, But they don’t get a s

The Gods of Kalyug

When Krishna said, “ abhyuthanam adharmasya tadatmanam srijamyaham ”, to Arjun, he was not joking. He reincarnated Himself down on earth in Kalyug as well, only in particular kinds of bodies. More than one body. No doubt, enough ammunitions needed to remain handy to properly handle Kalyug and its shenanigans. The embodiment seemed very merit-based at the time, but over time, the arbitrariness became apparent. Only in this Kalyug, The God represents a coterie of Gods. And, Thank God, because otherwise, the power usurpation would have been beyond control and the pandemonium a regular sight. The Gods definitely maintain order here in  Kalyug  as well. Read Gods, although Gods have a relation of equivalence with The God of yore.  Like the basic attribute of God in philosophy, there is also a categorization here: the less God, the lesser God, and the God Himself. The personification of this order is not new and has been carried down from eras before. The Guptas concretized it, or made it po


It’s a never-ending pain, Wrapped in different papers, Everytime But the writhe is same. Chokes the pipe, Smothers the mouth, Screams into the dark Even into the lighted hideaways. With no voice although everytime, You find maneuvers. You burn a hole In your blankets When you sleep, Breathe in the intermittents, Push all your energy To clear out the lacrimal, Et, voila! In the dingy dark labyrinth First time in long time, You muck around in the mess, But could that bring on in the energy To cheer up in the morning. Let the morning come And then the tassels of my blankets decide. It’s a never-ending pain And it’s immense.  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dance Baby Dance

It’s always there looming around, The sadness perpetual It shadows me around. I always want it afar, into the abyss, Just a wish if it gets a little further. With a tap in the feet, and lunge in the shoulders. And I finally get to breathe a lil' better.   The adagio kicks the nerves, Starts with a totterin’ It merges into a jolt. It separates with the flail arms. A bad moonwalk figures in, Headbangs loosen up the tense nerves. The sweats finally drip down the icy bode. The deads don’t sweat so she’s alive.     The heat fuses the thinking neurons. She wants to live and splash water around. The pirouette shuns her mind, Because it shouldn’t walk around Unsupervised. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------                                               Pic Courtesy:


She sat down at the door with a thump. Completely unconscious of where she was. If answered honestly, she would not recognise where she was, how she ended up there. I guess God is yet not the cruellest. Or may be her subconscious led her to his door. How much can a person really speculate about another person’s behaviour? Everyday drama must have pushed her to relinquish the control. The control was not helping in any way. She had been learning so much in so little time. Coping mostly. Loss of her mother, father shagging her childhood nanny and eventually forgetting to call his only daughter. They may have happened when she was a child, but the memories seemed imprinted on her mind even that day. Clear as sunshine. She had never been able to process them. Learnings which came at the time when there was nothing that tickled her nerves, excited her breaths. Even today she would smile all the time, laugh at the easiest jokes. She would accept the tedium of those jokes and yell,”They are