The Dimension Of The Being

Staring past the darkness as she saw the faint ray of light Seeping in through the recesses of her deep abyss of heart.

Crisis is a state of affair where your equilibrium of life is all lost.Where your hopes are on the verge of dying and you do not see the light while standing in a tunnel, pitch dark. Jammu and Kashmir was ravaged by floods this year and the Indian Army became their Crisis Angel. Come to think of it our Defence Forces have always been our Crisis Angel.

When there is fire in you, you are restless. You just cannot wait and are anxious. This fire is in your belly, reaching to your heart and burning you and burning your sky in a fiery entanglement. Your life is all scorched and you cannot rest. You find yourself creating on one hand and destroying every possible thing on the other. This happens before you start a new journey. It is rudimentary that when you are engaged in a simultaneous journey one after another then to start one new journey you have to end another. But then how to end it? With every passing day in your current journey you change, you evolve. You die a bit, your old self dies and you are reborn a bit with every passing second and then one day you change so much that the very motivation for starting the journey seems meaningless to you. What you do then? You yearn for this journey to be over but cannot let it go. It is human nature to stick to the routine. Funny the way our mind is dynamic our soul may be a bit passive

Please Note: This is the se venth chapter for week 3 in the "Game of Blogs" for the team "Bards of the Blogosphere." #CelebrateBlogging Read the previous part of the story here "Just....Just do not harm my baby...please...I....I beg of you." said Tara. There are moments when you cry but then their are moments you are beyond sorrow. You are numb, numb thinking of the inevitable. Numb thinking that your whole world is crashing down infront of you.

The Road that Leads Here.... "When in doubt, close your eyes and search your soul for answers." Mohini told me looking playfully at me. Her Kohl rimmed eyes were teething with mischievous seduction. Her lips, stalked highly with the red coloured lipstick. It almost seemed she was thriving on my blood and was engulfing my soul.

And I am back with more Durga Puja Frenzy. By this time you all have guessed that I am somewhat A Durga Puja Maniac. I went to Kumartooli especially to take a peek into the making of the Goddess. For me Durga Puja from Its inception in Mahalaya is the best time of the year. In my last post it was all experimental theme pooja . I love the art there but the traditional Pooja takes me to some other level of spirituality. (I am a spiritual person and love the festivals of any religion. I am not a religious fanatic. I am Spiritual rationalist who just starts jumping due to happiness during the festivities) The one whose beauty took my heart away was The Durga idol at Singhi Park, South Kolkata. I always visit this pandal in afternoons. This year my time of visit was around 11 am. Singhi Park:A Close up

So, the Pujas are finally over and the days when This "Canvas Kolkata" is painted in varied hues is due next year. Amidst fervent Pandal Hopping I gave my dear blogging a miss and missed my Blogger friends a lot. So, here is the compensation. Puja Parikrama 2014  Salt lake AE Block: the "Vahan" Saga

"My misplaced euphoria and that afternoon siesta and many more things that my growing up was made of. I never actually grew up, I remained the same, I just grew more knowledgeable. As the years passed I slowly opened every facet in me. Opening every door, every nooks and corners in the search of goodness but I never found one. The more I opened, the more dark it become. My search started when I first saw  my demon, the anger face to face. I was shocked because all I knew of me was good till that moment. I am a doer and I do not give up till I have done it, searched it and tried it all. So, in the search of goodness began my journey of discovering the darkness in me. Growing up was replaced by exploring my inner self.

I stayed in a hostel for my graduations....hostels are scary places......there are things going on which you cannot even explain. Things uncalled for. We studied late in the night four of us and slept around 1:30 am in the morning. I went out once in between to the washroom. My hostel had a long corridor. My room was on one end and the washroom at the other end the corridor had rooms on one side and on the other there was a open area. As I moved on I saw something from the corner of my eyes. I ignored it then it again happened I looked back but there was nothing. I went to the washroom and when I came out I saw the girl who had the room next to me.

Mahalaya: The homecoming of the Goddess, of our Mother. Today is the day our Mother comes to her Earth. This home coming is abrupt and uncalled for and so, it is also known as "Akal Bodhan". The ritual, as the legend says was started by Lord Rama to obtain blessings during his war wit Ravana.Commendable Lord Rama calls Shakti (Durga) to fight Ravana who is a staunch devotee of Lord Shiva, Ma Durga's Husband. Ten Hands, Fiery Eyes, Half Opened Third Eye and all equipped Mother for me was the source of Awe and inspiration. She always said to me "If you want it to be done then do it yourself, put your 1000% and let it happen." While growing up outside my native place, my Durga Puja was not a typical saga of the Pandal making and shopping in the streets of Kolkata but it was the Durga Puja which signalled my home coming, our home coming to our home. Do not get me wrong here, I am a Human first and then an Indian but then it is hard to resist the pampe

Please Note: This is the second chapter for week 2 in the "Game of Blogs" for the team "Bards of the Blogosphere." #CelebrateBlogging Read the previous part of the story here “…And what a day it was! Our Honourable Minister is yet to come; I guess his arrival tomorrow can spice things up.” Jenny mused to herself as she got out of the Hotel and the conference. With hands on her hip and head thrown up in exasperation, it had been a tiring day. All of a sudden she searched her pocket and took the schedule for tomorrow. “The Honourable Minister arrives, his speech, discussion…more discussion….umm….wait Cyrus Daruwala’s speech….whoa! Cy is important stuff here….umm….let’s call him up and take some idea on what’s brewing   tomorrow.” said Jenny to herself as she quickly took out her mobile and called Cyrus. “Hello, am I speaking to Cyrus Daruwala?” she said controlling her fits of laughter and sounding serious. “Yes, this is Cyrus. Who is this?

Me: I am fed up Dad....I mean all these quotas and all.....They disgust me a lot. I mean I never got an extra chance. I studied hard and you, Dad  had to go through many sacrifices to make your children get a decent education but look at these people who are having cars and all are touted as OBCs and are getting benefits whereas the poor so, called High Caste suffers. Look at the Pandits in the temple, ready to be your Brahmin and read "Shlokas" on your behalf just for a paltry sum and the boy is just fifteen . I am sure he cannot go to the school, but he won't get help. Why? because firstly he is a "General" secondly he is technically"Above Poverty Line". Look at Shakuntala's Aunty's kids (Our House Help's Kids) they are so bright and technically they go to the school but learn nothing from the government school. Where is the benefit reaching Dad? It is not reaching to the masses. Dad: What do you mean? Do you want extra benefits

In my moments of insomniac delirium, I often toss and turn around in my bed. Waking up in between to scribble or draw something. As a student my parents used to buy the thickest of registers for me. My registers just finished and if you stack the registers one over the other I am sure you will find a lofty loft thing overreaching me in height (Though I do not have a great height to boast of). My parents believed I was doing maths, solving equations in physics and meanwhile they were true to an extent but half of my register was dedicated to scribblings and drawings. These registers; half reason and half insane were so, me. I am defined the best by these registers. Half Logical, half insane. Half righteous, half immoral. Half slave to the norms and half rebels. Staring at the mirror, me The Apparition I am saint, I am Devil . Hanging by a thread where insanity meets sense or vice versa I have lived my life. I have used a force, a tremendous force so, that I can just b

Please Note: This is the second chapter in the "Game of Blogs" for the team "Bards of the Blogosphere." #CelebrateBlogging Read the previous part of the story here As the phone rang Tara looked at it and let out a sigh of exasperation. It was a busy day at the office with news flying like paper rockets, zooming from one corner to another, made by the people and hitting people. There were the usual scams, murders, rapes and the news of a minister's death. Tara sometimes; in her lonely wantonness, thought what was wrong with the world but then the face of Shekhar flashed in front of her and she smiled subconsciously and felt that all was well with this world. She remembered Roohi growing up in the posh flat of Nariman point and she remembered her childhood in the lanes of Hedua, Kolkata where the colonial charm refused to fade away and the love of "Ma" along with "Parar Mashimar" (Neighbourhood Aunt) increased every ye