life's a kick

Woke up to a misty morning. Got lovely dovey with ma. Went for a dip. Swam for over an hour. Came back. For the tenth day in a row, gyrated the hoola hoop in the hope to master it someday. Could manage only 7 hoops at max. The same as yesterday. But I remain stubborn. As if trying to make my Sunday, the weather gods decided to rain! Aah...rain for me...like dope for an addict. Inevitably, got drenched again :) After the rain, went for a pleasure stroll with ma. Hand in hand on the wet roads of Dwarka. Ended up buying veggies and milk...anything for that walk with ma. Took out my cycle for repair. Gladly parted with Rs 20, the cost of fixing tyre puncture. Tried to remember which part of my car costs as less as that? Couldn’t recall any. Went for a leisurely cycle ride. Something was wrong with Delhi weather on this Sunday. It was unimaginably good. Kept reminding me of Bokaro. Came back home, and put the CD player on full volume like a brat! From kailash kher’s soul stirrin...

“It took my sister-in-law nearly 12 years of backbreaking service, of relentless forbearance, of putting up with all kinds of humiliation, of disproportionate sacrifices of her desires and personality...to finally get her in-laws’ mellowed down. In all this while, she did not raise her voice even once. She bore their atrocities with a straight face. In the end, she won them with love”. Said one friend of mine. An unmistakable hint of pride in her voice. The conversation started with the lachrymose context of TV soaps and saas-bahu serials. Meeting this friend after quite some time, we talked about the weather, regular office work, interesting holiday options, Cricket World Cup, and finally, movies and serials. Being daily subjected to the saas-bahu drama in my home TV (my granny has the remote), I had a clue of how these serials worked. A mere glimpse at the characters of these serials and earful of lines, and you could figure out the entire context. Women are shown to exist on the...

talking after ages don't you feel at home instantly don't you feel at ease doesn't it feel very right doesn't it leaven and please? tell me baby, don't you belong to me the way i belong to you... the way i belong to we... sitting by the setting sun don't you reminisce our times don't you feel my presence don't you crave for my body don't i echo in your silence? tell me baby, don't you belong to me the way i belong to you... the way i belong to we... watching a story unfold don't your thoughts wander past times, spaces, things we touched doesn't your heart brim over your eyes for love intact, but for dreams crushed tell me baby, don't you belong to me the way i belong to you... the way i belong to we... mere thought of someone else doesn't it bode something ill and wrong doesn't it it send a chill through doesn't it lead you into a closed nest shut out from the rest - only me and you? tell me baby, don't you belong to m...

तुम जो दिल लगाकर चले गए तुमसे बस यही है गिला कसौटियों को इतनी ऊंची कर गए तुम्हारे बाद, फिर कोई न मिला

Flowers are back on the branches fragrance is back in the air back is the spring in your garden back are your memories but you are still not there...

Streets go empty excitement in the air Pak versus India the World Cup is here will India make it to the finals the men in the house worry women worry for feeding those men hot chapatis and curry he stops all work, is glued to the TV bites his nail and perspires for the game her day unchanged, she cuts cleans and cooks her routine of drudgery, all the same home-maker she could be, or a coporate lass but it's on her the responsibility rests of keeping the house clean, supplying nourishing food and children's school work and tests men remain engrossed, in tall wordly matters at leisure and convenience, they indulge the kids women remain absorbed, in zillion homely work and when their baby craps, men don't clean the shit he gets the car serviced, he even buys his clothes for such little work, he praises his own knack the wife has no time, from his socks undies and ilk she toils through out the day, almost breaking her back freedom has brought her, car and communication now adde...

The road from sector 6 to sector 4 market in Dwarka, New Delhi, like most Delhi roads, is wide and smooth. That is, for the cars. For the pedestrians, it is, what you can call as an ‘olfactory nightmare’. In between the two markets runs the famous ‘naala’ of west delhi, an age-old landmark occupying a prominent guiding position in Eicher maps and Google Earth. For the uninitiated, the far-reaching smell is indicative enough. The naala oozes with gut turning muck in the middle of towering concrete structures. Nature’s way of saying – the shit has hit the fan. Offering a passage above this naala (no matter how nose-burning) is a short bridge. Almost every evening, I cross this stretch on foot to reach home. Day before yesterday, I risked an unusual response to a usual phenomenon in this part of the world. I saw him from far and close enough to figure that he was peeing. With men, the pose tells it all, actually. What angered me was that he was pissing bang in the centre of that cruelly n...