RSS

Rose on the Snow


My heart bleeds into my hand
The colour of a red rose on beaten snow
In agony of its decay and defeat
To reach to you, to let you know.

It stains my life, as it stains my soul
To see you so far after I let go
You were supposed to be right in this heart
The one that bleeds unreservedly  now.

The heart on my hands slips off two ways
I want to grip it, just tell me how.
With it flows every heartfelt vow
With it does flow our sacred love.




  • Digg
  • Del.icio.us
  • StumbleUpon
  • Reddit
  • RSS

The Peacock

I have always been mesmerized by the beauty of peacocks and peahens. As a child, the colors in them would always leave me amazed. What a creation! 

But are the rest of the things any less, i think of it today. If there is this wonderfully wonderful peacock or peahen that has been made by the Creator’s Hands, there is this meek little black and ennui Koel bird that has had its birth at the same Hands. And then there is this huge mighty ostrich. Who is better? Could we just take them to be at par?

But come to think of it, what my eyes tell me, is that the peacock steals the show. It doesn’t need the koel bird’s voice or the ostrich’s magnanimity. It is the peacock. That is all it wants to be. The peacock.
There has been a time in everyone’s life when they have felt like the peacocks. Whether they be the koels, or ostriches, they have felt like peacocks. They haven’t been proud of being the koels or ostriches. They have lived like a peacock in their head. And when the rain would come, they would be happy and happy and even happy. They would dance and cheer and make merry. They would swirl and swirl and swirl. And suddenly, they would see their feet. The feet that they do want, but don’t quite like. The feet that make them want to die. The feet that just…. They could have been different. The feet that are not different. 

They don’t make merry anymore. They are mellow. They are remorseful. Their hearts are heavy, of melancholy, of pain. They feel like, what the hell was i so crazy about that i danced like mad? What!…
The reality sinks in, partially. They for moments realise that they aren’t even the peacocks. They are someone else.
But, does the rain ever stop hitting the feathers of the peacocks and peahens again?

  • Digg
  • Del.icio.us
  • StumbleUpon
  • Reddit
  • RSS

June, 16: Father's Day

It is Father's Day today. June 16 happens to be my Dad's birthday as well. His fifty first birthday.
I remember Father's Day normally falling around his birthday. I always wanted it to be a Sunday on his birthday so that his birthday and the Father's Day would coincide and we could have a great celebration.
Today the Days coincide and I don't have my father around to celebrate with.
Everyone is talking about Fathers today. Everyone is just so happy wishing their Dads. Everyone's thanking their father. It gives me a mushy feeling. I don't know why but it does.
There aren't enough words to thank your parents in this world. There aren't enough gestures to show that you are grateful to them. I think of the story of Shravan Kumar who took his blind parents on a pilgrimage on his shoulders all the way and yet wasn't able to pay them back for all they had done for him in his life. It is very true for everyone of us, of course we barely understand.
I can't do all the thanking I would want to do for what my parents have done for me. But i have enough ways and means to apologise for the wrongs i have done them. For when I would sulk for days ifbi would think I was being nagged at about something. For when I took them for sworn enemies ever ready to take mu freedom away. When I called them over protective and  intolerant when  they would tell me not to be with the people I thought were my friends. When i thought of them being oppressive while they guided me, stopping me from doing things that I loved. For the times I wanted to get away from them as quickly as I could and in all the ways I could, by all the means I could.
You only realise their worth when you don't have them around.
Lets be better sons and daughters and then wish our parents the happy father's or mother's days.

I badly want to yell it out to my parents that I am sorry for the bad daughter I have been. Always.

And yes, also do i want to sing A happy birthday to my dad. 🍰🍰

  • Digg
  • Del.icio.us
  • StumbleUpon
  • Reddit
  • RSS

The stab


Sometimes you just want to give yourself a little, no, a fine big stab. When you feel utterly frustrated. When you want something and still don’t want it. When you badly crave for something and still want to chuck it away.
Life is certainly a modicum of happiness. You don’t get what you want, and even if you get it , it still isn’t the way you want it.
When you are told speak your heart out and when you do so, you are misunderstood. Badly.
The moment you want to say… 
‘Yaad e maazi azaab hai ya rabb/
Cheen le mujhse haafiza mera’
When you just want to loose your senses and go mad. Literally.
How lucky are the people who have gone insane. How damn lucky…

  • Digg
  • Del.icio.us
  • StumbleUpon
  • Reddit
  • RSS

'Sufi'ism' Explained - Difference b/w Zahir & Baatin: Shaykh-ul-islam Dr. Tahir-ul-Qadri

This is one of the best videos I have come across until now. The best video ever.

There are many people who confuse Sufi'ism with something totally it is not. This is the video that every Muslim should see.

I am a huge fan of Shaykh-ul-Islam Dr. Tahir-ul-Qadri, for he seems the only one who explains Islam in its purest form.

The Video: 'Sufi'ism' Explained - Difference b/w Zahir & Baatin: Shaykh-ul-islam Dr. Tahir-ul-Qadri

Just take out four minutes and learn a lesson for life by seeing this one.

Thanks!



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sSpAv53YVc4

  • Digg
  • Del.icio.us
  • StumbleUpon
  • Reddit
  • RSS

The Perfect Husband




Get me a husband who is made of money
When I make an order, who’d say ‘At your service, Honey!’
The one who won’t get tired of all the kitchen chores
Or buying me gifts from the big huge stores.
The one who favours me against his own Mommy,
Or else not mind me calling him Tommy.
One who won’t ever talk to me in a voice too high,
Or  whine when there is a huge list of groceries to buy.
One who never at all realises he’s henpecked
And doesn’t mind getting his wallet thoroughly checked
Get me a husband who is made of money
When I make an order, who’d say ‘At your service, Honey!’



  • Digg
  • Del.icio.us
  • StumbleUpon
  • Reddit
  • RSS

Zero Unread


















Who would write me a mail tonight
My Inbox says ‘Zero Unread’;
Needy,  I reload the page again,
 Hopeful of talking to someone
Before land up in my bed.
I stare at the bright screen
Nostalgic about an old conversation
Wondering if I really no more
Matter at all to anybody, anyone.
Where have the people gone
Who called themselves my friends?
Who promised that they’d write to me
Their mails were going to have no ends.
Desperate, I write to some random guy
And we talk of all the banalities.
I smile, I giggle, I yawn and I fiddle,
But there’s no going away
Of my heart’s stubborn crease. 

  • Digg
  • Del.icio.us
  • StumbleUpon
  • Reddit
  • RSS

Do Not Stand At My Grave and Weep


Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die. 
By - Mary Elizabeth Frye

  • Digg
  • Del.icio.us
  • StumbleUpon
  • Reddit
  • RSS

Insecure in the Land of Saints

Phenomenal Woman
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman

Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,

That's me.   ---Maya Angelou

Source: post.jagran.com
Courtesy: post.jagran.com
This maestro- African American octogenarian has acquainted us with the thoughts of a common woman; a lady who walks the avenues of this burgeoning country; who earns bread for her family or perseveres to do it one day; who dreams of a better future for herself, her family, her children, her better-half-to-be, her poor parents, her studious younger sibling; who toils through the day and night to get a place in her society, to get her deserved respect, her honour. This is the woman of today. A phenomenal urban woman.
This urban woman is somebody’s mother, somebody’s sister, somebody’s daughter, but sadly is hardly treated as one by her brethren. Despite of working equally hard as the men and shouldering the same responsibilities she fails to get the honour that she deserves. She is still thought of as a mere weak creature, which waits to be exploited by the beasts on the prowl.
Damini- the name that shook the foundations of the country will be always a name that India will remember. Be the Kashmiris for or against India in other matters, but it would only have been a stone in the place of a heart that won’t have ached hearing the miseries the medical intern went through on the thoroughfares of the capital just a month ago.
This girl, whose honour was ripped apart by the hooligans in a public bus, has paid the price of a life to awaken the country. But, let us look at it with a different perspective. Haven’t there been big cases of rape in the country before which aroused a similar agitation through the nation? Where are those names today? Where the sacrifices of lives and honour just a waste?
But it happens only in the Indian mainland. Kashmiris have a heart. If the girl were lying naked in the streets of Srinagar for even a minute, someone would surely have helped her. It won’t have taken hours to get her to the hospital like it took in New Delhi.  Plus, it is their culture that made them face it. Wearing tank tops, skin tight jeans in the middle of the night is what attracts the ruffians. Kashmir is a safer place. And on a second note, we remember the injustices done to our girls in Kashmir by the forces. We haven’t let it go waste.  Isn’t that what most of the Kashmiris would have thought soon after the incident?
But sadly, I do not agree to this school of thought. Our Kashmir- which was once called the Pir Waer, is now shielding beneath its bosoms the ugliest of the faces that this valley of saints would have ever seen. This was proved yet again by the acid attack on the woman in Parraypora a fortnight ago.
If the instances of rapes in our valley aren’t seen in huge numbers, but there shouldn’t  be any element of doubt if I say that every tenth woman is eve-teased every single day. Be it at on roads, at schools, at colleges, at universities, at offices, at malls or any public place- there always is a female individual who is sexually harassed. Are you a lesser a criminal than the men who rape the women if you touch a woman unlawfully? Haven’t you let the sacrifice of hundreds of Kashmiri women go waste?
And the key word Eve-teasing! Whenever we hear that a woman is eve teased, we take as light as a feather. It doesn’t matter if she was just ‘eve teased’, as long as she wasn’t molested. The problem lies with the way we take the word. If you ask an average American or a European what eve teasing is, they would hardly understand the word.
It is euphuism for a public sexual harassment or assault used in the Indian subcontinent, where people do not find it comfortable to use the real word as their counterparts in the west do. The assault may include touching, catcalls, brushing and suggestively sexual remarks. At times it is also referred to as a “little rape”.
The women are being assaulted in front of our eyes. Whether they are covered from top to toe or wear anything trendy, they aren’t safe. A hound of a man will lay his hands on her. And what do we do? Stare, and contribute to the menace? That definitely wasn’t what the saints would have thought of once they’d come here to preach.
 If your wife, your mother, your daughter, or your sister doesn’t deserve to get eve teased, how can anybody else’s deserve to?
Source: hindustantimes.com
Courtesy: hindustantimes.com
As long as the women don’t dare to speak against the wrongs done against them, and the males don’t get the sense of humanity and stop thinking of women as playthings, the society is not going to get better in any way.
For all the women out there, you need to stand against the beast who tries to sexually assault or pester you anywhere. Hurl a shoe at him. Take off your sandal. And I kid you not, once a few men get a revolt, they aren’t going to repeat it the next time. Prick the man in the bus with the needle pin of your headscarf. Hit him with your bag. Mark one on his face! You may do whatever to stand in the espousal of your honour, and trust me it won’t be wrong in anyway. But it is certainly going to be wrong if you don’t.
And for the men, treat the women if not as your sisters, but as honourable humans. And for heaven’s sake, behave like men. It is the beasts’ work to prey on females. Give the women protection rather than fear. Make them believe that they truly live with humans, not animals. Stop your peers who take up on eve teasing. After all, there might be a man who could harass your sister too.
If this urban woman has decided to set her foot to work on having a better world tomorrow, give her a safer and respectable today. Let her live freely.
The Eve was made from Adam’s rib, so that she would always walk under his shadow. It was the epic metaphor of Adam’s arms rising only in protecting the Eve, not teasing her. 


This article was published in today's Kashmir Reader, an English daily newspaper of Kashmir. 

  • Digg
  • Del.icio.us
  • StumbleUpon
  • Reddit
  • RSS