So no death's coming....

like the recession...tht feeling that th ship is gradually sinking and you just cant do anything about it!!!!

Satan's story

I tell a story
These woods are too scared to tell
For here even thoughts are heard
And here do the demons dwell

One does hear silence at night
Hoping no sound touches their soul
And then a shrill scream blinds the night
And then we can see no more

When the dawn breaks
The red sun awakens the lifeless eyes
And there is blood gushing in the river streams
And the land burns sad and dry

And as one walks down this lifeless lane
Where the demons dwell
One can hear the whispering skeletons
“Welcome to Hell.”

Whose war is it anyway

The world is mocking the tensions in Tibet, the U.S Presidential candidates are guaranteeing that they’ll get their soldiers home, so where do we stand? We stand on top of soap boxes discussing the potential setbacks of all these events on our country. We’re too scared of looking in the mirror because of a simple reason, my country is being portrayed as an insignificant little speck of dust which 50 years later nobody will talk about not because the world is too bored to notice, but because we, the people, have become too bored to listen and talk about ourselves.
While a one billion strong nation had its eyes on the world cup, the Indian Press waited for five of our soldiers’ mutilated bodies to turn up in the Death Valley to make it front page news. The reason stated for the delay was pretty simple, people die there everyday what’s the big difference, so one more person died big deal. We won the war. At least that's what we were told. What would victory mean to an Eight yr old daughter of a soldier? The army got its brave soldier, a child lost her father. Even as a child I never understood who we were fighting exactly during each and every war. My mother used to tell me her stories of 1971 (when freedom was still cherished and patriots flourished in the land). She used to write letters of encouragement to soldiers on the frontline and send money to the homes of the martyrs. ‘Ah, those times were beautiful’, she says, “We used to dream of soldiers reading our letters and smiling even in distress. We used to have discussions of how a part of everything we do is a tribute to the freedom of our country”. My reply to the story was a pair of huge dreamy eyes, imagining my mother in a heated argument with people about how we should fight and do our bit for the country.
I also heard the stories of the riots of 1984 that spurned in a city. My father never told me this personally which I consider an insult on our relationship but I guess he has run out of strength to tell such story. He saw a Sardar being burnt alive on the way from Patiala to Delhi. He reached home that night just as the curfew was declared to my terrified mother and my clueless one year old sister. He brought home a stranger and gave him shelter for the night (guess morality exists in deep corners of every human body). The moral of each of these stories had been stay as far away from violence as possible and hate only those individuals who have actually inflicted pain on you personally, not their race, religion, caste or gender.
So when I grew up I used to imagine everybody in my so called generation (never understood the boundaries of the word) to have heard the same stories from their mothers. My illusions were shattered by certain individuals who consider Bush a hero for going on war with Iraq merely because he killed a bunch of Muslims. I first used to fight such arguments and flinch at statements like, ‘I hate an entire religion and that Hindus will become extinct if we don’t fight back’. Now in an India where my Muslim classmate cannot go to a certain city because I fear for her life there, I dream of days when people begin to understand religion is as much a part of a person’s identity as is the color of their eyes. Would you kill a brown eyed person because you think they are impure? I was very proud in telling people my country is secular when a person online sent me a laugh and said “no country in the world is secular”. I look at tortures inflicted on my people (assuming all Indians will remain my people) by themselves and I think has humanity died? Is hatred such an easy emotion? Is war such an easy solution? Is it my war if it is my people’s war? If not whose war is it?

My tombstone

Here I lie
in my final place of rest
where many have often been
waiting for St. Peters test

I only wish and pray
no one mourns my pointless death
for I may have travelled, seen, spoke and wrote
but I've not lived quite as yet