Shahrukh Khan no more

Just saw on national television that Shahrukh Khan died in a car accident near Phuket where he was shooting. The actor suffered severe injuries in his spine and died on his way to the hospital.

Shocking it is.

Actually, my watch's running twenty-four hours ahead of time..

The wilted daisies

They were once happy and gleeful. They once had dewdrops of youth on their soft yellow petals.

The daisies have now wilted. Time to understand that everything in life ... has a life. And life is about the end itself. Time to change the daisies.. and put the new fresh ones....

... I so need a breath of fresh air.

Vacuum

I experience a vacuum. That sucks. Literally. It sucks the energy, the enthusiasm out of me. It drains me of my patience and my emotions.

It depletes my reasons to be happy, my desire to be happy...

You feel being pulled - downwards. To a centre you do not know.

But I hate this vacuum that fills me from within. Despite being empty in itself.

Day and night

The sky is light blue. The green trees have turned dark. The orange disc of the sun is close to the horizon. It's turned frail. It's lost all its light.

The mountains watch as the sun sinks. The birds come back after a day with the sun.

The sun sets.

And leaves behind pitch-black darkness.

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The stars shine in the black sky like thousand little eyes looking back at you. While the sky is still dark due to the loss of the sun, the sky forgets that the sun is a star too.

Why does the sky, then, mourn the missing sun, a star - when there are thousands of them already present?

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Why do we mourn the sorrows of our lives - when there are so many reasons to be happy?

Why do we miss that one person - and forget the presence of many many others who are there with and for us...

Insecurities of the human mind

Life is unfair. You are the most insecure about the things which are already yours. And there's a laid back attitude in case of things that have come to us by luck.

That's the human mind for you.

Some startling facts

Just random quirky things that I came across recently...

• Saw a deodorant on the racks of a supermarket. 'Amitabh Bachhan. Pour femme'. Looked for the 'Pour homme' one - nowhere to be seen.
• Out of the blue, my uncle asks me the Hindi word for 'dawn'. While I kept scratching my head, I wondered why-oh-why was I being asked that question! At the end, he tells me it's called 'bhor'. And I awaken to enlightenment.
  
• At a Reliance Fresh supermarket, I saw a papad packet - the packet half open and half a papad missing. I called the attendant - and we both had a hearty laugh.
• A Janardan Joke: "The man lost his job. That was because the company relocated and they did not tell him where."
• All of a sudden, the lights in my room go off and on. While I wonder if it's a ghost, I realize that the inverter's acting cranky.
• I sneaked into my gym attendance record and added an extra day. :P Some adventure!!! Wanted to get my regime changed - that happens when we complete 42 days...
• And I generally have a lot of time to rabble what I just did...

Naive and numb

There are two categories of people in the world - the naive and the numb. And you cannot belong to both at the same time.

Naive are those who get elated every time the receptionist flashes a plastic smile at them. Numb are those who smile back and hurry to their cabins.

Naive are the ones who look around in a zoo for chimpanzees and orangutans. Numb are the ones who don't visit zoos at all.

Naive are the kids that keep staring at the window they just broke with a thoroughly scared expression on their faces. Numb are the ones who walk off coolly whistling away.

Naive are the people who see the world pink and red when they fall in love - so what if it is the fourth time. Numb are the ones who buy gifts for themselves on the Valentine's irrespective of whether they are single or not.

There are naive people. There are numb people. There's, however, something strikingly common between the two.

Naive or numb - you cannot choose to be either. Someone else decides it for you. Someone, something that we call destiny.

Strength of a Woman - SERIES 01

Disclaimer: The story here is NOT a piece of fiction. It is as real as the sun and the stars.


She was born in a village near Mumbai. She was a Koli. Married at the age of seven, she was a dutiful wife and a daughter-in-law in a well-off household.

Soon, she mothered two daughters. The two were sent to school.

And one day, she realized that her husband was having an affair with another woman.

For a lady in a village with no education, this could've meant the end of her life. Either the end of her life or the beginning of a mute battle with one's self-respect.

But she did neither. She left his house. Took her daughters along. Came back to her parents. Started working in Dombivali as a domestic help.

Worked as a domestic help in her brothers' house too - for salary. Saved money. Would baby-sit children at their place.

Twenty-four years later now, she owns a house in her parents' village. Her daughters have graduated and are married now. She has also bought a room in a dharamshala in Pandharpur - where she wishes to spend her last days.

She is a Vitthal devotee and goes by foot to Pandharpur every year during the festival there. She believes strongly that it was her God who gave her the strength to face the odds of her life.

Her grandson is the apple of her eye. These days, her salary is spent on food for herself and gifts for her grandson.

She emerged in her small way as a winner..

For the last 24 years, she has known my family - a duration more than my age. My family was among the first where she started working as domestic help. And where she still does.

Time flying by

Dedicated to Paw-Paw, a college friend and his blues.

Twenty six working days left for a chapter to end. The chapter that was called engineering. What awaits us on the other side of the line is what most of us cannot predict. And one cannot help but look back.

I remember the first day to college; the fear of Mechanics. The early assignments I had written - the last time they were neat and clean and way before time. I remember the first oral exams where I was scared to no ends.

I remember the rumours of the results, the zeal of the college festival, the fun on the rose day, the hustle-bustle during placements.

I remember these moments. And what strikes me is the fact that time is running out. Twenty six days, six hundred twenty four hours later, it's all going to be over. There is going to be no getting up early for a 9 o' clock lecture and ending up getting late.

There would be no passing chits during lectures. No sitting on the floor and reading a book before the exams. There would no Janardan pulling my leg.

And I would remember my college...

I can see time running out and I can see images. I can hear the slogans during the college festival. I can read the t-shirts bashing every other branch in the college. I can feel myself making way through the crowded canteen during the break.

I can see Vijesh flirting with some chick - any chick for that matter. I can see Mihir sleepy in a lecture and asking for extra time during the practicals.

I can see time flying by, as the countdown continues. Faster than ever.

The clouds and the pastures

The clouds crowd the sky. The green pastures begin to shine with joy. The clouds are about to bring water. The water the plants trapped underneath the earth have longed for.

Life, growth showers onto the ground in the form of a thousand droplets. And the earth turns green.

And one day, the clouds disappear in thin air.

The greenery continues to live. And continues to keep alive the pains of the clouds. Continues to be indebted to the clouds that churned all the water in their bodies - so that the greenery could thrive.


The clouds are the parents of the pastures.

We are all pastures as well.


(The picture above has been clicked by me. The day I lost my grandfather. And I realized that a cloud had left us - and we were green because of this cloud.)

Aamir Khan's new haircut

Aamir, the so-called perfectionist. Frankly, I particularly never liked his movies. 'Taare Zameen par' made a lot of difference to my opinion though.

And Aamir does it again for me with this ubercool hairstyle.

We all have heard of maang kaa sindoor. Aamir has a maang with a twist - the maang is actually twisted - whacky and cool I'd say!!

Aamir bears, what looks to me, a cool hairstyle.

Roadies - rivals come face-to-face!

I have been religiously following Roadies 5.0 on MTV. The show is about thirteen (I am bad with numbers, birthdates and vital stats. :p) cocky young men and women out on the roads - where each week, they vote out one among themselves.

A recent twist in the tale was when the voted-out contestants were brought back in and were given a chance to challenge one of the contestants still on the show. This was the time when a lot of ugly grudges came up and people were out to prove a point to one another!

The reality shows are hardly real - so things like these would more possibly than not, NOT happen with me. So what do we, the real people do?

We hold grudges - and hit back when we get a chance. Malign, tarnish the person's image. B%tch about the person. Call him/her names.

And more than that, we keep burning from within.

We keep hiding these ugly faces in our hearts. And the ugliness soon creeps onto our faces too.

An Untitled poem

This is a poem I had written way back in 2004. That was when this blog did not exist...

I wanted to maintain its rawness by deliberately not tagging the poem with a title three years after it was written. So, it remains an untitled poem.

Not a great poem - but not bad either.

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I am silent, and I am speaking; like the lines of a book
I am seated and I am in movement, like a straw on a river
whose journey will never stop...and who does not want its journey to stop...

I am laughing and I am weeping, my work is like that of clouds
I am straight and I am bent like the hair of my beloved
who wish to be touched...and continue to be touched...

I am clear and I am hidden, like a sun in the clouds
I am free and I am imprisoned like the fragrance of a rose
u can smell it, but cannot steal it...

I am burning and I don’t make any sound, like a candle
I am in chains, and I am in movement
...like the wheel of time going round and round.

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Aaditya and them

Aaditya leaned against the wall to have a closer look. His eyebrows twitched as he saw them. Going in a straight line carrying small grains of sugar on their backs.

Aaditya looked closer. They had created a chain, they were lined up one after the other. One of them would travel not more than five centimeters - only to transfer the grain to the next one in the chain. This made things easier, faster and absolutely co-ordinated.

Aaditya placed his finger in their path. The ones around his finger lost their contact with the rest of the chain. Slowly, the disturbance spread to the ones in the subsequent part of the chain.

Aaditya lifted his finger. They took hardly any time to get back to work - in the same straight line.

They were the ants in Aaditya's kitchen.

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I quickly took the grain on my back. I hurriedly moved to the next one. I pushed the grain from my back to his. It suddenly went dark. They all said it was going to be the night now. But I told them confidently that it was a shadow. A shadow of something huge.

We all were alert - ready to face a hindrance of any sort. But we were still working. As we had always done.

Soon I realized that I could not see the one I had to give the grain on my back to. I kept moving around. The others behind me joined.

The load on my back was getting unbearable, but I knew I would not let go. I had to carry it on my back, it was the food for my community. For my township. It was a part of my duty and the objective of my existence.

Soon, I could see the other part of our chain. And we continued.

I happened to look at the source of the shadow. It was a man.

And he was looking at me too...

An Elephant and the blind men

We all know the story of the elephant and the blind men. They wanted to know what an elephant was like. Each of them touched the elephant and depending on the part they touched, they described it.

The one who touched the leg said it was like a tree trunk. The one who touched the tail said an elephant was in fact like a broom.

Each one of them 'saw' the elephant through their own experience with it.

We do that with things and people. We interprete and tag them in the way they appear to us. For long, humans believed the earth was flat. It was only when they went on the other side that they got to know the fact. Or is it even the fact? Does the earth look different from outer space?

Facts are relative. Facts are essentially incomplete. Facts are not facts at all. They are mere interpretations.

Down

I'm down with fever...

cough.. cough...

Holi

Holi is when you burn. Burn all that is evil. End everything impure. People often abuse when the Holi is lit. This is to give vent to one's frustrations and disappointments.

Holi is Holi because it makes you holy!

(A bad bad post - but I am still going to publish it. This blog is a reflection of my thoughts. So what if they come in squirts!)

Will-power

Why is my heart beating? Why are my lungs heaving up and down? Why do I see? Why do I move? Why do I live?

Do I live because I have to. No. I live because I want to.

Hope is the oxygen for life. It is hope that runs in our blood, and that keeps us alive. Imagine a day when you have nothing to do, nowhere to go. No future ahead of you. What would you do in a situation like this?

Some of us slit our wrists while most of us continue to live in solitude. It's the will-power to live that can take us places - so what if we are alone.

Know that you have to live - for some cause. For some expectation. The will-power will take us through. One will live only if one wills to do so.

It's really not a coincidence that 'living' and 'willing' sound so similar...

A chatterbox's nightmare

I am a CHATterbox. I am extremely shy but on chat, I am a different person altogether. I can handle at least four chat windows at the same time, without messing up. (Read as: without leaking the gossips about either parties. I keep them separate.)

I have had the honour of using multiple messengers - yahoo rocks anytime! For its sheer simplicity. I always thought msn was problematic - you couldn't send offline messages!! I have lost count of the number of offline messages I have sent that affected my life. (On occasions like consoling aggrieved friends, abusing people and the likes.) And the really lame ones like indiatimes, which only four people use in the world. * Under testing conditions.

So what is the nightmare for a chatterbox like me?! Waking up one day, opening my eyes to an afternoon (which is quite frequent.), switching on the computer - and not being able to log into my yahoo messenger.

That's when you feel cut off from the world. And you so want to chat with that friend of yours who was going to tell you how his girlfriend has been two-timing with his brother. Or something more trivial than that.

Nightmarish are the chat sessions when my messages don't reach the other end due to internet problems. Scary are the evenings when the internet is down. And I am terrified thinking of a day years back- when there were no chat messengers!

What have my chats with my friends given me? Is it the regular "Hey.. wazzup, long time.. " that goes on? No.

There are people who I knew in person - but who I got to know better only on chat. I look at chat as a medium of giving vent to what I want to say. Frankly because I am shy otherwise.

The chat messengers have got for me some messengers of God who call themselves my friends. And in ways more than one, these friends have touched my life.

So, the ultimate nightmare for a chatterbox like me, is to get cut off from this medium of staying connected with my friends. I would feel trapped in a box. Oh, not that bad actually.



Dedicated to you and me. The you who chats with the me.

India, Long after the British Raj

"I have travelled across the length and breadth of India and I have not seen one person who is a beggar, who is a thief. Such wealth I have seen in this country, such high moral values, people of such calibre, that I do not think we would ever conquer this country, unless we break the very backbone of this nation, which is her spiritual and cultural heritage, and, therefore, I propose that we replace her old and ancient education system, her culture, for if the Indians think that all that is foreign and English is good and greater than their own, they will lose their self-esteem, their native culture and they will become what we want them, a truly dominated nation"

I came across this quote recently which was a part of the speech delivered by an Englishman by the name Lord Macaulay way back in 1835 to the British Parliament. This was the time when India was yet to become the British colony that it would be for more than a century.

The credibility of the quote is doubtful but one cannot ignore the possibility that this was one of the reasons why the Britishers could rule over a nation so beautiful and powerful.

One of the early steps in this respect looks like the presence of an Englishman during the coronation of Chhatrapati Shivaji, a Maratha Emperor. The Britishers entered the minds of the people first - and then attacked the political arena. And how!

There was fiddling with the historical facts (Referring to the claim that Taj Mahal is actually Tejo Mahalaya, a Shiva Temple.), introduction of anarchic laws and - the Divide and rule policy.

Enough has been said about the 'Divide and rule' policy they employed - they took advantage of the differences and the conflicts that the rulers (the sons of the soil!), the conflicts between the freedom fighters (The Congress leaders v/s Subhashchandra Bose, Bhagat Singh and Veer Sawarkar) or the grudges communities had against each other.

Today, we have parents shying away from sending their children to vernacular medium schools. I know some kids who do not speak their mother-tongue - their mothers strictly advise them not to use the tongue!

There are innumerable archaic laws waiting to be revised even today. These laws are being used- abused by the ones in power.

Lord Macaulay and his contemporaries surely succeeded in breaking the backbone of my country India. And we are still struggling, more than a century later.

Karma, destiny and parallel universes

Credit: At the outset, let me thank a friend. With whom I chat regularly. Twice a day. Because the basic idea of 'what in the future' was given to me by that friend.

As the clock ticks away, the sun rises. The birds fly from their nests. People die. Little sprouts of leaves erupt from the soil.

The clock continues to tick.

What controls them all? What decides why things happen the way they do?

Karma - as you sow, so shall you reap, they say. Do the actions of the past decide the events of the future? Is the Newton's action-reaction proposition applicable here? Is it that something bad happens to me because I did bad to someone some day?

Or is it destiny - the 'written' future. Is the track of our lives defined when we are born? Or even before that? And the big question - who writes it?

Or is it about the parallel universes? Universes that combine and recombine? Multiple Aaditya Joshis who've gone different ways - who've joined different colleges, who've taken up different jobs - and I am just one version of them.

Why is the future hidden? Or is it hidden at all? Who decides the forward journey of an individual? Not just the individual, but the species - the plants, the animals, the mountains, the sun. Altogether. Is it a central authoritative entity called God who writes destiny for them all? Or is time just moving ahead in terms of parallel universes?

The answer to most of my questions here is simple. The answer lies in the ignorance of the human race.

The human race on the whole, like many of its individuals, thinks it rules the world and likes to believe that it is very smart. They are in fact quite the opposite.

In the pursuit of happiness in the external world, the humans have hardly paid any attention to the inner world. That controls them actually.

Ward no. 2106 - SERIES 12

Disclaimer - The story is a work of fiction. The names of characters and places are imaginary. So are the incidents described.

Krishna was dumbfound by what he saw. He had surely not expected these complete strangers to do this. He stood there looking at what was happening - it was happening for him.

"Welcome Krishna....", he heard. He saw Kanika smiling. She shook hands with him.

That evening, Krishna and Umesh got the best evening of their lives. James had brought a cake for both of them.

These five people were soon going to part ways. Umesh would be transferred to another ward. Kanika was soon going to be discharged.

But that evening was when these people touched each others' lives for a lifetime.

Kanika had seen how Parvati Aaji cared for these two people who were not related. Kanika knew that she had to adjust - for the people who had given birth to her. She met her parents in Kolkata. Three months later, Kanika married James. They are living happily now.

Umesh never told the secret to Parvati Aaji. In fact, he could never bring himself to tell her that Dr. Damle was keeping Parvati Aaji away from home. Parvati Aaji kept talking about her son - in the make-believe world which Dr. Damle had made for her. Parvati Aaji was fit and fine, but Dr. Damle's wife was not comfortable with her.

Parvati Aaji was an angel to all of them - she had kept these people bound to each other. Till her last breath, she kept praising her son - she was proud of him. The day she died in the hospital, Dr. Umesh attended the funeral.

Dr. Damle could not look at Dr. Umesh in the eye that day.

Krishna recovered. His family was traced. And like many amnesic patients, he forgot almost everything about Parvati Aaji, James, Umesh and Kanika. But he somehow remembered that one evening. With these four angels of his life. He had intermittent but sharp images of the evening.

But he had forgotten everything else. All about ward no. 2106.

Strength of a woman - SERIES 00

She is a mother. A housewife. A working professional. A good cook.

A vegetable vendor. A door-to-door salesperson. A beggar. An escort.

She wakes up in the morning, gets her children ready, prepares breakfast for her husband. And rushes to office for a day full of work.

She walks to the railway station with the sex-depraved jerks glaring at her. She buys a bouquet of roses for her ailing mom-in-law.

She carries a pail of water on her head for kilometers together. She huffs and puffs into the cooking stove while he spits out the food saying its too insipid for him.

But she cares. She protects. She gives birth. She rules.

She is the man in the very incorrect phrase "Be a man!".

This series is to explore the different forms of womanhood... as I see them. and as I go awe-struck.

Coloured words

Words, they come to me as thoughts, sparks - bright yellow, gleaming in their own light. They then metamorphose into ideas - like glass that cools down. It's yellow when hot and sparkling clean when it becomes transparent. When it acquires the form it is supposed to live with. The colour it was born for.

Words are raw when they come to me. Some turn red - red with anger, red with love. Red with pain. Red with sacrifice. Some stay black and reek of the pessimistic ideas that one cannot somehow get rid of. Some have undertones of black and white.

Words are coloured. Often, multi-shaded. The colours of words are often more enthralling than the sky at twilight. The sky attributes its colour to the sun only. These colours are due to a medley of emotions that come up from the world's greatest palette - the human mind. The mind of the rising son.

Dance of the Soul

" I walked towards the stage. I was nervous with the sari and all that jewellery on me. I looked at Harish, he had this ever-comforting smile on his face. I tried to smile back. But I was finding it difficult to do so. I stood in a corner, nearly sweating.

I looked at the audience, they all glared back at me. I thought I was the center of the world. I adjusted my necklace, closed my eyes and posed in the initial mudraa of the dance I was about to present.

I kept waiting. But the dance hadn't begun. My teacher was saying something to the person in the music room.

Harish signaled me to relax and stand at ease. Perhaps, there was some problem with the music. The nervousness only increased.

Minutes seemed like hours - though at the end of it I got to know that the music was finally about to start.

Then, I forgot the world. I forgot that I was on the stage. I danced. with all my might and dedication. I danced like the world revolved around me. I danced to the Krishna bhajan with the devotion of a gopi who madly loved him. Of a mortal human who was offering her talent to the one who gave her that talent.

I forgot the troublesome times I had had. I forgot the nights of frustration I had undergone. I forgot the tension in my mother's eyes throughout my childhood. I forgot the fact that I could not hear the music at all. I forgot the fact, that I had an hearing impairment. I was dancing to the music that was playing in my body.

The music of the lub-dub of my heart. The sound of the breath. The vibrations of the ghungroo. I was dancing. To the tune of my soul.

And nothing else mattered..."


I happened to attend a dance performance by an extremely talented danseuse who was auditorily impaired. This is just an imaginary account of what she must have felt during the performance which ended with a standing ovation to the sheer determination of this performer.

A round piece of polymer

I stretch out a clean palm. Every single line on my fingers is clear. I cup my hand and pour droplets of water. A thin disc of polymer is immersed in the water.

I use my fingers to pick it up and place this small disc on my eyeball. The round surface shines with the water that just moistened it. And my eye shines with the power of vision.

Small things often make a huge difference - that we do not notice.

The difference is just more 'noticeable' for a person when that small thing is called a contact lens.

Purity

What is purity? It is the existence of the singular.

Purity is God. Purity is peace. Purity is the strength of a mother. Purity is Krishna in the eyes of Meerabai. Purity is the sun uniting with the sea. Purity is the shadow of the trees. Purity is the showers of the rains. And it is the earth that ignites with passion when these first drops of rain fall on her

Purity is patriotism, love, ambitions. Purity is hatred too. Purity is the pure black of the night. Purity is the fear of death.

Purity is universal. It stands between you and me. In fact, purity lies within you and me.

Finally Jodhaa-Akbar

For someone who has loved Mughal-e-azam and has ended up writing atleast two blogposts on the film, Jodhaa-Akbar is a movie he would not want to miss.

But things kept piling up and the movie was pending. Happened to squeeze in some time today, and I am glad I did.

Jodhaa-Akbar is grandiose brought to life. The palaces, the battlefields, the facades of buildings - it is enthralling. However, the backdrop does not overshadow the story being narrated.

This is a story I did not know at all. But it is a story amazingly narrated. The undertones of politics, religious differences only add to the detailing - and these scenes intrigue you layer by layer. The film grows on you.

Somehow, I felt, the climax was a letdown. But again, the climax of Mughal-e-azam was no different either. A film that has patriotism, secularism, bravery and love ends on a rather insipid note.

The entire journey of the film, though, is amazing.

Hrithik Roshan delivers yet another amazing performance. He is the charming prince with Jodhaa, the peace-loving warrior in the Panipat scene, the strong-willed lawman in the scene where he gets his brother thrown down the cliff and a brave person towards the end, the son trapped between his daai and his maa.

Way better than Lagaan (which, I somehow felt was an ordinary film packaged in a unique manner) and Swades (which was good!). Jodhaa - Akbar is worth the 3hrs and 40minutes!!

At the end of a long road

I hear a sharp tapping sound - as if someone is tapping a pen on a desk violently. I experience a heaviness in my head. In fact, it is shivering. And it's certainly not a pleasant feeling...

I see myself in a vehicle of some sort, driving down a road - not really a highway. It's dark and I feel heavy. Maybe I am doped. The road goes downhill and I look out of the window.

I see the dark blue sky. A mountain so huge. And the outline of a shrine. A Muslim shrine.

I open my eyes... the images have gone. I could not dare to find out what awaited me at the end of the long road.

The Political Directors

We all have seen huge hoardings of political parties - allegedly, most of them are illegal. (Point- the political party, after winning the election, is going to be law itself. So, perhaps, the policemen don't bother.)

There is something strikingly similar in all these hoardings. The photograph of the leader. And more often than not, the leader is pointing towards a direction. The leader will not lead you, the leader will direct you - ask you to do something, go somewhere, while he stands where he is.

I remember Gandhiji's photograph during the Dandi march. Gandhiji walking in the forefront...

There's another facet to why I call political leaders as 'directors'. Because a lot of antics are orchestrated; they are behind the scenes for a lot of political, social and religious happenings of the country!!

Just that these directors don't say 'Lights, Camera, Action.' - they merely say 'Action.'

The Taxi Ride

I boarded a taxi at Matunga yesterday and headed towards Ghatkopar. The driver was a middle-aged man dressed in a white kurta. He was wearing a white Muslim cap and had grey stubble. As I got on, he greeted me ''Salaam sahab." I was surprised and returned the greeting with a Hello.

The taxi driver spoke urdu. And though I was certainly finding it difficult to understand the language, I did gather most of it. The taxi driver told me about imaan. About doing one's duties with one's might.

Any other person would've gotten bored in the situation. But I wasn't.

Because, these days, I have been confused about what my plan of action must be - academically and personally. The taxi driver went on and on talking about being true to oneself and how one needed to do just that. The taxi driver said something on the lines of, "Jo apna kartavya imaandaari se karta hai, use jannat naseeb hoti hai..."

Who was this taxi driver to me? Why was, then, he able to understand the confusion I was undergoing in my mind? And why were his words giving me the strength to arrive at a decision - a decision to be happier? Where was the connection?

I kept wondering...

In this case, this man was telling me a great deal of things - answers to the questions I was trying to find.

God has strange ways of showing you the path he wants you to take. And yes, Vishnu and Prophet Mohammad, both are the same...

Down with 'Kalat Nakalat'

I am talking about a TV serial 'Kalat Nakalat' on Zee Marathi. The serial is a typical story of a typical 'middle-class' girl with typical dreams-in-her-eyes (and one.. two.. three boyfriends hovering around her.)

Just today, her father turns down the proposal by one of these guys and says, (translated line) "I'll burn my daughter alive but not let her marry you."

The father may be the male chauvinist pig (a rather cliche term) but he is certainly not expected to mouth dialogues like these.

The dialogue writer certainly should have been more responsible. Hearing this dialogue one day before the women's day was an irony in itself.

Attachments

Relationships in this world are not just by blood. They are when two minds connect. When I can guess what is going on in the brain of the other. When I understand what the other person must be feeling.

These relationships are not friendships. Friendships have an element of 'commonness'. You are friends with the people in your class - people from school - people from the same building.

There are some relationships which extend beyond all boundaries and conditions. The attachments that these relationships bring are stronger and deeper than the blood that flows through my veins and the relationships it brings.

Attachments are like the rains. You don't know why they happen. But you can't not know that they are happening.

I am not undermining the importance of blood relationships. When a blood relationship is accompanied by a connection of the minds, it can certainly work wonders.

But at the end, attachments, unlike the human body, are persistent. That's another paradigm altogether though...

Ward no. 2106 - SERIES 11

Disclaimer - The story is a work of fiction. The names of characters and places are imaginary. So are the incidents described.

The story till now: The amnesic guy was sad and lonely. Meanwhile, Kanika and James fought up over the issue of James calling her dad and telling him about her accident. Parvati Aaji names the amnesic guy Krishna.

Krishna woke up the next morning. He had a session with the doctor - a specialist who had come down all the way from Pune. Krishna was currently being funded by a NGO owned by some industrialist from London. Krishna walked out of the ward, a wardboy escorted him.

As he was moving out, Krishna was looking around. There were janitors that were mopping the floor. There were wardboys carrying samples from the test center to the pathological laboratory. The nurses, in their clean white attire, moved about carrying documents. Krishna looked at a door - it was the intensive care unit where, he remembered, he was admitted before being brought to the ward.

Krishna sat patiently outside the room. A nurse came and told him, "Doctor Khurana is calling you..."

Krishna entered the room. Dr. Khurana was a man in his late fifties and had a physique that would put a youngster to shame.

"Come in, young man...", Dr. Khurana said.

In fact, Dr. Khurana was younger and more jovial than Krishna currently. Krishna gave a feeble smile.

"So, how are you doing..."
"I am fine, doctor..."

Thirty minutes later, Krishna shook hands with Dr. Khurana and left the room. On his way back to the ward, he thought he would take a stroll about the hospital. The wardboy with him, however, stopped him from doing so. Krishna still managed to excuse himself.

Krishna walked down an empty corridor - perhaps he was trying to find the solution of the emptiness in his life itself. He walked past a room when he heard two people talking.

Dr. Damle was speaking a stern voice, "Doctor, you know you are acting too smart these days. What I do with my mother is none of your business. You are an employee here and you better stick to that!"

"Sir.. but..", the man muttered.

Dr. Damle said, "I transferred you to ward no. 3104 and you still act smart and say that you'll tell it all to my mother. What do you think of yourself?"

"I .. I didn't mean.. I am sorry sir."

Krishna watched from behind the door. The other voice sounded familiar.

A couple of minutes later, Krishna saw Dr. Umesh getting out of the room...

The next thing Krishna could visualize was Parvati Aaji's face - the angel who had given him a reason to smile last night. He wondered what it was. He could sense that something was wrong.

He entered the ward and couldn't believe his eyes...

He saw Parvati Aaji. She was dressed in a beautiful maroon sari. She was wearing a rose in her hair today. James was busy arranging something in the corner. Kanika was looking around....

The entire ward was decorated with balloons. Krishna read the glittering letters on the wall, "We'll miss you Umesh... Welcome Krishna!"

the circle is complete

The circle has just completed and things are back for a new start. I have, ahead of me, a new journey, a new path that I must tread with dignity and hope.

I travelled through the circle and I am back at the topmost point again. I know it's a circle, and I am just hoping this point lasts a bit longer...

The shadow I trust

Through dark alleys, through deep valleys, there is a shadow that follows me.

The shadow is behind me when the light pierces through my eyes. The shadow has travelled miles with its legs tied to mine.

Who is this shadow? That has been to every place I have. That has met every person I have. That knows me completely.

I once complained that the shadow leaves me in the dark. But the point is, when it's dark, I cannot see my shadow. But it's very much there.

The shadow is my reflection in the truest sense - because it is completely dark.

The shadow knows me in and out and yet continues to stay dark. The shadow will never show what I am.

It is the shadow I trust...

Asambhav

Aadinath Shastri, a man in his mid-twenties is about to marry his ladylove, Sulekha Raut. They have got engaged recently and are about to marry soon. Aadinath's ten year-old mute nephew Prathamesh sees Sulekha and goes mad at her. People do not know why...

But just then, Aadinath happens to visit a village in Konkan where he sees a girl who looks strikingly known to him. The tranquil face, the eyes that speak and the serenity - he is drawn towards her. And it's not just that. He marries her instantly and gets her home...

Sulekha goes furious and the family stricken with shock. The grandfather Dinanath Shastri is, however, overjoyed to see this new girl. He looks at her and points to the picture on the wall of his house. The picture of his sister-in-law, Parvati. Parvati and this new girl Shubhra share the same face.

Prathamesh is very happy to see Shubhra, Shubhra has a continous aching arm - and recurrent visions... Prathamesh and Shubhra sleep in the same pose. Dinanath Shastri finds a chit in his house at Vasai with a Sanskrit shlok written. Aadinath's cousin Nikhil dies. Sulekha's mom is sent to the asylum. And Aadi's sister, Priya believes .... Sulekha is behind all this.

What is Sulekha's motive?

Why would she do this?

Here begins a story of sorts. Almost surreal. The family is soon going to find out that the characters of the past have sprung to life again. That there lies a close-guarded secret waiting to be known. That there is an incomplete game about to be completed. That Shubhra shares something more than the face with Parvati. That what awaits them all is the truth. The truth that spans multiple generations, multiple people. Multiple secrets...

Do not forget to tune in to Asambhav on Zee Marathi. Monday to Saturday 2030 hrs.