Lintocmf

You mad …get away Those screeching shouts of the mob resonated in his ear drums. He failed to diagnose it right that he was losing grip on the equilibrium of his life in those dark corridors of his past life. When he was finally branded ‘mad’, he gradually found himself within the four walls of a stone-built house, impugning his fate. Though the seasons took their turns competing and overlapping with each other to prove their worth, he beheld them with contempt and ignorance. However, time played the spoil sport depleting his body, forcing his feeble bones to protrude beneath the pale skin. The braids and shabby bearded face did justice to his name, ‘the mad man’. There hid in the deep recesses, his dusky eyes refusing to embrace light. They just adorned his scruffy face failing to reflect his interior self to the world outside. He was so absorbed in the chamber for he could not separate from the four walls that protected him deceptively. Neither the past nor the fate of the f...

Lock-down is not a show or tapas. It is neither an event where one is rewarded at the end of the day for being a true law-abiding citizen. Instead it is a shield with which we protect both others and ourselves. The sole goal of this lock-down is to generate a proper social distancing, which would rightly facilitate in curbing the further community transmission of the virus Covid-19. In contrast, what we see today in the North Indian cities is alarming. There is a massive exodus of migrant workers fleeing from their work place to the respective hometowns. Hundreds and thousands of people are rambling hundreds of kilometers, snubbing the scorching sun, without food and drinking water. This exile of the poor mass of the country has caused the citizens to question the decision of the government to impose lock-down for such a long time. Was it unwise and done in haste, overlooking the subsequent consequences?   Most of the migrant workers have taken up a drastic step to exile a...

The sigh of a ‘drop’ bidding to fall off the leaf’s edge, There heard the pattering sound of its friends around, Bidding farewell to the drop at the tip of the leaf, To the wide-open mouth of the ground, And to be a prey to satiate its thirst. Gone are the days of plenitude and presence, Found me not elsewhere than on earth, Yes, it’s me a ‘drop’ needed the most, Water! She gushed with a sigh of relief. Cradled and dandled upon the lap of my mother earth, Granting the vitality to all lives, Cleaving the web of my obscure thoughts, Found am I, colourless source of life! Fear struck my throbbing heart, as to know, That I remained as the sole drop, Holding firm to the fringe of the leaf, Refusing to be a prey of earth’s wide opened dry mouth. Turning to me, I wondered,   Oh! Colour stained my soul all around! Contaminated by the greed of men, Lost have I, to return no more, to the purity of my past though, Sighed! The drop, wink...

Engraved deep within the definition of who I am, Since my very inception on this earth. Defined me in the womb inwardly Molding me in the light of life,  Only to be able to adapt to my tomb. Quite esoteric often found this to be, The substance of a staunch battle I indulged in.  After all the life extended me with,  A tapered pit that concealed me deep down. An autumn zephyr left a pat at my tomb's head, Clearing the pack of leaves that concealed, The definition of me, my epitaph for all, Revealing to the world making me known again. But the leaves above smiled in cold blood, To embrace me again and to conceal me deep. At their death they fell from above, Covering me up until the next autumn, To reveal me again to the world in surprise.

Life often brought about, Moments of routine days in its fine pace To find my soul rather in ho-hum clothes, This adorned me in a patterned life for long. Plenteous choices erected a castle, Impuissant did I feel them often Stood before me in anxious waiting, To be found as plethora of choices. Confused am I to be a victim of, Desires of flesh which defined my choices And ended up being a whited sepulcher. Defined me, those my choices, Said the wise in a plangent and firm voice. Found my mind sinking back into its wonted quiet. Travail yes, the act of choices, yet ever simple, As it often remained a quotidian task. Fate, cried my soul in a high tone of blame, Refusing to own up the choice's fruits. Countless are those choices I ever face, Force me often to choose the best, Out of the worst, and deliver in its full.

Tossed in the high tide of the rough sea,  There found afar a little rudderless ship. Resembling close to a frightened child, Like a toddler caught before his screaming dad. The sky is dark and the wind is rude The sea below boils in anger. The waves seem take a fearsome state, To sink deep the little rudderless vessel. Found no end for the wretched tide Wanting to wreck the little vessel in pieces. As though trying to settle scores with this little one, While the tides kept soaring high kissing the ship's bow. Caught in the scene of this helpless vessel's plight, And wanting to save her from the sea's battering forces, Yet I am trembling in gruesome fear, And thus, found in me a surging of empathy.  Melancholic turned my mood, still to recover, From feelings of pity taken at the sight, Of this tossed rudderless little ship. Forced to be a vagabond in this troubled sea, There seen little ship waiting for me to be saved ...

  I was a Dogwood tree standing near the deep valley of mount Olives. I stood with a pride spreading my twigs across and they were often covered with crimson flowers. Migratory birds and wild doves found shelter in my branches. Beetles and bees had their fill savoring the nectar found abundant in my flowers. The bark of my body had the reminiscence of the wool deposited there by the sheep, while brushing on them. Busy bees, sheep, birds and butterflies were always in my vicinity. The winter transformed in me with snow-capped leaves, the roaring rains of the season washed my stained leaves clean and the hot sand storms from the Arabian deserts made my bark robust. These familiar experiences made me firm as the seasons took their turn unleashing contrasting weathers while hardening me further.     My inception marked its beginning in the belly of some strange bird who gulped me in the form of a seed from my mother’s crown. With no birth pangs from the bird’s be...

Times have changed and the value of the artifacts have increased to a great deal. Anything that is old turns out to be so valuable and precious reaffirming the age old saying ‘old is gold’. I do have two heirloom objects which pull me back to my childhood and to the fond memories of my great grandfather. First being a family photo of mine and rest of the members taken in an unknown hours of my childhood etched my mind in excitement and secondly the handwritten book of my great grandfather, who was known as ‘upadheshi, which means adviser by the people around. This book was handed over to my grandfather, then to my father and now we preserve it at home. First and foremost I wish to enumerate about my family photo, which is very dear to my heart.      However, like any other historic and artistic artifacts the color photograph also is bound to fade. Looking at the old-photo album is an emotionally charged experience. It provides relief from the strangle-hold of the pr...

A Tweet by Chetan Bhagat on CAA/NRC (19 th Dec, 2019) CAA by itself is not the issue. But CAA+NRC is discriminatory, this could happen NRC: All prove again you are an Indian Non-Muslim: Sir I don’t have documents Govt: it’s ok. CAA will save you. You are an Indian Muslim: Sir I don’t have documents Govt: Too bad, you are not an Indian, Get out.  The tweet says it all. This moment, two decades into the third millennium the greatest misfortune for India is that it is saddled with a bag of toxic garbage which goes by the name Narendra Modi with an unholy friend Amit Shah to boot. It has been coming, the date is fast approaching, it is almost here- the year 2025. What India is witnessing is the hurried efforts of RSS and its affiliates to establish Hindu Rashtra before 2025. RSS has kept a target for themselves to make India into a Hindu Rashtra by the time it completes the centenary of its founding in 2025. BJP hand in glove with RSS knows it is t...