Wednesday, 30 April 2014

T FOR: TEA is my cup of tea

Tea is my cup of tea!!!
 They say, ‘British sold tea in India on 100% discount initially to make the innocent people addict of this beverage’. If it’s true, we can say that they achieved their business purpose. And now it has become the most popular beverage in all the strata of Indian society.
Though the drink doesn’t have any intoxicating content as per as chemistry is concerned. But mind you, it gives you a different charm when you need it the most. Moreover it makes you more awake unlike other beverages that blur your vision.
So in short it’s a social and decent drink that makes your meetings tolerable and memorable.
Tea takes many forms in India- cutting, kam-shakkar (with less sugar), special (which is pronounced as pesshal or isspesshal according to the variation in dialects).
In India where we believe or say used to believe, ‘athhiti devo bhav’ (guest is god), tea holds the first place in the offerings to guests. The easy availability and affordability should be one of the reasons behind its omnipresence.
Tea makes the hospitality a little easier. No guest will mind if he returns only over a cup of tea as tea fuels the conversation for hours without interruption. It means ‘tea’ is the least expectation from a guest and the best mean of hospitality for a host in India. Guys lot can happen over tea also!
In these days tea is coming in many interesting combinations- tea with cigarette, tea with wadapav, tea with bhajjia .
For me tea and book, tea and  the rain are the loveliest combinations.
I feel proud to say ‘tea is my cup of tea’. What about you?

Tuesday, 29 April 2014


hi friends, i know i am behind by almost six letters. i don't know if i am in the challenge. still i am posting the posts. i hope you will understand.
the letter 's' brings a story. Frankly it's a stroll of my mind on the shore of the sea of imagination. i don't know if it can be called a story. now it' over to you.

 She Strolled on the Seashore
           She took the stroll to the sea-shore alone. She wanted to feel the moist breeze coming from the sea to land. She wanted to see how the night songs of the tidal orchestra resonated in her heart. She wanted to touch the moist sand on the shore with her bare feet. And above all she wanted to be alone that night, utterly alone.
           Her husband was sleeping in the hotel room where they had stayed. ‘My knot was tied to that beast for the lifetime’ she thought and with his remembrance a ripple of disgust ran through her body. Her mind started thinking about her relationship with her husband-‘how he had hidden his snake-teeth from her before marriage’, ‘now how he boasts of his poisonous shrewdness’. But at the moment, she wanted to get rid of all the misery of life.
         Being with her own company surrounded by the caring night was one of those moments that gave her the strength to face the reality.
          Now she is alone walking along the sea shore. She felt as if a dull, heavy prose turned into a melodious poem. The tidal dance of the sea was on the peak as if many seasoned dancers were showing their best performance together. Their moves seemed to be mingling into one-another's. The bright, golden moon above the horizon was in hurry as if moving forward excitedly to get the proper view of the performance.
         But again her untouched virgin solace was disturbed by the stings of the wounds her past had given her. Again she tried to throw away the torturing pieces of memories giving a slight jerk to her body as if the memories were only the dust on her clothes. She wanted to weep away her gnawing past and threatening future. She wished, ‘if I could stretched this moment till eternity’, ‘if I could convince the night to stay a little longer’
         The moon, stars, night and the air all seemed dancing and singing in unison. She too had merged completely…..almost! But a tiny yet strong, dark thread was holding her to the life of a senseless creature that she had chosen as the life-partner few years back. She couldn’t surrender herself in the moment nor was she ready to face her future. She saw the day was announcing his arrival in the east. The stars, the tides looked as if had been spent by the nocturnal celebration. The moon was dozing at his place.                                                                                                                                  
        She turned around and walked showing her back to the east.

Friday, 25 April 2014

R for : Rain Rain come again...


R for:  Rain Rain Come Again…..!
Rain has many forms. Sometimes it magnifies the romance in our lives. For the farmers it brings the showers of hope and prosperity. It’s another name of life. But when the nature is upset with the ways we behave, it sends rain to teach us the lesson.
The poem is my prayer and might be of all those who experienced the wrath of nature.
It’s a prayer from all those who lost everything in the floods in Uttarakhand.

Rain rain come again                                                             
But never play such a game

 I know we broke the nature,s law                                        
 We have hurt her with our flaws

 I pray thee o rain! Tell your mother                                   
We won’t hurt her ever anymore

We’ve been good friends since childhood days                             
We danced together, we had our ways

 I was with you though my mother would scold                                
Be with me now let our story be told

 Tell her to calm down; pray to forgive 
We already have paid more than our due                                                                                                                   
Rain rain come again whenever you feel                                               
Come but with compassion and a serene will.

Thursday, 24 April 2014

P for : Play In a Play


P for : Play in a play
    ‘My eyes were glued for a while’ he admitted to no one but himself. When he was delivering his dialogue-“go away from my sight” on stage, he wasn’t sure he really wanted her to go away. Her deep black eyes had taken him to an unfamiliar yet amazing territory like a black hole. He had lost the sense of time and space and his identity which he had preserved with much effort was shattered. Her appearance was an invitation and a challenge at the same time.
      She was standing before her. The play was going as it should be. The audiences were rocking on the waves of emotions of the characters on stage. They were applauding lavishly with clapping, laughter and tears. The play was making its way to the hearts of the people. Deepak had merged into the character he was enacting until she turned and saw into his eyes in one of the scenes. And …and he forgot his dialogues, a long pause followed. For the viewers the pause was an acknowledgement of the skills of the actors. How could they sense what was happening between Deepak and Heena?
      The play ended amid the big applause. But Deepak felt that he had lost the grip over his role. A different character tried to take hold of him while being with Heena.
       As the shows of the drama, ‘o beauty, where is thy tenderness!’ were performed on the several different stages, the lover within Deepak took over the actor in him.
      The fact that Heena was married couldn’t smother the flame in his heart and the truth that his helplessness on stage would spoil his career as an actor couldn’t soothe the storm in his heart.

o for : OSHO AND 'Glimpses of a Golden Childhood'

image courtesy:

Osho and ‘Glimpses of a Golden childhood
It happens when we listen to Osho or read him, we get connected to Buddha if he is talking about him, we feel the presence of Kabir around when he simplifies his melodious bhajans and dohe for us and when he unfolds Mahavira, we can feel how it would be like sitting beside Mahavira. 
Osho talks almost on everything. He suggests the solutions to the problems we are facing today or are likely to encounter tomorrow.
 But ten years before, reading or listening to Osho was like becoming the part of conspiracy against the world.
 We would meet Osho through his CDs, books and meditations but they were like the secret meetings held at the rendezvous. It was so because our parents and our grown up relatives (so called) wouldn’t allow us to read this rebellious master.  Still we read many of his books and listened to his discourses as many as we could dare to.
By and by, his literature and enchanting voice ignited the rebellious spirit in us and we (my friends and I) started breaking the chains to get in touch with him.
His all books and cds are treasures of wisdom and happiness but what I love the most is ‘Glimpses of a golden childhood’. 

The mere remembrance of the book makes me feel as if a fresh morning breeze is caressing me. The book is a beautiful account of Osho’s childhood experiences which he shared with his closest disciples. Osho told as he recalled, without the sequence. His disciples wove those beautiful incidents into a marvelous book.  
The tone of the narration is soft and tickles the readers. On some pages you would burst into laughter and every page would bring an insight for you.
‘How he met Gandhiji at a small railway-station at around 5.00 in the morning and donated one ana to the charity fund Gandhiji was raising, it was the only coin he had’, ‘how he made the ghosts in his village to flee away’ are the incidents which leave the reader rolling with laughter and make their eyes wet with their elements of innocence.
I wish rather want to shout and urge that everyone should read this book and sip the elixir of wisdom from ‘Glimpses of a golden childhood’ of an enlightened master.

The Great Indian Lower Middle Class Marriages:

Episode 2 The nubile boy and his expectations from a girl  Ashwin is from a lower middle class farmer family. It is quite evident...