Category Archives: Philosophy


She had been playing hide and seek for many days now. Making an appearance quietly in the night and leaving her mark. It was only when you woke up in the morning did you realise she had been there. The morning air smelled different. The fragrance of her visit lingered on, adding a freshness to the morning that was somehow different. Her footprint could be seen everywhere. The roads were damp and the plants were bathed. You wish you had woken up when she came. So that you could reach out your hand and touch her. Try and close your fist around her knowing very well that she’ll slip away. But you would try nonetheless. You want to be tempted to run out to greet her, to welcome her with your arms outstretched. The way you perhaps did when you were a kid. You wish you could lose yourself in her once more, forgetting your worries, your troubles. But she remained illusive, playing with you, teasing you, lurking just around the corner, coming out when you won’t see her and yet know that she has been there.

She’s made you wait so long already, you are desperate for her. Almost as if she knows this, she plays this game of hide and seek with you. The day when you least expect it, a gust of wind hits you. It hits you hard, but what hits harder is the realization that comes with it. This is no ordinary breeze! This is an arrival announcement. She is coming and she has sent you an advance notice. Prepare yourself, here I come, says she. You suddenly become aware of the other signs. The air carries a subtle hint of her arrival too. You think of a princess whose perfume wafts into the room much before she makes an appearance. The perfume does its job, without a single spoken word, the entire room is aware of the princess’ imminent arrival and everyone looks forward to the first glimpse of hers. When she enters the room, all eyes are on the princess and she enjoys each and every bit of that attention. You think of this image and realise what you’d been waiting for is like royalty too, eagerly awaited by one and all.

A smile breaks out on your face and you see the faces around you mirror it. Everyone has caught on the signs and is smiling in anticipation. It’s the end of a tiring day; the wind refreshes you and fills you with a childlike glee. And for a few moments, you do forget your problems. You stretch out your hand again to check if she is really there or is it just your eyes playing tricks on you. And when you do that, a soft shower of the rain falls on your hand. Its touch seems wonderful, caressing. Its feel is like velvet, soft and sensuous. But the most overpowering feeling is the exploding happiness in your heart when you see the rain, when you feel it. The air is cooler than it has been in months. The wind sprays tiny droplets on your face sometimes. You raise your face eagerly to the oncoming spray and close your eyes tightly. It is your moment of pure unadulterated pleasure. The bliss of first rain…



Bridge over the creek, originally uploaded by anksy06.

Grey… The world becomes grey when I move over the creek. The rail track a dark grey, the water a light grey, the sky a lighter grey and the mist surrounding me is the lightest, almost white grey. The horizon is blurred; the sea and sky go from being one to another at no definite point, almost as if one flows into the other. The buildings on the far end are hazy at best and the clouds hanging low over a small hillock just add to the chimerical atmosphere. But I think it is the mist that does it. It is the soft mist that casts a clock of surrealism on everything around, making me feel I am in transit between two worlds and this short stretch is a walk with my inner self. A walk where I become oblivious to the people around me, to the jostling, pushing and to the incessant babbling din that can only be the result of hundred or so women crammed in a space meant for fifty. And yes, I do become oblivious to all that. When I look at the rippling water flowing under the bridge, I sometimes think of life, sometimes of death, sometimes of dad, working so hard to keep all of us happy, sometimes of mom, who has made us her world giving up everything for our slightest joys. I also think sometimes of death, the 50 feet drop to the water below you can do that sometimes… It also makes me think of things I have deliberately pushed to the back of my mind, an introspection of sorts…

And on other days, it’s bright and beautiful with a breeze that ruffles your hair and refreshes you completely – draining all traces of a hard day at work. Nature, they say has a strange way of connecting with you…



सभी चाहते हैं मेरा एक हिस्सा उनके लिये,
में कब पाऊँ कुछ अपने लियेजीवन है मेरा,
किंतु महत्व किसी और का
विचार हैं मेरे,
परंतु आचार किसी और सा

तस्वीर बनाना चाहूँ
तो मन के रंग न भर पाऊँ
गीत गाना चाहूँ,
तो अपनी धुन न रच पाऊँ

कैद हूँ मैं,
जैसे एक अदृश्य से पिंजरे में
मेहंदी हूँ जैसे,
जीवन सार्थक है पिसने में

तोडना है मुझे,
इन बेडियों को अपने पाँव से
अर्थ पाना है खुद का,
सँसार कि धूप-छाँव में

सभी चाहते हैं मेरा एक हिस्सा उनके लिये,
में कब पाऊँ कुछ अपने लिये

Sabhee chhahte hain mera ek hissa unke liye,
Mein kab paaoon kuchh apne liyeJeevan hai mera,
Kintu mahatv kisee aur ka
Vichaar hain mere,
Parantu aachaar kisee aur sa

Tasveer banana chaahoon,
To man ke rang na bhar paoon
Geet gaana chaahoon,
To apnee dhun na rach paoon

Kaid hoon mein,
Jaise ek adrishya se pinjre mein
Mehndee hoon jaise,
Jeevan sarthak hai pisne mein

Todna hai mujhe,
In bediyon ko apne paanv se
Arth paana hai,
Khud ka, sansaar ki dhoop-chhaon mein

Sabhee chhahte hain mera ek hissa unke liye,
Mein kab paaoon kuchh apne liye



एक मुट्ठी आसमान

छोटे छोटे टुकडों में बँटा हुआ है,
ऐसा लगता है जैसे कटा हुआ है,
लंबी लंबी ईमारतों के बीच में,
एक मुट्ठी आसमान ही मिला हुआ है।

ऊँची उडान भरते देखा नहीं,
सदियों से किसी पंछी को,
बस पार करते देखा है,
एक छोर से दूसरे तक,
अपने आसमान के टुकडे को।

बादलों का काफिला भी,
निकलता है थक थक के,
मेरे टुकडे में कभी कभार,
नज़र आता है ठहरा हुआ,
और फिर चल देता है रुक रुक के।

सूरज की क्या बात कहूँ,
बस झलक ही दिखलाता है,
दिन का एक ही पल है,
जो नाम मेरे कर के,
आँखों से ओझिल हो जाता है।

छोटे छोटे टुकडों में बँटा हुआ है,
ऐसा लगता है जैसे कटा हुआ है,
लंबी लंबी ईमारतों के बीच में,
एक मुट्ठी आसमान ही मिला हुआ है।

This poem is inspired by a comment my mom once made – something she doesn’t get to see in Bombay is the vast open sky.

The Sun in her palm…

I saw this picture on Akshaya’s blog and absolutely fell in love with it. This little verse is inspired from the picture…


Its the crimson evening calm
And she holds the sun in her palm…Up in the hills its evening too soon
The glowing red ball will change to a silky moon
But there’s still a while for the moonlight white
For another moment I behold the sight
Its the crimson evening calm
And she holds the sun in her palm

“How it goes from pink to yellow
Blazing down and then once more mellow
Those are the changes occurring in the sun
Its dawn to noon to evening run
And then it vanishes out of sight
Plunging us into a deep dark night
Of course it’ll come out again tomorrow
And then a moment of time I’ll borrow
The moment of crimson evening calm
When I hold the sun again in my palm”

She tells me its her daily ritual
I say its not real, its only virtual
“The sun doesn’t change, its we who do
Going around it and spinning too
As we move through our day
We look at the sun in a different way
We call it pink and red and yellow
It blazes forever, never does mellow
And as the earth continues its ride
The sun is visible on the other side
It hasn’t vanished. Its there like before
Just that we don’t see it anymore
It makes a pretty picture, your palm beneath the sun
While you may have your moment of fun
Its nothing more than a mere illusion
A sweet sight, an interesting vision”

“Oh my, you are such a bore
You don’t appreciate any more
The beauty of nature, the wonder of things
I have imagination, and I gave it wings
Then it flew off far and wide
And I learnt to put all logic aside
In a different light, the mundane I see
Do the same I tell to thee
When its time of the evening calm
Stretch it out and hold the sun in your palm”