She loved a man who was never hers to keep, 

mourned the loss which was never hers to weep.  

She wrote love stories in her head, 

ignorant of the signs from the dead.

Oh they warned her and they warned her so, 

a corpse bride she came, a corpse bride she'd go.

She already gave so much of herself away, 

all she could do was wait on decay.

But even that came later in the day.

She lived, oh she did, she always knew how to keep up the mask, 

no glories for her to bask.
She lived like a queen, royal and proud, 

head held high even under the grey of her shroud.

That day they found a new name for her, 

ironically coined by the love of another.

He called her the Maiden of Ice, 

constantly betrayed by the warmth in her eyes.
Never realizing how they burned for him, 

he took her love and made it a hymn.

Elevated to a stature of so high, 

he is finally one with the sky. 

She waited patiently, six feet under, 

he calls to her in the language of thunder, 

and when he can't hear the muffled whisper of his name, 

he simply breaks down and cries with the rain.

They met once at the horizon and a rainbow formed, 

seven colors of love reformed.
The sky was illuminated by the massive Sun, 

she was clearly outrun. 

Her shadows chased away in the casket of darkness,

she knew the truth in all its snarkiness.

Vowing never to speak again, the queen of midnight fell asleep,

into the depths of a slumber so deep - 

His thunder and rain failed bring her back one last time, 

not even for the sake of a rhyme.

That silent evening,

The only voice that could be heard,

Was of the swift drizzle,

And the only light,

Was that of the lamppost.

And, in that glow,

Glistened the soft water drops,

The most prominent,

With the message of relief,

For the thirty and exhausted.

The fireflies hovered,

Around the 'enlightened' lamppost,

Expecting their souls,

To be left glimmering,

By their rain- giving 'God'.

Not knowing that,

Their lost light was in them,

And their 'God',

Couldn't give them His.

'He' was just corporeal.

But their 'God',

Was like the purest drop of moonlight,

Concentrating on them,

And fading away,

All others into infinite darkness

Under the beam,

Was their sole existing Universe,

Being watched over,

Nothing else was seen,

So, didn't exist except the 'Universe'

What a relief!

Their Almighty gave them the rain,

They worshiped Him,

For the benefits and the gain.

Till the shower stopped pouring down!

Who was 'It'!

As, 'It' didn't watch over them now!

And they continued,

Their quest for Real God.

Searching everywhere but inside them.

And the Gods,

died, searching for the God,

Not realizing,

That they were a part,

Of what they designated as God.

They were wholesome!

Didn't need any spirit's favour,

To keep going,

Oh! How foolish,

They were nothing less than humans!

The same hand movements, same complaints, the forgetfulness and exhaustion.

It was the time to practice our sports drill, which I would be doing standing very close to the audience on the final day. No denying that was all the more reason to try to do it better, but I have two left legs! Dance and I were like the broken couple who once had a teenage dream but grew up to realise we weren't meant for one another.

Glad enough as I was to find that all my classmates were irritated with it too. Though, I wont deny that it was a very rejuvenating break in an all-girls' school, from the regular subject classes with teachers, toxic for my mind and students who considered themselves to be either Mark Zuckerberg or the most front forward donator to the school.

Okay, I admit, I am generalising but the rare one who didn't fall into any of those categories ended up showing the traits of Hitler, which made it no better.

You just couldn't have laughed or even smiled without being told you are being 'disrespectful' or a 'hindrance to peace'.

However, even during the drill, we could see that our Sports teacher was so dissatisfied with us, that the situation would often turn to be like in the classroom. After all it was an all girls' school.

So, as we had completed our first round of practices, we were told to be at the uncovered bleachers to rest and have a look at our juniors performing their part.

They were as sick of the drill as we were, but they surely were a lot less lazier. They appeared so funny and therefore, cute to us. None would smile out of them though; none but one.

This little girl stood right in the front and headed a line for the drill. She wasn't any regular beautiful, but to em she appeared the most beautiful of them all. She wasn't cute because of being funny, but of being elegant.

The steps of their drill didn't even suit anyone except her, to me!

She would do it so well. She made the weirdest steps look mesmerizing! She always appeared appeared calm and dedicated, and had a slight joyful smile on her face throughout, even during the much difficult part of the drill.

Her face was a blend of sunshine and positive vibes. All of this just added to her beauty. All else would fade away when she entered and did the stupid steps with great elegance.

And, all of a sudden, I had started looking at her like my little sister. Her smile was the most attractive feature about her. It was like gold dust among shapeless pebbles.

She had understood by now how I would look at her always, tell everyone how cute she was and would enjoy her performance. This covered her face with a wide grin and she would even blush!

In all chaos and lethargy, it was amazing how she could remain so gleeful and fascinating. I just sat down there, looking at her and her vibrant personality, realising how much I had to learn from her. I wish I could hold her tightly and have her bright tiny face against me.

I wanted her to retain that gentle bliss she had all along. I wanted to save her from committing the mistake, I committed during the course of my life.

No, I didn't know her name, her religion, her attitude, family or for that matter, anything about her life.

But, yes, however, crazy and vague it may seem, she was beautiful and I always wanted to keep the little lady protected. 

My Mascot of glee, Lord

Has granted my wish

He presents her a euthanasia

As promised. 

Her eyelids seal eternally 

With all their might

Making my love for her 

Spring up again. 

At the last second of their closure

She feels relieved and soothed 

Silver-blue droplets fall on her remains

Beseeching her to come back to life. 

They drown her bronze casket

But strengthen her soul

The various rituals proceed 

And eulogies along with regrets soak her.

She floats across the stairway to heaven

With a beatific smile pasted on her lips

My constant tabs on the sundial

Finally show a positive result.

It is time; time for her soul to release

She elevates to the entrance

Clad in an ivory gown that drapes

On the surface of the clouds.

Even Aphrodite bows down 

In front of her

Ready to crown her 

As the new symbol of beauty. 

She writhes with the hems

Of her dress

And her lively girls

Continuously nudge her

She trips over its pleats

And sinks into my arms 

But her friends grab her by her elbows, 

Pulling her away from me.

I somehow manage to see her 

Put on a scarlet blush

Her only make-up, 

Through her netted veil. 

She's let her hair fall

Fall, out of waterfall braids

And her velvet curls trickle down 

Bewitchingly to her bosoms. 

Her soft palms hold chrysanthemums 

That look dull next to her charm

I fix my tie and she giggles 

With another stroke of blush.

Every step she takes leaves impressions 

Of her soles on the stark white carpet

Beautifying its simplicity 

as well as her own. 

Dandelions halt in their respective paths 

Only to cherish a glimpse of her view 

And end up awestruck 

By her alluring self. 

A rainbow shoots up and then down 

In the worst of all droughts

Attempting fruitlessly 

To mirror her glory.

"I now pronounce you as husband and wife," 

Chants Eros and we put on halos, 

Emblems of our platonic love, 

On each other. 

Though our wedding 

Was rejected back then

Our marriage suffices 

In the laps of heaven.

We sway together to the symphonies, 

Celebrating our triumph 

Over the battle against the world

As earth stands by our side.

And as we dance 

Hand in hand 

To the tunes

‘We’ turns into ‘us.' 

The word eternity 

Regains its lost meaning

Our parched souls drink in love

Eventually quenching their thirst.

Their roads crossed.

A definite time, measurable journey and limited aid.

Pre-planned incidents, and unseekable strength.

But, their roads crossed.


Tied to strings, to the hands of Him, puppets they were.

They met because He intended them to.

A definite time, measurable journey and limited aid.

Yet, they met, to yield something greater.


Out in the heat, tired and exhausted.

Walking their paths, with their own motives.

Struggling through it, until the glimpse of a shade.

A definite time, measurable journey and limited aid.


An old tree with each leaf so defined,

Exhibiting it's power to render a cool shade.

And, hadn't they walked bravely enough,

To rest under it and converse to get closer?


"I want to gather the power to complete the journey"

Her aim was well defined like the leaves,

His was like the waters in the roots,

"I want to go up, to my maker."

I bent down on my knees, looking at the one before me, so lovestruck!

I, being a girl, wasn't supposed to be doing this. I should have been the one experiencing having this being done to me. But he was worth it!

Lost in the elegance of the man in front of me, I raised up my palm. "Marry me?"

Though, it wasn't the first time I was asking him this.

He facepalmed.

And, nothing ever could have been more mesmerizing than that gesture.

My eyes turned heart shaped, and my jaw dropped like a lost desert resident's who finally had found her oasis! I took deep breaths or I would have fainted of so much love!

He didn't answer me but stood there shaking his head.

Suddenly, I heard someone approaching towards us. I sneak peaked a bit behind his huge muscular body to find out, it was his wife!

It was too late for me to get up, and to pretend like nothing had happened. She abruptly, came into sight and ran her eyes at both of us, observing yet questioningly.

I pretended to have been tying my lace.

As she glanced at me, I looked down at my show, trying to make something out of the situation.

He went over to his wife, and took her in his arms. She wrapped hers around his neck too.

Lifting her up a bit, he kissed her lips, while I got up to my feet and waited for them.


"The dinner is ready, Shiva." She whispered, blushing as she drew back.

Looking at her, with a glimmer in his eyes which only her reflection could bring, he nodded.

And, then, Shiva walked out of the room.


Shakti raised an eyebrow at me, I looked away, still sensing two eyes inspecting me.

"I.....I...." spoke I, turning towards her ," I was just tying my shoelace" and, I looked away again, guilty conscious.

"Sure." She said, grinning," a lot of girls do that!"

I, involuntarily, turned my eyes towards her and laughed really hard.

She came over to me and embraced me. Her delicate arms had a heavenly cool peace which made me feel enlightened for the few moments she held me.

Her mild scent covered the air around me, making me even more relaxed and appeased with the moment.


"You are me. He will come to you at the right time." Shakti said


I gently pulled back, and looked at her doubtfully.

She gave me a very reassuring smile and said, " I've prepared your favorite dishes for you! Let's go and eat."


And, I just blissfully nodded.

Khyati Sanger

(The following article is in response to this post written by our author Sushant Singh Bhatia.)

Feminism v/s Menism v/s Perspective 

Dear believer of humanism,

I was really glad to read your blog, really, really glad.

All the extremely niche experiences that you have picked out, would be belittled (the least to say) if pitched with what the women of this country have gone through, AND SURVIVED.

Feminism is at a nascent stage, hardly an embryo, fighting to find its existence and we are already making way for ‘Menism.’ It is surprising to see how easy it was to get on your nerves though.
Now I believe you can imagine the centuries of atrocities that my gender has tolerated, succumbed to, pushed against, won some and lost many.

We have had way too many bad experiences being pulled, pushed, touched inappropriately, leered at, told that we are not good enough, heard abuses related to the very body parts we are made of, discriminated against, forced into submission, objectified and sacrificed. So forgive us for being wary or trying to make up for the ages of freedom that we never had by getting a local train ticket with a smile.

We would have never needed those special Women’s compartments if we were never ill treated in the General compartment. That is right. Not the Men’s. GENERAL! Also, take a moment and think why after 10 pm every ladies compartment still needs two male officers. Is it for protection?
If yes, then against whom? And FYI, I have given my seat one too many times to senior citizens. May be you should stop giving way to ‘Hot Chicks.’ Another good observation on your part, by the way..

It’s almost offensive, the way you write ‘Abla Nari’ and ‘Ablapan’ in order to generalize my entire gender with just one instance of what you saw. How about I do the same? Generalize your entire gender. Call all men ‘rapists, molesters, abusive or inhuman.’
But I won’t do that. For a very simple reason. By the time I was 14 realized something that middle aged men and women of this county haven’t managed to figure out yet. CO-EXISTENCE! We, men and women, were meant to co-exist. And not one above the other, but shoulder to shoulder.
Also, I owe a lot to many nurturing, kind men and women in my life.

And finally, to discuss equality. I AM ALL FOR EQUALITY. However, biologically men and women were created UNEQUAL. (in reference to the video complimenting your article) A woman slapping a man and a man slapping a woman differs wildly, simply because of biological reasons.
But we do need a middle ground. So the punishment of crime for both the genders need to same. I am totally on this page with you. But physical violence, if not used for self defense or mutually consented rough sex, should not be used at all. PERIOD. 

Each colour of the autumn leaves have been given a name:

Pink- Cherry Blossoms

Red- Auburn Bricks

Yellow- Sweet Ambers

Purple- Mulberry Fruits

Brown- Toasted Coconuts

One of my friends once told me

There are uncountable dimensions

To how you can love another

Citing an instance of the exquisite Fall Leaves

From Fall to Fall they fall

Harnessing a myriad of shades

With each shade bearing a trait

Of a particular kind of love

The first place is ranked by

Pretty little Cherry Blossoms

Who hold more than aesthetic delight

Albeit, less than divine ties

And that's exactly where and when

The magical Auburn Bricks step in

Suddenly telepathy begins to make sense

However, their spell strikes back

Their mystic charm depletes

Leaving behind warm Sweet Ambers

Who try and heal your sensitive spots

But, you promptly seal it again

Companionship o'er courtship is chosen

While the obsessive Mulberry Fruits crawl out

Ranging from slits to scars, they go

To tremendous extents

They take offerings to the next level

And the crushed Toasted Coconuts wonder

If their sacrifices would ever turn fruitful

In spite of all the humiliation they face

She presented her theory so beautifully

That it now resides on my fingertips

And even though love is quite flexible

It remains as marvellous as a mosaic.

Why care to stop a person from littering our motherland?

Why lend someone a helping hand?

Put a DP with the Indian flag,

That's the latest swag.

Why pay the fine when you have a setting?

Why say thank you to the officer who is sweating?

Set your status right to show the world,

And get the likes before the flag is unfurled.

Why share our food with the beggar down the street?

Why praise the farmer who grows your wheat?

Just order double of what you will eat,

and waste half of it, what a feat!

Why see the good that our country has?

Why choose Hindi songs over awesome jazz?

Get back from the U.S. and start your story,

'I pity this nation, it's people are ghory'

Why ask our children to join the army tomorrow?

Just share the joy, why take the sorrow?

Instead, share a photo once a while,

And salute the soldier fighting in exile.

Why fight the elections and change the game?

Why give a martyr the deserved fame?

Just switch on the TV and exclaim,

'Sab chor hain, what a shame!'

Why try and be the change we want?

Why choose not to complain or taunt?

Just join a yearly candle light march,

Lose some weight and burn some starch.

Why celebrate this independence when we are not Indian at heart?

Why choose to change and make a start?

For us it is just another day,

Let's keep all the patriotism at bay!

For all the fools who still wish to serve,

Start with something that India does deserve,

It may a be long and difficult mount,

But you and me will make it count!

Hope you 'celebrate' this Independence Day well! :)

Nukul Jain

Got you a postcard from Paris

From under the lit up tower,

And from a hidden beach in Nice,

Coloured pebbles for the shower.

Brought you a bookmark from Brugge

From an old man by a bridge,

Klimt coasters from Vienna

And a magnet for your fridge.

And bottle caps from Berlin

And from Munich, mini cars,

Nothing, though, from Amsterdam,

Or you'd find me behind bars.

A little Jewish star from Prague,

Some centuries from Rome,

And palinka from Budapest

To warm your heart and home.

And metro maps and train tickets

And coins and bills and flags,

I stuffed and stuffed these things into

My overflowing bags.

Little did I know while picking

These souvenirs with glee,

That I would meet a souvenir

Of what you used to be.

- Sejal Ghia

Smoke behind the wheel - directions lost a translucent haze,
a quagmire of thoughts concealed behind a look of oblivion unfazed..

Two worlds collided in a single stroke of fate,
crimson flooded through the gates..

Sounds echo and a sense of discordance creeps in,
a hollow forms within..
Feelings and impressions seem like lies,
you see yourself from another pair of eyes..

Can't recognise yourself from the distance,
the glass wall won't give in to resistance.

You see the others also confused,
their vibrancy diffused..
They slowly dissipate and vanish,
you're left all by yourself as though banished..

Marooned on the island of hostility, a medicated state of hospice and immobility.

You reach out, but its not enough, your skin is pale and rough.
Scar tissue forms as a thunderous cloud of doom, pain freezes everyone in the room.
Too shocked to react, you're unaware of a key fact, pale eyes greet your transparent glow, you see your body below..

Covered in bruises and collateral damage,
of the single cause of wreckage..
That little cylinder of sin,
caught in your clasp made the sheet darken..

Suddenly everything was clear, details sifted, the veil had lifted..
You lay there undisturbed, your head a cloud of smoke, unforgiving were the words they spoke..

A little girl came close and whispered "burn in hell", that's when she cast her spell.

In eternal damnation you survive, miserable and undead who no one will revive.

How gullible is this little empress  So unaware of these shenanigans  She embosoms a pretentious sleeping face  And nibbles at my sideburns As she chants her dulcet hums  I capture each and every inch  Of her niveous complexion  That eclipses the spirit of wintertide Dawn being an escape artist  Leaves her heartfelt tunes  To grow a bit morose  Because it's time for us to run errands For a while I'm left wondering  If in downtown we were to dwell  Would she be as doleful as she is now  Once the clock struck aubade? Or would her doting nature  Vanish with the morning haze?  In a jiffy my thoughts are shushed down  And that's exactly why I call her my Pumpkin But why is she busy contemplating  On what she must prepare for grub  When she knows I will be appeased  With just some cottage cheese, tofu and malt? The wind snatches her handmade tents I open my semi-closed eyelids questioning her mien Then again I grasp her natural foundation  While she finishes ruffling my hair She nods her head sideways saying she is amused  Oh! And all along I believed she was pure blank!  "By the way, Good Morrow Dear," Her wordy grape-like eyes slowly speak. You can catch me on Plain Jane

Somewhere in what we call a fortress Under the balmy skies and woven cardigans He nestles up merrily to my embrace With daydreams of a child, skipping about ferns His false, heavy breaths tickle my eardrums And simultaneously compete with our goldfinch To win my soft chuckles and flushing reflection However, I feel he has something to confide His right clenched fist Tells me his mind is forming dunes Out of a blooming rose Reducing our love to gerunds But even if he kept me on a broken swing In a deserted warehouse or a pumpkin shell My soul would always be ready to bow Bow down to him, just like a barricade His head-rest, my cross-legged posture Then guides him through this vulnerable phase I would grab the hems of my worn-out gown And fling all those question marks towards a bin Now I shall carry on fixing A somewhat banquet in our castle's hub And in the process of my being teased A deep serenade comes to a halt Glistening dewdrops wet our hung-out garments The ultimate incandescence also hits our screen Brightening up our mere accommodation Though just his view, can beat its flair He tilts his front as if I were bemused When actually, I hadn't fallen prey to his prank "Well, Good Morrow Reindeer," He swiftly responds, with a lopsided cheek.

Words…your words,
touch…your touch,
I am so still, but you take me places.
Beautiful, gorgeous places.
Places hitherto unknown to me.
When you come close and whisper,
my heart skips a beat.
When your lips accidentally brush with mine,
breathless I feel.
Nights turn into mornings,
mornings turn into nights.
With every passing day my soul feels so alive.
My knees feel weak,
my stomach has butterflies.
The glow my face has this morning
is due to the conversation we had last night.

You cried

You cried because you're blown just for fun

Cried because you became a mere soulless molecule

Floating around like a useless being

Because when you landed

They lifted you up

Stared at you

Sneered at you

Sneezed at you

And POOF!

You were blown again

Oh! You cried again, isn't it?

My friend, I just wanted to ask -

Have you ever seen a dandelion cry?

You can catch me on Plain Jane

 

Minions follows a simple plot where Kevin accompanied by Bob and Stuart decide to venture out of the icy sanctuary of their tribe and promise to return with their boss. Their journey takes them to the shores of New York in 1968 and on the stage of Villain Con at Orlando. Next they are entangled in the ambitious ploy of Scarlet Overkill who has her eyes set on the crown of England. Overcoming all obstacles, the minions are finally successful in their mission to find their despicable boss and thereby ending the movie with the promise of yet another sequel.

What is ingenius about Minions is that while the central story is cascading forward, something very true and real about human lives and mind is communicated. For instance, tracing the history of the minions’ search for their boss, the film succinctly showcases the evolution of human quest for power and progress. Setting the Villain Con against the incumbent Nixon rein in America subverts not only the Comic Con tradition but also overturns the good-evil balance. This is very pertinent since the American superheroes were created to reinstate the faith in the triumph of the good and the righteous. 

The several revolutions, freedom movements and protests during the 60s are subtly captured through the street protestors and banners. Using The Doors music as background score is yet another subtle but powerful statement. At this time around, America was politically and ideologically leaning towards “the other side”. As the remainder of the plot shifts to England, one is returned to the dynamics and politics of monarchial power. 1968 was the year of Nixon’s re-election and with the Vietnam War, oil crisis and space warfare, America was ready than ever to title the power of global politics in its favor. The threat to the English crown therefore strikes as realistic. 

What makes the success of Minions as magical is it constant capacity to make you smile. In the middle of a dangerous chase when Kevin, Bob and Stuart are escaping from Scarlet’s dungeon, Bob finds the time to pet the rabbit in the dreary drainage pipes. While oblivious to their future master, they practice the cheerleading dance with faith and fervor, replete with  the customary poms poms. Having broken the brand new gifted guitar, Stuart cuddles the ridiculous snow globe. Even while exiting the crown drama, Bob decides to donate his teddy bear’s golden crown to the power-hungry Scarlet Overkill. There are moments like these and many more that introduce the audience to the unpredictable and the amusing. The characters are therefore established as unique and refreshing. 

With all its adorable attributes there is one drawback- the impact and effectiveness of the 3D technology. If one is aware of the viewing experience of the audience while making the movie, then the direction and production design should collaborate to ensure that scenes and visuals pertain to it. Watched in 2D, Minions would accord no different an entertaining package and that is a gross waste of resources and the viewers’ hopes. 

Their looks and language may be alien but their emotions and actions are incredibly real representations of human life. To smile and to laugh, to reflect and to realize…Minions is a must watch.

It was yet another brightly lit Saturday night showtime at Mumbai’s Prithvi Theater on July 11, 2015. The stage was once more set ablaze with Shakespeare’s script- this time Rajat Kapoor’s interpretation of King Lear- teasingly titled Nothing Like Lear. A solo act for 1 hour 20 minutes to capture the main plot of the protagonist and his daughters, Gloucester and his legitimate and illegitimate sons Edmund and Edgar and the themes of life, parenthood and death- a feat superbly accomplished by the director and his inimitable actor Vinay Pathak.

Webbed shoes, patched suitcase, the hat and the coat took care of the costume, painted face with prominent red nose addressed the make-up and the clown was ready to play myriad characters and portray multiple emotions. Seating the late comers and cracking jokes with the front row audience, Pathak intentionally established the interactive mode. By repeating “It hasn’t started yet”, he told the audience that they need to be alert and engaged. By referring to the three-month long, 8 hour per day rehearsals and the meticulously chosen script; he even attempted meta-theatrical allusions. Mentioning the mind-numbing TV watching practice and the uncaring “pumping”, the Fool pushed his audience into critical self-reflection.

The local context and concerns were thus catered to while simultaneously enlivening Elizabethan England tragic drama. Nothing Like Lear built a theatrical bridge to close the gap between King Lear’s love for his daughter and modern man’s tryst with parenthood in the urban India. The iconic “Howl, Howl, Howl” soliloquy was rendered thrice eliciting three different emotions each time- from comic to angry to tragic. The countryside English heath was recreated through the storm and rain in the city and truly, the “make-believe” world turned more real by the minute. The use of shadows induced by sudden and strategic lighting takes the audience by surprise. It takes an ingenious directorial vision to visualize the imaginative and innocent flight of a young Cordelia through a shadow dance-cum-mimic act done by the father figure. Similarly, the vehement and vengeful cursing of the daughter by the betrayed father is most powerful in communicating the angst of a parent Shakespeare intended to lock into his words.

Nothing Like Lear constantly transitions from the comic to the tragic. The audience is transformed into intelligent receivers of art, ideas and culture.

Conceived by Kapoor, executed by Pathak, this one’s not to be missed!