To Dance like no one's watching...

The heart of the artist lies not in the applause of another but in his performance...For when I dance I perform for myself; it is of no importance then if the audience is of one, ten or a billion people...I become the rhythm and the clap...The view and the viewer. The art and the connoisseur...? Of course I appreciate my self...exactly how I criticise it...

Not once have I performed for the sound of claps...I feel ashamed...incomplete if I do that...judgements are passed in doing so...A half hour on stage is not enough but so isn't a lifetime. In that moment of performance I become the God...the power to bear art and kill it lies in heart...my feet...me...the giver-taker are merged for art to exist...

The Night After...

My throat is parched and gallons of water won't be of any help...I am the 'Ancient Mariner' at 4:17 in the morning. But, unlike him my life isn't written all in Ctrl B and Ctrl I...There are stanzas in Comic Sans too..! But the walls of my dream house are plain and cream...

Do all of us have an albatros around our necks? If yes, then where is mine, for im sure i should have one by now...21 years is too long a time to go without mistakes altogether..

Yes, wrongs i surely did commit unto others but none left a bitter taste in my mouth...do i sound too arrogant? Words can never be perfect! So we strive and struggle some more with them. 3 years as the slut of literature wern't enough i guess...will time ever be...?

" Struggle is endless", "journey is the goal" all sound very nice and reassuring...but i didn't consciously choose the starting point. The trigger was pressed and i was too much caught in the race to breath when i kooked up the meaning of either words in my OED.

I can never conclude my " Bits of Lit" gracefully...but i guess that's coz in life i still have to enter the "main body" coz i stand in "introduction"...font size 12!

"I am the Captain of My Soul"

Destiny is inviting me to write her story and fate is imploring to answer his querries...

But then, what is left for me if i answer all the questions...if i disclose all my secrets?

There would be no part of me remaining that wouldn't be shared with all. What would i be then if there wouldn't be an 'I'...will i fall like a tear tomorrow coz' i dance like a smile today?

No answers disclosed though, all the right questions asked...no questions refused only answers arn't produced...in words or actions. And, strangely enough, answers were there even before the questions were thought of...for they were timeless...then, but now?

Dilemma of Delhi

A question so frequently addressed to me - "Where are you from?"
My retort, quite obviously, "Delhi".

However, the inquirer is never satisfied. So, instead of asking, "where in Delhi?” the afore mentioned query is reiterated with stress on syllables for partially deaf (!!):
"No, I mean, WHERE are u REALLY from; what is your NATIVE place?"

Sadly my laconic answer remains the same…!

The thought process in my mind after such a conversation:

"Who is a Delhite if not I?"
My family has been here for generations...my parents were born and brought up in the capital; this is where I’ve been every summer visiting my grandparents.
And like a true Dilliwala however much I may crib about the extremity of climate, I look forward to its summers as much as I look forward to its winters...

Now & Then...

I see a child walking gaily in the rain and the impression that this scene leaves is so strong that im compelled to share it with others.

She is happy and i am sulking..how different we both are and yet one day she would be like me as years ago i was like her.

Must we change so much so that our emotions become the exact opposite of what they used to be? Why must i cry about something at which i would have laughed a decade ago? Perhaps it is because today I can laugh at something I would've cried my eyes out a decade ago.

I can't laugh or cry forever...We are never complete losers or winners for we always win what we had lost and lose that which we had conquered. Nothing was given up for which something was not gained...perhaps a little late in the day but the heavens always balance! Paradoxically, the choice is always mine...

Its sunshine again and roles are reversed for im sure she is aulking now; to walk till school in such bright sunshine. And I? Yes, I am glad for the roads would dry up and my clothes won't get dirty...

Irony of life: I can still relate to her...despite the contrast


"...She springs like a beam on the brow of a tide,
She fall like a tear from the eyes of a bride..."

- Sarojini Naidu

An Ode to Victory in Defeat

New page, old poem...an end or a begining..."who can tell!"

"Had I said that, had I done this,
So might I gain, so might I miss.
Might she have loved me? just as well
She might have hated, who can tell!"

The Last Ride Together
by: Robert Browning (1812-1889)