# include(sneha.h)

The banks of the Ganga  Where Calm succeeds chaos Faith overlooks filth Duplexity is arrested by divinity And sins sink in the Mother's lap.  In the narrow lanes Amongst the cows and buffaloes, Between the garbage and the flowers, You traverse Lured by hand-pulled rikshaws, the smell of paan and kachori and the sound of the tolling bells; You  blend   with the ash strewn bodies and amber colored foreheads.  First, you  merge   And then, amidst the mysticism, From the oldest city in the world, you  emerge , newer.  अद्वैतम् | This post is dedicated to a couple of friends who've been trying to keep my expression through words, alive. I've stumbled several times but I'm attempting to pick myself up. My writing slumber is in remission.  Thank you, I am better for it. 

I’m at the crossroads now. But I wonder if this is a cliff, disguised. What lies ahead? Adherence or adventure? I look and I see a mirage. I see no horizon. And while seeing, and desperately seeking, I momentarily tilt my head backwards because it has followed my heart’s lead. My eyes need direction, My head needs to focus, but my heart has decided upon solace. It aches for familiarity. Pheromones lure me. How about an embrace from you, they contrive. For, just an embrace would solve this conundrum. It would tell me to tread. Tell me that I should walk. Away. Aside. Ahead? An embrace from you.  You, who aren’t on this path with me. Who hasn’t been. Ever. I crave something as fleeting as your hug because memory tells me that place in your arms, on your chest, at your shoulders is where my journey and my destination dwell. Will I hold on or will I let go? Will you let go, yet again? This is – you are  –   my cliff....

  I had learnt to  live off the scraps  of your love. The bits you threw, I caught.  The bits you didn’t, I rummaged. The bits that you snatched, I grabbed.  The bits you hid, I searched. Scavenger. Scapegoat. Starved. Scarred. Now they say 'Love yourself.' So I’m giving myself scraps now.  It’s not new - it’s just hard.

My memories of us  play tricks on me. They cling onto me when I need to let go. And I cling to them, when I am let gone of. They grip me like a nightmare that I cannot snap out of. And I latch onto them because I have not found better solace. But my feisty self wants to conquer. And conquer I do, sometimes. I keep them at bay, just how you did me, on several days. Now, I feel powerful. Now, I have survived.   All hail the Queen! But then, a mere symphony, a phrase, a number, a condiment – Abduct me from an ordinary day. And rush me into remembering you, make me forget my conquering. Quicksand. Again, I am brought down on my knees, to kneel before our memories. My heart is yet again hijacked to the smell of your skin, the sound of your laughter, and the sensory pleasures that my body lusts after. Well, You live now, and I exist in this loop. You’re you and them now, and I’m still only us. You’re free now, and I’m still whirling. ...

  I’ve always believed that the book finds you. Some come and make a home for themselves in your bookshelf, and others instantly cradle between the grip your fingers and your fixed gaze. Karuna Ezara Parikh’s ‘The Heart Asks Pleasure First’ found me in January of 2021, when the global COVID-19 pandemic had completed 10 months and we were trying to make sense of what collectively our lives had become. It had found me at a time when I was very willing to give up on love stories – heck, maybe on love itself. "Longing. Is there a fuller word in the world? Tell me, is there an emptier one?"   I couldn’t curtail myself from reading even a single day. And like anything which is addictive, I had a hard time snapping out of the world she had created in those 316 pages when I finished. Anyone who’s been in love knows that when love grips you, you find it hard to live even one day without communicating with each other – and that is the same effect the story of an Indian and Pakist...

  I t was my year of firsts. We all have that one year in our life which we can label as “the year which destroyed me”, and I would be quick to point at 2019. Incidentally, this would also be labelled as “the year which surprised me”, the most. In essence, 2019 was one complex scumbag. Not the scumbag you want, but maybe the scumbag you need, to become a stronger person. Thanks to a fantastic upbringing by my parents where they instilled a strong value system in me, I think my sense of gratitude has always been existent, but 2019 heightened it further. I call it the “Year of Firsts”, because I am amazed, that, while in my head I always looked at it as the year of last – the last one before 30- and I found moments and started learning to look at it differently. Instead of “almost 30” to yeah, okay, 29 - the last twenty to have a good time. 2019 for me was rather eventful. Several first time experiences (both lovely and rotten ones), enriched me. With this post, I am opening up a...

Hanuman Chalisa – Devdutt Pattanaik You’ve head the Monkey Lord’s stories, but not all of them. Tales from across India, Asia, with a verse–by-verse deconstruction of the 40 lines (Chalisa) of prayer and why it holds its place as a truly powerful shlok in Hindu spirituality.   Devdutt Pattanaik, through his beautiful illustrations and love for mythological storytelling, tells you more stories and beliefs about Lord Hanuman, in short and informative read. Norwegian Wood - Haruki Murakami Love love? Love fiction? Love the simplicity of the story of two young Asians? Murakami has a special way with words. Afterall, not every tea is Matcha green tea and not every Asian author can create a genuine, entrapping read. Murakami makes himself relevant across borders, cultures and decades – proving that human beings are mainly emotional beings, despite all the differences we attach ourselves to. Not a story that has a happy ending, probably why you want to believe in it more. ...

Rapunzel: “I've been looking out of a window for eighteen years, dreaming about what I might feel like when those lights rise in the sky. What if it's not everything I dreamed it would be? “ Flynn Rider: “It will be.” Rapunzel: “And what if it is? What do I do then? Flynn Rider: Well,that's the good part I guess. You get to go find a new dream.” 21.35 hrs .  Adil’s four year –old’s eyes looked no less excited than Rapunzel’s, when she finally got to see Rapunzel see the light on their 48’’ LED TV in the living room. Tangled was her current favorite Disney movie. He chuckled, first at his daughter, about her excitement. And a few seconds later, he was chuckling at his own self. He wasn’t four, when those lights had fascinated him. He was nineteen then but still such a baby at heart.  The ringing of the doorbell interrupted his brain’s command to press the “flashback” button to that year of his life. It was the guy delivering the week’s laundry. He paid him ...

“Please don’t leave me”, were the words uttered by him in between sobs, in an agonized voice and a strange defiant body language. She (almost) yelled back, “Why should I not when you did EXACTLY JUST THAT some few months ago by choosing to walk out of what we had?” How was his request even fair? They had crossed the infamous seven-year itch. And this was year #8. Year eight is what the world doesn’t talk about, my friends. And I believe it has a good reason not to. It’s the year of the wound.  Atleast, that’s what I wanted to call it. And Vinay’s expectation of quick and easy forgiveness was rubbing some serious salt to my deep, deep, wounds. It was a strange weekend, with an eerie silence in the house. There were voices in my head. My own, telling me multiple things. His, through the flashback of his bit in the conversations we’d had in the recent few days. And a third unfamiliar voice, whose shoulders were seducing me with the bandage to my wounds. The only decibel th...

I want to thank Mitch and Morrie for highlighting the beauty of Tuesdays - which was otherwise just lived as the day that was closest to Monday and met with only so much love. I also want to thank my dear buddy, who after reading the book told me that we had to make Tuesdays special. The best part-he made sure that I appreciate Tuesdays better by supporting his words through action, which is the best quality of him. A long heart-to-heart about a chapter of his life's story and the important learnings from them - no less than Morrie. And something that could certainly give Mitch a run for his money. Only one of the most humble persons in this world can tell you that good comes out of suffering. My friend spoke of a beautiful yet tragic time of his life very stoically, but with complete conviction in telling the story without losing sight that the intent was that he wished to convey a message, more than dramatise the story. Not only am I grateful to him to have shared some life-...

तुझी आठवण येते तेव्हा.. तुझी आठवण येते तेव्हा.. देवा एकाच मागणी तिची पापणी भरू दे माझ्या नावाचा एक तरी थेंब तिच्या नयनी तरु दे.. रात अशी ही तंद्रित पापणिहि बघ लवते आहे ह्रुदयाचे ठोके हळुवार सांगे कुणीतरी माझ्यासाठी जागत आहे तुझी आठवण येते तेव्हा तु दिलेली प्रेमपत्रे वाचत बसतो तु येणार नाहीस माहित असतं डोळे पुसुन मग स्वतःवरच हसतो.. एकही क्षण नाही जेव्हा तिची आठवण येत नसेल, असा एकतरी क्षण असेल जेव्हा ती मला आठवत असेल तू समोर असतेस तेंव्हा बोलू देत नाहीस तू समोर नसतेस तेंव्हा झोपू देत नाहीस तो ढग बघ कसा बरसण्यासाठी आतुरलाय तुझ्या चिंब गालावरुन ओघळला म्हणुन थेंबसुद्धा आनंदलाय माझ्या शब्दांना अजुन तरी काहीच अर्थ नाही. जोपर्यंत त्या गीताला तुझ्या ओठांचा स्पर्श नाही. येणारा दिवस कधीच तुझ्या आठवणीशिवाय जात नाही दिवस जरी गेला तरी तुझी आठवण जात नाही. आज सारे विसरली तू नावही न येई ओठांवर..... कसे मानू तू कधी खरे प्रेम करशील कुणावर...... तेव्हा सागर किनारी साक्षीने तू घेतल्यास किती शपथा..... किती मारल्यास मिठया तू तो चंद्र ढगात लपता........ नजरेत जर...

Spring-time evenings throw the most magnificent colors in the sky. Like always, during my commute, I was thinking about you and how you wouldn't be thinking about me.  The heaviness of that emotion in my heart was slowing down its beats, while the vehicle picked up pace on the highway. The skyline drew my attention.  Like every other beautiful nature-moment that I find happiness in, I wished you were there witnessing this one as well, with me, on the same road that you and I once traveled together on.The tranquil show of color, for a brief moment led me to picture us holding hands together and watch the giant ball of amber, drown in the pinkish blue. Some alone moments in the day, yet again took  my train of thoughts to its most visited destination - you. But today was painted differently. As I was soaking in the sunset, it struck me. While the realization hit me that we would never watch a sunset together, a strong and confident voice from within spoke,...

“I am becoming a rock. But that’s the thing about rocks - don’t let the sheer size fool you; the slightest of dust unassumingly settles and the mighty winds corrode it.” I had to end it with a note. For me it’s a uber  high - writing. As the curtains close on 2015, I reminiscence what the year gone by has been like. Most posts have a backdrop – this doesn’t really have one so I’m not sure how this will turn out. Long , yes. Good – um, let’s go further to find out? Some thoughts scratched my head about what the curtain-call post would contain, several thoughts brushed past me. They were about the lessons I learnt in the past year, the people I met, the experiences I lived, the crazy things I did. The strings of my heart were being tugged to make me consider writing about some mental notes I had made while I learnt about people, events and experiences.  One heart string struck the note of gratitude, the other of venting out thos...

I t began when a dear acquaintance of mine recommended that I watch the trailer for an upcoming Marathi film titled “Double Seat”. Given my high regard for this person’s opinion, I jumped onto clicking on the link to the trailer. I was not disappointed at all. At the end of 03 mins and 07 secs, I made up my mind – I am not going to miss out on this interesting dose of cuteness. Yet another Marathi movie waited to be added onto my list of unbiased viewing this year. Mukta Barve and Ankush Chaudhari play the newly married lower-middle class couple, Manjiri and Amit. I do not wish to reveal even one tiny bit of the story here and spoil it for the reader, because it definitely deserves to be watched on screen. Beyond the fact that the movie has been able to tell the real life tale of every middle-class family with a newly married couple, what really stands out is the attention to detail and the sheer simplicity of the concept. Through various scenes and small moments, the directo...

An unlikely post, after being off the writing scene for 600 plus days. Unlikely, also because this is not what I personally “expected” to be my “comeback” post. Mitwa - this film will be special for the reason that it was the first ever movie that I watched on ,my new cell phone that has a wide 5.5’’ screen with AMOLED display. I must say, a good picture print and added sound quality made my viewing experience a happy one. Just my 5 th ever Marathi movie, third one with the same lead actor, I approached this romantic film with no prejudices.  Because it was a Friday night, and I have been longing to see a film for quite sometime now and watching it on my new phone was a fun way to do it. From the three times, this is the first time, that I actually got to like the lead actor – I never really connected much with the artist in the first two movies. Now diving into the movie itself – my take is that it lived upto what it portrayed while being promoted - a love story....