Anaahat

Another year has gone. Another number added to the date. Another batch of celebrations and forceful enjoyments. Another year of 'happy new year' calls. Another year of the compulsion of forwarding greetings and messages to faces you don't remember the whole year through. Another feather in the cap of terrorism Another year of climate change talks the climate of which doesn't change. Another year before another countdown begins. Will we see a celebration. Not because the date is changing Not because programmed minds and programmed hands wish and clap and eat and drink and slosh in the anticipation that the next year doesn't bring the same things that the last year has. These dates which come asking for smiling faces and rejoicing minds. The dates which are like any other, but dates which ask you of the change in you The dates which ask the additions and the subtractions that you have made to yourself Not just people or wealth or career growth or how many people know ...

Mumbai: It was not long ago that I drove down the much awaited sea-link in Mumbai. It was Saturday and one of the first 5 toll free days. I drove with my friends with Michael Jackson rocking the stereo and a munching a hot makka under the rained Mumbai. The link was packed and the traffic was jammed for kilometres before the link began. The rich and the poor had come to get the first glimpse of the much talked about link. Some for the first-time feel, some for the free ride. We drove silently, watching the sea, our beloved city, people in the adjacent cars, with Michael Jackson creating a mood. I saw the beautiful design the cables made as we drove below them, I saw the waves crashing on the pillars – standing tall defying the current of the sea, and the sense of celebration on the whole. I was filled with awe and admiration. Above the cables I saw the heavens pouring. Mumbai had a new skyline and for the first time I saw how it looked with the buildings tall and short rising at the...

There is this weight on my heart. And it is not the heavy neckpiece. It is something which weighs and weighs your spirit down. It is something which weights you down. Something which makes a bit shorter, adds some grey hair in your dark blak mane, etches some dark circles under your beautiful eyes. Something which stains you. Which dirties the soul, which makes you a more thinking soul, and you start seeing things. Finding meaning in meaningless things. Searching for something more. Something philosophical. And there she was, walking with her own weight of abject poverty. Where a christmas doesnt make her days brighter nor a Diwali. She walks alone on the wet streets. An unbrella clutched in her arms, her saree tied tightly showing a little of her ankles, and a desolation in her step. Fighthing and wading through the rain water flowing on the cobbled street. I dont know her. I know the railing of my balcony I stand on. I know the two-storeyed parking in the opposite building. But t...

Dear, let me start this conversation as we started some of the first ones, summoning friendship. Today we are not what we used to be and we are not what we wanted to be. We have come a long way apart from each-other and from ourselves. I don’t think I can undo the past. Neither do I think can you we each have our reasons But still, let me start this co nversation, as someone who once was the love of your life. And let me bring to context, my actions tonite. Dear, I take you back into my first memory as a person – since the time I started dreaming less and living some more. I have asked existential questions to which I haven’t found answers. Questions like why I am alive, why I see day after day, why I need to keep sustaining this body till my chances of living seem less? And one fine day, reason and logic go out the window when I chance upon a speeding car? Freud was too intellectual for sustain. The words seemed a weight I am to carry as I carry my life Perhaps some...

The face in the picture stares at me. A cry erupts from the deep recessions of the heart. I am taken by surprise by the sheer emotion it evokes I stare back at the face with all that it stirs. Satisfied to, I shoot daggers How much I loved you. Or perhaps still do. How much I ache in places I didn't know existed. The picture blurs. And I think - this is where love meets hate.

Terror has struck again. Again the lives of millions are affected; hatred spread and images that will continue to haunt our memories. Melodramatic news channels report fictionalised news to attract more viewers, without considering the impact their melodrama will have on the person with no connection to the outside world except the television. They are doing what they do best: minding the business of people's lives. Inappropriate, insensitive. This is the ‘n’th time that I see these images. That I sit holed up in my house when others decide my fate. I am not one of the hostages stuck in the hotels. But I am the hostage of terror. I locked my door twice yesterday, got up to check the locks on the middle of the night, and prayed to my God that everything will be fine in the end. Then, as a citizen I witness the power game and the politics of people running my country: I hear undue remarks on religion. And even if I don’t believe in making religion the reaso (because I believe tha...

Yes, Yes, I know that scent New plastic covers and brown paper sheets. New books with lots of stories New chapters and new workbooks, New bags and fancy water bottles New shoes with snow coloured socks Freshly sharpened pencils In a colourful pencil box. Yes, yes, I remember what it means It means new beginnings, ‘Leave yesterday beneath that tattered History text book’, it screams And open new doors, And rest on new seats, In new classes And new hiding places to seek Oh, I so wish I could go back, For day, Not more. And I would still like to play with abandon and go bone-tired to bed.

Obama looks calm and composed as he sits to be sworn in. The quotes of coloured skin, the fight of millions for equality has finally opened the eyes of the nation to the character underneath the dark skin. He sits like a common man, he speaks in an honest and genuine voice. He even faltered a little while taking the oath: like a common man. And corrected himself. It was a reaffirmation of the journey where the common man reached. And his voice reaches millions. It was a moment similar to the one when our parents' parents must have watched 'when the clock struck midnight' speech by Nehru, a moment when a leader reaffirms his and his land's place in the world. A moment when history takes a turn. I don't care as much for how he performs. For we all know that he has taken charge of the country which already has one and a half foot in the grave. How much of it he can save and how much 'change' he can bring is not difficult for anyone to imagine. Yet, it was a tri...

Idle mind in search of answers, Idle mind with the time to ponder and wonder Idle mind to capture time Idle mind to keep it still. And the new red hues. What do you think of the new red hues? I think it adds some life, colour to the black and white world of Disquiet. It adds a fiery sense to the world of words. This mind, though is not idle. There are unsaved conversations about ethics, democracy, frauds, changing light bulbs, relationships and a few swears at the rickshawwallas and taxiwallas. Slowly these random conversations are taking shape of a single opinion. A single opinion on life, on God, on things beyond our control. Like money, fame, satisfaction, contentment. Perhaps the mind is maturing, with many summers to grey a few hair on the scalp, to keep a wrinkle permanent near the eyes. As if with every year that you pass, you travel away from this earth which gave birth to you, you travel up towards the sky and slowly as you gain objectivity. The different and diverse pieces of...