Tales of the Wanderlust

                Sita Lakshmi was in her late sixties. Her exact age did not matter anymore, not to her at least, all she did was lie down all the day and wait to be woken up by her son for being fed or being bathed or for being cleaned. ‘ Madhava ’ she would call out irrespective of him being inside the house or not ‘ give me some water, my throat is parched ’. More often she fell back to sleep forgetting to have water and wait till her son comes home.                 Madhavan, 32, unmarried, was working in a local grocery store. He made sure that he visited home thrice during his work timings from the shop, to take care of his mother. This has become a routine since Sita Lakshmi was affected by Alzheimer's. He had no qualms about this. His mother has done so much for them and she has gone through so much and the least he could do was ...

After making politically correct statements that the world would like to hear, After taking immense proud in just existing in a way which is quiet unclear, After trading the nationalistic feelings for tri coloured ads and TRP ratings, After strewing replicas of our flag everywhere from the roads to government buildings, After listening to a movie star talk about Unity, peace and national integration, After shopping for garments and accessories that are latest in 'desi fashion', The great Indian republic goes to sleep confused about its short lived patriotism, unmindful of the little girl who works to build a multibillion dollar stadium, which she will never enter; unmindful of her happiness of having got a lot of sweets outside the school which she has never been to.

A journey of many millennia Restarted From a new dawn Towards a new goal Hitherto unknown, unseen By any other nation Rise of a benevolent giant The light of freedom The spirit of Unity The mother civilization Smiles at her children Now With rejuvenated vigour Her splendour ever growing India – Shining The Incredible India

It was raining heavily, pouring down - a welcome respite from the heat of the past week. Huddled under the small over-crowded bus stand, I was waiting for the rain to let up so I could walk back from work, when suddenly, out of nowhere, she came walking towards me, and then asked in a breaking voice, brother can you give me something to save my child? She almost startled me, her eyes were deep with sadness and her red sari was torn. I have never seen such a potent sorrow which hits a person like something solid. Her child seemed sick and was shivering. Could be just a ruse to milk money out of innocent bystanders, being the crook I am I stood wondering if she thought I was as naïve as I looked. I practiced looking naïve as she practices looking sad, like her child who practices being sick. The child was the best actor amongst us; he was shivering like a scared calf, I thought to myself as she started walking away. I could hear her murmuring in tamil ‘probably he thought I was cheater...

Why is it so hard to believe that when we travel faster than light we can go back in time!? Our thoughts travel faster than light and it transcends all the three tenses. If I can think of my past self so easily, can I meet my thoughts in the future? If the thoughts are in me can I get into my thoughts and break time barrier? If I dream really is reality a dream? Now, did I wake up dreaming or am I dreaming of waking up?

Steps to rapture Enlightening candle, Enchanting glow Passion hot enough that it smokes! Elevating to cloud nine Doritos, thanks to Panda Oh yes, Tang, thanks to Sharma. Mood lifting melodies Hearty laughter Dude club Appy says "Oh Fuck! Tomorrow is IOD exam" Happiness..............

Even when I pass into a trance and  forget my very existence and doubt the entire universe that I carefully built around me. I keep hearing some music, I don’t know the notes by-heart But it is familiar, it is something which is eternal. The music from my soul, the music which never fades, Full of life, hope and joy, it resounds from the depth of my heart. Dragging me into the familiar feeling of comfort, warmth No matter where I am lost in the cold, bleak desert of life. It is a different fact that I cannot see the players, Neither can I sing along but I shall remain alive as long as the song is played. It is that energy that asks me carry on when I think of sitting Asks me, to hope when I give up, to live when I think of dying It used to hurt me that it comes from a far away place and I am not there where it is played But now I realize all that matters is the beauty of the song and not the singer. I have learnt that even if the song is being sung for someone else – it is ok. ...