Monday, December 13, 2010

Independence - 77 Fiction

Note:- 77 Fiction infers to fictional writings bounded to a maximum of 77 words.

Like all children in the primary school,  Karthik has got affinity for flag hoisting celebrations.

It is obvious that what matters for him more is the sweets distribution .

The day has come.

After the completion of all flag rituals and national formalities, the sweets distribution has started and so is Karthik's enthusiasm .

The distribution has ended but still his hands are empty .

He is not sure whether the reason is the school wall or his balloon business.

PS : Am elated to be back from my sabbatical   :)
PPS : To help, click hope4needy

Thursday, October 14, 2010

Celebrations - 77 Fiction

Note:- 77 Fiction infers to fictional writings bounded to a maximum of 77 words.

The blood on the stone is still fresh, wet and shining...
There are some flowers with kumkum and haldi on their petals...
The holy sacred chants are about to end while the head priest is offering the prasad along with the axe...
The blood drops are falling down slowly from the axe ...
The festival has started ...
but few minutes ago, the same blood drops have sprung out from the neck of a three months old girl child ...

PS : Save Girl Child
PPS : Happy Dasara

Friday, September 17, 2010

Reap - 77 Fiction

Note:- 77 Fiction infers to fictional writings bounded to a maximum of 77 words.


One more crop failure will send her into the suicide abyss.

Rajamma shows little interest in the now stunted orange trees.

In her, they evoke only the worst of memories.
Their farm headed for its third straight year of failure. 

“I don't care about it,” she says, “if the trees die.”
What she did care about, already did.

Her son Shekar took his life less than a week ago, making her life more stunted than the trees.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

Insult - Drabble

 Note:-A Drabble is an extremely short work of fiction exactly one hundred words in length.

One day a small pig was sitting alone in a pensive mood.

His mother came and said, "chalo, get ready beta, you have to go to mudschool"

He said in a low and sad voice, "Mom, I wont go to mud"

She asked him pleasingly "Why beta?"

With tears rolling in his eyes, he murmured "All the pigs in mudschool make fun of me all the time"

She hugged him and asked "What did they say?"
She had exploded with anger and fiercely shook her body when she heard those words from his son.

They teased him, "Human, human ........... human!!! "

PS : Nothing offensive towards pigs and humans , but am not sure about the humans  :) :) :)

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

How many ?

Since ages,
from the valley of Anonymity
The wise wind has been telling 
the secret of birth and death

Except a Tree
None is opening up their ears
The Divine music
sung by the tree
being obstructed from reaching the far deserts
by a man standing in between

I request you
please tell him to move aside
Ask him to confine himself
into a five year old child

The corporate society
which has not learnt
From the wonderful acts
of children innocence
From women reasonless smile,
The brightness in the light of
society 's natural celebrations
is diminishing

Except the journey of
mixing up with soil after leaving this body
You have never tried
to move near to nature

Today's merciless humans
making tomorrow's boiling noons,
even for them,
somewhere, an early morning
from a river bank
cool breeze is blowing
to start the journey

those last group birds
which are flying in an evening
without any desires,
behind the full moon
which has embedded with rise
like Buddha's most last word

Tell me,
How many mothers are ready to give birth
to the children ,
who can blossom flowers
from the ends of their fingers ,
Mothers! Raise your hands, how many of you are ready?

the moonlight and moonshine from the full moon
asking those few women on earth
who are as strong as banyan tress
Tell me, how many of you, mothers ?

Monday, September 6, 2010

Why Still?

Because you didn't find luxurious life
in grinning Gandhi's Rupee,
You went in hunting glum faced Washington's Dollar
Then why do you complain about the absence of smiling faces?

Narrow roads.....dirty streets....Narrow jobs,
Because you couldn't adjust in Third grade nation
You built Green Card houses in the land of opportunities,
Then why do you cry about Narrow life?

For you, whatever earns you just rupees is not an occupation
Whatever doesn't lie in the shadow of Liberty statue is not a status
Only to shine among the people of your third grade nation
You made your young brides to cross the seas, overseas.
Then why do you shout hypocritically,
"It is a materialistic World"

Impassable roads with mud holes
People clogging the way like house flies
Because of your aversion to this uncivilized society
You embraced the citizenship of White house
Then why do you feel depressed?
When you open a window, 
all you can see is snow rain and no men

You have ignored all those
Fists, which were like waving flags
Poetic bullets, which thrashed the agents of Uncle Sam
While opposing Imperialism
The victims have become stars in the Black sky
For whom are these stomach filled dollar coated bullets?
to provoke how many more such innocent people.
All you need is saluting the stars in Uncle Sam's Flag

Your hidden feelings come  to the surface
when rupee weighs ahead of dollar
The magnified negativity of our soil's dull shades
seems bright only when you catch the recession fever there

Our dark nights have become bright days for you
You have loved the land of colours
mainly, the dollar showering sky
Why do you still sing those cooked tragic songs of separation ?
Why do you still spell those fabricated promises of returning home?
Why still?
Your date of return is always tomorrow, and
Your return flight will never get scheduled
There can be never a brake for this break
Why still?

PS : Wrote for 3WW
        propmts : break, negative, surface 

Saturday, September 4, 2010


This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 14; the fourteenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.


Return me those days....

When I used to think that Amitabh Bachchan, Chiranjeevi and Kapil Dev were the only real heroes in this world

When running meant bowling and nothing else.

When i used to lick the walls after smelling the first rains

When having an one rupee coin in my pocket means frolic

When switching on a light in a dark room was the scariest thing

When calves were the best friends to share my child talk

When devotion was only meant from prasadam

When every waste object was part of my play in summer 

When mirrors had never passed judgement on my looks 

When the meaning of success was just taking a wicket

When brands were only for advertisements 

When power cuts never hampered my play 

When existence of God was an absolute truth 

When every bun bought by my mama was the most childiciously special than my earned-branded food now 

When the meaning of love was void of lust

When I used to believe completely that, one fine day, Sri Netaji Subash Chandra Bose ji  would be back 

When pride meant, only, saluting the tri colour  
When i used to sing my own lyrics for every popular song without any shy 

When i used to believe that there would exist a woman called "Bharathmaata"

When pissing meant making different parabolas 

When wounded knees and elbows were the art of tattooing

When every English movie was  a complete "Cheeeeeeeeeee......"

When playing with bricks in the sand was the most innovative game

When the bus i was traveling should pass over all the lorries on the road 

When the most depressive thing would be returning home from my grandmother's village after the summer vacation 

When the last period's school bell was the most soothing sound 

When progress card was the only enemy 

When "Mile sur mera tumhara"  was the best video 

When crying meant depleting the last atom of water from my eyes 

But I came to know the value of return when i read something about my grand father in my grand mother's diary .....

During 1965 war...

"Mom, where has dad gone? Why he hasn't come yet?"
a four year old boy asked her mom once again
She patted his head slightly
while listening to the radio news 
Shadow movements of airplane wings in her eyes
Imprints of artillery sounds were blasting in her heart
In the thick black fog at Kashmir borders
A soldier standing boldly with nerve
stood in front of her eyes

She bothered - Sighed - adjusted her pallu
In between the elegant curve of pride blended with her lip's smile
After standing up from the park bench and supporting her son
She walked slowly and embarked into the darkness

She came to the park, daily, for the radio news
clad in white saree and red sindhoor
with Jasmine flowers in her plaited black hair
Same park, same road, same bazaar, same home
but still she sensed some change with gumption
Everyone was roaming and listening in the park
but still, somewhere, something was wrong

Some news murmurs passed through the nerves of tightly held cities
Blooded pledges were slipping through the gaps of clenched fists
One Movement, one Motility, one Determination---
Symbols of Mercy were awakening gradually

If one nation prefers to move in its own way
The 20th century's civilization will not let it to
Neighbor's goodness provokes the arrogance of wicked people
Neighbor prosperity evokes the hiss of evil heads
Those were the bad moments for Asian blood
History's head was hanging with shyness

They had buried democracy and public voice
Dacoits turned into Dictators
Thats why they couldn't digest India's rise
They would gain nothing with political diplomacy

If we preferred calmness , they called us cat
If we fought back , they called us Tiger
Foul smell diffuses if opportunists open their mouth
leave morals, it becomes politics
hatch a nation with religion, it becomes a wagging mad Monkey
Mutual friendship of Pak and China
it was like bonding between a snake and a wolf
It was not a war between two nations
It was not a war for a piece of land
It was an attempt to protect the values required for the world's future
for independence of thought and individual respect
Freedom from race, colour, caste, creed, region and religion was it's foundation

Every indian was a soldier, every heart was a canon
Radio was delivering the news daily
presenting the voice of victory
Tanks and planes of enemies were being crashed down
the brave and sturdy wave of  Indian army
thrashed them away unto the borders of Lahore

Our nation stood roaring with thunders
Narsappa, Vincent, Afzal, Pratap Singh
and many more anonymous soldiers
were being paid respects and honours by the living blood

She came to the park with her son on that day also
She worn white saree but with out red sindhoor
with out Jasmine flowers in her plaited black hair, no bangles in hand
There was huge rain being stopped at the corners of her eyes
She was pressing the much moving lower lip, under her teeth, very hardly
The canons might have stopped at boders, but not in her heart.
A group in the park were sloganeering, "Jai Hind"

"Mom, where has dad gone? Why he hasn't come yet?"
She hugged her son and his unanswered questions, and
with shivering voice she said deeply, "Jai Hind"
And that word was heard by a warrior in Heaven who would never return

When I turned the next page in the diary, there was a newspaper clipping and the print goes...

Reality at Borders...

It is like dying death for everyone
There is a body, an unfortunate body,
It is lying exactly on the border line
Being soaked and baked in snow, it lost it's identity
The buried uniform in snow
torn by the foxes
Then who's this body?

It is a Soldier's body
Which Soldier?
Democratic soldier? or Socialist camp ?
or Imperialist ?
His wife will definitely recognize him
But how to recognise his wife?
How to bid him?
By which nation's slogans
By which army's conventions
Burial or with Fire? Which Religion?

There is one way
Bring all the crying widows from all the countries
Arrange an identification parade

There is nothing to worry
Stop bothering about the body,
whether it will be soaked again by the tears of the widows
leave doubts,  we have seen floods of blood
After all, it is just rainfall from eyes
Arrange barrels for their tears...
and, make those widows to stand in a line
Sir, what if he is a Bachelor?
Then, it will be really a dying death
in fact, a never returning death.
Sir, what if he is an Orphan?
Then, return is a void .

PS : Thanks to Rachana for her strategic input to this post . I wish she could have co-authored this post

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Thursday, September 2, 2010

One - 77 Fiction

Note:- 77 Fiction infers to fictional writings bounded to a maximum of 77 words.


On the auspicious occasion of Janmashtami celebrations, many kids are pretty clad in Krishna's attire for the competition of  "Best Child Krishna Contest " .

With cute and innocent looks, attractive peacock plumage on their heads and decorated flutes in their hands , they are mesmerizing the audience.

It is very tough for the selection committee to select the best Krishna.

All the mothers are anxious with speculation and curiosity.

Finally, the announcement read,  " The best Krishna is 'Mohammed Arif' " .

PS : Very few people know the difference between Culture and Religion and I bow to all those people who often cross religion borders to join the frolic of culture.  Love you India. 

Tuesday, August 31, 2010

tRace - 77 Fiction

Note:- 77 Fiction infers to fictional writings bounded to a maximum of 77 words.


It is a tough race of marathon, with all brutal competitive elements.

Eminent and accomplished runners are already miles ahead .

One person, with improper vision and an artificial leg, but enormous potential, is trying to give tough competition to the remaining contenders. 

She did fell down many times till now, but her spirit of survival and existence for herself, is making her to move forward.

She needs  desperate support and immediate medication

Her name is India, Rural.

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Killing Me

They have gifted me a hanging thread
for i haven't followed the formal conventions
for not continuing the age old rituals

They have prepared a 6 feet length pit for me
for not joining in any of the societies
for abstaining to bow before any place for worship

They have burnt my radical pamphlets 
They have torn my clothes
for not accepting a dog as a King

A miss world has filed a case on me
for being myself
for gazing at her almost naked breasts

Sheep have pelted stones on me
for not voting along with them
for not jumping into some direction

I am in all those animals, plants, fossils and rivers
I am sitting in all those living cells and non living atoms
I am in creation, not in hypo-critic and sycophantic illusionist materialistic life
I am creative , not a stone donkey with garlands in a halo head
I am with creativity, not in the graveyard of fame, power, lust, mobility, wealth and gold

They can copy me
They can remix me
They cant emulate me
They can't be me

Let them chant, for fire
Let them have prayers, before fire
They can never be as pure as fire

In all the galaxies and planets
in deep valleys, heightened  mountains
day, night, morning and evening
Wherever, whenever, whoever and however
no one can kill me, even if they die
If they are alive, i am dead
If they are dead, i am alive

PS : Written for 3WW  ,  Prompts : abstain, halo, prayer

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

White - 77 Non Fiction

Manasvi was in LKG...

She was habituated to school, without crying...

Once, on the occasion of August 15 celebrations, there were sports and games competitions ...

Her name was included in the running race...

It was her first race...

The kids were ready for the race by bending and placing their hands on the ground...

All of them had started running, after listening to the whistle, except Manasvi...

She had stopped and turned back to wash her soiled hands.

PS : Manasvi is my sister and its my love on Raksha bandhan

Saturday, August 7, 2010


This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 13; the thirteenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Like a much delayed train entering 
an eagerly awaiting brightly lit railway station's platform,
Change should come in us with enthusiasm ,

but this time too, the platform is dark,
the bogies are filled, without hesitation, with
writers of old worlds on papers
politicians of old words in bags 
and bureaucrats of old ideas in brains

The common people are standing 
on the other sides of the tracks 
without tickets in empty hands 
but with plenty of agony on their foreheads 

This dirty system needs dry cleaning,
but someone has raised petrol prices 
Multiplication of minus and plus,
searching for a circle with 4 sides
and we call it development

The vested interests of self-serving elite is dubbed as ‘national'
I wanted to say Goodbye to my nation's Vision,
But someone has removed tomorrow morning's tracks
All the status messages immediately displayed "Train got delayed"


Who are you?
with bended waists and twisted tears
with ruffled hair and semi draped sarees
roaming and searching around these graves

Who are they?
In the graves and from where are they ?
In which battle did they die?
Which battalion and which number ?

Ask Krishna, if it is Kurukshetra,
Ask Mughals, if it is Panipat
Ask Uncle Sam, if it is Iraq
Crimean war, Korea war
First and Second world wars
Ask Bismark, ask Hitler
Ask Brahma, the creator.

Sigh !!! Please!!!
Dont look at me in that manner
with dried eyes and clenched teeth
Dont show me desert breasts 
which are void of tears
What can i answer you,
Whom can i say is responsible for ?

Its time for dark night...
Time for Tigers to  hunt their prey
Time for tender widows to jump into a damn well
Time for dogs to fight over bones of dead history

Some fear, yes, fear
around with foam of poison 
dead poison, deathly poison
agony poison, sad poison
it is flowing, gushing and overflowing 

O Mothers!!! Please go !
Why are you roaming around these graves
by bending and bending
with drabness and drabness
Dead bodies don't speak
Graves show you nothing
Death never recognizes
There is no mercy for nature, in nature
All power hearts pump blood, for blood

Suppressing your pain in yourselves 
Pricking your own eyes
Why to roam , in this way
in this way, among these blunt trees
these ant hills and collapsed houses

Go away! Go away !
Go away !


Note:- 77 Fiction infers to fictional writings bounded to a maximum of 77 words.

She took an auto from the red light area to the beach....
It was her day of 'freedom'...
She wanted to taste the moments of 'her' being a 'person'...
She was desperate to lose her 'identity' of being a sexual object...
She felt the ecstasy of being in a cage-less world ...
She wanted to explore the heights of her new life ...
That day was her birthday...
So, she bid Goodbye to her old life , only until tomorrow...

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Action - 55 Fiction

Note:- 55 Fiction infers to fictional writings bounded to a maximum of fifty-five words.


She had prepared herself physically and psychologically...

It was part of their mission and she had to execute the plan...

She took the oath one more time and reached the venue...

She had approached him and touched his feet after garlanding him...

She pressed her waist belt button...

It didn't explode.

It was a rehearsal.

Saturday, July 10, 2010


This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 12; the twelfth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Karthik was a six year old boy. He was in  the park, which was near to his home, since 2 hours . It was  a summer evening. Few people were walking in the park, few of them were in chatting, few of them were writing and reading, and few of them in yoga. All these things didn't matter to him except the sight of few children of his age playing with balls and colorful balloons, screaming and running here and there, accompanied by their parents. Some kids were relishing ice-cream. It didn't grab his attention. His appetite wanted something else .

He didn't know whether the situation was like,  "I was not  alone  but feeling lonely' or whether, "I was not lonely but feeling alone". Those things were beyond his age's perception. He knew only one thing, pain, not the physical one, but the psychological one, which was quite torturing and pressing for his budding tender age. He hardly knew how to deal it. He didn't even know that it was called pain but it had got reflected in his body language and facial expression.  He also didn't know that he wanted to escape from it. He was just responding instinctively to the new stinging pain.

Karthik was sitting alone lonely on a corner bench in the park, with his face in between his folded legs,  frightened by his parent's fight quarrel last night, with gushing tears rolling streaming down his tender cheeks. The source of the tears was not his eyes, but it was his heart which had been pumping out unknown fear along with gallons of water.   Since few days, the events between his parents had left an indelible impression upon his young and unbearable mind. For his parents, more than the boy, their ego mattered the most. Nothing interested  or excited him, except the only choice, the corner bench in the park. He had preferred only two things, one the compulsive school, and other, the inviting park. He had been regular to the park since a month. The stress had lead him into a malady of depression. He even didn't know what it was to be normal anymore. For him, love and childhood were perpendicular to each other. 

The tears were streaming out
Not knowing the Boy
would cherish his childhood.

It was about to sunset. Mean while, a small girl in a cute white dress came near to him. She stood before him and  raised his chin. Looking into his submerged eyes, she wiped his tears with her tiny tender hands and gave him a chocolate with a cute smile. He didn't respond to her act but his tears had stopped after few minutes . She sat on the same bench beside him with her little hand on his shoulder.  She sat as if she knew what happened with him. They didn't speak anything, not even a single word.  Karthik couldn't realize that he was feeling better at that moment.  It was not the silence but her presence which had made the difference.  After half an hour she gave him a hug and  left him , smiling and waving her hand, along with her small bicycle.  He didn't wave her back but he wished she could stay for some more time. That was the first and last time they have met, but the tears were stopped for that day.

Though Karthik came to the park everyday, the girl was never seen in the park. For few days, he waited for her on the same bench. He wanted back those moments he had spent with that girl. Her absence had added more fuel to his burning aching heart.  As days were passing on, he was gradually habituated and trained his heart to control his tears but his gestures spoke volumes of pain. He had never shared anything with anyone.  There was not much change neither in Karthik's life nor in his parent's life. He neither sat on another bench nor someone sat beside him on that bench. Days were rolling on, pacing with his pricking emotions. The only feel good factor in his life was the bench in the park. 

After 10 years....
 At the age of 16, Karthik was sitting on the same bench controlling his volcano of tears and thumping emotions . The reason was same but the intensity and impact was more.  His father was in prison for murdering his mother.  Many words and hands tried to console his emotion,  but all in vain. None can make him normal as he was never normal. The only person who  had  that potential was the small girl he had met in his childhood . Nothing can replace her for him.  Nothing was silent in his life in the last ten years. Nothing had resonated his infliction.  His academic grades were just on the borders

Karthik shifted to his grandmother's place now . Nothing had changed for him. Though his life was budging, it was filled with her nimble thoughts daily. He wanted the girl, not desperately, but essentially. He was still in her waiting,  so much so that waiting was no more a waiting for him. He never categorized his relationship with her, but he waited. Waiting had become his living, along with the bench. No theory or philosophy could not convince him to stop the irrational waiting.  After few months, he had  lost everything. His bench in the park was no more.  The municipality had  demolished the park to build a commercial building.  Life was void for him. He had stopped going to parks. In-fact, he had stopped relating himself with things or persons.  All these years of his pain, his complex feelings got cemented into  a strong and only wish of his life - to meet the girl.  Strangely, he never wished to have good parents. He wished almost nothing.

After few months,

Karthik was standing in the balcony, glinting at the sunset, with a  bunch of unquestioned answers and unfinished thoughts streaming in his mind.  

The sun had set to rise at some park in another place of the world. Many tears on tender cheeks across the world were still finding  their ways to evaporate by the heat of pains. There were unanswered questions too. Through out his life he could not find two things . First was the girl's name . Second was the fact that when she was wiping his tears, ten years ago, she had wiped her tears too ......  

And, he never knew that she had a similar wish too.

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Thursday, July 1, 2010

Childplay - Drabble

Note:-A Drabble is an extremely short work of fiction exactly one hundred words in length.

It is summer vacation...

The favourite game of all the kids in the apartment is knocking the door or ringing the door bell and running away to escape...

Door no 404 is their regular and easy target ...
Every time, the house owner Manjula opens the door and smiles happily, looking at the scattering kids...

Among all the kids, Karthik is the only one who stays away from the game...

He watches the game by hiding behind a pillar...

Though his childishness hints him to join the kids, something is stopping him to run ...

He is not physically disabled, but she is.

Monday, June 28, 2010

Breaking - 55 Fiction

Note:- 55 Fiction infers to fictional writings bounded to a maximum of fifty-five words.


Everyone is eagerly and anXiously awaiting for the neXt update of  the Shames of India prime news ...

The channel is airing an eXclusive  c'over'age of the most famous and popular personality of the country ...

People all over the nation have been following the channel since yesterday ...

The update flashed, "Her new pet dog pissed, again" .

Monday, June 21, 2010

Boundary - 55 Fiction

Note:- 55 Fiction infers to fictional writings bounded to a maximum of fifty-five words.


We are playing cricket in the outskirts of our village...

He is looking at us with apprehension ...

He is hesitating to come near to us...

Obviously, the societal customs are stopping him to join us in the game...

He knows very well about the drastic consequences  ...

Nope, he is not an untouchable ...

But we are ...

Monday, June 14, 2010

Colours of Earth

I don't listen to God...
While empathizing with the grievances of melting mountains
While cleaning the fishes in oiled seas 

While listening to the weighing sagas of monsoon clouds
While removing the chemical
thorns from the river beds

I don't listen to God...
While cleaning my internal organs with the inhaled air 
While tasting the salt of war victim's tears
While recollecting the names of Bhopal  gas disaster victims

I don't listen to God...
While the breeze over dried crops expanding the holes in my banian, like amoebas 
While painting the agony of farmer's suicides  
While reading their unwritten suicide notes
While taking care of young calves whose mothers are sent to slaughter houses

I don't listen to God...
While searching for the lost nests of birds
While picking up insects for the handicapped birds
While admitting those insect’s kids in orphanages
While patting the heads of thousands of wild animals 

While dropping an ant in its homeland, which mistakenly took flight to another country

I don't listen to God...
While filling the breasts of African mothers 
While helping poor farmers in gathering pesticides 
While assisting a child in separating the rice from soil  
While stitching the patches of child labourer's clothes
While searching for humans in concrete jungles

I don't listen to God...
While collecting the black smoke of development
While bearing the poisonous whip lashes of corporate greed 
While watching the last process of photosynthesis

I don't listen to God...
While writing memoirs for every fallen dried leaf and flower
While sculpting the names of cut down trees and cleared forests 
While preserving those yet to be hybridized virgin  plants
While sharpening the teeth of week seeds, struggling to crack the earth’s chemical surface

PS : Saving Earth is not just saving Green, it is about every colour.

Thursday, June 10, 2010

Why saving Green Lives ???

I would like to share a discussion between my friend Raghava  and me regarding saving "Green Life" about which I wrote in my post Forest Talks

 Raghava says, ...

Here, most of us are neglecting the fact that it took over 4 billion years for the intelligent life forms like humans to emerge on this planet, and it’s only during the past 200,000 years, through the reign of human existence the planet’s balance is shattered like anything.

And if we think that Earth will be left in chaos, and we are endangering other species, we are sucking out every possible natural resource and slowly but surely making the Earth inhabitable to any kind of life form, we are totally wrong. It is “us” who will perish, Earth has a seen a million catastrophes like these, it has withstood, millions of years of ice ages, billions of asteroid impacts, worst possible conditions that humans can ever imagine, the planet works in a completely different astronomical time-lines, and during those times, we will not survive, if we do not change our attitude towards Mother Earth, we will perish, and this time there will be no remains….

Whatever we’ve done and doing right now is nothing compared to what Earth has endured over these billions of years.

Earth and life recovered, sometimes even benefited, from every other major catastrophe. It's this ability to deal with catastrophe that's a truly special thing about Earth.

Earth can cope with anything we can throw at it. We could clear all the jungles, but a jungle can re-grow over a few thousand years. We could burn all Earth's fossil fuels, flooding the atmosphere with carbon dioxide, but even then it would take the planet only a million years or so for the atmosphere to recover.

Even the animals we're wiping out will eventually be replaced by others equally rich in diversity, as the relentless work of evolution continues. It's only a question of time. The Earth will be just fine. That's not to say that the rapid changes we're forcing on Earth don't matter. That's because humans operate on a different timescale. We've evolved to live in the world as it is now.

So, in changing this world, we're altering the very environment that has allowed the human race to thrive. We could be creating conditions that threaten the long-term survival of our civilization.

So, all this stuff about saving planet Earth, well, that's not the problem.

Planet Earth doesn't need saving.

Earth is a great survivor. It's not the planet we should be worrying about,

it's us.


I say , ...

I agree with him and I dont agree with him....
And also, i agree with myself and i dont agree with myself...

Confused eh?

When the word EVOLUTION creeps in, nothing stands before it ..... nothing seems to be valid. .... neither creation nor destruction, except the universal process of transformation of energy from one state to another where the words like justice, morality, equality, ethics, values, conscience, blah blah are just bull shit words and cease to exist as they are just our convenient subjective and manipulative interpretations. Then you and me are just chemical carbon compounds.  Everything on earth will be restricted to physics, chemistry and few numbers, not even biology.

Anything on earth can be justified in the name of Evolution and anything can be opposed in the name of same evolution .

In this universe only one thing is constant. DOMINATION. There are only two categories of elements. One which dominates and one which gets dominated. It all depends on which side of the coin we are. 

The green exploitation and injustice  can be a tog of war between you and me. The same exploitation and injustice can be the same tug of war between us and the future generations. The question is  which exploitation are we going to oppose/support ?

Ex : I can support using plastic by sticking to the fact that Earth will eventually digest it in some finite years. Though the consequences will be troublesome for future generation i can throw the blame on EVOLUTION. (CAPITALISM)

I can oppose plastic usage by advocating the same fact of earth evolution but by adding an emotional perspective with words like "Our future generations/Mother earth/Our planet/Mother nature"(SOCIALISM).

Both are correct in their own perspective.

The most naked truth is that there will be always a tug of war between the  people who dominate and who gets dominated.

PS : You can share your views and opinions on "Green Living"

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

Playground - 77 Fiction.

Note:- 77 Fiction infers to fictional writings bounded to a maximum of 77 words.


Though he was 11 years old, he used to play cricket with boys much older to him.

That day, he was fielding at boundary line.

He dropped a catch in the previous over.
Then, he got one more chance to prove his catching skills.

He was running towards the ball in the air which was 20 meters away from him.

Before he could catch it, his hands caught something else.

It was a misfired rocket by the US military.

PS : In Afghanistan , the attacks on thousands of civilians and children has become quite common in the name of "misfired rockets".

Saturday, June 5, 2010


This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 11; the eleventh edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

When i asked you "How were you doing?"
Your success replied me

When i hugged you in appreciation,
The Pepe and Levi's hugged me in turn 

When i walked with you
Your Nike made strides

When i asked you academic doubts 
Your MNC tag laughed at me  

When i asked you for time
Your TAG Heuer answered me

When you hosted a party in Taj
The luxury received me

When i called you in dire needs
Your iphone replied me to call later

When i received you at airport
Your superiority pushed me aside.

When i proposed for an Irani chai,
The coffee day interrupted me

When i expressed about my passions
Your Achievements made you deaf

When i asked you to listen,
You were listening to social networking

When i shared my weighing problems
Your head weight ignored them

When i was at my low
Your pride was glad for that

When i was in the wrong direction
You had encouraged me
When I was in the right path
You had warned me

When i asked you all these things
You asked me, "Dont you have self respect?"

Where were you my friend?
Hiding in between Brands and Tags
Anyways, were you hiding from yourself too?

Finally , when i fell down in life
Your wicked smile revealed
the hidden enemy in you, My Friend!!!

I am not grudging against you,

When I congratulated you,
My Jealousy did it

When I hugged you
My envy did it

Whenever i called you
My Stomach was burning

Whenever i gave you a pat
My malice did it

When you received me in Skoda
I couldn't digest it

When you missed your promotion
I celebrated it with others

We were friends, in theory.
You thought i was budging
but i was making nimble moves

It wasn't about my failure
It was about your success
It wasn't about my success
It was about your failure

I was not trying to climb up
I was trying to bring you down

Now, i too got success,
Let me unmask myself
It is time for my TAG Heuer
to show my real stuff

Whenever we smiled at each other
We were more hidden than real but
The world  still knows us as best friends

Claude Louis Hector has wisely said, "God, save me from my Friends, I can manage my Enemies".

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.
## Also, wrote for 3WW @ budge, nimble, theory