When Silence Speaks...

While loafing around in my granny’s home yesterday, I found these suitcases lying on the outside baithak (kind of backyard patio). I don’t know why but it kind of got to me. I got emotional - not in a sad way but in a very thoughtful way.  These were my dad’s. He travelled frequently for work and mostly by air or by road  for any 10-15 hours journey hiring  a driver for his car. He was a very organized and minimalist travel packer. His wardrobe was filled with white half sleeve shirts, and black or gray formal pants.   He would always travel with these 2 hard suitcases - the lower one carried his clothes. He would carry 2 ironed shirts, 1 formal pant, 1 lungi (just like pajamas, something all South Indian dads wear proudly), 1 towel, 1 handkerchief, his shaving kit and toiletries.  The other bag (the top small one) was his office bag - carrying all the files, documents and other paperwork. VIP was his most trusted and favourite brand when it came to bags. As was Bata for sho

Today I saw my little sister as an acting teacher. I have always considered her as a kid. We kind of grew older or rather mature drastically when our dad passed away few years back. I did see her handle that situation in a way I had never seen her before, which was true for both of us.  Now she is a doctor and she teaches post graduate students. I do visit her hospital every time I am home, and meet her colleagues/staff.  But I never saw her in action as a lecturer. I have seen the respect her students and fellow staff gave her. But today, when students walked in and started reciting their viva answers, and the way she was handling them, gave  me a completely different perspective of her.  My dad and I would always make fun of her, if she could ever handle patients or students. Because she was the shy one, the one who would not communicate if not required. Socializing was not her skillset, and it isn’t any great even now. But at her work she does great, she is vocal and talks

ऐसा   क्यूँ , आँसू   सिर्फ़  मैं  बहा  सकती  हूँ , पर   वो  नहीं ? आख़िर   वो  भी  तो  मेरी  तरह  इन्सान  है , दिल   उसका  भी  मेरी  तरह  परेशान  है। वो   मर्द  है  तो  क्या  हुआ , चोट उसको भी तो लगी है , दर्द   उसको   भी   तो   होता   है , डर उसको भी तो सताता है। उसकी आँखे नम हो तो वो कमज़ोर क्यूँ ? मेरे लिए सहानुभूति फिर उसकी जगहँसाई क्यूँ ? मर्द होने का ऐसा भोज उसपे क्यूँ ? दुनिया में उसका ऐसा वजूद क्यूँ ?  हम में फ़र्क़ होना जायज़ है पर हम में फ़र्क़ करना क्यूँ ? उसका भावुक होना नाजायज़ क्यूँ ? नरम दिल होने पर भी सक्ती वो दिखाए क्यूँ ? उसकी भावनाओं के लिए अलग नियम क्यूँ ? दिल का हाल बयान करने पे ऐसे बंदिश क्यूँ ? मर्द को दर्द नहीं होता , आख़िर ऐसी सोच क्यूँ ? रहने दो इन्सान ही उसे , आख़िर पत्थर बनाने की कोशिश क्यूँ ? - dedicated to the gentleness hidden behind the hardened face of strength in all the men around this world, continue being the

This world is not as it seems. Almost always it is much better than how it looks at the surface. I just realized that I have mostly written about society and how it constantly gets on my nerves. But I would not be doing justice in fact to myself, if I don’t acknowledge and appreciate all the goodness this world brings in.  And it’s not just about friends and family. It’s about all those strangers I have met in all these years, some of whose names I never asked or don’t remember now, but I do remember their faces, those moments and experiences.  As I write this, I remember a blind college girl Lily- a chatty and upbeat person, whom I met while walking into the apartment complex in Denver, how she had filled me with simplicity and positivity of life. Norman, a sales person in one of Pennsylvania’s Mazda showroom, a little over 70 year old person, who was a leading car racer of his time, had all old paper clippings from his younger days in racing gears and cars; he showed what f

Is it indecent to be happy?  To be happy from within.  To be happy inspite of the world around. To be happy for reasons not stated by the society. To be happy shamelessly. Every time I enter into the other side of the world, people look at me like something’s wrong with me. Like my senses are not in the order.  They are curious as to how or why am I happy.  They not only wonder but ask me “Is everything alright?"  They don't believe it when I say yes.  They question as to how is it possible?  They dispute the purpose of my life.  They challenge the credibility of my happiness.  They find my life incomplete and are very keen on completing it for me.  And as years have passed by, my reactions to this world has evolved. Initially I used to get angry, agitated; but now I find it amusing, intriguing to see how they judge me. I am no longer offended by what they say, I just don’t care enough anymore. Neither do I blame them for how they treat me.

There is no place like home.  I love traveling. I love exploring new places and culture. I love trekking and mountains. But what I love most about my life is the place where I can return to. Home keeps me in the state of wandering without letting me get lost. When I find my way back to the warm wrap of my family, I feel a sense of completion, some order to all the madness I live in.  When am away from home, enjoying all the travels, experiencing nature and people, my brain and heart is overwhelmed with everything it tries to absorb. Although I don't stress much and I always relax when am away from home; the form of relaxation at home is completely different. I just unwind completely and it lets me compose myself in a different way. There is a different kind of peace that takes over. The way my parents pamper and feed me with all the delicacies, how my 2 year old nephew brings in that innocent perspective to life, the way my sister protects and cares for me, how my brother