Oh! you better run because all cities are mad: but the madness is gallant, all cities are beautiful; but beauty is grim. usual I was sitting on that circular stand with the only star above in the sky. Next to the MDI faculty building, there was my PG and on the terrace it was me, watching the whole city at a constant stare. It was like “Love At First Sight”. I could see many tall buildings which are not just buildings but are dreams for more than half of the migrants and I was one of them but with only difference that it ain’t just a dream but more than that…

Those were the only part of my days when I used to stop the flow of thoughts in my head and watch the whole city running continuously with no rest. At first, I doubted myself…What if i couldn’t run as fast?…then suddenly an airplane took off from the near-most airport over my head  and with a outsmile i was like ..Why can’t i?

I remember how I used to do up & down from gurgaon to Delhi four days in a week. I faced people around me with different motives and tastes.It wasn’t only the information board “sector 21   00:02” that became the part of my daily routine but also those culture and fashion within which I found myself one of them too. This is how even small metro trips can be so versatile. Overall, I can’t neglect the fact that the blow of wind ensconced me in the essence of reality of that number of street lights with those big billboards, while at the same pace, the beggars out of nearby temple entangled me into the concept of dependency and interlinks, thus taught  me how this city runs…every time that terrace reminds me the idea of making my own unwalked way. Now I wonder how that city under grey sky beloved my heart with light pink and I found that place so incredible….! : )


“ख्वाब का भारत”


मैं उस खून के कर्ज का हिस्सा हूँ,
जिस खून को तुमने पाला है।
मैं उस जमीन का किस्सा हूँ,
जिसपे  तिरंगा लहराता है।
मैं नारे का वो शब्द नहीं,
ना तो उस भीड़ की आग हूँ,
मैं वो मिट्टी की खुश्बू हूँ,
जिसमे मगन हर इंसान है।
मैं शाम का ढलता सूरज हूँ,
जिसपे बैठी वो रात है,
मैं इसी रात में डरने वाले हर एक का विश्वास हूँ।
मैं खौफ नहीं उस सत्ता का,
ना तो भ्रष्टाचार की बात हूँ,
मैं तो उस “ख्वाब का भारत” हूँ,
जो कैद में भी आज़ाद है।

मैं उस ग्लोब का कोना हूँ,
जिसपे हर किसी का साथ है।
मैं उस मदद की पुकार हूँ
जिसपे इंसानियत का राज है।
मैं कातिल का वो कत्ल नहीं,
न तो उस चीख की छाप हूँ,
मैं धरती का वो टुकड़ा हूँ,
जिसपे हर नारी का अभिमान है।
मैं वो रोता बच्चा हूँ,
जिसपे खड़ी एक आंच है,
मैं इसी आंच को सहलाने वाली बड़ी मुस्कान हूँ।
मैं किसी दौड़ का हिस्सा नहीं,
न तो आतंक की आंख हूँ,
मैं तो उस “ख्वाब का भारत” हूँ
जो कैद में भी आज़ाद है।

मैं उस खाने का स्वाद हूँ,
जो माँ के हाथ की ममता है।
मैं उस बीज का अनाज हूँ,
जिससे हर धर्म का रिश्ता है।
मैं पर्वत का कटा पेड़ नहीं,
ना तो नदियों में बहता कचरा हूँ,
मैं हर घर का चमकता वो फर्स हूँ,
जिसपे विराजमान भगवान है।
मैं कोई खेत नही, रेत हूँ,
जिसपे लेटी वो आग है,
मैं इसी आग के गुरूर का एक लौता सम्मान हूँ।
मैं उस गरीब की भूख नहीं,
ना तो बुढ़ापे की लाचारी हूँ,
मैं तो उस “ख्वाब का भारत” हूँ,
जो कैद में भी आज़ाद है।




My eyes are witness

My eyes are witness to a holy place where children are sitting with no clue of fate. Standing next to the flawless Ganga one mother is screaming for her lost kid, a man who thinks begging in the name of god is his prime duty and one who is wearing a tatter cloth with a single shoe in his beauty. I asked some kid where do they belong? said with a  grim smile “we scatter on earth for our livelihood, where we eat is our permanent roof”, some are unaware of our manmade alphabet, some are only aware of that place where they slept.

My eyes are witness to those in clover pandits, who says “Infatuation is all illusion”. One who is working day and night, sweating so far and worship at a time, got nothing more than a hopeless light. I asked the pandit about the point of sacrament, where tons of fruits are gifted to a statue and one is not getting a bite of food? He muttered that “mantra behind this gap, is all in God’s lap, the karma you did when last born is the logic behind this can of worms” all were coated in a saffron piece, only few were  committed with the actual service.

My eyes are witness to soulful lovers who never have love for their only mother. Spending date in a posh restaurant, promising of love goal but no rent, this is my girl is a loud shout, his happiness as her fate all girls allows. I asked a young couple what is commitment? They answered in a confident voice, “I wait for his calls day and night and I wish that her wait will never last a while, our relationship is a living example of our commitment and our togetherness is of our mutual terms and condition” valentine is near, celebrating the whole week, rarely remembering parent’s day and it’s zeal.

My eyes are witness to those gender contradictions which leaves one fall into the depth of estimation and left another with a prestigious creation. Comparing themselves in the global articulation, he talks of his muscles, logic and callous, her thought of  crux, inclination and diligence. I asked a professor what is genderism? He replied in a straight face, “maleism is when men cogitate their work in count  and feminism is where women are considered no less along, “ all those comparison are in virtuality, their existence is actually in parity.

My eyes are witness to those angry vultures who takes violence and abuse in their culture. Speaking in front of their mother and sister, victimizing other’s mother and sister, they think that’s the coolest thing. I asked one guy why these slangs are so effeminate? He replied in his carcase, “because females are like diamonds and it’s their privilege to let us broke their hymens” what a nasty world’s phase, even girls are talking the same slang calling it fair shake”.



At the edge of the Earth




I was in a deep dark but suddenly sunrays fell over my face and I realised I haven’t slept this night again. It’s like insomnia. Insomnia that occurs every night. Those rays was warm coming onto my face but my eyes were reluctant to it. They were denying the acceptance of hope. It’s like a tunnel which has no end points. A path with no destination. Life seems too large to be lived for. I could hear the sound of my breath and it sound heavy. I was told to be a morning bird but that day I didn’t want to wake up. I was not lazy, of course, but I was insensible for a life that should be lived for living, not for surviving. I didn’t want to see the world because not a single thing was satisfactory. This human body of mine was no less a collection of dust. Though I was trying to get it right. I was trying to make those dust into stones but I was blank. Blank like a white room where I am tied up and not allowed to say anything, I could see only white light of hopelessness,  nothing else. Pretty mature I was but no more. Like I was living an after death life but that solemnly morning was the reality. I didn’t know who was with me, who was not. I didn’t know where I was and what I was doing. I didn’t know what should I do. Not a single breathe was satisfying, neither life nor death. Peace was just a virtual thing. I was afraid to see my feet that were denying to walk because they felt no path to walk on. I felt lack of strength into my brain. My will got collapsed. I didn’t see any point where I should stop thinking of getting invisible. Single movement was as difficult as if I am pulling 100 bricks together and it was  more than physical exhaustion. My interaction with nature was reducing day by day and the corner of my room was my favourite place. But this is not depression! Depression is when you lost all contacts over yourself and there is nothing existing you feel. I know those rays was intense, my eyes were sensitive but my brain denied to work over it. I was lying over the bed like a gravity less surface. Grave was in the air and I was simply taking that air in.

Crying is not depression but not crying is exactly seems like standing at the edge of the earth and this is what depression do!


स्वतंत्र भारत की ओर….


Flags of Countries Animated Three Colors as Flags of India Symbol ...

आज़ादी से मिली जीत, क्यों न फिर से मनाए
वो लहू जो बह गए रो कर क्यों गवाये?
आखिर हम ही तो है हिंदुस्तान के परिंदे
क्यों न बीती हुई बहादुरी को फिर से आज़माये!
चल एक कदम और दो कदम की ओर बढ़ाये,
इस स्वतंत्रता दिवस पर स्वतंत्र विचार रखने की कसम खाये।

७१वी स्वतंत्रता दिवस की हार्दिक शुभ कामनाएं।

I am an Indian women with suhaag

One Summer Vacation, my dad offered me to join him in his aunt’s home. My so-called Grand’s home. But as expected I was reluctant to it. I was behaving like a usual 21st century irritated teen, who was more willing to hangout with friends than to go to their grand parent’s place and listen to those same unseen stories. Genuinely, he was no less irritated with me. After a conversational fight, we agreed to a deal of four chocolates and one long drive on weekend. I went up, dressed pretty and came back with the whole assurance of our deal. My dad went out to get our car ready. I stepped out-of-door, a thought bubbled out of my mind “should I join or stay back?” but then I have to force myself because deal has been already done. we both got into the car and tied our seat-belt. we started with a crowd busted road with horns buzzing incoherent to traffic light and came into a solemnly narrow unstructured lane. I was continuously speaking and my dad could hear my words like w-w-h-a-t i-f-f-a-a i-i-e h-a-ed decid-e-d to s-s-t-a-y a-e-t hoo-m-e? not because I was stammering but because that lane was more made of  soil and less made of black concrete. My dad replied in his soft low tone, she is on regular dialysis, Be polite and humble with her she means me a lot” my curiosity got cold and I talked less after that. We reached her home. Her husband, my dad’s uncle and my grandpa (kind of) opened the door. He welcomed us with as much warmth as he could provide. I couldn’t see his enthusiasm but i could see his hope after coming us. I am not telling this because I was already known with truth of dialysis, I am telling this because anyone could see it. He was not happy but was grateful. He was up to his hospitality. They started talking to each other… asking how we are doing in our life…and so on. He served us biscuits and soft drinks…all I was doing is to keep quite and nod if he asks anything.

With the heights of curiosity I was continuously staring at an old lady (his wife) with Vigo plugged in her wrist, having painful body and shivering voice. She was old as antique. But fortunately she survived till yet. It was hard for her to eat and drink. She was lying on the bed with pillows around so to create a support to her body frame. In everyone’s eyes she was weak. She was incapable. But you know! she wasn’t.

She was beautiful. Her shrinked skin was golden brown like a pure Indian heritage. That innocent eyes that was ready to accept the reality of life. Her shivering lips was still in favour of her family’s welfare. She was at no urge of fabricated life. But the most dazzled surprise was the content that she was carrying all over her body. Sacred vermilion in between those white shaded hairs was as same as it was on the day she got married and honoured as the goddess of the home. I have noticed her weak hands adjusting that red bindi to be on place time to time in the name of wifehood. Although she was unable to get dressed perfectly in her style but she didn’t forget to wear that one Bangle for good fortune and prosperity of her husband. She was trying her best to be the pillar of her family but consequences  was against her. I was astonish to see how delicate it was. She reflected firm and faith, like a divine, a proper statue of the fact that believe is believe,  it is never right or wrong. She was no less worth as inspiration. She was like on the runway showing best roots of Indian believe.PicsArt_1498400823827.jpg A perfect example of commitment, faith and believe. She had a golden chain in her neck signifying proof of belongness to the man of her life. It was hard to accept that even in that critical situation where one thinks of her comfort and survival, she managed her contents through faith with an endless meaning.

I was gazing into her eyes trying to communicate that I can feel her. I wanted to tell her how beautiful she is. Everyone deserves to know the reality of his/her worth of existence. I wanted to tell her every time I saw her lying on the bed trying to convince her body that she will survive. But I was speechless. I was speechless into my own way. 

At last, it was time to leave. My dad reminded me to greet them. And all I said “bless me, I am grateful to see you”. She tried to smile and touched my head by her hand..

I met an Indian women with suhaag and I was speechless.



Tell me something people are afraid to do? Tell me why love is so rude? Why people are crying alone at night and why they are liking more breakup pages than health sites? Why singles troll to be the happiest? Why mingles get annoyed among racists? Why buying a house don’t need caste system but why two hearts can’t make a home even ? Why teens are restricted to roam along with different genders? Why they are stared as if they have done something rebellious? Why crime don’t take a thought over it? Why love become a crime in-between public? Why girls are not allowed to choose their prince then why dad wish his daughter to be the Cinderella at her ring? Why boys are teased ‘what if they don’t earn’ and then why not feminism takes turn? Is it like buying a smart phone knowing it’s price as same as preparing yourself for an arranged marriage night? Where did the term ‘marital rape’ came into existence when my grands told me, ‘love is persistence’? Why these sacred quotes torn only into tattoo when my morals told me love is not torso? Degree in humanity is more in civil choice, but civil service without humanity and humanity without love is more an evil choice. From when sex defines character rather character defines sex? From when love is teen passion rather passionate teen? Once my friend told me, my love has no future And I asked why you feel not nurtured? She replied with her racing heart, because love is like air and I can’t cost plants! That day I realised everyone is so good in business, they deal dowry as if it is religious! Why a son is not comfortable to share his feelings? What is the logic behind this kind of lack of link? Is it really a generation gap or something which can’t be trapped? Why society decides parent’s dignity? Why happiness and love has no power in creating history? Why hundreds of death are suicidal case? Why a 19-year-old facing heart breaks? Where in holy books these limitations rely? From when these conditions are applied? Why some are out of standards when we all have same way of parturition? From when love could be defined? From then these pages are flooded aligned! After all, love is a tough task because yes I am a social animal dancing at opinion’s bar! That’s how millions of hearts failed in their narration because love in society is no less than billions terms and conditions!



While sitting next to the window, my hand was warm and easily holding the cup of coffee. My eyes were busy in finding beauty in between the rage outside the window. I can’t deny that I was trying to escape the reality. I took a sip, blinked my eyes and within second I felt the flow of adrenaline, I felt the warmth I was searching in my life. It was hard to believe that I was lucky having that sip (a perspiring touch at the surface of my tongue, that sugary taste & “slurp slurp slurp” ) but yes I was. There is a saying coffee makes things easier. One sip, one sight. ( First sight..second sight….mum calling “come fast we are about to leave”) ..”coming” I shouted. I fasten myself, fasten the sound slurp-slurp-slurp but again my eyes got stuck outside the window. My spec was divine to me at that time. I am grateful to that circular rim monocle that was making a way to peep at something which people usually avoid.

“Hurry up! You are always late” mum buzzed. “Oh I am always.. do it fast! pack your bag” cheering to myself. I forcefully distracted my eyes out of the window and started packing. I putted that cup on the table, stretched my leg towards Almirah and opened it. I was continuously murmuring to myself “fast fast fast”..anyone around me could feel that ventilation of getting late and flow of oxygen and carbon in-out of my nose…I took out my clothes and even at once I got confuse “should I take black one or lee Cooper’s” but then “do it fast dear, take anyone of it!”. I thrown all the clothes into my suitcase like a pile of scrap, but it was in need at that time. With the same pace I picked up my suitcase and ran off to the stairs, leaving that coffee smelling cup having my finger print at the table.

I came down, took a deep breath (as if I got first in a race) and adjusted my glasses. Meanwhile , my dad came and said we have to wait for half an hour because first he have to repair the tracker of the car, it’s somehow not working. And at that time my face expression was worth to see for anyone who wanted to LOL. As expected, I got annoyed. But I praised the idea of getting back near the window, as it didn’t fade away from my sub conscious mind.

I went up to the stairs where it all started. But this time it didn’t work. I sat down, trying to fix my pupil around those little things I was watching outside the window but I was unable to feel that same aroma of realization. 35 minutes ago, I was clearly able to see a boy with golden brown messy hairs with torn shirt of only one sleeve and a red pant stained with soil (seems like if it was borrowed from any school going child). His face was rough-hewn but all in between his dirty face one could see his pity glowing eyes. He was professionally a balloon seller, (not because he was surely but because I am narrating it to myself). He was less selling and more begging to get sold. He was roaming around people and knocking windows of all cars passing by the same street. In contrast I could also see people with ugly faces and brighter clothes running and moving towards their work place or destination as if the reason behind the displacement of the earth are these people, putting their whole strength to maintain the pace of the earth by their activities. From window they looked small but crowd. Near turning, there was a traffic police. Wearing his dress, he was extraordinary in his duty. A women passing through the footpath, maintaining her scarf, so that she could not get wind inside her ears. Pollution was overlapping population. Noise of any screaming infant was much soothing than the noise of vehicles. Street was much colder than the coldness of the weather. There was the dominance of human over that land because my window could weight it correctly. One could feel this rush and rage in compare to my still coffee, which was smooth and warm to the heart.

Absence of coffee in the cup let me understand how much I use to be in groove. Yes I was out of that rush. I was happy holding that cup and most importantly I was still with reference to the outer world. My heart was calm. Not everyone get this, not every time even.

(~sigh~) Breathing. Relaxing. Opening fist to the air. Breathing again, I appreciated the warmth of my life I am getting from these little things. Life is all about how you feel at your stillness, and I feel hopeful.

And then I putted that cup at its right place.

“Everybody come now, we are going to’s gonna be a perfect vacation!” … Dad’s calling.