Road, Long And Green

Often, we are at cross-roads

We find many ways

Many ways to proceed

Many ways to get led

Some are long and green

Some are short and barren

We got bemused

Which one is my road?

To take me to my destination

To fulfil all my desire, all my passion

Destinations are only a consequence

Of your dreams, desires and unfulfilled sense

We travel to get destination,

It is journey between two stations

Former is transient, latter is long session

Mortality can kill you, before destination

But cannot break the road, which you have chosen

Cannot recedes your steps, you have taken

Life lives in moment, is a journey without a milestone

I believe in seen, more than unseen

So, I choose the road, long and green

Mockery Of Religion

Caution: Highly provocative and blasphemous post. So read at your own risk.

I am not a religious person, not as religious as, it is being defined by so called sant and Bapus. Now days, the lotus feet of one of Bapu is in Varanasi. I am not excited at all what he delivers in his teachings here but, I have been a reader of their teachings(by monthly magazine issued by their foundation) in my childhood days and fortunately, today Danik Jagran provided me the glimpse of his teachings, the reverence of his followers. He has given statements like “India is a blessed country since it gives so much respect to the saints and Mahatma.” And other was “one who disrespects saints and gives false allegation to them, is destroyed.”

For the first statement I can only say, “India is one of the country where people can be duped, can be made blind and dumb in the name of religion, in the name of god, in the name of heaven and hell, in the name of every thing which is unknown because we are the people who are being duped, choked from the centuries. We have been habituated, conditioned and some people are providing sleeping pills to those who are already sleeping. People do not respect you. Saints, like you, has handicapped the thinking process of people by preaching the old and lifeless lines of scriptures, by extinguishing their thirst by muddy water, when they require elixir. These people are not respecting you, they are so unhappy, distressed and in melancholy, they search for a river where they can rest, can celebrate and you give them hope of future (after death) and you ,make them to realize that whatever is happening at that moment is result of past. They give you the simple formula to get rid of all distress like chanting Ram, Ram, by hearing the fictitious stories, by praising the god, by crowning the stoned sculptures. It is easy and convenient. It suits us. What a simple thing it is? India is doing this for century, then why people are still unhappy. They are fighting, looting. Do you know how many fights have been occurred in the name of religion, in the name of Vishnu and Siva? You, people are not healing the wounds of people but wrapping a cloth on their wounds which is ceasing them to analyze where these wounds are and how it can be cured. “

Now for the second statement I will say,” In general, it is not the love or knowledge that makes one to believe in God. It is ‘FEAR’. From centuries, people are being threatened in the name of hell and heaven, and this is just a tradition which is being followed by so called saints. A fearful person can not love god. He can only serve like slave. God needs no slaves and why do he need? He is already omnipotent, omnipresent and omniscient. Neither god need respect, because he has no hunger of prestige, he has no ego; he has no inferiority complex like you. And god is such a powerful being, if he can destroy the people who disrespect their dear, saints then why can he not changed the mind of these people ,as god is so merciful and compassionate. Why do a saint care when some one disrespect you; why do you fear; history is witness that in the name of true religion and spirituality, people who oppose, is not destroyed but the saints (who are really saints, according to me) like Buddha, Mahavira, Kabir, Jesus, Socrates, Osho have sacrificed their life for saying light to light in the midst of blind people. It is not easy call a spade a spade and to open their eyes, it requires courage and endurance.”

Desire Of Pinnacle

The voracious desire of pinnacle and tempestuous ambition of power and money, put a man in the labyrinth of distress and agony and when, for the first time, he witness himself in the mirror of consciousness, he feels that the sweat over his eyebrows are now tears of his eyes. The scenery which enchants him with such a luxuriance beauty, exuberant and greenery is dried out to a barren, swarthy and arid atmosphere. He can not distinguish whether his eyes ceases to see or he is facing the fundamental reality of existence. He is known by everyone, but unknown to himself. His accomplishment quenches his mind but, has a drought in his heart. The drop of love vaporizes in the heat of hope. He never realizes that in the race of getting zenith, he is trampling the seeds of those beautiful plants which will one day provides him the zephyr of love, serenity and peace. He runs and runs,and when he stops, he finds himself on the death-bed of his hollow and unfulfilled desires.

Go To Hell, You Fool!

How ridiculous and enigmatic it is, is not it? , when a majority of population is starving to death, hankering for basic amenities like bread, cloth and roof, so called humanitarians and philanthropists are crowning and decorating the stoned sculptures of worth a million rupees to showcase either their reverence or to mark themselves a religious being, which finally step up him to a political or commercial ladder in an orthodox and blind country, like India. They turn up the curtain called ‘preservation of culture and tradition’ with a clandestine desire of selfishness. A foolish man can only misuse the religion. This is what the people are doing, never questions their belief, the tradition and led the mankind to the abyss of religious fanaticisms and chaos. I get bemused when I think about the people (actor, politician, and industrialist) like them, how people of such kind, donate so much amount of money in temples, I find, three types of people

1.) First kinds are the sick and worn out. Having reached to the top, has not provided a single dew of happiness, so they want it in future (after death) and find the concept of heaven more reasonable. So this is an investment in account of their God.

2.) Second kinds of people are some what smarter. They are not driven by the concept of heaven. For them, it is way to be an epitome of certain religion which will finally help them in their political or commercial, or industrial interest.

3.) Third types of people are those whose eyes, ears and mind are conditioned according to lifeless line, written in scriptures. Their repression compensates their sense of greatness and purity. They find to serve an omnipotent, omnipresent and omniscient more agreeable and logical than to serve others human being, in which some are castigated for their past crimes and some are acting like sinners(according to their orthodox scriptures).

There may be other type of people. Some may have nice intentions. If you know other types, your comments are welcome. For the three types of people I will only say, “Go to hell, you fool”.

Q & A

(1)

Do I realize, what makes me heavy?

Do I visualize, what restricts me to see?

Do I understand, what chokes me to express?

Do I feel, what compels me to be in the race?

Carrying the past makes me heavy.

Old, rotted, orthodox thoughts veils me to see

Conditioned, slave, reactive minds stops me to express

Faintness compels me to be in the race

(2)

Why do I hesitate to see in her twinkling eyes?

Why do my words for you, never leave my throat?

Yet, why do I feel that you are mine?

Yet, why do I dream you at every night?

Your resplendent eyes blurred my eyes

Love can not be compiled in earthly-size

But when I see in a clear, shiny sky

I feel you, just near by.

Night Train at Deoli: And Other Stories

How often, you remember the exquisite places, kaleidoscopic images, overwhelming innocence and compassionate love. If you don’t, and you wish, then I will suggest for going through “The Night Train At Deoli :And Other Short Stories”, composed by Padam Shree awarded, Ruskin Bond. His Portrayal of love, beauty, devotion and desperation, let you visualize the unending, incredible imagination of mind. Mostly, stories are composed in autographical sense and how they are woven around the web of writer’s life and places, he has been, is amazing. A descent and innocent romance transports you to your teen ages. ‘A Women At Platform 8’ presents a motherly love of a school boy and an unknown woman. ‘The night train at deoli’ has such a mesmerizing romance that will lift into a space of love. How a school boy fell in love with a basket selling girl in their first meet, how his first meet, hardly-communicated longing turns into a feverish desperation in love. ‘The Eyes have it’ a romantic story mixed with suspense which brings it to a height of love at the end of story. Most of the stories will hypnotize with the sense of love, besides them, there are horror story like 'A face In the Night' and ‘Panther’s Moon'. ‘A love Long Ago’ is another enthralling, romantic story for younger generation. No one can have such a strong empathy to children in their writings as Ruskin Bond has. If you expect the stories of psychopathic killers, war-heroes, film-stars and super-natural powers, then sadly enough, you will not find a place in Ruskin fiction. But, If your teen ages are devoid of emotions (esp. romance) like mine, then it is must read.

My Village

After three years, I visited my native place, countryside in ballia for three days. It is not a complete and real description of my village but, it is the testimony of my own experiences, a reflection of creation, in which only my beloved ones exist.

A small rush of people,

And silvery-reddish road,

Along with green, dry fields,

Awakening noise in an abode of poise.

Oh! This is a nostalgic sensation,

Yes, I am at my village station.

People, of small desires,

With childish innocence,

Who have only dream for tomorrow,

Shares their happiness and sorrow,

Whose nights are nights and days are days,

Yes, I am at my village.

The fields of maze and sunflower,

And a palm tree, watching as a guarding tower.

Goats, cows, sparrow and dogs,

And morning-jog with these folks.

Making me again, a child, of small age,

Yes, I am at my village.

I touched their bare feet,

Their eyes moistened.

They gave me the ripe mangoes,

Curd and most valuable, love.

I turned over the most lovable page,

No! I was out of my village.