"May smiles on the threshold of the years to come,
whispering it will be happier..."

Listen to the rhythm of the falling rain,

Telling me just what a fool I've been.

I wish that it would go and let me cry in vain,

And let me be alone again.

Now the only girl I've ever loved has gone away.

Looking for a brand new start!

But little does she know that when she left that day.

Along with her she took my heart.

Rain, please tell me, now does that seem fair

For her to steal my heart away when she don't care

I can't love another, when my heart's somewhere far away.

Listen to the rhythm of the falling rain,

Telling me just what a fool I've been.

I wish that it would go and let me cry in vain,

And let me be alone again.

Rain, won't you tell her that I love her so

Please ask the sun to set her heart aglow

Rain in her heart and let the love we know start to grow.

Listen to the rhythm of the falling rain,

Telling me just what a fool I've been.

I wish that it would go and let me cry in vain,

And let me be alone again.

Oh listen to the falling rain

Pitter patter pitter patter,

OhListen, listen to the falling rain

Pitter patter pitter patter,

OhListen, listen to the falling rain

Pitter patter pitter patter

"...fail I alone in words and deeds?
Why, all men strive and who succeed?"

I wake up with an urge to fly,
But a lowly being, I walk.
Mind implores heart to listen
When all it does is talk.

A burden on my soul I must drag;
An glassless window’s view blocked.
The door to my past lies open, ajar,
When I was sure to have it locked

Would I ever be asked to give up
This one moment I hold so close?
Would I then feel sorry?
No, I shall repent no more…

To maker I wish to thank and pray,
But all through my life I lied.
I faced this life with intention to frown;
I couldn't help but smile.

I faced my world willing to laugh;
Out loud it made me cry!
I face myself struggling to live,
When every moment I die…

“Every good question possessed a power that was lost in its answer…”

This sentence motivated me to finish reading an otherwise intolerable book; a book bestowed with one of the most ‘prestigious’ honours in literary world. Neo-colonialism was the pre-dominant feeling that interjected my quest, time and again…

It is indeed incredible how only those works of literature and theatre that depict the ‘sorry’ events of the past are considered worthy enough of this honour. And this is the very reason why ‘Lagaan’, ‘Water’ and such motion pictures get nominated to the Oscars (but fail to win!).

We are still the land of (barely-clad) snake-charmers to the western half.

Apart from the emotionally charged subject Desai’s novel fails miserably to give a face, a voice, to her characters. They come across as unique, not of this world…they lack in what one may call the ‘human element’. The reader is not experiencing with the characters…he merely becomes a bystander, an on-looker, a spectator… The too obvious impression that one gets is that of the novelist trying to force upon the characters…they are without any real identity because they fail to belong…to a region and to the novel itself. They become a portrait of Whiteman’s natives but nothing more…

"A Beautiful Life..."

I wonder if there’s ever been a limit to happiness. Feels as though I trespassed the line months ago…the exact time, the moment, I cant tell; it eludes me too!

How completely world ceases to exist when all that matters is within the reach of an arm’s length…

How wonderful it feels, for the first time to possess something too precious to lose, too beloved to part with…too delicate to hold.

Fleeting joys make heart smile and eyes twinkle. Stars shine down when fantasies become reality. Every moment lived till now seems to have led to this day. Pieces of past fall in place for the puzzle is complete, finally. Life begins anew for heavens are conspiring to make you happy…sinfully so!

Winds whistle words, hands fail to write
And no thought can be called 'eve'.
Such a moment caresses my day
Everything I have but none for me.

Life coagulates,
Like blooded fingertips.
Creativity screams in the abyss
Of idleness, nothingness and all.

No cause to fight for, a tragedy.
I am a war hero, of
A war never fought, a sword never raised
To reflect the sun of battlefield.

Fingers move on paper to write;
Writing a moment and my life.
Ink's flow is curbed for words,
Words that are deaf, they decay and die...

Still Wanting...an explanation?

A reason for every action and every act for a reason...in reality it's not as simple. I do things, maybe purposefully, without really much of a 'reason' behind them. Yet how freely I demand an explanation when I am so unwilling to to give one. My actions are Mine and I can't justify them to another...rules are relative, bendable!

Still wanting to reason out with you, with life, with myself, with the sun, for he hides on days I most need him...purposefully? Yes, I am quite certain.

Still wanting to know why an irrelevant mistake led to an unrepairable understanding. How something so insignificant can cause such massive doubts that accusations are made.

Still wanting to know why I am blamed, time and again, for I did not commit. But I will never know for I lack the courage to ask; lack the courage to confront...once more.

A Day Untitled

Essence of my life's journey lies not on its deathbed but in the relationships that I've made on my way. At 22 the yearning to belong is dead...is it because I already do? I can count on my fingertips the relations that I’ve ever made an effort to maintain...reality questions this claim too and caustically replies, "Fingertips are too many".

"Keep in touch"- a phrase I use a little too loosely for I never practiced what those three words preach. Ironically, life has always presented me with appropriate reasons for not doing otherwise!

Yet, here I am, sleep deprived, writing a blog but subconsciously justifying my actions, apologizing to those for "keeping in touch" for not maintaining the contact that I feel lucky to have met...but then there are times when apologies are not enough. They are simply the convenient way out. Whatever sages might've spoken, in reality, it takes nothing to apologize...not even courage. Only confrontation is tough...heroic...

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)