ITS RAIN AGAIN

Cellphone Camera : Samsung Galaxy Note II

The pictures have been taken from a moving car so they might appear a little blurry...

I was waiting for it and now its here

Pouring in so pure pouring in so clear

’Has arrived now after waiting so long

Sounding like a melodious song

It’s Rain, it’s rain, it’s Rain again...

 Rain drops pour this barren land

Let peasants smile standing hand in hand

They have suffered a lot; the grief and pain

But now it’s rain again

Those who were working hard

In the scorching heat playing their part

It has come for us and it has come for them

It’s rain, it’s rain, it’s rain again

So much so far we have longed for it

With the burning earth we have mourned for it

But now its time to ban each bane

’Coz it’s rain, it’s rain, it’s rain again 

The sky cried, the earth rejoiced

Filled with life every branch poised

Greys turned green & stalk produced grain

Cyst is broken and it’s rain again.

Do good, do noble says the rain

For it pours only when good men gain

Its time we value the priceless rain

’Coz we yearn for rain again and again. 

It’s rain, it’s rain, it’s rain again…

 © Shreyansh Chouradia

GET INSPIRED

image courtesy:
http://www.richardstjohn.com

The temperature was a scorching 41 Degrees. The streets were empty. Not even the occasional gangs of street dogs or indifferent cows sitting like a divider on the road could be seen. It was one of the hottest days in India. But this hardly affected 4 men sitting in a luxury car with air conditioned on. They wore suits and an ID tag of the company NELCO was there around their neck. Suddenly there was a bump, a noise and then the car stopped. The driver got out.

"Tyre Puncture ho gaya hai sahab." he said.

The men got out. They found a place under a large banyan tree. It was shady and thus protected them from merciless Sun God. One of them lit a cigarette. The other bought four cups of tea from the nearest tea stall. While giving out the cups of tea, they noticed one of them was missing.

"Where is he?" asked one of them.

"Ah! He must be having one of his 'solitude' time."

"I think he is in that restaurant" another one pointed out to a nearby small Dhaba.

After finishing their cups of tea they went back to see if the car was good to go. What they saw had become a life long lesson in leadership they could not forget. They saw their colleague working in the scorching sun to set up a jack and spanner. He was helping the driver change the tyre. His expensive coat was all dirty and sweaty. Sweat was running down his face but there was smile on his face. The smile of contentment. The smile of satisfaction. The smile of humility.

The man was none other than the ex-chairman of the million dollar company we know today as TATA. The man who helped the driver that day was none other than Ratan Naval Tata.

Get Inspired...

THE LAST TELEGRAM

“Telegram is going to become history. India discontinues Telegraph services. The last telegram will be sent on 14^th July 2013.” 

image courtesy: https://sphotos-a.xx.fbcdn.net

As the news anchor announced these lines, my heart skipped a beat. I felt something which people might called nostalgic. May be, yes. But it was something more. The telegrams have always been one of the most important parts of us old people living this new age. My life too had one of such incidents. I recall, telegrams had an interesting way of sending messages. The fullstops were replaced with the word ‘STOP’ and the fee was according to each word written on it. So it was costlier to send a telegram but it would be delivered much faster than a letter. Hence, only important and urgent messages were sent through it. For instance : 

“SISTER MARRIAGE STOP COME BEFORE 21 STOP”

I checked my cell phone and it read 14^th July, 8:50 AM. I finished the cup of coffee and got out of the cozy couch and went to the bathroom. There was an old man with white stubble, white eyebrows and wrinkly skin staring back at me from the bathroom mirror.

So much time… I thought.

I went down the road of reverie. It was forty years from now and I was ten…

I sat on dad’s shoulder as he carried me to “Meena Bazaar”, one of the famous fairs of that time. “I want to eat the Bambaiya Mithaai (cotton candy)”, I said to him and he smiled and nodded. He never said no to me. I don’t remember him saying ‘no’ to any of my demands. After an hour we returned back home. My mother was waiting for us in the dim light coming from the earthen lamp placed near the door. After dinner I went to bed. My mother told me a story and then I went to sleep. This was her daily chore, to tell me a new story every night before tucking me in.

*** 

I was one of those lucky boys of that time to be studying in a school. Most of the parents thought studying in school isn’t worth the money and time. Well fortunately, I studied and so did ‘she’.

I entered the small building where a skinny man with a stick in his hand used to teach us. We sat on floor, write with chalk on our black slate. Instead of fancy, heavy bags we used to carry a simple one made out of old useless rags. 

“What did u get in tiffin for lunch?” she asked me, her head bearing two ponytails with red ribbons on each. I blushed. I was shy.  I shook my head. I didn’t bring anything. She held my hand and we were out, where an old lady was selling boiled berries with a sprinkle of salt and pepper. I wasn’t comfortable with girls. I ate and left in hurry. Her eyes kept looking at my receding figure waiting for me to return.

*** 

Time passed and I passed the school with honorable grades and so did she. It was the youth. The time of life when everything looks fresh, energetic and colourful. I sat with her near a pond. She kept throwing stones into it. I kept looking her. I could spend whole day long looking at her. She was beautiful.

I went back home only to get a shocking news. My father has been transferred and so we had to leave the place within 7 days. I ran to the pond where she had been waiting for me. I told her the news and I knew the reply. She didn’t reply with words. Instead, she used the most powerful weapons women generally use: Tears and Silence. I went back home and told my father that I wanted to stay here and complete my studies in the village only. He smiled as if he knew the matter. He patted my shoulder and told me to walk with him. We were walking through a narrow lane which was covered with mango trees on both sides. Several birds, which are rarely seen today, were chirping as if they knew what was going to happen. My father started telling me how his father shifted to this village and how hard he worked. Then he told me something about young age. Then, something about life. I was hardly listening as I could not get her face out of my mind. I knew that my father will never leave me here because he loved me a lot and would never want his son to be away from him. But his answer surprised me.

He said, “You can live here but on one condition. Whenever I will call you, you have to come and meet me. Whenever I will tell you to stay with your mother, you should obey that and leave this village.”“I promise.” I said hugging him tight.

 ***

After a week my father and mother bid me goodbye. We all cried. My mother hugged me, kissed me and told me to eat properly and all the stuffs in detail. My father hugged me and whispered just one thing in my ear, “Remember the promise.”

They left in the bullock cart that made tingling sound as the bulls walk away. I remember I cried that whole night.

I stayed with our neighbors who treated me like their son. Meeting her by the pond had become the routine. Days passed by and we passed the college. She had called me to meet at our ‘meeting point’ near the pond. She was standing against a huge banyan tree. She seemed perplexed. There was a telegram in her hand. I asked her “what is it?” gesturing to the small piece of paper.

“It’s letter from the city college. I have been selected for post graduation in a college there.” She said.

I looked at her without saying anything. She understood the look and tore off the telegram into several pieces. I never wanted her to go to another city and study higher. I never wanted her to go to another city and find new friends. In fact, I never wanted any girl to leave and study higher. ‘It’s useless for girls to study’ I thought. She obeyed me without even getting annoyed by my selfish behavior. I left in anger. Her kohl clad eyes kept looking at me waiting for me to return.

 ***

Next day, to compensate for my behavior, I wrote a letter. I plucked some roses in hurry and tied them with the letter. Here comes the postman in khakhi uniform in a bicycle. I gave him the letter to deliver it to her. He took the letter. I was about to turn when he held my hand and handed me a telegram. The postman pushed the paddle of the bicycle and went on his way.

I opened the telegram. It read: “COME  SOON  STOP  FATHER DEAD  STOP”

My heart broke into thousand pieces. I remembered the last words my father whispered. “Remember the promise.” He never said no to any of my demands. I had to fulfill his one demand.

I packed my bags and left in a hurry. Had I have turned to look back then, I would have known that in her eyes were the tears and in her hands was the letter tucked with red roses. Her hand was bleeding as thorns have made their way into her soft hands I once held. Had I have turned to look back then, I would have known that her kohl clad eyes kept looking at me waiting for me to return.
I never did.

***

The doorbell rang and I snapped out of the flashback. First love is always the first love. It always gives you that tingling feeling when you think about the first time you know that you love someone. I approached the door and was delighted to see my daughter. She has arrived from London where she was pursuing Masters in business. ‘I never wanted her to go to another city and study’ I remembered and smiled a guilty smile. Today was the last day a telegram can be sent. I rushed to my room, pulled out the little suitcase, searched a little bit and found a small piece of paper. It was an address which might no longer be available. I was sure she couldn’t be living there, anyway. I knew it was a foolish idea. But then it was love.

I ran to the nearest telegraph office and sent the telegram to her address. I don’t know where or to whom this might be delivered to but it was necessary. I told the person sitting there the message I wanted to send. After the sound of a few dots and dashes the telegram was sent. It read:

“I  AM  SORRY  STOP” 

I smiled a content smile and walked back home. That was my ‘last telegram’.

SANGHARSH

Humein bhi  mushkilon ka maza lene do zara

Ladkhada kar hi sahi, Aage badhne to do zara

Uchhalte hue jo gir jaaun, to  mujhe na uthana

Yun uchhalkar mujhe aasmaan chhoone do zara.

Kaanto ki chubhan sehkar, phoolon ko chunne do zara

Adhure jo khwab reh gaye the, un khwabon ko fir bunne do zara

Cheekhon aur siskiyon ke shor ke is bazaar mein

Khamoshiyon ki meethi dhun ko sunne do zara.

Maidan-e-zindagi mein rookhi sookhi ye ghaas hai

Na jaane kyun majbooriyaan aas paas hai

In majbooriyon se aaj mujhe bhidne do zara

In sookhi ghaason mein shabnam ki boondein girne do zara.

Aaj is dhool mein, is gard mein, kho jaane do zara

Kaanto ki kantili mez par, so jaane do zara

Jo gir bhi gaya in pathrili raahon mein chalte chalte

Khud ba Khud apne pairo par khade ho jaane do zara.

Tapte suraj ko nangi aankhon se takne do zara

Jalti chingariyon ko ab chakhne do zara

Yun mujhko patthar samajhkar fizool na samajhna

Sona hoon main, angaaron mein kuch der tapne do zara.

Humein bhi mushkilon ka maza lene do zara

Ladkhada kar hi sahi aage badhne do zara…

© Shreyansh Chouradia

HAPPY NEW YEAR 2013 !

I am not good with writing happy stuffs but as New Year has to start with happiness I somehow tried to scribble down some happy lines...

She is beautiful, she is bright

She came afresh bidding goodbye to night.

Dew drops as her necklace

And sunshine as her smile,
With fresh breeze as her whisper

Spreading mile to mile.

Let's welcome her with our warm hearts, Dear

Here she comes, the first morning of the New Year.

Say goodbye to the gloomy night

Which embraced the evil in her red hands

The bloddy smile that the devils smiled

On those blood soaked barren lands.

Those nights are gone and a new day is here

Let's hope 2013 be really a HAPPY NEW YEAR !

© Shreyansh Chouradia

Ankahee (अनकही)

कहने  को  तरसते  हुए  उन  अफ्सानो  को

Image source : www.goodfon.com

वक़्त  की  किताब  में  बंद  रहने  दो.

कुछ  अधूरी  सी  जो  रह  गयी  है  यह  दास्तान,

इसे  यूँही  कुछ  अधूरी  सी  रहने  दो .

नज़रों के  ख़त  को , पलकों  से  खोल  कर 
तुमने  पढ़ी  थी  जो  बातें  राज़  की ,
उन  बातों  को  हौले  से  सिरहाने  छुपा  देना 
जो  राज़  की  है  बात , उसे  राज़  ही  रहने  दो .

लब्ज़  खर्च  न  किये  थे  तब 
यह  सोचकर  की  काम  आएँगे  फिर  कभी  वक़्त  आने  पर .
अब  जो  दबी  हैं  दिल  में  उन  लफ़्ज़ों  की  परछाइयां ,
उन्हें  वहीँ  दिल  की  गहराई  में , यूँही  दबे  रहने  दो .

थरथराते  हुए  उन  लबों  से  कह  दो 
मुझे  खामोशियों  के  नगमे  जादा  पसंद  हैं 
जो  दुआएं  कर  रहीं  हैं  इंतज़ार  मेरा 
उन्हें  कुछ  देर  और  इंतज़ार  करने  दो .

कुछ  अधूरी  सी  जो  रह  गयी  है  यह  दास्तान 
इसे  यूँही  कुछ  अधूरी  सी  रहने  दो ...

© श्रेयांश चौरडिया

Kehne ko taraste hue un afsaano ko,

Waqt ki kitaab mein band rehne do.

Kuch adhoori si jo reh gyi hai yeh dastaan

Ise yunhi kuch adhoori si rehne do.

Nazron ke khat ko, palko se khol kar

Tumne padhi thi jo baatein raaz ki,

Un baaton ko haule se sirhane chhupa dena

Jo raaz ki hai baat, use raaz hi rehne do.

Labz kharch na kiye the tab

Yeh sochkar ki kaam aenge fir kabhi waqt aane par.

Ab jo dabi hain dil mein un lafzon ki parchhaiyaan,

Unhe wahin dil ki gehraayi mein, yunhi dabe rehne do.

Thartharate hue un labon se keh do

Mujhe khamoshiyon ke nagme jada pasand hain

Jo duaaein kar rahi hai intezaar mera

Unhein kuchh der or intezaar karne do.

Kuch adhoori si jo reh gyi hai yeh dastaan

Ise yunhi kuch adhoori si rehne do...

© Shreyansh Chouradia

THE HEADLINE

Image has been editted.
Original image source : corbisimages.com

Standing in the crowded railway station Sandy saw the young man, sporting stubble and spiky hair, with a large guitar case with him getting down from Howrah-Mumbai express.

“Welcome to Mumbai, sir.” Sandy said, teasing his partner.

“Shut up, Sandy. I am too tired to listen to your gibberish now.”

Sandy gave him a wide grin and then went on to call a taxi.

“So, how did your last assignment go?” asked Sandy once they were in the taxi.

“Ah! It went just fine. It’s this task in Mumbai that I am worried for.”

“Don’t worry bhai, you will be just fine. After all in this task I shall be your partner in crime, isn’t it?” He exposed his pearly white teeth again.

The taxi stopped at the red light. Sandy kept on blabbering and his friend nodded unconsciously. Finally they arrived at a hotel. Sandy gave the taxi driver money and his wide grin.

***

It was 10 in the morning. Sandy was getting ready for the ‘performance’. His friend was nervous and making a joint that would hopefully clear out his mind. After a few drags, the two men went out. Sandy stopped suddenly and ran towards the room. His friend followed him.

“What is the matter now?”

“How are we going to perform without the instrument you idiot.” Answered Sandy, now holding the black guitar case with him. “Hurry now”.

***

It was 11 AM thanks to the Mumbai traffic.

“STOP !”

“What now?” said Sandy looking bewildered.

“Isn’t this the way to the famous Siddhivinayak temple?” asked his friend.

“Yes, it is. So what?”

“Lets pray.”

For the first time Sandy was silent. He could not utter a single word and stared wide eyed at his friend who was now taking of his shoes.

“B-B-But aren’t you?”

“Oh! That? I believe He is everywhere.”

After an hour they were back in the taxi.

“So how was your meeting with God?” the grin returned on Sandy’s face as he asked the question.

“Fine. Go on. Tease me. Taunt me. But you just can’t deny the fact that there is one Supreme Power guiding us all.”

“Sure I do”, replied sandy almost immediately, “It’s called Money.”

“Don’t you have enough?”

“Enough is not enough, my dear friend.” Sandy replied instantly.

“If I were you, I would have left this thing years ago. You know, I just can’t sleep at night because of it.”

“Why do you need to sleep at night when you have pubs & bars all around here? Oh! You don’t drink… its against…” Sandy was interrupted.

“No, it’s because I don’t want to drink.”

The taxi stopped. They have finally reached the destination.

Now the work starts. They will be in the Headlines of every newspaper tomorrow. Sandy thought.

The two men went ahead. Sandy was both excited and nervous. The other man stopped abruptly. Ran towards the taxi and got the black guitar case out.

***

The other morning Sandy was viewing the morning newspaper. He was right. They are in the headlines of the newspaper. It read:

MUMBAI CHIEF MINISTER ASSASSINATED

Mumbai. 21/12/2012. Friday

"…One of the two assassins was shot dead. Ballistic team have confirmed the use of a M82A1 Barett .50 caliber rifle.  A black guitar case was found which was used for carrying the weapon. The terrorist who was shot dead has been identified as one Wasim Muhammad…"

'METAPHORS'

Note : Terms 'he', 'it', 'they' etc. are used as nouns wherever they are enclosed in inverted comas.

Broken and wretched ‘it’ fell on the earth. The pain was unbearable. A month from now, it has been soaring high up in the sky. People saw it with awe and amazement. The happiness, the applaud, the audience. It’s all gone. All remains is a memory. ‘It’ has always been ‘his’ favourite. Since childhood, ‘it’ was ‘his’ only companion. ‘They’ always told ‘him’ to part ways from ‘it’ but ‘he’ never listened to ‘them’ and till now ‘he’ thought he was right. But now, with ‘it’ lying on the earth, ‘he’ wondered, “Was he really?”

***

Memories from the past played ‘his’ mind. ‘Him’ and ‘it’,  right from the childhood have been the best of the friends.

“I don’t know who you are. I even don’t know what you are. Still I like you. I am happy when I am with you. I just want to let go the world and be with you forever.” He would say to ‘it’ more than often.

“I depend on you. It depends on you, how you mould me. How you shape me. I shall be what you want me to be. But just don’t take me as reality or one day that will be the reason for the tears in your eyes.” ‘It’ warned ‘him’.

***

Days, Weeks, Years passed. ‘He’ grew up. And as ‘he’ grew up, ‘it’ took a more precise and defined shape.

“Damn! I have to choose between ‘you’ and ‘them’.” ‘He’ said while preparing for the exams.

“Do as you wish. Choose whatever path you want to tread. But do choose the road of happiness.” ‘It’ said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Choose the road of happiness” ‘He’ said imitating ‘it’. ‘He’ was angry.

“As if I didn’t know that.” ‘He’ continued. “The problem is, I don’t know where the road to Happiness is.”

‘It’ smiled, hovering above ‘his’ head. ‘It’ knew the future.

***

A couple of years have passed. Through some ups and downs, ‘he’ and ‘it’ were still together. Thanks to ‘her’, that ‘it’ was still with ‘him’ and the bond was stronger than ever. ‘She’ has always been an inspiration for ‘him’ and that inspiration was the only think that kept ‘him’ and ‘it’ together. Eventually, ‘he’ and ‘it’ almost became one. ‘He’ was happy and ‘it’ was now more precise in its shape.

But then there were ‘them’ waiting for ‘it’ to fall down. ‘It’ has always known the fate. It’s always the same. Only a few can merge into reality. Only a few ‘It(s)’can merge with ‘them’ and make ‘him’ happy. This was not going to be that case.

‘They’ were all ready to attack the bond. ‘They’ arrived with long swords of “money”. They attacked with maces of “reasons”. They used the strategies of “prejudices” and “experiences”. ‘They’ were called “People of the World” and they lived in a place called “Society”. ‘He’, unfortunate enough to have been born amongst ‘them’, had to choose between ‘it’ or ‘them’. As a matter of fact, ‘he’ never cared for ‘them’. The problem was that ‘he’ has to choose between ‘it’ and ‘her’.

‘He’ was, as always, confused. ‘He’ didn’t care about the ‘Society’. Neither did ‘he’ care for ‘them’; ‘People of the World’ as they were known were what ‘him’ has despised the most for their dark hearts and bright faces. ‘He’ only cared for ‘her’ who helped ‘him’ to be with ‘it’. Inspired ‘him’ to always stick together with ‘it’.

But now ‘he’ has to choose between ‘her’ and ‘it’.

He remembered what ‘it’ always used to say:

“… just don’t take me as reality or one day that will be the reason for the tears in your eyes.”

‘He’ has made the decision.

***

An old man, worn out by the ever turning ‘wheel of time’, came beside him when ‘he’ was mourning ‘it’s’ death. A tear rolled down the eyes of ‘the old man’. As he patted on ‘his’ shoulder and walked away slowly muttering something. ‘He’ could only catch a few words. The words were enough to make him realise what actually ‘it’ was. The words of the old man echoed in ‘his’ ears as ‘he’ cried mournfully before the now dead ‘it’. The old man’s words now echoed in his ears:

“Reasons of the World’ took over man and in his search for reality, once again ‘it’ has perished.

Once again a ‘Dream’ has perished.”

© Shreyansh Chouradia

THE RANDOM QUESTION

Image Courtesy: umnet.com

"What are we upto? Can you believe this? This is just bullshit! " Said Govind watching NEWS on Aaj Tak.

Thousands of North Eastern people fled various Indian states amid fear of being attacked in the revenge of the wake of communal violence of Assam. The news reporter on TV said.

"Nothing. It's just what we Indians are like." replied Javed indifferently.

"What? So you say that we deserve this?"

"No, I just said that this is how we are. We would go upto any extent for differences in our ethnicity, caste, religion or even SRK and Salman; whatever, but where we face difficulties together we won't stand up against the problems."


"What do you mean?" asked a confused Govind.

"I mean we just need a statement for a rebellion when it comes down to religion. It just takes a moment when something is said against your ethnicity or your caste and there shall be protest all over country within no time. Go to youtube, and look into the comments section of any video relating to either cricket or movies and you will know we are even fighting when it comes to SRK, Salman or Ganguly & Dhoni. The problem is we don't respect the differences.But then talk about similarities. Everyone is facing poverty, insanitation, corruption and what not. Where is the anger now?"

"Then what about Anna Hazare movement"
"What about it?"
"A year ago, it was in the Headline with thousands of people swarming for satyagrah and all. I was involved too."

"Yes, and after a year when the old man is again sitting for Satyagrah, you and several others are sitting at home." Said a smirking Javed.

"Oh that's because I don't like politics and there was too much of it."

"Politics is a dirty game of dirty names." For once Javed agreed.

"Yes, see the Goddamn Newspaper dude. Isn't it flooded with corruption and shameless corrupted politicians? pathetic I would say."
"Ah! Media. A new age tool to brainwash people, that's what it is for me."
"Now, whats wrong with media you cynical-narcissist bastard?" asked Govind teasingly.
" You very well know Govind whats wrong with it. Media is always at the right place, at the right time, for the wrong reasons. They want hype, they want TRPs and they know how to get it. People these days want to be feared, want to be sad. You know being an MBA student the management funda of demand and supply. You want it and media gives you a pony-tailed man (with more hair on his face than his head) yelling out at you SANSANI."

"It again depends on perspectives don't you think. You have the remote. There are numerous TV channels, numerous websites and numerous ways in which you can use these things for your benefit. To be happy if you want."

"IF and only IF you want."

"Huh?"

"You watch porn, Govind?"

"What? This is so unlike you?"

"What is?"

"Changing the topic in the middle of an argument."

"I am not changing the topic. Just answer."

"Yes of course I do."

"So you would be aware of the term S&M. Sadism and Masochism or Sadomasochism. Where a person knowingly ties himself up, let himself being beaten to be aroused. Thats how most of us have been now-a-days."

"NO WAY... I am certainly not into S&M...eeew... never." an irked Govind retorted.

"No, you idiot. I mean we want pain. We want to be sad. When we are sad its okay. When we are not, we look at these depressing news channels for news like these so that we can blame someone. When there is nothing, we switch to TV serials where mother in law tortures the newly wed bride. All in all we somewhere somehow want to be sad because 'to complain is human; to enjoy, Divine.' God is a sadist and he enjoys it very much, you know."

"Oh now who is complaining and whining, huh?"

"Seriously. It is obvious. Who would like to see a Rajshree Productions movie with a Prem in it who is the "ideal" son and then there is that "ideal" girl who brings water in tray and then the "idea" love, the "ideal" family and ...

"Booooring" Govind cut him short.

Exactly my point. You want Drama. God likes it too. Look around you. Look around the world. Aren't there people in every stage of life unhappy and discontent. From violence in Egypt against government, to unemployment in London. Earth quakes in Japan to poverty in China. That's country-wise-superficial info for you. Now look at the deeper cross-section. The problems are more common. A rich billionare - broken family. A joint family - Family Disputes and poverty. A post graduate - runs a corner store; while a 12th pass dude- sits in a Government office unhappy 'cause he wanted to do a business but has ended up working in a Govt. office. I remember a line which suits this situation:

"Har kisi ko mukammal jahan nahin milta
Kabhi zameen to kabhi aasmaan nahin milta..."

"Wah wah! But I am happy and you are too. So you mean God is not trying to be harm us?"

"Let me tell you a fact you very well know. You are madly in love with Kajal and she loves me. And you know how much I hate that girl."

"Hmmm..." Govind was dumbfounded. It hurt him but he knew it was true.

"Come on now, Cheer up. Why do you get sentimental and all when it comes to her, you typical Indian."

Govind smiled. " So now you have problem with how Indians love?"

"No, it's how they look at love."

"Okay master Javed, Please enlighten us with your words of wisdom."

"Seriously, haven't you seen that the only meaning now-a-days love has is the typical "Bollywood Definition" of love involving a male and a female who are attracted to each other and by the authority vested in them and the Cafe Coffee Day they are now pronounced 'Boyfriend' and 'Girlfriend'. You may now kiss 'sip' the coffee"

Govind laughed. "Okay I agree some what with it. But isn't it nice. Two love birds 'sipping'. winked Govind emphasizing on the 'kissing' 'sipping' part.

"What's nice about that? The amount of petrol a guy wastes on chasing girls, it would have been more than enough for a whole month of fuel for some needy fellow."

"I agree."

"And then there are malls and cafes where you sip coffees. I tell you, 'sipping' has never been costlier."

"I agree."

"And then there are long threads of facebook comments and youtube saying " Dear, I miss you, I love you and all that suff... Give me a break."

"Okay, now you are sounding like Mr. Sibbal. Banning Facebook on moral grounds." said Govind taking a dig at Javed.

"Don't compare me with any of those politicians. I am a better man. That was a waste move by the Government, by the way. Facebook is Facebook. I depends how you use it. Its 'wall' is actually like a big public wall where anyone can write any thing, paste any bills, spit on it or even piss on it. It's what we do the best here, don't we? Pee on walls. If they can't ban peeing on walls, why ban the facebook wall. It will be like banning soaps because it can be used for making bombs."

"Yes, but then its our duty too. We should ..."


"Morals and values cant be taught by introducing a 'Moral Science' subject and 'removing cartoons' from textbooks. It is inherited more or less from family and personal experience. People here don't have enough food, why would they care for values.If you say so, i might believe that there should be some duties and obligations to be performed form our side too, but then practically, I know that his conversation would just end up with you being running behind your stupid girlfriend and I watching a movie on TV."

"But everything has a purpose in life. The karma, the balance of life..."

"Its all random" Javed cut him short.

"So you believe that we are born on this earth just out of some random chemical reactions and that it's just a matter of chance."

"Ofcourse. It's like a lottery where someone ought to win a prize. One in a million. That's all we are." Javed said in a matter of fact tone.

"Then, for you everything is just random and has no purpose?"

"Lets see..." Javed started pretending to think with his finger on his chin. "A big bang- years of chemical changes- Out of that a unicellular organism came into being and than gradually through evolution we came into existence, sitting here with TV switched on discussing on various subjects from politics to religion to pornograpgy to science. Then, one day this piece might be a part of some blog which either you or I might write and some random person may be reading this. Isn't it RANDOM or is there a PURPOSE?"

The argument went on but the question remains the same:

"IS IT JUST RANDOM OR IS THERE A PURPOSE ?"

© Shreyansh Chouradia

Bridge

taken at Champa, Chhattisgarh, India from Samsung Galaxy Note

DO YOU LOVE HER?

“DO YOU LOVE HER?”

 24 hours from now :

I was sitting alone in the dark night-- my eyes set on the misty lake. A cool breeze blew and whispered in my ear: "Do you love her?"

22 hours from now:

I was sweating. When you are going to propose a girl, perspiration is inevitable. I reached the corridor. I saw her, turned back and treaded my way back to my room.

10 hours from now:

I wrote a 15 page article, with footnotes, for her. I called it “Love Letter”. Actually, it was not. It was the most organised ‘so-called love letter’ ever written. It had the garnishing of ‘boredom and technicality’ which I have inherited from law school being a law student. For instance - the lines  ‘A thing of beauty is a joy forever’ : had the footnote  see, John Keats, Endymion (1818).  I went to the library and waited for her.

5 hours from now:

‘Lloyd’ in my hands. I sat in the library reading ‘Austin’ who stated the most obvious definition of law any one could ever think of: “Law is the command of the sovereign...” it read.

Then, I heard a sweet voice.

4 hours 30 Minutes from now:

She was in tears. No, my 15 paged ‘so-called-love letter’ was not the reason. Fortunately, I tore it off without her knowing about it. The reason for her tears was Raj: the “son-of-a-rich” father, born with a silver spoon, trying to act on ‘silver screen’ with an overdose of steroids and who owned the most expressionless face a homo sapiens ever could; he was acting in one of the most irritating love story of the year which certainly would win the award for best film. Yes, you guessed it right. We went out for a movie together.

1 hour 30 Minutes form now:

We sat together, our fingers entwined; eyes set on a misty lake.

She held my hand tightly and whispered in my ear: “Do you love her?”

“Who?” I looked at her.

“The girl in your eyes.” she asked with tears in her eyes.

My tongue sealed itself. For a second I stood still; you could have knocked me down with a feather. The time stood. The world paused.

1 hour 29 minutes from now:

She was in my arms. I couldn’t believe it. The girl I longed so much, the girl for whom I wrote a 15 page memorandum of love, was actually in love with me.

1 hour from now:

After having expressed all my emotions finally, it was time for us to leave. She had to go to her aunt’s place for some work.

“Can’t you go there some other time?” I asked, holding her soft hands tightly.

“No, I can’t. It’s urgent.”

“May I drop you there?”

“No, it’s ok.”

30 Minutes form now:

I was in cold sweat. My cell phone slid down my hand and broke into many pieces. I could not believe it.

“She is dead. There was an accident. She was hit by a car.” Said Tanu.

Tears ran down my eyes as I stood there rooted to the spot.

15 minutes from now:

The darkness drank me. I felt a stinging pain. But after a while, I felt free. Finally I will meet her: was my last thought. Tears rolled down my eyes but my lips managed a curl to from a feeble smile. The pain was unbearable but the thought of meeting her made it easy.

10 minutes from now:

It was silent. As if I was in a vacuum. I felt nothing, I could see nothing.

NOW:

I sat beside her, her hands holding mine. Our eyes set on the misty lake. A cool breeze blew and whispered in my ear : "Do you love her?" I ignored it.

If it’s a dream, I don’t want to wake up.

If its heaven, let me be dead.

Without you dear, it’s difficult to walk

There are thorns around, every path I tread.

© Shreyansh Chouradia