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When in the Beyond

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I lost a train of thought to the screeching halt by a memory. 

This happens to me often,
Memories, you would brand random,
Simply appear,
Out of nowhere,
And lead me on to places old,
Faces old,
Smells of yore,
Heat that sears,
And rains that pour.
I am lost in the familiar,
I am uncertain in that which has happened,
I am limp, even when I knew I ran,
I am darting, where I know I lay for hours.

Beauty, in the perfection of her face,
Bravado, in his grip on the bike handles,
Fear, in those letters reaching the correct address,
Shame, in the first red on the underpant.
Envy, in a 99 here and a 100 there.

A house in the hills, 
is never in the memories,
A house in the hills,
was never in the plans.

A flight to the Beyond,
is written in the dreams in those memories,
And sitting in that Beyond today,
I can see all that lies just outside the Beyond
....from those days, from these days, but outside.

It is the law of nature, I think,
to leave the Behind, when you enter the Beyond.











Truth That Travels

Truth That Travels

Fake it,
for the truth,
no one can take it.

Truth torments,
for the truth may be ephemeral like the dew drop on the leaf,
glistening, filled up to the brim in sparkling allure,
So real, but gone, by a wind, by a whisper or by a whim.

Truth prevails,
truth as we saw it.
Truth, that can travel undiminished, undeterred, understood.

Mind

That eternal vagabond, 
That Usain Bolt of thoughts, 
That mixing bowl of Glen with Chardonnay with Vodka and Tequila, That child with a pout insisting on the china doll,
That Siddhartha of nirvana, That Hitler of Holocaust,
This mind is all that, And worse.

To Lost Friends

It rains outside,
I did not see the clouds in the evening.
Where did this rain come from?

Rain, like friends, can leave you wet, in memories.....of days gone by.
A friend.....who is she?
Someone who made you laugh, or someone who cried with you?

You will never know.
Like a dream that never came true, the friend is gone for now.
I hear no pitter-patter any more. Did the rain end?

A sun will shine tomorrow,
or perhaps day after.
This dampness will take a while to dry. Eyes are rain clouds you see.


As the Elementary School Kids Reflect on Mr. Obama

The Elections, came, and the hateful dirt just kept spilling out in the open, for all to see, for so many to be buried under. Sentiments were badly hurt. Hurt because, groups of people started to receive names, allegations and distrust. Someone had to win the White House, and so we now have a new President-Elect. As we look to the new with anticipation, as a mother of two small kids, for me, it is only fair to start thinking what is it that the elementary school kids, (at max 11 years of age currently), are going to perceive as the legacy of their memory’s first President….the man they have till date seen on T.V. as  the leader of their country? What will they remember about Oh-bama?
I am very proud already that my oldest daughter- a 3rd grader will forever remember that her first recollections of her country’s President are that of a tall, lanky man, with a tightly grazed salt and pepper hair, and a skin color that was not remarkable at all! In being who he is, The President, the lead…

...And this year's Nobel goes to......BOB DYLAN!!!!

This is what happens when the likes of Arundhati Roy, and Jhumpa Lahiri, stop writing, or stop writing fiction in the case of the latter, and the likes of Salman Rushdie and Vikram Seth come out with a piece only once in so many years.....guess then whose left? Bob Dylan it is! 

Really a Nobel Prize for Literature? For literature did you say? ....To Bob Dylan? 

Yes, he is a prolific, and a good song writer (and singer...yes, we know)....but still. This is literature we are talking about. Literature is contemplative, it's the expression of the subtle in a subtle yet universally woven tale. It is the telling of the tales of innumerable through the voices of the few. It is about taking us to unseen lands and unknown heights through the voyages of mere mortals and the imagined immortals. And yes, Dylan did write a few timeless songs, which without his thus meaning to, went on to become anthems for movements. However, a Nobel for literature? If I recall it right, it used to be given for …

And Language Should Never Be a Barrier Any More

अब तक यह कैसे संभव रहा की हिंदी में जैसे कुछ लिखा ही नहीं?
सोलह साल? एक और दो नहीं, पुरे सोलह साल हो गए, और हिंदी के प्रयोग की आवष्यकता ही नहीं हुई. सच ऐसा होता है क्या की हिंदी में सोचते हैं, हिन्दी को बोलते हैं, हिंदी को पहनते हैं....
ना हिन्दू को नहीं, हिंदी को, 
परन्तु हिंदी को लिखा नहीं?
अंग्रेजी में बोलना, लिखना, पढ़ना, सब आसानी से होता रहा तो ज़रुरत ही नहीं हुई हिंदी की. फिर? 
फिर, बच्चों को हिंदी बोलते देखने की इच्छा जागी, क्यों ? 

क्योंकि जब अपने जैसे दीखते बच्चे अपने मुहावरो की सुन्दरता को नहीं सराह पाते, जब हमारे जैसे नामों वाले छोटे छोटे चेहरों पर हिंदी तरानों से जुड़े हिंदी के बोल नहीं आ पाते, और जब 'जूठन' शंब्द के लिए इन बच्चों पे कोई शब्द ही नहीं होता---अंग्रेजी में शब्द नहीं है, और हिंदी इन्हे आती नहीं, तब एहसास होता है की हम हिंदी से जानकार माता -पिता के पास एक कितनी सुन्दर धरोहर है, जो हम इन छोटे छोटे अंतर्राष्ट्रीय नागरिकों को दे सकते हैं. 

मेरे पास हिंदी है, और मैं इन्हे हिंदी दूँगी. यदि तुम्हारे पास मराठी है तो तुम उन्हें वो दो. भाषा---जितनी जानेंगे हम, मेरा यह विश्…