A Window No Doors

Even if it's a dream Let me dream a little dream! Let me take this Flight of fantasy A distorted reality Since Reality is no' real any more A free ticket to ride Do you think they'll catch me or Tax me? Let me enjoy it Till they take away the rights for that too Let me dream Just a little bit longer!

Dread engulfs me as I think about the sanctity of my inherited habitation. I wonder whether distance has separated us or is it the other train of thought that has carried us farther away to north. The emotional conscious fills the air around and tries to assert its influence where the individualistic notions have settled in. There is still a cloud about the tower of individualism, whether it is worth the climb or shall one just desert it and retreat. However, if the journey hasn't been taken, who shall reveal the mystery and be the guide to others. It is impossible to say that one does not do things for others as the invisible chains bound us together and our actions shall bear consequences to all. Shall this journey not then be embarked upon? It might perhaps be a release from idleness, and the esteem that the self lost at its own cave. Is it wrong that the feet grows cold now to think whether to retrace its steps to rejoin the past dwelling and to lead the renewal of those famil...

T ill it's dark  I wonder if thou can see my face I am a stranger to it Every surface has its own reflection But I am blind  Who am I? Yet nobody answers to me They all ask the same questions Everyone holds their own misconception But I cannot speak Even in light I search for the possible turnover The noise is disturbing to each one's ear While each soul is in contest to its position But I do not listen

Two naked soles on grass.. Walking one after the other now that you're not here  talking to nature slow... deep breathing empty mind An inspiration!

the cat purrs...  I walk out It jumps I scream It disappears!

‘ V aheguru Vaheguru Vaheguru’ and a pair of hands stretched for a piece of bread. Those wrinkled hands have the skin sunken under the hollow between the bones and the nerves protrude through the skin just enough to show that the man is famished. Then if you move to see his face, his gleaming eyes would tell you that it must have been a while since his last meal. The seva goes on mechanically, plate after plate, a serving spoon pours down some daal , another one khichdi , yet another sabji . Then somebody comes chanting ‘rotivahegururotivahegururotivahguru’, and some hands welcome it, some join together in gratitude, and some cross each other and separate indicating the roti is not needed. The buckets come and the buckets go, they hang above in the air and are never put down. The heads don’t allow the helpers to make any contact between the serving spoon and the plates; they say it would make the whole bucket of sabji ‘ jhoota’ . A man stands along the entrance to the langar , he’s ...

I can understand now, Why the whites would not have wanted to mix with the colored For the fear of being stained And yet, I, not being a racist, soaked them together. A night later, I found The poorer of the whites,  Stained, and waiting to be discarded,  Cry in tears of blue. While the rich capitalist, Nike in white armor, Stood undeterred; Impervious to the ordeal, Survived the unwanted test of the times!  Perhaps, it was a conspiracy, a drop of indigo, to inspire a tumultuous riot, and the enemy has walked away slyly while leaving the victims in despair! 

It is one those days when your alarm rings at seven for jogging and what you find in your dark room is that the night still persists, so without bothering yourself you put your head back on to the pillow and sleep again. Ten minutes before class you get a call from a friend and you are late, but in winters one doesn't take time to dress up. So, sliding on my pants I run for class and survive an hour of lecture. Thunder. Cloud bursts. And your attention is diverted. It is cold and chilly. Class is over. Done for the day. While the rain cancels all the previously planned programmes, my day shifts from being jobless to full of activity. I can not still forget the blood rushing through my body while I was riding down the lanes of North Campus, taking the hired bike from cross-roads to cross-roads. It was nerve wracking at first because it has been years of non-practice, and there I was at the least expected moment, riding my way, riding in the dark, jumping over bump to bump. My hands...

I sit I slide down Shift myself underneath the blanket To keep my feet warm After a while it gets hot My sweater My socks They keep rolling down From the blanket To the bed, to the floor I shiver A pair of cold feet touches mine I push, I kick I shift to the other side Sister, why do you always have your feet so cold? Close your eyes And it’s dark It is cold, it is December Shall I blame it? And sleep until lunch