The Middle Ground

If you are me, you are not a morning person. As soon as you open your eyes in the morning, into your head come rushing the events of the previous night in most spectacular detail, then the events of the past week, followed by those of last 5 years, and finally your whole life — all crunched into a script that you are not interested in reading, delivered so abruptly and so unforgivingly as if there was no other way to orient you and set context. As you calm down and make yourself a cup of tea, all you want to do is dodge but fail, then block and say, “ I know this already, just let me be”. You gradually warm yourself up with light exercise and tune into Guided Meditation with Deepak hoping you’ll glide into the day smoothly, knowing all the while that you are not prepared for the harsh sunlight of the post- breakfast till lunch time period. Each day as the sun sets, he returns your superpowers that he takes without your permission every morning — as the moon rises, the muse returns coax...

of hugs and sighs, big sunglasses and smoke (and hash and dope) of friendships to die for (with friends to die with) of kindness and generosity amidst endless laughter and painful tears of anger bottled within (and love doled out by heaps) of loneliness and need, some desires and a little bit of greed of mistakes and learning and the poetry of e.e.cummings of pillion rides and old songs of dreams and celluloid, and a heart full of void of brave love with crazy, stupid men (for a pinch of vermillion and a dead fish) of sincere prayers and elusive peace (and the debt crisis in Greece) of breaths, both lost and found (and caught between kisses) for the sake of life dear, in between and of course, a certain yellow submarine

To all the men in my life who aspire to be saints and ascetics, to every person who advocates inaction or even detachment as the way to stay away from conflicts or struggle, thank you for showing me the other way. But I will not allow your opinions to come in the way of my interests which are absolutely worldly in nature. Because passion for plain awesomeness, cannot exist with non-involvement. For awesomeness shall be my life's goal every moment that I live. I will consider the alternate course only when I will have struggled to have a taste of everything life has to offer today. My struggle will be like the struggle of Man, who has had to do everything by himself to be whatever he is so far. I will work till I bring about change, I will climb the mountains, cross the rivers, laugh through all the tears, love till my heart breaks, be impatient, careless, and funny and love over and over again if I have too. It is only this way that I can do justice to Life. Here's chucki...

I am the Afghanistan that your America has pilfered. I used to be naive before, but since I have understood your cunning I don't trust you. I am the hard work, sincerity and the toil that you crushed and trampled with your cunning and deceit. I am the talent which never saw success because you snatched my opportunity. And so my eyes have become the mirror into which yours can hardly look into. You have beside you a chattering parrot which tries to seek your attention, fluttering its mascara-ed eye lashes and pouting its red beak. You stare outside the window, the least interested while I look on with amusement from the seat behind. If I were with you(instead of the parrot), I would sit by the window; you would want me to, every time. I am that kind of a woman. You waste your time taming a hundred such parrots rather than be with someone like me because between the both of us, I shine. You are definitely polished well, but I shine. I am that g...

(to the loser from venus): let me do the loving while you decide between your options: pretty face or nice ass let me do the reading while you flip playboy pages: plain vanilla with strawberry lips or cocoa butter with choco-chip nips (Shaven smooth or otherwise) let me do the cooking while you regale your friends with phony tales of your bravado (overs pints, ales and barrels of beer) let me do the bread-winning while you memorize match stats (and shag to porn) let me do the forgiving while you cheat everybody in the world let me stand high and haughty (almost like a tree) alone always but never without use unlike you

This post is about a companion in my adventures - easy and daunting, my steed in mucky terrains and smooth, a reliable friend who sometimes remorselessly burns a hole in my pocket - my car, Abhimanyu . As I sit down to collect my thoughts, I smile at the fond memories of the time we spent in each other’s company. 2 years ago, I had enrolled for driving lessons at a local driving school who would take me through the process of obtaining an Indian drivers license along with fixed real -time driving kms/hours. I attended the classes quite regularly - with the instructor beside - the clutch, brake and accelarator shared amicably between us. Sure the car moved along the lanes slowly, and stopped rightly at the signals, but could I drive a car on my own ? I brought this point up during a conversation with the branch manager of my bank who is also a friend - she suggested that it helps greatly if you can practice on your own car everyday for some time. That really set the gears of ...

Capture your fears in a shell Clasp your tears in your hands Close your eyes and look around How tranquil is the world within- Where butterflies bloom into flowers And burst into a myriad of colors Where the peacocks soar deep into the sky Where the leaves are gold by the day Their tips silver by the night Where you walk over that bridge Of fine woven lace And the moon smiles up from the river Into your beautiful glowing face Where the deities dine with us At our tables And the kings and queens don't exist Even in fables And when you open your shells Pearls will be revealed within And when you open your hand The fears will vanish like grains of sand Then open your eyes And realize That you have for so long been a fool Life no doubt is very beautiful

Inside me, in a warm, little house made of wood, there lives a free woman. She is free because she doesn't have to pick a man to love, because she doesn't have to fight and she chooses not to fly. She is free because she just lives. Inside me, there lives a woman who is very unlike me. She breathes deeply and separates orange scents from cinnamon, ginger scents from clove. Down there, there is a lot of time for doing such kinds of things. The moon knocks on her door, in the evenings, sometimes.They mend their broken hearts over tea and biscuits. Not many people may know this, but the moon is in love with the sun who doesn't care much for such kind of things. When the moon has left, the woman realizes that she has always been the moon. Inside me, there lives a woman who is neither young nor old. She sips tea in the afternoon smiling at the memory of an old song while looking outside her window, at the lake beside her house. She likes to write with sharpen...

“Come, Come whoever you are.  Wanderer, worshiper, lover of leaving, come.  Ours is not a caravan of despair, even if you have broken your vows a thousand times, come. Come, yet again, come, come” - Jalal-ud-din Rumi “I did my own thing” - Sita, of the 21st century A.D Acknowledgement I would like to express my sincerest thanks to Sage Valmiki - after all these years he seems as mythological as the epic he wrote. I am grateful to him for writing the epic, a story that remains as deeply etched in my mind today as it was when I first heard it.  The events that take place in this epic have been repeated so many times over centuries that they've shaped the belief systems of large parts of the human population. The effigies of iconic villain Ravan have been burnt year after year, Diwali, the festival of lights has been celebrated as the triumph of the righteous over evil, making this mythological story more alive than many real events that have taken place in...

Seems like yesterday when you'd caught hold of my diary and wouldn't give it back before sneaking a peek. You'd opened the pages where I'd written this: Be the home I return to for laughter  When I turn around let me find you laughing too Be there  to share with me what I lovingly cook up let your heart be a canvass for my colours Let me paint my dreams Be there when I bring home a homeless little baby Help me bring her up. Be my church and my temple Pardon me when I err Be successful in what you do so that I can take inspiration Was that the day when you'd sealed the fate of our friendship? I know the kind of jokes that would make you laugh, that you like to listen more than speak, that you stop for that clandestine cigarette not in front of the stall in front of your apartment but at the one a little further away (although the chances of your mother (who probably knows that you smoke) discovering you smoke are very remote).  I know that you va...

The following is a list of human activities infinitely more cruel and harmful than drawing cartoons or being satirical. These however have nothing in common with what any self-stylized godman, priest or prophet or seer has ever prohibited. Not so surprisingly, these have also not been mentioned in any religious texts. 1) deforestation 2) dumping toxic chemical waste into natural water bodies 3) sweeping seabeds clean while killing million fishes and destroying aquatic ecosystems 4) hunting tigers, whales, dolphins for trade and fun 5) killing animals for food 6) circumscision - because the creator made you with foreskin and you obviously know better 7) killing fellow humans - because thats what you do when you are angry and you are always angry 8) evading taxes - because you owe nothing to the government and your country for your identity 9) hoarding wealth while millions starve 10) abducting and raping women and children 11) exploiting the less mightier through ...

Prompt You are locked in an empty room with no clue how you got there. The only thing in the room is a book. You open the book to the first page and read, ' And then the door opened' And at that point the door opens What happens next ? Entry I wake up gasping. My eyes squint painfully at the harsh sunlight flooding insensitively through the small window above my bed. My arms instinctively reach out to shield them. They find that my neck and forehead are beaded with sweat and soaking strands of hair stick to my temples.  Catching my breath I reach out to the glass of water that rests usually on the table beside my bed.  I find none.  I take in a deep breath, while images from my nightmare rush to taunt at me in intimidating, accusatory tones .  “ Relax, it’s just a nightmare”, I tell myself. “But they feel so real”, a scared voice responds.  I look around to find myself in a strange place.  The air is heavy with the stench...

My quest for love is like my longing for sunshine on a day when the sky is overcast with grey clouds and the rain lashes against the windows.  You've left taking with yourself everything that was sacred between us. My Mosul is destroyed, Houla and Herat lie massacred inside me.  I wake up in the middle of the day when the sun will be gone soon.The birds are thirsty and tired from gathering food. The flowers frown at the scorching heat. The sun soon goes away taking with him the flowers and their fragrance, the birds and their chirping, the light and all the glory. They leave me alone in the fog of infinite loneliness to fight with the demons of solitude.  My sighs are still empty, our pipe dreams have turned into stars that light up the velvet night sky. A nail bitten from your little finger seems to have magically flown off to become the moon. The nights of longing remain painful, on the other side of my bed lies the Sahara with its merciless magnif...

I sit in the balcony, numb. I could also be sitting amidst the bustle of a cold lounge of a busy airport, waiting for another flight. It wouldn't have been any different. Cold and distant, I look like I am invincible. I want to look that way. I want to be that way, undefeated by touch, sound, voice, sight or taste. There is peace in feeling that I am in control, completely. But feelings? A thought quips inside. I slaughter the thought instantly. Deep inside I am scared, lest my belief gives in to the feelings that I ignore with so much ruthlessness. Feelings should never be under-estimated. Not long ago, some words had helped me look beyond the mere apparent, at the intricate design that lies behind all. The gurgling rivers and the mighty mountains had pacified my broken heart. And I had marveled innocently and then believed. The same words today team up to shake the foundations of my belief. I struggle to re-affirm that in faith lays the salvation of mankind. I...

Fact : the 'Zero' was invented by Aryabhatta, an Indian mathematician. Up until quite recently this used to be my favorite Indian contribution to the evolution of the human thought. But in the aftermath of the global financial crisis, as I look back at everything that led to the present economic condition of the world, (in which war is a legitimate revenue-generating economic activity, tax-havens have illustrious names of politicians and artists associated with them, as banks still continue to pay 'billions' as regulatory fines), I find this fascinating invention at fault for the human condition called greed. But on further ruminating, this conclusion seems too simplistic. Could it be possible that in the grimy process of systematically looting and methodically killing each other (while believing that shallow, deprecating sarcasm and humour directed at ourselves would somehow justify our actions) we completely misunderstood the zero ? In any case, there co...

Today I decide to break the silence on something that I've been carrying around for 4 years now. I could let this reside within the deep recesses on my heart-mind space without probing it and gently allowing it to turn into other beautiful possibilities. Or I could bring this very personal account to the open in an attempt to trigger introspection in the light of toxic conversations in the name of righteousness, that are steering the national dialogue of our country. If you decide to go ahead and read this - my only request to you is to Look, to simply Look without biases, at the emotions and feelings that this piece triggers through your heart-mind. Whatever arises is allowed, valid and accepted. The hero in this story has a charismatic personality, is well-read about current affairs, fiercely independent, extremely strongly opinionated, has a dry, sarcastic, witty, often mean sense of humour. He hardly ever appreciates anyone in conversations instead is quick to re...