Black

White is all colors

Yet

We call it pure

Black is absence of color

Yet

We call it impure

White reflects everything,

An impenetrable chill.

Black absorbs everything,

An inclusive warmth.

White is blinding

Black is blind

White is marriage

Yet

White is death

Black is protection

Yet

Black is death

Transition from life is peace

Peace is white

Yet

Rituals are black

Transition in life is chaotic

Chaotic is black

Yet

Ceremonies are white

Coal hardened to diamond

Black seasoned to white

Black is the reason for light

Black is the soul of white

Shouldn't white be black?

Unboxing Indian languages

My tryst with languages has been that of, love-hate. Education, across a string of schools and cities throws at you challenges, of what some might recall, as 2nd and 3rd languages. Compulsory languages, that you had to cross the mark on, to make it to the next grade. I had my encounters with Hindi, Bengali, Gurmukhi, Sanskrit and acquainted myself with French and Urdu. Thankfully, English was the marathon friend.


When it came to taking a second language, for boards, the hoity-toity had, French. As much as, the bourgeois bug appealed to me, I had to resign to Hindi "A". Then, I had kicked myself for not having scored lesser, so that I could have been assigned to the batch of Hindi "B". The scholarly subscribed to Sanskrit- oh boy, for that cramming! I have a fundamental disconnect with the whole, memorizing without understanding, school of education, but addressing that would merit an entire post. Honestly, I would have opted for neither French, nor Sanskrit, or the long tail German, Russian, and more. It’s the lack of choices, which sets you off on the "what if" mode. Sometimes, no option is not such a bad option, after all. It makes life simple.

Story of India- The Amul way

2014

History as we write it each day...

2013

Flashback of the year that was...

1978

India’s timeline-1978: The Amul way from Dilpreeta Vasudeva

1976

Fallen

Bright lights,
Big city.
Meandering streets with faceless entities.
Finding familiarities in nothingness niceties.
Yellow raincoat,
Puddle soaked feet.
Puddles for lakes,
Alleys for express streets.
Dilapidated creativity on graffiti-laden stone walls
Or lesser gods at life’s call
Frayed toothless smiles,
Grease smeared passersby.
Disguised charades,
Or victims of the urban epidemic.
Shredded being,
Patches and threads that hold the cover.
Clinging onto soul piercing shards of shame.
Distraught pleasure in metal crushers heave down car graveyards
Doomsday?
Naah!
Just a pit stop.
For evolutionary transformation,
Reduced to shapeless iron,
Looking to be crafted into an object of desire.
Deliver the earths ye potter,
The iron ye blacksmiths,
The souls ye poets
Dazed mind, hazy vision,
Warm blood trickling temple to chin,
Losing ground.
Natures pain of labour,
For darling creativity.
Churning stomach,
Craving for just once more.
Gashed its arms to lend the world its beauty.
Ah! The high of creation,
Make believe or believable?
Flickering misery, flinching hope,
Fallen.
Blackened nails, infested wounds.
Crooked wry happiness,
Rats gnawing into skin.
Stench of inconsequential
Calling the bright lights in the big city.
Fallen

Cents to a Dollar

Every cent you take
You give back a dollar.
Every moment you fake,
You get closer to reality.
Its all about un-thought unscrupulous mortality.
Deathless.
Breathing life into listless insanity.
What really is sanity?
Is the glass half full?
Or egg half broken?
Am I simply an opportunist?
A characterization of contrived adherence?
or a picture of societal free fall?
You will love me tomorrow,
Do you see me with you today?
Time is not uni-dimensional
But a multidimensional mess.
Walking dark alleys,
Silencing poltergeists.
Or is that scream a longing for silence?
Palpable.
Untouched.
or conveniently forgotten?
Delving into condescending duality,
The spell of frivolous lust and greed.
Knowing men are vents for gods sins
HER unpretentious pleasures
His happiness but a mirage.
HER love for him, a masquerade.
And when was it that you saw beyond the almighty's mask?
HER surreal identity,
His unforgiving hypocrisy,
Both brutal.

I sit by the sidewalk,
Investing cents for a dollar to roll back.

-Jugalbandi @Route04

Experience Delhi

It was about three weeks back that a concept was actualized.

Experience Delhi.
The genesis of which was a New Year resolution, only it wasn’t an annual one. It was a way of life. After not much deliberation I arrived at self-development. Ideally pursuing a passion should be best suited but I could not seem to find one-a passion, a passion in its truest form. What I discovered although was that I had varied interests, a multitude of activities I enjoyed dabbling in.

I wanted to make time for myself.

Enjoy simple things.

Uncomplicate pleasure.

There always has been joy in doing small things, only this time it was about making memories of those moments.

Living and absorbing.

Meeting friends over drinks and meals isn’t very enriching and engaging, needed something more concrete, something that would genuinely help bond.
It then occurred to me that I had lived in Delhi for a decade if not more but had almost next to never experienced the culture and its richness that it has to offer. Most of its beauty was about living in nostalgia. Thus the ball got rolling and I soon was thoroughly enjoying myself.

25th August-Driving to work it dawned upon me that there would be several like-minded folk who would like to break away from the web of complacency. I could only imagine how exhilarating it would be to have shared experiences. Learn from each other, meet interesting people, enrich one another, dig into our abilities and discover new possibilities. I experienced an adrenaline rush thorugh the day and could not stop thinking about getting started.

Activities spanning from heritage walks followed by breakfast to karaoke, From concerts to theatre, dance recitals to museums, sound & light show to mid-night photography and drives, cookery to pottery workshops, root for your favorite team at a watering hole or go for a game, learn an instrument or learn a language, movie marathon to short get- aways from Delhi, fine dining to rustic culinary indulgence.

Imagine, appreciate, participate, motivate!

Exploring, learning and growing! Together.

The mechanics of it were simple too- initiate a group on Facebook, yes one more amongst the several. The invitation sent to some like-minded people with whom the concept would resonate and only if it excited them would they join. A truly joint effort, a community where everyone contributes, participates and takes initiative. Comfortable being just a handful, even if it means to be able to count us on one hand to begin with.

17th Sep- We met and witnessed bi-polar Delhi at its best!

Art & Science of Deception

Elementary, my dear Watson!
And that’s what the world remembers.
A line that never existed.
The untruth that lives each day and dies.

We see what we want to.
We hear what we desire.
We believe an illusion.
And when the illusion breaks,
Say that the world conspires?

Deception is a strange game.
It relays a vicious cycle.
It plays on the weakest link,
Trust in another,
Until it feeds into your self
The beginning is where it ends.

What you give is what you earn.
What you get is,
Neither fate,
Nor out of turn.

Tied to strings,
Self-professed, oh so detached!
Holding onto the last straw,
That sinks.
Instead,
Believe in oneness and survive.

Definitions and boundaries,
Amorphous principles,
Open to scrutiny and sub-judice.
Collective intelligence,
Limiting individuality,
Pre-ordained paths to happiness.
Crafted concepts of social being.

Subterfuge of who we are
And perception.
Striving for acceptance,
Moving to religion.
Restricting living,
To sheer existence.

One amongst the plenteous stages of evolution
Is self –admission
to ravenous narcissism and intemperance.
Arguably,
love of self is ‘the’ driving force
Confronted with a tirade of continuous dissent.

All are born with colored eyes
With colored love and a colored mind.
with the ongoing struggle to demystify
with a challenge to revive
a sonnet called life.

Of The Lesser Gods

Children borne of the lesser gods
condemned to a life of disdain
where gurgling laughter
and innocence lose their meaning
early years are reserved for menial training.

Corrupted minds and corrupted hearts
the milieu tearing their childhood apart.
a roving eye,
an outstretched arm
seeking comfort from another's alms.


Exposed to the ways of the world
nobody to tell them, right from wrong.
The only lesson they learn
that molds them at their tender age
is to survive, just another day.



Yet these children, borne of the lesser gods
instinctively, make choices,
choices of which normal childhood is made of.
They play in mud,
cry in pain
build castles of clay
and string empty cans as trains.
They too admire their reflection in the mirror,
impersonating a superstar
gather the rags to innovate them as dresses
for junk, they label them baubles and trinkets.
They too seek others of their age
uncannily,their games resemble games of those born to normal personage.

When one amongst the children, borne of the lesser gods
begins to thrive and shine
when one amongst them, begin to more than just survive
A challenge to those living lives of normalcy
One of whom, points them towards their shrine of abject misery and dependency
borne of the lesser gods, you forever will be.

Biblical Seven Sins of Life

In the shadow of grey
One toils with profligacy
Let's introduce ourselves to the dark side today.
Step back and push common perception aside
I am going to walk you through the biblical seven sins of our lives.

Pride and vanity antithesis of humility
In the garb of ‘I’ and healthy competition
Caught up in the web of comparison
Feeding the gratification of dignity
Proud of what one is and whom one has.

Avarice and greed contradicts generosity
Cloaked in want for one’s fair share and a little bit more.
Whose yardstick do we use to define a true altruist
Can one give more than what one seeks ?
Can one manage expectations when they peak?

Envy is everything love is not
Disguised and huddled in the hearts of all
Impatience destroys the love inside
Too much of love is the shard of envy that pierce’s one through
Numb and immobile, selfless love.

Wrath and anger destroy the acts of kindness
Flaw of the human mind
It remembers what it listens to last
A look, a touch, a word so harsh
Revoke at will, one cant.

Lust to placate sensuality,
Desire insatiable, for power, money and lovemaking ruthlessly
Pleasure of uncontrollable adrenaline rush
Stifling for the lack of sobriety
Overwhelmed by opportunities of extravagant lifestyle

Gluttony pushes the limits of temperance
Hankering for debauchery, regalement and social vibrance
Certitude in morality and responsibility , an extinguishing flame.
Appetite to challenge faith
A path easier than forbearance

Sloth is effacing the zeal
Blighting zest for life and the spiritual inside
A sense of wasted-ness,
Stupor of mind and thought
Accepting without questioning, subscribing to existing schools of thought

In the shadow of grey
Toiling with profligacy
Living with the dark side today
Common perception pushed aside
The biblical seven sins of our lives.

She Will Forever Be...

When all is fair and good,
Dancing in the rain,
In the times of innocence
What happens when vice prevails?
Patriarchal it is,
Social norms apply,
Ill fated about her feminist side.
Degraded. Fallen, Consumed within.
She shares little,
It gnaws at her skin.
It is not all, that she states.
In her mind, recalling the unfortunate relays.
She paces in her graces,
Observing the amiability each day.
The gloom of shadows,
Keeping up with prejudices.
She has her moments,
Moments that don’t rectify the wrongs.
Taking the pace off her life,
She slows down, disintegrates inside.
It is contrived, defeats her faith.
Heart and soul under a veil,
Love borne off her chaste stance.
The womb of love and forgiveness has known no another.
In her facial lines, stems expression.
Words belie and a world of implicit pervades.
The rise of phoenix is her strength.
No one man injustice will conquer her land.
It is the call of curtain raiser,
Privy to her centre stage.
Tomorrow will be no different.
Innumerable follies, all pervasive.
Staring in her face as strangers once disgraced.
The loss is no more hers.
She has grown within.
Not regretting a day,
For having bent backwards
For not having tried to break away.
Trampled and tormented,
Moral courage she never deceives.
Laughs with you and humors idiosyncrasies.
Does not die a secret,
Living the life of a mystery.
The epitaph reads,
She is a woman to me, She is a woman and will forever be.