This is my World

You never know what the next moment is going to be, or do you? I have been planning for my 100 th blog of this year quite sometime now, gathering my blogging experiences over the past few months. But a day's delay in blogging, ends up changing the content. So, my 100 is not going to be like that of Sehwag's , with a six over mid-on. Rather it is going to be like that of Sachin's with a hurried single. And to add to it, if you see my blog archives, you will find me hovering over the 90's for sometime now. Finally I reach 100 somehow. It is time to lift the bat and say a Thank You to all, who have been supporting me in this venture. Thanks to all those feedback and comments you have been giving.I appreciate that. Then, let us jump into the topic, without wasting any more words. Everyone has his secrets and I have my own share. In fact, I have lots of them. By no means, I am going to reveal any of them. Just a few more sentence from my heart and I will be ruining lives. ...

It was a hot day for September in Bangalore. After a bit of struggle, the Sun had finally managed to glitter some of the bald heads which have been enjoying milder temperatures for the past few days. The humidity in the air was high threatening the Bangaloreans with the possibility of a heavy shower. The Bangaloreans hated it, for it was Sunday, their day to party. However this jargon of partying and hanging out is common only among a certain few. There is another group which know nothing of these jargon. Four eyes belonging to this group, stared into each other. Vasu and Ramya have been married for 5 years now. Vasu was working as a clerk in KR Puram post office. And Ramya had enough work managing the house and little Vasuki . 3 years now, Vasuki was a cute, little barbie like child with all in-built mischievousness. She has been dear to both her parents being their only relation. Vasu and Ramya had been orphans before tying the knot. Being a Sunday, Vasu had taken Ramya a...

தாயின் ரத்தத்தில் கருவறைக்குள் விருந்து, கண்மூடி புரண்டுகொண்டு செய்த சிறு குறும்பு, இரண்டும் முடிந்தது தொப்பிள்கொடி அறுந்து, தொடங்கும் உன் பயணம் போர்க்களத்திலிருந்து ! அக்கரையைத் தேடி தொடங்கும் தேடல் ஒன்று, இருட்டான பாதைகள் உனக்கென்று பல உண்டு, தென்றல் வந்து மோதுமென்று காத்திருப்பாய் அங்கு, உன் கண்ணீரின் சுவையை மண்ணும் ரசிக்கும் இங்கு ! காகிதக் கப்பலில் கடலில் பயணம், மூடிய திரைக்குபின் சீறும் வீர வசனம், சதை கூட்டிற்குள் பிறக்கும் பல சலனம், கண்கள் இரண்டில் காதல் வரும் தருணம் ! நாடோடி மேகம் உன்னைவிட்டு ஓடோடி போகும், பிரிவு தரும் துன்பம் உன்னையும் ருசித்து தின்னும், உடைந்து நீ நொறுங்கும்போது அமைதி வந்து சேரும், உன் வாழ்க்கை என்னும் பயணம் அங்கு ....... .......முடிந்து போகும் !

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...