This is my World

It will not be the bullets, or the bombs or any landmines. It will be a noose. His death will not be glorified. He will not be called a martyr. He will just be sympathized. And he will not be remembered. He will not enter the pages of history. He will be forgotten, just like others. He was imagining the battlegrounds, standing in his toilet, his tomb, starring into the noose. 80 miles south, 3 months ago, the tiger fell. Now it is his time. 25 minutes into the flight, Arjuna pulled the trigger, which would change Maheshwaran's life forever. The bomb that was triggered fell right into Maheshwaran's house. He and his sister, were playing in the garden when the house burst into flames. They had few words, only cries were heard. On this May 25, 1994, a dozen other children became orphans. Padmanaban and Nalini were both burnt and buried. Sitting on those rubbles, on their parents' tomb, Maheshawaran and Padma were crying, for the next two days. They had company though. Th

I am 2 months shy of 23 and I have been an atheist for close to 5 years now. I belong to a minority, which people believe have no faith. They are wrong. I have faith, on myself and my fellow humans. So do other atheists. All these 5 years, during which I have been able to think, reason and act on my own, I have grown a desire to meet him, the so-called almighty, the God. Not out of anxiety or curiosity, or any other adjective you may want me to use. I just want to ask him something, something little. I have seven questions. "Why are men born, unequal?". I have been thinking on this for a while now. A kid born into a rich family leads a life with English education, toys and chocolates, colourful clothes and a bright future awaits him. But a kid born into a poor family lives with child labour, left-overs, diseases, and bleak future. If at all destinies are written, they are probably written at birth itself. I could have easily ended up as a beggar, had i not been the son of my

It was 30 past 9 in the P.M. and the moon was smiling at Bangalore . The cold breeze was teasing the clouds and the clouds were opening up. Minute globules of water were rocketing the troposphere before they hit them. There was a pair of hands locked in each other. A half hearted smile, tears in eyes, and a reluctant step forward; two heads were hanging low daring not to see each other. It is going to be a long month. She had run in his arms. It has been a month's wait. She had missed him, his affection, his care and his warmth. She had wanted him dearly. He was not feeling anything less to that. He wrapped his arms around her and never let go. Words were few, smiles were lot. Two hands locked into each other. They will remain locked for 40 more hours. Sun rose into the skies of Bangalore watching this beautiful couple. In her black saree, she looked amazing. In his t-shirt and cargos, he looked like a Yankee. They still made a beautiful couple. At 10 in the morning, both wer

How do you imagine dropping a new born child from a 10 storey building with only 4 men holding the corners of a bed sheet to save him? Unfortunately this happens in certain parts of India, my country. People believe this brings in Luck. Any living child is blessed by God. Sarcastically, all children bring in luck only to end up rag picking. We are a country projecting ourselves as a developing nation with a new attitude. We had a scientist president and have a Harvard graduate, as the prime minister. Yet, we continue to shit on ourselves. From birth till death. We have unimaginable rituals across the country. We bury our kids alive and blame God, when he comes out dead. We simply ignore the fact that, we pushed him straight into hell. We lay our new borns on burning coal and wonder why only ash came out. We take our kids to temple, when he is affected by high fever or a chicken-pox. When he suffers to diarrhea, we try driving out the Satan within him. Then when we reach adolescence, we

The blade was wet. With blood. The northwest monsoon which was waving a bye to eastern coasts of India was helping it get dry. A bucket, half-filled with water was waiting inside the hut. At midnight, the blade found the water and was silenced. It will wait two more days, before it tastes its next victim. The home minister's death was a shock to everyone in the state. Not because they loved him. It was the fifth high profile murder in a fortnight. A retired government doctor, the collector, an MLA , the water resources minister and now the home minister. All killed in the same manner. A stab to the heart and the left eye. And they were drowned in the bath tub or the water tank. A serial killer. And there was always a note left behind. Scribbled with the victim's blood. Its read "Justice without mercy". The morning newspapers on December 25,2008 screamed, "Home minister down ! Who's next ?". The size of the head line was enough to scare everyone. The fir