The Turf

The battle was waged and the turf was sown with seeds of hope. The declarations were set loud and clear with manifestos clearly stating the plan of action. The haziness on the path that lay ahead never seemed to diminish the spirit fuming.

The turf was fertile with the attempts made by the previously strewn seeds of hard work clubbed with copious amounts of beads of perspiration that were assumed to be in vain.

But were they? The outcome led to the satisfaction of many a wants and needs.

The question that lies deep within: Was there a need for new crops to be cultivated? Or will the implementation of cross cultivation prove effective?

Fingers crossed for a bumper crop.

The Staircase to Heaven

The metro station was in a bizarre cacophony. There were Indians shouting at the top of their voices over phone. There were Filipinos who were trying to rip off their vocal chords, which sounded more like ducks quacking. There were Arabs who seemed uninterested in the expat balderdash. There were Africans whose multi-coloured multiple braids shone in style. There were some Whites lazily sitting, looking at the Metro clock every now and then. There were many other nationalities whose ethnicities unknown to me made me ignore them. As far as I was concerned, my eyes had enough material to feast on.

And there was me, standing resting my back on the wall and observing the fun.

Subway Surfer was getting immensely boring as my umpteenth attempt to better the score set by a friend on my phone went in vain. Hence, I thought of doing something worthwhile.

The metro clock read 5 more minutes for the train’s arrival. 5 minutes of observation could get me an immensely rich psychographic data.

Finally, the bombastic voice announced that the train was arriving on the platform. The announcement sounded more like a war cry to me. The people, who were scattered in the platform, lazing and chatting, sprang up to life and approached the doors as if marching to the enemy lines.

The rush to get in was tremendous. The crowding at the doors left hardly any area for the exiting passengers. The rush to get out was an equally mad crowd who wanted to rip off any thing that came in their path. The man at the last was waiting with the serenity shaded eyes, for all the mad men to ingress and egress.

At last, the last man got in. I just made it in time, just as Mr. Boombastic announced ‘Doors closing’, first in vernaculars and then in the universal tongue.

The observation was in full swing till the station where I disembarked. I experienced the similar war like feeling as I got down the train. It was really a big deal, getting in and out.

I saw the rush, following suit, at the gates of the elevator. Those who didn't make it this time ran up to the escalators. The people were queuing up to go up. The flight of stairs adjacent to the elevators stood empty as the queue was getting larger.

Those who were in a rush did not seem to consider the time in the queue as a deterrent to their presumably already backward running schedule.

Just then, someone received enlightenment. One last entrant to the queue, looked like a Brit, left the queue and answered the calling of the stairs. No one seemed to get the impetus transferred to them as this guy was climbing up the stairs. 

I was just halfway through the elevator as he made it up through the Staircase to Heaven!

Party of a Lifetime

The scenic beauty of the hilly terrains of the Western Ghats adjoining the picturesque hamlet, accompanying the gentle hustle of the breeze made the party lawns look ever attractive than before. The tingling sound of the wind chimes along with rustle of the leaves in the orchard was a treat for the ears. The background was set as a camaraderie of Bach, Mozart and Beethoven. It was planned to set a base note for the party- truly music for the soul.

The lawn was set in white and gold with flowers flown from Thailand to add to its beauty. The golden hue of the confetti was reflecting on the buffet platters. The streamers and decorations were at their best to induce an effect of the pre-wedding bash.  Butlers and concierges were all in position to attend to the guests who were coming in ones and twos.

His friends hurried up to him, the man of the hour. It was his bachelor party attended only by his friends, dear and near. From his kindergarten mates with whom he still maintained contact, to his friends of his graduation school, everyone would be there for the day he wanted them the most. He stood at the dais, greeting his friends amid rapid flashes of light flickering on his radiant face and handsome smile.

The men at the food counter were busy setting the buffet to its best. Animals of various sizes and proportions were inside the platters, assorted with various spices and oils. Copious amount of time was put into the preparation of each of these delicacies. Chicken was the star of the food counter where he and his friends indulged into bite-sized pieces of chicken prepared in different manners that would satisfy the taste buds of both the east and west. The spread of the buffet also had cottage cheese and vegetables to tempt the tongue of the vegetarians. Desserts were kept off the main counter, having ecstatic varieties of Indian sweets, cakes and ice creams to choose from.

The mixologist had already set the spirit counter on fire which had the best of the spirits stocked to appease the guests. A tinge of lemon on the small shot glass had blazed in a chunk of fire into the inners. 

The guests were full and satisfied, both their bellies and at heart. The memory of party so grand and well planned had created a sense of wellness among the guests. This metamorphosed into blessings for him, for a happy life ahead….  

I am Sarathy, Parthasarathy

When the toll of the evil rises, 
When the noble men is sought to no mercy from their distraught
When the creation is hastened 'up' to meet its creator
When humanity is at its peril, 
When seeing the next dawn in a single piece is a boon
When life is altogether a rabble

I shall rise

To protect my kinsmen
To curb the uproar
To bring it under control
To evade the fear 

For I am Sarathy, Parthasarathy

The leader to lead the man to fight against injustice
Undeterred by the path I follow
I shall lead the men astray
To the light of the guiding principle 

The Colorful Festivities

Holi is the festival of colors, the day of hues of colors brightening up the dark and dismal lives of many.

This day is considered as the day when Holika, the sister of the evil Asura king Hiranyakasipu, was burned in the pyre while seated along with Prahlad while Prahlad was unharmed by greedily lurking tongues of the flame. This day was celebrated hence as the victory of the good over evil. 

Well, for me, this was the first time in life, witnessing a fully fledged Holi celebration. The colors plunged onto the faces, pitchkaris astray and water cannons squirting out their might, made my sight a delightful one. 
Everyone looked almost the same as the white Tees transformed into myriad concoction of all colors and faces were gracefully smeared, diluted with sweat becoming a canvas of mismatch. From a distance, it seemed as if clones were partying hard. 

The scene was fun till the moment I was spotted clean by my hooligan friends. A cheerful uproar from the gang and I was outpaced by their muscular legs. Since I was outnumbered, my T  had a doleful fate and colors went onto the abundance of my face and body. 

Still lies the marks of Holi on my face, despite numerous attempts by my hands and soap in conjunction. 

A memorable and 'colorful' one indeed!!

The V-Day Brash

My Facebook wall being littered with posts about the pride of being single made me understand one thing- jealousy was at its peak. A best friend's status update knit more loosely to let in more ideas follows: 

Oh God, you gave me everything, car, iPhone, laptop, a big house, loving father, doting brother, caring sibling, cuddling puppy, nasty faced maids, nosy neighbors. Everything!
All my friends have crushes and even some of my fat, dark, ugly and pot bellied friends have had the divine intervention of Lord Cupid.

It so happens that when you see some friend walk by with his/her crush, you get that feeling of jealousy and develop hatred towards the whole of mankind. This state aggravates when you see the-girl-who-you-thought-will-be-yours walking hand in hand with her goddamn lover, it is just like piercing in a dagger into your meek little heart.

When you see some friend walk by with his/her crush, you get that feeling of jealousy and develop hatred towards the whole of mankind. It happens!

This state aggravates when you see the-girl-who-you-thought-will-be-yours walking hand in hand with her damn lover, it is not just like piercing in a dagger into your meek little heart, it actually does.

Why didn't I just get past at least one girl? 

But why not a love in life?
Ain't I handsome? Am I not that good? I am on the verge of getting a sturdy six pack. I am all fair and handsome. I am tall- the Ranbir Kapoor kinda looks. Yeah, I do have it. On top of all this, the icing on the cake, I am rich. Still, the case seems to get no better. 

All I do is flirt and then, it so progresses that even before I open up my heart, they seem to open up theirs and tell me about their love.
All online social marketers were putting love on to their shopping cart to make the love-struck follow suit. Love shaped cups, love shaped cakes, love shaped rings and what not, love shaped thenga-kola?
Was love in the air? Definitely not. All what I could smell was that of the fuming ashes of my long lost love.

Well, it was, for some. For me, it is just going to be another Thursday, a Thursday swarming with jealousy and loneliness. 

After, reading his short but insightful status, I sniggered and let out a sigh, 'You've got company, dude! ;)' 

The End of the Rape Saga, or is it just the beginning?

I thought I won't write on this again.

I thought I will not dig the grave of a now-so-forgotten story.

I kept on thinking, why should I?

After all,what can a normal human being do? A blogger with a blog less than 5 months old cannot create ripples in the minds of the masses.

Then came the thought, why not me?

With all the possible affinity I have, with all the limited number of people I can get access to, with all the people who think upon reading, with all those who wish to act but are bound by the chains of social strife around, here I begin:

India, with all its rich expanses of culture, traditions and richness to glorify the already glorious past, is now going to drains. We are among those few cultures that accepted the predominance of woman in the society. She was considered as a mother, sister and divine incarnation of the goddess herself. But now, she is the underdog in the society now.

She is allotted a special bogie in the train, where she is raped in the midst of a journey. She is made to experience the heist of ruthlessness in a moving bus which wreaked havoc in her life.

People celebrate this with candles and strikes. And this dies down within a week.

May I pose a question to my fellow Indians, what is the purpose of being in a country which is said to be guarded from all sides where women live in full insecurity?

Everyday, she is getting raped. Not physically, but from the deep glares from the men who had an oath saying that all Indians are their brothers and sisters? The deep meaning glares is, if not the root cause, a trigger to this evil.

The lewd Indians makes it shameful for the whole brotherhood to say that they are protecting the dignity given to the womanhood. 

If you have feelings that actually requires a female to curb , why not go get it done from those who does it for money? It is this very thought, that makes many say that prostitution should be legalized. It could also be a revenue generator in conjunction with the tourism industry.

Rape does not have a pleasure element in it, rather does have a subjugation part. What a rapist gets is sheer dominance over a fragile, helpless soul writhing in pain. Is the motive satisfied? No. Not at all. 

Who benefits upon such a hype of a rape? The media, definitely.They get scoops for appeasing their show spaces and takes the fight for TRPs into a new level. Also benefited are some NGOs and non profitable organizations who take up fighting for protection of women. They get publicized and rake in a lot of money.

Why do we only provide benefit to such thoughts when we ourselves have looked upon her with an eye that casts a negatively impacted charm?

Benefiting from the corpse of a dead woman is sadism. Creating an uproar to get justice is nothing but cowardice. Rather than curing a seemingly incurable disease, why not prevent it?

Respect womanhood!

Preaching is easy, practicing is tough

Jaago India Jaago