An Encounter With A Holocaust Survivor


I dedicate this story to millions of victims of holocaust who were killed coldbloodedly and those survivors who are still embedded with the scars and stains of those wrathful memories.

Also I want to offer my heartfelt salute to those brave soldiers who closed the door of this barbarous era.

              Holocaust was not  a Jewish tragedy, but a human tragedy. We should never remain silent to such horrendous crime. We must take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented.

              As a writer I strongly believe that words have power to ignite the muffled mind as well as to dethaw the hardest heart.

               We all are humans and we all are equal. We all are related in some way in spite of difference in the colour of our skin, eyeball and hair, caste,creed, religion & ethnic origin. As the beauty of rainbow lies in coordination of various colours, so the development of society depends on unity among diversity.

              Now it is the need of hour to deracinate the weed of racism. After that the entire world will be scented with the blooming peace, prosperity and harmony. It will be not only proper tribute to the souls who were perished in the war of racism, but also an assurance of a pacifistic world to our next generation.

              *Considering the sensitiveness of this topic, reader’s discretion is recommended.


What can be better than a Sunday morning on the sea beach!

               The Neon blue sky was stitched with silver lining. Quivering sea was acetylene blue, but the beach was dawn-glow gold.

Although pretty aggressive, the mesmeric dance of waves was heart swelling.

               Still no one seemed to be there on the beach to enjoy this serenity. I was panting heavily after an hour of jogging and decided to take a short peaceful break for a while until other sleepy heads appear on the beach.

               To my utmost surprise, I noticed an old man sitting dangerously close to the waves that crashed on the beach. Getting closer to him, it appeared to me  that he was gazing at a photo. He was very focused on it; without even blinking his eyes.

               Waves must have taken pity on him for they had not yet drenched him completely. But his skin was wet and so were his rags that clung to him.

               With each returning wave he was inching more towards sea. I was lost somewhere within myself while reminiscing about my grandpa. He always used to snatch me away whenever I ran to play with the waves.

               I thought that old man … no no…that strange man must have possessed some kind of eternal youth spirit to go on adventuring. But how is it possible for anyone not to fear death like this? The waves are particularly higher today than other days.

               He was quite unconscious of the waves that rose and closed on him a few feet before him. He was wholly immersed in that photo.

               When the next wave swelled and rolled towards him I could not suppress a scream. It hit him on the chest and I was running towards him, catching him by his shirt and pulling him with all my might towards the dry part of the beach away from the waves.

               We were both soaked. I looked at him with exasperation. In his hands he still held the photo.

               Instead of heartfelt gratitude he threw me a sarcastic smile which made me quite angry and a bit astonished.

               I barked at him- “How can you be so careless? Don’t you realize that your carelessness would have got both of us killed?”

               This time with a different kind of smile on lips he gestured me to sit near him which made me angrier.

               Fuming, I pulled out the small towel I had tucked below the waist band of my jogging trousers and started to dry myself.

               He asked me “Do you want me to answer your questions?”I nodded quietly. He can say whatever he wants to. I saved his life. That was the main thing.

I nodded quietly. He can say whatever he wants to. I saved his life. That was the main thing.

               Then with a deep sigh he started to tell me something which even to this day I remember, although now it is incomplete and  blurry.


Leaving auburn shadows; sun was departing soon
making way to the soothing beam of mounting moon
The evening was approaching by bidding farewell to the afternoon
But in the life of little boy Lamuel this sweet moment intruded as a typhoon

While he was peeping at the police force near the roadside
Suddenly a scream fluxed as a fierce tide
“Don’t dare to hide
Hurry up! All Jews come outside”

Abandoning all hard earned possession
With trembling limbs, cloudy eyes and persistent palpitation
He along with his family and companions
Marched towards an unknown destination
At the crack of dawn,
That unknown was revealed to be railway station

Loaded in a train full of Gypsies and Jews
He was sent to a ghetto; the castle of filth and abuse
He was detached from his father, mother and sister
by a mordacious monster who was a buff a Hitler

He was shaved and disinfected with a shower…
With a tattoo on left arm,
he metamorphosed from Lamuel to a number; 138144

In his life then emerged a new epoch
by digging rocks and loading them in truck
Not for some hours but round the clock

No dare to dream for grain
Only salvation for the drops of rain
But when they fell they created the illusion of hell
As it was unbearable to inhale the cadaver smell

Once while smuggling the food, he was found
SS men punched him, kicked him, spun him round
Then made his face rub the ground

Gazing at her wizen nipple then at her baby’s famished face
A woman rushed to the stack of cadavers to chomp the flesh

Being its live witness ,laying on his straw mattress
He pondered is human life God’s grace?

Soldiers tossed babies up and shot them in midair
Except shedding tear, to forbid such brutality nobody had dare

A new tragedy entered his life in a flush
By propelling him to the jaws of typhus

The term “Treatment” was not at all thinkable
As “Work or crematorium” is their principle

Therefore along with many
Chocked in agony
Drenched in tear, trembling with fear
He was led to venomous gas chamber

While standing in line in front of a barrack
And waiting for the ultimate crack
Suddenly he rushed and hid himself behind dead bodies stack

Thanks to that loud clack
For which he looked back
And found a clue
To get his life back

Tell me –
How can one fear death?
Who has already faced that many times
before taking his last breath

Think –
Why should I fear these mere waves of sea?
Because this Lamuel was no one other than me!

Tears were gushing from my eyes
My throat was dry
Goosebumps had already flooded my skin
My tee was wet in sweat

I was confused whether I was listening to an emotional experience or a horror story. I was confused whether the person in front of me is worthy of sympathy for the catastrophe of his life or worthy of salute for his undaunted courage.

Interrupting my thought he burst out –

“Is it possible that everyone will be same?
Then why did they give Jews the blame?

Was their race so much superior?
We Jews were not at all inferior!

How can I forget the memory of Holocaust?
It is such a chapter of history of world,
which can neither be burnt nor get rust…”

“It is God who has made us as we are; it will be God too who will raise us up again.”

“God ! Which God! The master of universe! The father of all creations! He, who chose to remain silent when His children were at the peak of pain. How can you still sing the hymn of His praise?” – I asked acrimoniously.

Bearing a faint smile in lips, he mouthed -“That day black smoke of gas chamber had consumed all my faith not only in humanity but also in Almighty. But I have unwavering faith in my mother. Her word- “Sometimes God tests us beyond our endurance so that we can realize how strong we are” is still entrenched on the wall of my heart.


His sarcastic smile was still vivid in my memory. I realized he had every reason to be sarcastic by rubbing shoulders with death all his life.

I asked him “Now you must have a wife, children and grandchildren. They should be concerned about you. Is it right to be careless of your life to such an extent? Think how much they would suffer if you had died today!”

Fixing a gaze on me he uttered with a sigh-
“I never dared to start my own family or have children of my own. I was so afraid of making those close bonds again.”

He was still toying with that photo. I took it from him and looked at it which showed me a family photo. It was black and white.

With trembling voice he began-

“My parents and my sister are still with me. I carry photos of them with me always, wherever I go, even when I sleep they are with me. Till now I don’t know how and where they died.”

For the first time of our meeting I saw tears streaming from the eyes of this holocaust survivor.Were they tears of joy for being still alive by struggling in those dark days?
Tears of gloom for losing his beloved family forever?

               Hour and minute hands and second hand of the watch had already coincided indicating noon. But my conscience was earnestly desiring to spend more time with this downtrodden soul. I invited him to take the lunch with me at a nearby restaurant.

 I booked a corner table. When I extended the non-veg menu to him, he politely refused it with a sad smile, saying-
“As far as I can remember prawns taste better than mutton. For the last time I have eaten that on a Sunday with my sister.”

Instead he went for the vegetarian dishes.
And I was anticipating-
“Most of the Holocaust survivor must have changed to vegan. No one can know better than them what it is like to be treated as an animal.”
Still my mind was choked with many unsolved questions. My brain was in its threshold thinking mode. But my lips were paralysed to utter a word. My heart was prohibiting me to ask anything more which might throw salt to his incurable wound.



That slim history book of 7th class. A chapter on world war 2. Of which holocaust has incurred the chance to occupy a page. Those words, terms , events  had already faded from my brain with luminance of physics, chemistry, mathematics and biology. But after 7 long years suddenly my heart had started pounding for each and every word of that  one page event of history book. The term “holocaust” was bombarding in my head like vectors from different directions. I was feeling breathless as if Zyklon B gas had invaded each artery and vein of my body. My conscience was trying hard to balance the equation in which human and inhumanity function as reactants resulting in product of destruction. I was mystified if Hitler and his followers really belong to species Homo sapiens.

My thought was roaming in the world of Holocaust. Spicy aroma of curries, chit-chat of people and waiters – nothing had energy to pull me out of that world.

 Abrupt ingress to the empire of my thought – News reader’s voice in television- “Two innocent lives were battered to death and set aflame in broad daylight due to inter-caste marriage.”

A shrill scream escaped from the lips of Mr. Lamuel. Clenching my hand, he mumbled numbly-“slogan  like ‘racism down down’ has turned an everyday tune to our tongue. But racism is reproduced routinely in many manifested forms. Even now many people languish in island of darkness where freedoms are few and choices are absent. Hitler has not died yet. He is still alive among us in camouflage. “

I was looking at him blankly.





Some inflame bloody riots on my name
Some freeze their comfort to guard my honour

Some debate against me for interference in the autonomy of a place
Some unite their day and night to add chapters to my untold glory

Some paint their bodies with the hues of mine to evince the so-called patriotism
Some drench me with tears in reminiscence of their dead sons, husbands and fathers

For two days in a year, you see me everywhere fluttering freely under the sky
For the rest days, I witness you all from the chocked drain and garbage dumps
I feel ashamed when such things happen to me as if I am a mere caricature.
Don’t you recognize me yet!
I am the emblem of your independence, the symbol of your country
I am the one whom you call tricolour 🇮🇳

Jai Hind!

Neele neele ambar

“Neele neele ambar” is the song that blesses my heart with wings & makes it fly in neele neele ambar. It doesn’t matter whether it is midnight or morning, whether it’s chaos or solitude, whether it’s work or leisure, this song always brings a smile to my face. My forever single mindset gets buried & the spirit of a hopeless romantic occupies me. This is so addictive that a tint of boredom doesn’t touch me even when I listen to this song in a loop for the umpteenth time.

//Neele-neele ambar par, chand jab aye
Pyaar barsaye, humko tarsaaye
Aisa koi saathi ho, aisa koi premi ho
Pyaas dil ki bujha jaye //

By staring at the starry sky for hours and by sharing all my secrets with the moon, I always feel so ethereal. Being single all my life, I have never experienced how romantic love feels like. But when I look at the moon, I wish someone sitting with me who can love the moon in the way I do, who can embrace all my insecurities in the way the moon does. I don’t know what to name this feeling. Desperation or expectation! All I know is moon always showers me with the belief that the feelings I have saved all these years are valid & the fidelity I have watered throughout my life is not futile. Moon made me believe that there must be someone somewhere who can understand the thirst of my heart without my utterance & will pour all his love on it without any complaint.

//Unche-unche parvat jab choomte hain ambar ko
Pyaasa pyaasa ambar jab choomta hai sagar ko
Pyaar se kasne ko, baahon mein basne ko
Dil mera lalchaaye, koi toh aa jaye //

Love is not about moving mountains or swimming in the sea. It’s all about those little efforts you do to fit into each other’s idea of love. In fact, love is a weird thing. Sometimes it pushes you to improve yourself from better to the best just the way tall mountains heighten themselves to kiss the sky. And sometimes it compels you to lower your crown just the way thirsty sky bows down to lick the sea. I don’t know how romance happens in a closed room. But my idea of romance is to make love with that special someone with mountains hiding us from behind, with sky blushing at us & with sea drenching our feet. That love which will make me feel the safest in his arms. That love which will make my head rest on his chest with my parading heartbeats. That love which will make me listen to his lub-dub in the rhythm of mine. That love which will make me long for more & more.

//Thande-thande jhonke jab baalon ko sehlaayein
Tapti-tapti kirne jab gaalon ko chhoo jayein
Saanson ki garmi ko, haanthon ki narmi ko
Mera mann tarsaye, koi toh choo jaye //

While standing on the terrace in chilly weather, while sitting in the window-side seat in the train, while walking on a seashore, all I want to do with my hairs is to give them freedom from the cage of braid so that they can play with the wind. But how it would have felt if someone is there to remove the tresses from my face & to tuck them in my ears just to gaze at me competing with the sunrays to make me blush! When you have your lover by your side, you can feel the warmth of his breath even in a cool zephyr. And you can feel a shiver in your spine on a sunny day. That moment, your heart will tell you to fit your fingers into that of his. And you will realize how holding the hand of your beloved is the most beautiful & purest form of love, yet so much underrated.

//Chham-chham karta saavan boondon ke baan chalaye
Satrangi barsaaton mein jab tan-mann bheega jaye
Pyaar mein nahaane ko, doob hi jaane ko
Dil mera tadpaye, khwaab jaga jaye //

When the pregnant clouds let go of their heaviness, it rains. It rains till those chham- chham, rim-jhim, pitter-patter, tupur-tupur calm down your roaring conscience. It rains until your heart & soul get wet, until your maturity melts, until the kiddish version of you get exposed. That version of you which wants to pull your partner out of the house to jump in the muddy rills, to see the joint reflection of both of you in the puddle, to paddle paper boats & to dance in rain holding his hand. You feel like the monsoon is the season of love meant to make you drown in love, deeper & deeper.

These feelings are not only about me or you. Because I know this song is the happy song not only for me and you. But also for all those people who claim themselves single, yet hum this song unconsciously imagining their special humans by their sides with whom they want to experience Kerala ki garmi & Nainital ki sardi.
I wish aisa koi saathi ho aisa koi premi ho mere liye bhi😝
🎵Laalaalaalaa laalaalaalaa
Wwaainneaakkaaa wwaainneaakkaaa🎵

Listen to Neele Neele Ambar Par | Sanam by SANAM on #SoundCloud


Ajaa, you will always remain in my memory through these –

🌼 Glass paperweight
Unaware of the principle of refraction, my eyes used to shine in amazement each time I watched the rainbow colours trapped inside that round crystal on your table. And now, your memories are nothing, but resemble like that paperweight, too delicate to carry, yet too heavy for not letting the sheets of your greatness fly away.

🌼 Sky blue salwar
The memory of wrapping chuni around neck & getting wrapped in happiness always takes me back to that sky blue salwar with silver embroidery. You had bought that for me for Prathamastami and that was one of my initial day salwars. Dada teased me saying that it was a cheap dress & my eyes brimmed in tears thinking that if he was right. After growing up, I wondered what’s the brand of grandpa’s choice. Love of blessing!

🌼 Hero honda bike
An old man with bent waist wearing dhoti & holding stick. Childhood storybooks stamp this image on our conscience as the identity of a grandfather. But you always contradicted this myth with your all-time full pant shirt attire. And I used to flaunt “My ajaa is not old. He rides hero honda bike.” Ajaa, You died. But you didn’t shrivel. The baggage of responsibilities you carried for 82 years failed to make you bend a bit.

In the morning, the cooking of your Nina walks hand in hand with the blaring of the radio. I don’t know how the smartphone has not yet replaced mami’s loyalty towards radio & what fulfilment she gets by listening radio which her mobile can’t deliver. But I know that from now on, each time she will rotate the switch of radio, her mind will revolve around the thought that no more she had to repair your old radio or buy a new one for you. Your intimacy with radio has been inherited to your daughter.

🌼Last conversation
After returning from your funeral, I went to your room. That yellow Narula carry bag with radio package was lying there. The recorder inside my head which was replaying our last conversation for umpteenth time since last night, increased its volume a bit more. Your comment which was meant to inject embarrassment into my mind that day will always bring tears & smile to my face. Because that was the last and last always lasts.

🌼Mami’s complaint
Each time I argue with baba, get angry with him, do fun with him, my ears get bombarded with the taunt of your daughter-“Till today, we don’t muster courage to talk to our bapa in a raised voice.” And instantly that serious looking face of yours gets zoomed in my mind & a trail of dislike for you emanates from my heart. And that night mami sighed saying “Ama bapa daka sarigala“. All I felt at that moment was something I can’t portray in words. I am ready to listen to this taunt of mami without an iota of anger. Can’t you come back, ajaa?

🌼 Beauty of aai
Beauty bows down before aai looking at that red bindi amidst her frail eyebrows, those red bangles in her wrinkled hands & that red nail colour in her tiny nails. That beauty of her has now become a thing of the past. That day also she was looking like a cute little oldie wearing a red sambalpuri saree. But her face was not radiating that aura like before. Ajaa, you snatched away that sparkle, that redness, that beauty from aai. You even didn’t give aai a proper goodbye. You left her stranded with your unfinished talk. But don’t dare to eye her now.

🌼Mamughara sofa
The sofa was your throne where you used to sit, rest, eat & rule. That instant dining table setup was always ready to pay tribute to your full pant shirt incarnation. The way you used to eat with food scattered throughout was a tight slap to the stereotype that old people always eat neatly. Now that copper glass & that betel box will lie in a corner, unwanted.

🌼 Mini diaries
Your children were grief-stricken with the guilt of letting all your things burn with you. But I found your fingerprints in those ink-filled mini pages. Those words of you “Dial 1 2 3 4 and set your colour tune” brought a real smile to my face & reminisce the times when I used to say mami “Why doesn’t your father call you often?”. She used to answer-“My father is confident that your father is taking care of me.”

🌼Your bye
Whenever I went to mamughar, I never found you in the house. Meeting with you used to occur on the farm always. The farm never slept with your presence & your body never got tired of moving home to the farm fifty times a day. But during our return time I had always found you sitting crosslegged in the chair on the veranda, blessing us, biding us bye & telling us to come again.
Ajaa, I missed that blessing, that bye when I returned from mamughar this time.

🌼 Last meet
The last time I met you in ICU, those blinking eyes of yours, those restless movements of your limbs, those fine digits in patient monitor made me convince that you would be alright after the treatment. I wish I could watch you a bit longer that day.

🌼Black day & blank thoughts
Those yellow-orange marigolds,
those yellow-orange sunrays
& those yellow-orange pyre


Holi of a blind

They say and I listen
Holi is the festival of tints & shades.
But they know and I think 
it’s just another dark Halloween,
for me & for people like me.
They jump high & run fast
amidst the stain blast
to escape, to win,
to collide, to colour
with loads of delight
fluttering in their eyes.
And I walk counting my steps
with one hand lagging & one leading
with the bubbling fear in my heart
to stumble, to fall
to lose my only companion, my stick.
Today they wear masks
to defend their faces
from the flow of pichkaris.
And smile becomes my attire
to camouflage the flow of my tears
tears of agony, of inadequacy.
They capture their hued faces
in the lens of the camera.
And I frame the beauty of colours
not by seeing & playing with them
but by touching their texture & feeling them.
Stealing violet from pansy,
indigo from periwinkle, blue from aster
green from grasses, yellow from sunflower
orange from marigold & red from roses
they make each other
Van Gogh’s precious paintings.
And giving my gratitude to the Almighty
for showering so much strength upon me
to accept my lacuna
instead of grieving
I become a priceless portrait of a paradigm.

Bury me

The things I want to be buried with-

1. A bucketful satisfaction with my lungs respiring in another’s body, my kidney gifting new life to a nephropathic & my eyes holding the hope of a blind. My donated organs will be a real tribute to my dead body.

2. A glitter garnished graffiti of my real smile that once shined on my face in reflection when I offered someone a bunch of happiness.

3. A big box made up of degradable material holding all my guilts unexpressed, all my regrets unshown, all my tears dried, all my wishes unfulfilled, all my apologies rejected & all my trust shattered. They will degrade without being humiliated by the harsh world.

4. The papercut that I kept as the souvenir of my lost faith, those yellow papers where I stitched the pieces of my heart.

5. My diaries with the stories I ended indecisively and the poetries I left incomplete.

6. A handful of seeds of marigolds. I will grow, flower. You will smile & pluck. I will hang as your love in the neck of your sweetheart & I will remain as your prayer in the feet of your God.

7. My lifeless body carrying the last touches of compassion & blessing from the people who will forever carry my death as a void in their lives.


On the eve of Manabasa*
my seventy-year-old granny
turns more active than
a bride dwelling in her thirties
Drawing buckets of water
from our abysmal well
she washes the entire floor
from backyard to front yard
& plasters with cow dung
until the fragrance of cleanliness
touches the core of her soul
Investing all the energy
that her bent body possesses
she prepares Chita* not with a grinder
but with grinding stone
Painting the fresco
of designs, patterns & flowers
in her frail fingers
she makes our ancestral mud house
much more appealing than
any big building flaunting with urbanity
The serene fresco
of lotus & feet of deity Laxmi
with which she decorates the entrance
has the ability to bloom spirituality
in every mind that sees it
Filling the mana* with
freshly harvested grains,
placing that on khatuli*,
adorning that with a new saree
she worships that with all the devotion
as an incarnation of Maa Laxmi
A sense of divinity
swirls throughout the home
with the aroma of her handmade pithas*
that she bakes putting all her heart
& that divinity penetrates our conscience
when her cataract operated eyes
& sore throat create magic
while she recites Laxmipurana*
She reveres the Goddess
of wealth & good luck
with this much dedication
that makes me wonder
if she is the synonym of faith
or the personification of holiness
& when she gives me prasad
I stare at her, I stare more
until my eyes get closed
with the radiance emanating from her face
My knees bend,
my hands fold,
my lips mute
seeing a Goddess in front of me
draped in white saree with red borders.

*Manabasa- The festival of Odisha in which Odia people worship Goddess Laxmi on Gurubar (Thursday) during the lunar month of Margasira.

*Chita- Rice paste in liquid form that is used to paint & decorate wall & floor.

*mana- a traditional bamboo-made container used to measure paddy

*khatuli- a low table

*pithas- A variety of food similar to pancake

*Laxmipurana- a holy book worshipping the Goddess Laxmi. It was written in the 15th century by Balarama Das, an eminent poet of Odia literature.

Sometimes smile lies

They ask me “How do I smile with hundreds of bullets piercing my heart?” This is not a question meant to be answered, but a taunt meant to hurt, a compliment meant to praise.
This is a success story which they have assumed inside their heads & want to follow it. This is a tragic experience which their minds have braided & want to pour their sympathy on it. Little did they know that my smile is a paradox that makes them think, wonder, confuse & keeps them one step away from concluding. My smile is the place where my pain hides & my bravery marches. My bravery is a kid learning to climb each day one stair more & my pain is its mother who became pregnant on the day when it failed to find a pair of ears to listen to it for the sake of lessening it instead of judging, sympathising, normalising & joking. Since that day my vulnerability became a confidential conversation between my heart and my mind without letting anyone guess anything about it. I remember the days when tears rolled down my cheeks while sharing the weight of my pain & they tag my tears as attention seeker without realizing that just a bit of support I was needing badly. I remember the days when I told them what I was going through and instantly I became a sentimental fool in their eyes. When that sentimental fool grew into a matured human by plastering her vulnerability with a layer of smile, they suddenly became anxious to know the reason behind this. You know what, people will not understand your pain until they read your suicide letter & pain will not leave you until you draw red hearts beside your name. You can’t draw red hearts beside your name until you stop apologizing for the mistakes you haven’t done, until you stop feeling sorry for the faults that were destined to happen, until you stop trying to fit into everyone’s frames of perfection,  until you start running towards your dream clutching your passion & carrying your determination without contemplating who is pondering what about you.

Panorama of professions

is a doctor
who snatches away
a patient from
the jaws of death

is a police
who creates conciliation
in the society
by controlling crimes

is the photographer
who observes beauty
in persons, places & things
that others can’t see

is an administrator
who pacifies
the enraged public
with a smile

is a social worker
who carry the heavy weight
of responsibility
on shoulder of little authority

is a journalist
who amass news
being sun-baked sometimes
being rain-soaked sometimes

is a dancer
who fix the gazes
of spectators
with her fast-changing postures

is a priest
who connects one’s soul
with the divinity
by pouring sanctity

is a farmer
who fills millions of stomaches
by toiling restlessly
without expecting any appreciation

is a lawyer
who shows everyone
the power of truth
by giving justice to victims

is a teacher
who holds a special place
in students’ hearts
by showing the right path

is a writer
who touches million hearts
by offering wings
to her thoughts

is a politician
who heartily works
for the needy
embracing all the criticism

is a scientist
who invests her brain
without any selfish motive
for the upliftment of mankind

is an engineer
who makes life easy
by creating devices & roads
rockets & robots

is a painter
who wholeheartedly worships
the power of colours
with his brush & canvas

is a chef
who fabricates magic
in his hand
& pleases many tastebuds

is a driver
who stays cautious all time
to leave you
at your destination

is a sportsman
who knows
to jump & run
after falling & losing

is a mechanic
who donates new lives
to broken fans, fused bulbs
choked taps & damaged cars

is a weaver
who knits patterns & designs
with mere thread
to convert into gorgeous garments

is a soldier
who never cringes
to fight for the motherland
at the cost of life

is an entrepreneur
who sees the opportunity
in anything & everything
& works without halt

is a nurse
who takes care of patients
like they belong
to her own blood

is a labourer
who sells his sweat daily
to nurture
his hungry family

is an actor
who makes the audience
feel, laugh & weep
with his lively skills

PHM Days

//•••This ELP on PHM was a song that all of us listened, that all of us will sing. Writing this won’t be enough.•••//

A place where the desks, benches and stools turned into slabs to cook recipes, to contain utensils. The recipes not meant to expand own belly, but to raise the sale. Utensils not bought with excitement, but borrowed from hostels with a heavy heart. No exhaust fans to escape the smoke away, but widely open windows to let the fresh air in. No shining racks to look after, no coloured walls to get attracted but where the surrounding was filled with either fossilized insects or dead pieces of machinery. That’s how our workplace was. That’s where we managed ourselves as restaurant workers, that’s where we reign as the rulers of our phm palace.

The place which used to spring up activeness with the raining rapidity of Snehal and seemed to be hibernating in absence of bright photo clicks by him. The place that got the chance to be perfectly furnished with the branded final touch of Manisha. The place which got blessed with the parenting nature and flourishing grin of Archita. The place which became a mute spectator to the cute fight between Archita & Manisha.
The place that told the toiling story of a culinary illiterate like Tanisha and wrote poetry praising her attempts & learning. The place that became a postbox where Rakhi used to post the letters of madam & sir and mastered the art to pack our effort with love. The place that got the honour to worship Maa Saraswati with coconut ladoo because of the heartfelt help of Subhashree and breathed the breeze of her positive attitude. The place that elevated the suitability of Suman less as a phm student, more as the bride of her special one and reverberated with her sweet sambalpuri talks. 
The place which used to rest sometimes to camouflage the longer rest period of Pratibha and got energized with her tenacity. The place that flowed with the tears and anger of Upama and smelt like a pickle with the aroma of her garden. The place which felt like a challenging, yet exploring journey for the entire ELP period, a journey too hard to forget, too exhilarating to reminisce.


Some incident in life feels like a blessing at a time & later it feels like a curse.

Miss India

Miss Manasa Samyuktha,
I don’t know which tag can suit you the best; “The girl with guts” or “The woman with wisdom”. But I won’t be wrong if I say you as the personification of courage, determination, hope and success. Everyone of us has some answers ready with us when anyone asks us about the aim of our life. But how many of us become able to fulfil that! Some can’t enlighten the candle of courage amidst the darkness of failure and frustration. Some dreams get wilted in the scorch of family pressure & social responsibility. But you were the one who left no stone unturned to make your dream into reality. When a girl belongs to a middle-class family, it is very difficult to be bold and to fit into the guidebook of an Indian girl at the same time. If you put your opinions, if you go against your parent’s wish, if you take decisions of your life on your own, then in everyone’s eyes you become the girl who doesn’t know manners. But your audacity was of another level that fuelled you to climb the cliff of risk.
Samyukta, you broke the misconception of many people that emotional girls are not wise. You were emotional enough to be trapped in the memory of your dead dadajii anytime and everytime. But you were wise enough to build the empire of your business starting from nothing. Vijay came as an angel in your life, but I won’t blame you for letting him go. Patriarchy is so deeply rooted in our society that every man feels insecure about her woman when she has big dreams and Vijay was not an exception.
I got astonished by your confidence in the way you challenged Kailash without caring about your gender, age and nil experience. You were the girl who was too reluctant to attend parties, who used to think thousand times before going for dinner with a guy. And later people watched you as the girl who left her home to pursue her goal, who sold tea on the roadside in the USA, distributed templates by walking door to door. With this, you showed everyone that conservative girls are not cowards, they just channelize their courage in a different direction.
Vikram lifted you from the ground of nothingness & held you when you fell from the sky of success. You should be grateful to him & you were too. But you didn’t let that gratitude lead you on a path away from your ambition. It takes a lot to fall in love with a person & it takes a lot more to rise in the career. You might have understood this very well. You became the victim of the betrayal of Naina, your close friend. But instead of dipping in grief, you rose as an inferno with doubled brightness.
I don’t know whether your story is just meant to be shown as a movie or one can live it in reality. The only thing I know and can say confidently is that your story pushes many girls to run towards their goals with energized willpower.
At last, I want to confess one thing, I was so engrossed in your character that I couldn’t take my eyes off the screen till the end of the movie. And headache captured me after that. You had cast such a spell on me that for the first time in my life, a cup of tea made its way into my mouth. It is called the power of Miss India☕(laughs)
“Zindagi ek sunhera mauka hai apni kabiliyat ko prove karne k liye. Just prove it”
Bye-bye Tarigida tarigida taq taq tei😁

A fan of you

A little boat I am

Make me

Maybe with plantain trunk or thermocol

Maybe with scrap paper or newspaper

The material doesn’t matter, care does

All I crave is to be made with love, with enthusiasm

Decorate me with candle, cracker, Betle leaf, betel nut

Or just allow the simplicity to garland my body

All I want is to be decorated with a smile on your lips, a twinkle in your eyes

Paddle me

Maybe along with my friends or alone

Maybe in a lotus clad lake or in muddy rills

I feel neither superior nor inferior

All I need is to be paddled with hopes, with trust

After making me, decorating me, paddling me

Don’t just move back

Stay a little longer

Wish me goodbye a little louder

Look at me a little more

Feel that skip of the heartbeat when I wobble

Clap with glee when I speed up

And chant the maritime glory of your ancestors

A boat I am

Neither mechanised nor expensive

Neither laden with heaviness nor meant to travel a faraway land

But a little one I am

Fragile, yet confident

Simple, yet serene

In this carnival of culture, a celebrity I am

A little boat I am


Happy Kartik Purnima🛶⛴

C/16 Connection

//See good people as monuments.

You may or may not have them near you always.

But you will always meet them whenever you walk on the memory lane.//


When you get annoyed with the lengthiness, singularity & difficulty in the nomenclature of insects, just utter Snehal Mandeep Das Mahuri. You’ll feel elated for having such a distinctive nomenclature as the first member of your this family. He has the calibre to do & to fuel others to do the things in the least possible time without fearing the output. This fickle-minded, yet strong-headed guy owns a bunch of goodness, worth appreciating, worth learning. If you believe that love is a sacred thing & girls aren’t bad beings, then it’s advisable to maintain distance from him to prevent the creation of an argument or breakage of your belief.


Trilokya maybe just a proper noun, but Shiba babu is a feeling for this family, feeling of seriousness and shyness, gentleness and graciousness. He is placid enough to swallow the venom of bad words dripping from his friends and with the help of his third eye, he can know what’s happening where in the lives of people. Group-A records will always remain indebted to him because their fates were used to be written only after his date decision in the index, most of the times.


She is the darling of Garfield and Doraemon is her dear. When people call her by the name of her dear Doraemon, she swells in happiness. She proves herself as a real darling of Garfield by learning & reciprocating laziness. She owns the capacity to cry a river and masters the craft of cracking jokes. Sometimes she gets occupied by the spirit of calmness and sometimes by naughtiness. Little little moles reign the realm of her fascinating smile and simplicity is the ruler of her personality.


A DSLR isn’t needed to perfectly capture her beauty. She can weave her beauty in thumbnails and wear the crown of self-obsession by tilting her head in every possible angle and taking hundreds of selfies in one go. She doesn’t leave footprints, instead, she leaves her fingerprints on the walls wherever she stays. Public wants to know from her that how she feels when people wash the holiness of her name in the river of fun and how she keeps her mind in the right place when the alphabets of her name get misplaced by others.


A thousand gazes of boys can get fixated when a smile walks on her face. Hundreds of crackers get exploded in the hearts of many boys, the source being her cuteness. The decibel produced from her voice can strongly compete with the sound produced from our class just after getting punishment from Ipsita ma’am.


When prettiness becomes blessed with confidence & boldness, then sky of sovereignty remains no more unreachable. One can realise it while looking at Nutan. She can’t be confined inside a mother’s guidebook for an Indian girl. She is adorned with the audacity to tell what one should know instead of what one wants to hear. Classes miss her more because she loves her bed more.


He is clad in a personality which is well knitted with the thread of sobriety. Although being blessed with an accent in which syllables are bit bent, he has proved himself as a good orator. He carries the capacity to chain the attention of the audience during a presentation and gain some real loud applaud.


When Marwari blood flows in his veins, when he built up himself as a scholar seeing many underprivileged children in his area, when he embraced the agricultural science, then how could he stop himself from imagining, trying & creating his own world of entrepreneurship. Nature feels happy for his green hero campaign, society feels gratified for his MindQ, we people feel proud for having him in our batch. One may get confused if this guy is seriously funny or funnily serious.


Her face shines with the beauty of courage, her voice speaks the volume of confidence, her behaviour reflects how composed she is. As a human, as an Indian everyone respects the Indian army. But as a daughter, as a sister, she knows the story of tears, sweats, hardness & happiness behind that respect. She is neither a wrestler nor a motivational speaker, but with her, being around her one can’t feel weak.


She is a fairytale heroine one can ever imagine dancing on the floor, with a face carrying all its components perfectly, skin glistening with the shade of flour, long hairs dipped in a charcoal hue & a figure fitted in an ideal shape. No no! this fairytale heroine doesn’t reside virtually in books or movies, but really among us sprinkling her friendliness upon us.


From dipping in the core of the character while playing a role to flying in the sky of emotions while weaving poetry, from dancing in the tune of music to flowing her voice in the stream of music she can spread her talent in whatever direction she desires. Eye-catching charm spreads from her face with the ripple of dimpling smile. A beauty ribboned with multicoloured talents she is.


Her beauty gets enhanced with sambalpuri suits & her brain has been rooted in the soil of Chiplima. She tops the exams, floats in sports & drowns others in her mellifluous songs. She dances amazingly & makes the audience still with her acting skill. She is too much thin, yet she is rounded with all the talents.


When silence takes a toll, the cassette of her melodious whistle is played on repeat to blow the horns inside the mind. Her Colgate teeth reflect her abundant grace & her eyes never retire of searching perfection in anything & everything. The tiara of maturity never falls from her head & she holds her neck always upright adorning it with a necklace of confidence. In the path of adm no. she crossed her darling a step forward, but her heart is always merged with that of her darling.


If I was given a chance to crown someone as the best girl of our batch, I would definitely go near her without second nomination. She is one of the loveliest girl & fairest soul one will ever meet in his/ her life. If one day Yami Gautam comes across her, then she will feel buried in guilty shame for advertising a product with a dumb name. Sometimes she swells her face so much & makes her voice so lethargic that one will think if she is bearing the labour pain of five babies at the instant. One will often get confused about what’s more beautiful! Her facial muscles metamorphosing into a smile or her smile turning into a grin.


What’s the need for another set of fingers to fill the gap of your fingers when a paw is always ready to be placed on your palm. She has gulped the core of this concept. But she fills the void of a nondomicile student in our batch. The instant when words start coming out of her mouth, one may get confused if her entry into Odisha has occurred just a few time ago. There is also a chance of confusion if she is the height of madness or depth of seriousness. Grace glues on her when her tresses of butt length cascade down freely & glamour hangs on her when her hairs get tightened in a bun.


She is the temple of undaunted beauty & graveyard of thoughts so nasty. She is the forest of fury & lake of understanding. She is the garden of dumbness & cave of mystery. She may look like a pretty girl with a tempered personality. But she is the personification of the place where only few people are allowed to go, fewer people dare to go & fewest people can stay after being blessed with her sanitised slap & dirty love time to time. And those fewest are the lucky ones because she loves them back, really.


The man in this boy is too mature to lift the responsibilities wholeheartedly & to keep them done successfully. Be it study tour, be it dramatic function he has carried the luggage of tension more than his own body size & has been awarded the faith of everyone in him because of his uncommon calibre in handling circumstances. The surrounding gets quiet when his firm speech echoes with bombastic words & the area rings with applauding when he acts. This boy has been diagnosed as pregnant due to lots of talents.


His specs may or may not have seen how the sky above his head turns new every second with changing shape of cotton candies & varying brightness of colour canvas. But we have seen how Mister Sky turns happy for having Miss New in his realm. He is a respiring skeleton with fossilized flesh. He is the vastness of mischief with patches of cordiality.


Rose-tinted goggles protect his eyes from the Sunrays. But you can’t protect yourself from the arrows of weird taunts coming from his mouth. Cladding himself in the same get-up he can play two characters topsy-turvy, one to grab reward from the audience for his drama team & another to gain boon from the Goddess for college. No chance to look down, no possibility to look straight, but everyone in our class needs to elevate his/her eyes while interacting with this mountain.


He invests his mind in MindQ & gains many claps in Green hero campaign. His development plant never stops growing because it holds the peduncle of a precious flower, the flower who is one of the best girls in world & swings as an apostrophe after the name of her man, Bikash. The air around gets heavy with emotion & appreciation when words fall from his tongue during a speech or spoken fest. In the female adorned venue of PBG elective, Vicky was a variant vista.


Behind the cracker of comedy, he skillfully curtains his sky of sentiments. Dense cloud of his humour often plays hide n seek with the sheen of his seriousness. He dances so energetically that one’s pupils get dilated for long, involuntarily to not miss a second of his performance. He is efficient enough to cultivate sapphire & gold in the field single-handedly along with his not so efficient plot partner.


Inside his head, there is a castle of confidence & also a store of sarcasm. One can easily locate the continents of singing, dancing, sketching & photography in the map of his talents. Visit his continents & you can’t stay mum without appreciating his skill in governing all these with passion, enthusiasm & balance. He is a glass of mischief filled up to the brim, but there is a dilution of caring & helping nature in that.


She is a sanskari girl. But before you go to her to learn some sanskar, get ready to be bombarded with questions like “Who says that sanskar is all about not starting a sentence with m** & not ending with f**”?,
“Where it is written that sanskar means covering a woman skin from head to toe beyond comfort?”, “When did sanskar get a definition of not doing adventure in youth age without informing parents”. Boys fall for her large eyes, long hairs & cute height. Little do they know that only few can handle this Leo girl who can cuss your ancestors & crush you in her high heels if her mood approves. In the pile of her boldness, softness is secretly buried somewhere. She never fails to gift bunches of laughter wrapping them with her indescribable sense of humour.


Her name declares that victory is her beauty & her bones speak how she has lost all her flesh. But if you look at her, you can see how her impeccable beauty is the clean victory over her inexpressible t-h-i-n-n-e-s-s. Her face is the floor for her unblemished smile and her soul is the roof for her unquestionable amiability.


This pretty girl was the last to place her feet injured in our classroom, but since then she stood undisplaced in the first position in sincerity to complete the tasks assigned. For staying fear-free it is advised to stay away from her on the day before the exam. One can find the entire written version of class lectures in her class copies with no omission of comma, full stop & filler. She is filled with helpfulness & care overflows from her. She has a cute height, but she is capable of climbing the peak of classical dance.


Sweetness of Misty Mousomi flows in friendliness like mishti doi, softens in kindness like roshogolla, solidifies in strictness like sondesh. Like a royal Bengal tigress, she has shown her excellence in reigning with undaunted courage while leading as the GR of the class, as the GS of the hostel, as the indoor secretary of the college. Her smile is the monsoon on the arrival of which beauty spreads in her entire face originating from her nose pin.


He’s Jyotiranjan Nayak of Chipliwood, the character in which you may meet many bits of Arjun Reddy of Tollywood & Kabir Singh of Bollywood. Sometimes he can grow a forest underneath his chin & sometimes he can become the brand ambassador of shaving cream. Sometimes his Balasoria voice turns violent to fight against wrong & sometimes it sets soft to butter someone for good. He can create fog in summer with the white cylinder in his mouth & cheers on beer is not an occasion for him to celebrate, but all the seasons that stay. In this flawed world, he may seem more flawed in certain aspects, but his love for kids & passion in photography is flawless.


If there is someone in our batch who can enjoy Telugu movies without any dubbing or subtitles, with complete understanding, then she is our Goddess of talent, Pratibha Devi. Sometimes rebellious nature enters her soul, then she can make anyone get silent with the sharp edges of her tongue, be it Pragya ma’am or Deepika ma’am. Sometimes consciousness leaves her body to make her faint, to make everyone around her get frightened. But most of the times, a smile hangs on her face to compliment her loveliness.


He is a self-proclaimed wise & fully confirmed fool. He fakes anger intentionally & considers it as his intuition. After losing his closest confidant for a lifetime, he searches for a home in temporary people & takes shelter near evil liquid. He shouts often out of violent strictness, but he beats out of silent affection. The best thing about him is that if he isn’t okay then he never pretends to be okay in front of his near ones. Gratitude is a massless, yet heavy trophy that family members give to the head of the family and he already possesses it for his 4 years of leading.


In small to tall things extra cautiousness pours from her personality; but her that quality flies away when she sinks in her phone sitting on the boundary of the rooftop. She not only sees the world through her cat-eye goggles but also the love for cats is sealed inside her heart. She can verbally slaughter one mentally, but beauty burgeons in her face with her smile.


Holding the lively expression on her face & twirling her body to the tune of music, she can create the circle of her fans who fall in love head over heels with the skills of her dance. Gathering the news of all over the world, she can lump them all in her brain to boost the treasure of her general knowledge. Maintaining a perfect photo figure, this golden girl is adorned with gorgeous grace.


He is a subtle solution of litres of humour & grams of composure. In today’s world when people are losing the capacity to choose happiness over sadness, this happy-go-lucky guy owns the ability to rupture one’s grief & twist it into a giggle through his action & talks. Being a passionate photographer, he sees big beauty in tiny things & being an all-time projector operator in class, he shows us little fonts in large size.


A strong heart is carefully cocooned inside her weak body. Her sudden fainting often tells how her body is burdened with weakness. Her spontaneous crying often tells how her heart is strong enough to liquefy the heavy lumps of agony. It’s not right to call her sensitive, but she is blush positive as well as anger positive. The full stop she puts in between her eyebrows is the nucleus of her prettiness which also warns that she is strictly unavailable to any boys other than the one who holds her heart.


The pace of his presentation is faster than the speed of his bike. He can play the role of a villain on the stage and can act as a hero in the playground. Maybe Kaushik Sir considers his class hollow without a volumetric talk with his dear Soumya.


He is a helping hand & friendly face who waters one’s respect towards him with his decency & it’s rare to see the season in his face getting dry without a smile. He radiates the rays of general knowledge, yet he clenches humbleness strongly. His fate is showered with gold in the form of a girl who reigns in his heart.


People say he is the coolest guy of our batch. But the flame of sporting spirit always makes him stand among the winning team. He is tagged as strong because of his metallic muscle. But he is too vulnerable to the fear of losing his gentleman code, the code that shines when he flexes his arms & steps back to side when girls pass by him.


Our Suman is the flower who not only appeals everyone around her with the brightness of her physical appearance but also with the enchanting fragrance of her soul, with the pleasing softness of her behaviour. She is so acquainted with inhaling the Sambalpuri air since long that she feels suffocated while exhaling normal Odia language. Your eyes may get loaded with the fruit of frustration while reading her handwriting, but seeds of satiety will germinate in your eyes after seeing her hand made sketchings.


Pull out her extra pair of eyes artificial & push her into a room full of mirrors clear, she can’t see how beauty is exquisitely carved in her. She acts so lively & energy breathes in her thin body when she dances. Emotions are prone to come out of her head; sometimes they fly as laughter in her face for long & sometimes they flow like a river from her eyes. Often her vocal cords vibrate vigorously with how & why; still rarely they rest with the idea of ‘let it go’. It’s worth watching how her tiny face swells when anger shrinks her heart.


Ancestry of OUAT flows in his veins. He can widen one’s eyes with his dance. He can satisfy one’s tastebuds with his cooking savvy. He can make one feel things with his writings. In spite of clinging various talents, he throws himself in the life-threatening fume of euphoric weed & pool of coloured liquid. Waiting always for someone to caress his heart, he crushes his complete health out of foolish excuse. He can’t feel grateful for the life he has because he feeds his mind with the misinterpretation that he is dying daily.


His deep friendship with Jyoti & his nonadoption of vices is the clear demonstration of the fact that one’s mixing nature & own individuality can be kept parallel without intersecting. His receiving & reciprocating gesture neither start nor end without a smile on his face.


Her talent tree is loaded with variegated leaves of debating expertise to acting artistry, culinary skill to leadership ability. There is hardly any person in the college campus be s/he senior, junior, lecturer or worker who hasn’t ever listened the name of this prominent personality, Pallavi. But for us she is Pollu, not the pest of pepper; but an additive of affability to this sweet family. Smile always roams in her face to augment her cuteness.

🍀Dipti aunty

She isn’t like the typical Indian aunty in the community who will poke her nose into your matter. Instead, our aunty asks things directly to clear her doubt & distribute her care as a mother does to her kids. Elegance sparkles from her face when she drapes herself in a saree & vermilion flows between her mid parted hairs.

🍀Bhamanjari aunty

She competes with us as a curious student because of the adm no. she is being enrolled with. She advises us as a benevolent elder because of the suffix we address her with. She is a fortunate wife for having a husband who gifts her innumerable caring instructions while biding her goodbye for a journey, who calls her time to time to know if she is ok in the new place, who cherishes her success more than herself when she gets an award.

©ruchiabhisikta12🍀Blessed for being a part of this great family👸


RAWE( Rural Agricultural Work Experience) is a programme for imparting quality, practical and production oriented education for agriculture degree. The RAWE programme helps the students primarily to understand the rural situations, status of agricultural technologies adopted by farmers, prioritize the farmers’ problems and to develop skills & attitude of working with farm families for overall development in rural area.

Some nonsense things that I’m going to miss whenever I’ll remember you both Suluuuni & Dephhhali…

  1. Our daily journey in chicken gadi. The way we look innocently at each other when another not so thin aunty enters to add compaction a little more. The way we bury our faces in our phones to control laughing when we feel something fishy in the behaviour of fellow passengers.
  2. That daily 2km walk when Sun kisses us so passionately gifting our skins with loads and loads of melanin. And sometimes storm’s futile effort to make us stop by turning our umbrellas downside up. That 1km road seems 10 km from chhak to block but the same road seems 900 m from block to chhak. Dear, a walk is not just the distance your feet cover, but it is the emotion your heart feels.
  3. Our compulsive situation. The way we push each other to seek permission to return home. And each time how we are blessed with kind words” Are thia hela kahinki basuna basa”. Then our bodies rest on chairs hopelessly and our united conscience looks at the backdoor helplessly.
  4. Elixir of our hope. We can’t deny the fact that in all these days when our stomachs go berserk in hunger Amrut bake shop acts as the elixir to our hunger. Hey, you both miss me whenever you will devour icecream otherwise it will drop and stain your clothes permanently. Mind it!
  5. Some people with us, some best, some not so good. The way we appreciate the unquestionable goodness of Sanjeev Sir, how we gossip jokingly with Alekha Mausa. How ignorantly we handle the extra concern of some creepy people. And how we become unable to find if a personality is cleverly cunning or dumbly fool.
  6. Some untold dejection. How each time the birds used to pee and poo on my dress only. I still wonder why not upon you both even for a single time! Don’t laugh too much. Remember for those activities they need a clean place and they don’t find you both so clean. Okay.
  7. Some things worthtelling. The way Diva does ap-a-ap-a-ap looking at the mobile mirror to check if her ateyyy red lips are still shining bright or not. How Essalouni replies to texts after some ten or twenty hours. And I still wonder how could you both guess my phone password.
  8. Those strange realisations after meeting you both. How Saloni’s eyecatching laziness makes me disbelieve the myth that 5 am persons remain active the whole day. And how Divya makes me believe that chillum and booze lovers can hate nonveg so strongly.

    And some gone precious moments, some priceless memories for future… ©ruchiabhisikta I wrote this during RAWE programme in 2019. Those old days were good because of Saloni & Divya♥♥

Itni shakti hume dena data

Somedays I want to fall in love with someone & wish to be loved back by that someone. Those days romantic songs give me a tingling sensation. Somedays my lacrymal glands, eardrums & heart want to work synchronously. Those days sad melodies on a loop don’t feel boring. Somedays I want to climb cloud nine. Those days rock & hiphop bursts my tension & rain as dopamine. Somedays I want to improve, overcome & achieve. Those days motivational songs throw a projectile of energy into my mind. Somedays I want to be basked in the glory of being Indian. Those days patriotic songs reign on my playlist. But somedays it becomes difficult to express to anyone what I feel. I feel lost amidst this big world. I feel insecure about myself. I feel wilted enough to bloom again, damaged enough to shine again. Those days “Itni shakti hume dena data” embrace me with open arms. Terms like music, song, melody are not appropriate for this composition. I will name it hope, courage, solace or whatever I feel while listening to it, while murmuring it.

//itni shakti hume dena data
man ka vishwas kamzor ho na
hum chalein nek raste pe hamse
bhoolkar bhi koi bhool ho na//

There are many times in my life when I question the existence of the Almighty. There are many times when my faith in Him is put to test. I doubt His justice when I see the girls in torn clothes selling chips packets on traffic post, when I see blind men begging in the railway station, when I see old persons being treated badly by his own progenies, when I listen people getting displaced from their homes due to flood & landslide, when I listen a family losing its only bread earner. My faith in Him shook in the wind of suspicion when I underwent severe illness in the year of my board exam, when I lost my most cherished dream by not getting a seat in govt. medical college, when the friend I trusted the most left me in the midway. But when I introspect what God has given me all these years, all my complaints about Him vanish away. Then I just pray Him to keep my faith unwaverered at any cost. We are humans & we tend to commit mistakes. But when we believe that there is someone above us watching all our deeds, we start walking on the rightous path. Whenever we move in the wrong direction even unintentionally, He is there to redirect us towards the way which is right for us.

//door agyaan ke hon andhere
tu hamein gyaan ki roshni de
har buraai se bachte rahein hum
jitni bhi de bhali zindagi de
bair ho na kisi ka kisi se
bhaawana man mein badle ki ho na//

Be it in form of Shiva or Jesus or Allah or Budhha, he has always appeared in front of the world to eradicate the ignorance from the mind of people. When we pray to them with our eyes closed, we see the darkness of our problems getting illuminated with the brightness of wisdom. It’s not a long life that gives us happiness. It’s a meaningful life devoid of wrongdoings that everyone wishes for.  When you keep the Almighty in your heart, He pulls your feet back from crushing an ant, He binds your hands not to collect richness by corruption, He blindfolds your eyes to see the defects in others, He mums your voice not to say harsh words to others, He restricts your mind from thinking evil of anyone. Sometimes I wonder how peaceful this world will be without the occurrence of crimes! And do crimes happen without the anger, hatred, ill will & revenge feelings between people! I don’t know about the feelings of others. I don’t know if the world can be a harmless place for everyone to live in. But I pray to Him to always keep myself away from doing such things that can cause harm to others.

//hum na sochein hamein kya mila hai
hum yeh sochen kiya kya hai arpan
phool khushiyon ke baantein sabhi ko
sabka jeevan hi ban jaaye madhuban
apni karuna ka jal tu baha ke
kar de paavan har ik man ka kona//

Most of the time we blame God when we don’t get something we wish for. But have you ever given your everything for something or someone without expecting anything in return? Try this sometimes. You will find peace & won’t gulp guilt later. You will enjoy the journey irrespective of destination reached or not. In this age of cutthroat competition, how many of us try to bring a smile to someone’s face! How many of pray for others’ smiles! But when you pray for others & your prayer gets answered, that feeling is incomparable. Imagine a surrounding with jasmines of joy blossoming in everyone’s face. How beautiful this sight will be! In today’s world which revolves around disease, depression, crimes & corruption, all that everyone needs is to have a pious heart which holds strong faith in the Almighty.

“Itni shakti hume dena data” is such a composition that we were taught to recite in our childhood. But we feel the lyrics as we grow up.


To the friend I lost

To the friend I lost

I don’t know why I’m writing this letter. I also don’t know if I will be able to complete it or not. The only thing I know is that this letter is going to be brutally honest. Because this is going to carry all those things I felt & realized in all these nine months without expressing anything in front of anyone. I am bound to believe that whatever had happened, happened for good. Because I always felt that our bond was all about sanctity and Saibaba can’t do any injustice to a friendship in which I had poured all my heart. The day I got the confirmation that you don’t want our friendship to last was the day I had lighted a dia in Saibaba’s temple in your name. It was your birthday and no festival had become more significant than this day since the day I met a friend in you. My conscience is mocking me now when I am using the word ‘friend’ for you. Because even an enemy can’t cause this much pain to me that you gave to me. Whatever, from my side, this bond was the purest without an iota of selfishness & dishonesty in it. So I won’t pollute it now just because you left. It was more than difficult for me to accept that there is nothing left between us. But how long could I run away from it when the reality was standing firmly in front of me every day. There is not a single day in these nine months in which I didn’t cry. For the first few months, my tears were mischievous enough to run down irrespective of the time, place & persons present around. My parents were broken down seeing their daughter in that condition and I was unable to do anything about it. I had also the chance to be shifted to a distant place, but destiny was not ready to leave me so early without torturing me more. There was a time when my youtube feed was full of psychological videos & my mind was blank enough to think anything. But by now I have gathered all my pieces that you had shattered with the glue of my courage. It takes courage to cry the whole night & to behave like nothing has happened the next morning. It takes courage to see everything & to act as blind. It takes courage to swallow all the pain & not letting anyone guess anything about it. And for all these, I am proud of myself. I am proud that I didn’t take shelter under antidepressants, alcohol & suicidal thoughts in all these harsh days. I have stopped being a selenophile. I have stopped giving petnames to people. I have stopped saying anyone good night. I have uninstalled the music app whose playlist was all about our shared songs. I have learnt to hide things from my best friend. Because the day I cried in front of her, in her eyes I saw anger & hatred for you. I don’t want anyone to consider you as a bad person & to feel pity for me. I have met some new people all these days. Some have really put effort to be friend with me. But I have no more courage to be friend with anyone. I have listened somewhere that if you are wounded & you embrace anyone, you transfer your bloodstains to them also. I don’t want to do this to anyone. Your number is not on my contact list anymore. And I hope one day those ten digits will be wiped out from my memory also. Isn’t it funny how I used to save your name as ‘Aalways’ so that you will be alphabetically superior enough to top the phonebook! What a fool I was! You know what, this friendship day I opened a new account to dump all those writing I had scribbled for you. Because memories are too heavy to carry. I will bury all those there before I change my phone. Today I was scrolling my gallery & found this writeup which I wrote on 24th May 2020. I am posting it in my blog to feel myself elevated that I’m still able to write after everything has happened, after my treasure of trust has turned into ashes & I really wish that I will laugh one day after reading this.

Anyways, thanks for teaching me that people change, situations change & accordingly I have to change. Thanks for teaching me to never trust anyone, to never let anyone come close to me, to never keep anyone above myself. Thanks for making me visualise how this world really looks like. Your Monalisa still cares for you, adores you, misses you. But you can’t see those emotions in her face. She has become the same for you as she is for everyone. She has become Abhisikta for you also who never lets down her crown in front of anyone.

The friend to whom you never considered as a friend

Am I that unloved!

In all these years, I have discovered some parts of me which are unloved my most people.

1. BabaMami first, always. Every other person comes next to them. I can embrace selfishness to expand the realm of their happiness.

2. You will get tired of asking, but I won’t say a word what you wanna listen. On the other hand my best friend, Nirlipta gets tired of listening, convincing, scolding me but I never stop blabbering until I get tired.

3. I don’t know how to ignore people without letting them know. I don’t know how to care for people without letting them know. That’s why some people call me coldblooded, some people consider me caring.

4. I respond too late, too less in social media. I think that there is a thin line between being known and being friend, a thinner line between being casual friend and good friend.

5. I don’t want to, but I get upset when BabaMami forget some little things about me in their busy lives, when my best friend appreciates someone too much in front of me. I fear to get replaced in the life of persons who are irreplaceable for me. Sometimes I need undivided attention, unconditional pampering.

6. Some people misinterpret me as a scanty feeder looking at the content of my plate. My brother says that in my stomach, there is not so large chamber for rice n dal, a large chamber for fast food, a larger chamber for sweets. Maybe he isn’t wrong.

7. I hate it when someone looks at me when I try to dig the dishes using a fork. I love when Mami feed me not so delicious dishes in her hand.

8. I get confused while choosing the flavour of ice cream. I look at the sweets for some good minutes and then decide which one to eat first. You will find me perplexed amidst the Chinese cuisine.

9. I don’t let people come near me easily because I fear they will go away one day. If you come near me breaking my fear, building the wall of trust, your place will be kept safe always inside my conscience. I’m not that strong enough to let you go. But I will never say it aloud.

10. Those few people who feel a lot like home are the victims of my temper, tantrum and mood swings. For the rest of the world, I am a calm girl who never gets angry.

11. I am not a hardcore feminist. I respect men, accept their roles in all stages of life. But don’t expect the same when I am on my periods. During that time men feel a lot like the enemy, who get a greater share of joy because of the partiality of the Almighty.

12. I read the same things from at least two places, compare them, analyse them and forget to mug up them even on the day before the exam. Selective reading hasn’t yet been my cup of tea till now.

13. You may find it cool to booze and smoke. But I find the persons cooler who never taste a drop of alcohol or try a puff of smoke. And I find the persons coward who push these vices towards so-called cool terms like peer pressure, curiosity, stress relief etc.

14. My ugly laugh doesn’t need big reasons to come out. And it lingers until my cheeks ache; My lacrimal glands don’t need strong stimulation to become active. And my tears flow until my nose cries.

15. In today’s age of bf gf, I still believe that love is traditionally most beautiful. I believe that there is no need to confess your love to your she/he & explain your private matters to the world until you confess the same in front of your parents and get the approval.

16. Messiness in my space or around it makes me mad. I try hard to remain silent it is caused by any friend or relative. But if the culprit is my brother, I can’t stop myself from being violent.

17. I don’t say that physical appearance doesn’t matter. It matters, but much less than the beauty of your soul. I never think that money doesn’t matter. It matters, but much less than the pricelessness of your virtues.

18. I don’t think that self-love is all about loving yourself. I think self-love is all about filling yourself with too much love so that you will feel the terrible need to donate it to others.

19. I let the nasty criticism of people flow with my tears. I let the sugary compliments of people fly in the wind of ignorance. After some time I feel like Abhisikta, adorned with my unique ordinariness, crowned with my flawed qualities.

P.S – I have written this piece back on 23.12.2019. Today I bumped into it again & thought to post it in my blog. Anyways, I realized that in last 8 months I have succeeded to leave the darkness written on point no. 3 & 9. And I am happy for this improvement of mine.

Respected professors

Respected professors

It is difficult for us to muster courage to write a letter to all of you. But hope convinced us that any mistake in these words would be forgiven by you. We also don’t know if we could have created some space in your heads & hearts in these few months of the semester. If we see the pedigree of this PBG department, we will be astonished knowing that how many generations of students you have planted till today. We know, your job is a pendulum oscillating between research & teaching. But for us, you all are the rulers of the world in which we are just stepping in. We hope you all will hold us, guide us & bless us always.

HOD sir! You break the myth that the head is always dominant over others. No screaming, no shouting, but you handle everything with calmness & understanding. The way you respond to others’ calls, the way you seek opinions of other professors during the presentation, we see humility adorning your persona so elegantly. Yesterday when other sirs denied to attend the celebration without you, we realized how much love you have spread among them.

Lenka sir! Our respect for you soars high when you advise us as your own children, when you talk to us as a friend. We like it when you encourage us to understand the concepts instead of mugging up everything. Your words of wisdom are the precious pearls we always try to collect & keep.

Jagadev sir! You always leave us in awe with the fluency in your talk & felicity in your face. Knowing about the long list of your achievements, we feel privileged to have you as our professor. Your personality is too pragmatic & par excellent to inspire each student coming across you.

Simanchal sir! If simplicity & amicability have a common face, then it must be yours. Throughout the class you teach so softly that we feel like listening to music without an inch of boredom, you dictate so smoothly that we feel like noting down poetry without an iota of exhaustion.

Bastia sir! You make us learn quantitative genetics in a qualitative manner. You always try to do justice with your duty even when your health obstructs the path. We appreciate it when you shift our conscience from the complex world of statistical formulae to the wonderland of your research experience.

Tapas sir! This semester you showered us with your knowledge in just one lecture. But your tone has so much strength to echo long in our minds without fading away. With your motivation, you snatch away our doubts regarding choosing pbg. With your humour, you gift us abundant laughter.

Kedar sir! Yesterday we met you for the first time & you taught us a lot of lessons just by sitting there, without saying anything. We saw pansies of patience garlanding your neck. We saw the diamond of down-to-earth nature crowning your head.

Manasi ma’am! Sweetness finds its home in your voice & beauty breathes in your smile. You are a perfect amalgamation of strictness & funniness. We see a mother figure in you when as a guide you defend your students during the seminar by lifting their mistakes to your head. This time google classroom united us with you more than the physical classroom did. But we are waiting for you to teach us from four feet distance in future. Ma’am, yesterday you said us to remember that the only constant in this world is change. But we wish the spring of your smile to never change into autumn.

We all have grown up from touching the feet of our teachers in school days to joining palms in front of our professors in college days. We all have grown up from listening about Dronacharya of Mahabharat to watching Jeetu bhaiya of Kotafactory. But deep inside we are still those kids who idolize their Gurus as Gods, who fear the punishment of their Gurus, who crave the blessings of their Gurus. Yesterday when the concert of nature was going on outside with lightning & thunder, our eardrums were reverberating with your valuable words. Thank you for giving us a chance to convey our admiration, although not in a grand way that you all deserve. We apologise to you all for any fault from our side. And we want you all to accept this letter as the token of our gratitude & reverence towards you.
HAPPY TEACHERS’ DAY to our honourable sirs & madam

1st year students of MSc. PBG, OUAT


Baba for mami

Contribution of Baba in the life of Mami

  1. Mami says Ajaa(maternal grandfather) & Aai(maternal grandmother) are not concerned about her wellbeing anymore & she is no more a burden for them. They are happy that by giving a daughter they have found a son in return. They are confident that their son-in-law is the best person to hold the hand of their Nina for the lifetime.
  2. For the world they are husband & wife. But for themselves, they are best friends for life. Destiny blessed him a friend with whom her secrets are safe with lock & key, with whom her night ends & day begins daily, with whom she cherishes joy & fights odds, with whom she can be she without any filter.
  3. If motherhood is the best gift of the Almighty for a woman, then Baba is the one for whom the Almighty choose Mami to bless her with this beautiful gift.
  4. Marriage makes them vow that till death do us apart. But their love for each other makes them partnering in anything & everything, be it pleasure or sorrow, be it guilt or gratitude, be it enjoyment or mourning, be it ordinariness or speciality.
  5. No crowded road, no deserted street, no beast, no demon, no darkness, no broad light, no stranger, no relative, no storm, no lightning has the ability to scare her when he is with her. He is her shield that protects her from every odd.
  6. As far as I have seen mami is not a pro in decision making. But once she made the best decision of her life by choosing baba as her life partner. Since that day baba has become a solution to her every confusion & a tick and cross for her every decision.
  7. Mami uses neither Lakme nor loreal, neither lipstick nor eyeliner, neither facepack nor foundation. But grace shines from her face because holiness resides in between her eyebrows & in her midparted hair and that holiness belongs to the temple that resides underneath baba’s left chest. Baba’s love, care & respect for her are the adornment that makes her look differently beautiful.
  8. She never steps out for marketing groceries, vegetables & nonveg. Even shopping utensils, furniture, clothes & jewellery alone is not her cup of tea. For her shopping is the hot coffee in the mug with the two straws that is meant to be sipped together, by him, by her.
  9. It is said that earning bread is husband’s duty & baking bread is wife’s duty. But this saying doesn’t fit in our home. Starting from sweeping the floor & cutting vegetables to washing the plates & making bed Baba lightens the load of work from the shoulder of mami.
  10. Mami calls herself a lucky wife because her children are the luckiest enough to have the best father. ©ruchiabhisikta

How does a woman’s loyalty look like

A woman’s loyalty looks like this

1. She becomes a ghost in her own body at the mere thought of being replaced by any other girl in his life. Replacement scares her more than death.

2. For her compliment from other guys is a burdened formality of saying thanks in return. But if he tells a single word appreciating her, it echoes in her mind endlessly as it will never come out.

3. Red may be a guest for her for whom she doesn’t want to open the door ever. But the mirror says that she looks like home when she paints vermilion in her mid parted hairs. Then she blushes red, his favourite shade of poetry.

4. She feels that lunch with every other guy friends is a tempt to tastebud, but lunch with him is happiness to heart.

5. She can’t digest the idea of today’s love which is multiplying for many. She believes that love has no modern meaning and loyalty doesn’t advance with ages. Love is a destination and loyalty is a journey.

6. Her sarcasm smirks loud when any flirtatious stranger shows his sorcery in front of her. The world calls her ‘magic’. But she gives all the credit to her magician, to him.

7. She doesn’t feel butterflies fluttering in her stomach anymore. She lets her caterpillar grow hoping for his arrival. Because he is the start of her settlement and the end of her search.

8.  Her loyalty towards him is sometimes soothing like the moon and sometimes burning like the sun. You will find neither another moon nor another sun.

Excreta of trust

What remains when trust vanishes

1. The garbage of memories. Memories of past moments which were once so useful to you that you craved those like a maniac. Now those memories stink so much to suffocate you with grief. You try hard to dispose them. But they remain.

2. The trophy of guilt. The trophy which is awarded to you for your true fidelity towards fake persons. Your calendar has changed its attire and you don’t deserve that trophy anymore. But that remains.

3. The high power magnifying glass. The magnifying glass which you used to keep only as a luxury without using it. Now it has become your daily need to observe the deepest layer of people before letting them enter your arena. Sometimes you wish to drop it & turn it into shards. But that remains.

4. The bouquet sarcastic smile. The smile that hangs from the corner of your lips when you read the face of people like a billboard, the billboard that announces “Don’t trust me.” You don’t want to wear that smile as you hate sarcasm. But that remains.

5. The crackers of tears. The crackers which you dry under the sun each day & those compete with stars in the night. You wonder how everyone misunderstands that explosion always makes noise. You wish to burn & bury all of them at once. But they remain.

6. The shrub of scepticism. The shrub that branches each day a little more. The people who care for you(maybe) put effort to uproot that shrub from the soil of your heart. But that remains.

7. The abyss of emptiness. The abyss you strive sincerely to fill with fragmented faith and close it forever. But that remains.

Wagah Border

When women of all age, caste, creed, culture danced to the tune of patriotic songs,
I got the real essence of two words-
“Independence” and “Equality”

When salutes and handshakes between BSF jawans and Pakistan Rangers were accompanied with showing off the dramatized muscular gestures
Two words confused me
“Cooperation” or “Competition”

When symmetrical lowering of flags of both nations was followed by shutting the gate
Two words tried to block my mind
” Harmony” or “Rivalry”

Those few hours at Wagah border made me reminisce the turbulent history,
analyse the contemporary relation
and anticipate the future situation of two sisters- Indian & Pakistan

My petty words can’t describe that mixed feeling of dignity, delight and terror when my body was present just a few yards away from a foreign land and my mind was filled with love for my motherland.

Their love lesson

I consider myself so lucky
to have parents who share
such an amazing chemistry
of love, respect and care

Their bond fits into physics
and never requires an elegy
as it will never end following
laws of conservation of energy

Zoology says Sibu & me are
the result of sperm-ovum pair
transforming into zygotes
by their biological warfare

Botany defines evergreen as the plant
whose foliage remains green throughout the year
I have never seen their love undergoing autumn
As the never-wilting connection is the thing they always cheer

Mathematics calculates that their life
goes on in an arithmetic progression
But the understanding between them
runs each day in a geometric progression

If their marriage is a literature
then their love is the grammar
which braids the story of divinity,
essay of loyalty & poetry of forever

Mami loves learning & teaching geography a lot
But for her, maps are only meant to be interpreted
Baba has never taken her for a tour beyond Odisha
But for it neither her heart has cracked nor their bond has exploded

History sings the eulogy of Tajmahal
as the devotion of Shahjahan for Mumtaj
But each corner of our home carves
baba’s devotion & mami’s dedication footage

Movies, serials, books & songs show us the romanticism
which teaches the theory of wedding
But their relation shows the respectfulness & acceptance
which demonstrates the practicality of a wedding.

What are poems!

Emily, you know poems are not just written words. They are the soft taps of reassurance for everyone that it’s okay to be imperfect, unique & misunderstood. They are the breathing of frozen ink & broken nib. They are the heartbeats of dusted papers & damaged typewriter. They are the birthday chocolates of an orphan who don’t know his parents’ names. They are the white lilies on the cadaver of an abandoned mother who wished for her death daily while alive. They are the photos of lost friends whom you meet every day, but without wishing each other a hello. They are the beads of mangalsutra hanging from a woman’s neck which loves to be adorned with the long life of her husband. They are the puddles where you see your reflection when the season of your eyes turns rainy. They are the sun rays that peep through your darkroom. They are the fluttering butterflies inside your stomach when your lover holds your hand. They are the fast-flying eagles in the sky of freedom when your account gets credited with your first salary. They are the dried leaves that fall upon you when you seat alone under the tree. They are the witness of your stressed eyes & sincere brain when the world sleeps under the lullaby of stars. They are the hands that pull you back when you try to jump from the fifth floor. They are the lotions that soothe your wounds which you hide from the entire world. They are the homes that embrace you like a family member when you are a mere refugee searching for asylum. They are the empires you win by defeating your fears of expression. They are the chorus that escapes from your chocked throat, they are the silence that pats your roaring mind. They are whiff of maturity, whim of childishness, tingle of love, tussle of envy, agony of heartbreak, aurora of ecstasy, petrichor of freshness & pickle of memories.

Emily, do you know how it feels when you comment ‘Well written ‘ on my post that drips from my laughter on a happy day! It feels like touching the sky.
Emily, do you know how it feels when you comment ‘Wow’ on my post that freezes with my tears on a gloomy night. It feels like sinking in the sea.

Being a blessed daughter

The no. of times when you make me feel like Abhisikta* gifting me the diadem of a daughter:

  1. When you treat Mami like a queen not by jewelling her on the day of your wedding anniversary but by hand combing her disordered hairs, holding her grainy hand listening to her whole day stuff, telling her yours in every evening of weariness and proving yourself as best of her friends
  2. You raise my hope even when I fail to reach up to your expectations. And when your words, your voice, your face and you become my sole strength, my only reason to rise from my fall
  3. During my menstrual cramp, I pinch you, punch you, beat you, accuse you of my pain, for my being a girl. And when you say smilingly “For my crime, God blessed me with my Ruchi.”
  4. I ask you to come from the office early so that I can go outside with you. You come home too late and tell me “Let’s go”. I frown at you. Later I listen to you telling Mami regarding your busy day. I remember your face when you have said: “Let’s go”
  5. When you reach the station an hour before I reach on the day of my homecoming
  6. I say -” I am gaining weight and from today I won’t touch single sweet.” You come home with an attractive pack containing all my favorite sweets. I tiptoe towards the fridge. And when you laugh out loud from behind
  7. Mami rebukes me saying that I’m not learning anything and how can I manage everything after marriage. And when you try to stop that topic right there by remaining silent
  8. You take me to restaurants to satiate your mind in the name of hygiene. But I urge to eat street food. I burn my tastebuds while trying to finish hot momos quickly. And when you snatch that hot plate from me, hold it in your hand and ask me to eat comfortably
  9. During the walk, we both try to cross each other. And you go ahead of me with your long steps. I act like breathing heavily. And when you stand to look back at me, I chuckle and cross you
  10. The days I have severe fights with brother, you first call him culprit even when half of the fault is mine also. And when you come near me and say-“Ruchi, I never expect these things from you”
  11. I ask you “where did all the good things in life go”. When you smile at me saying “Where are the bad things in your life. I can’t see them.” And I see the empire of all my good things in your smile


    *Abhisikta is a Sanskrit word that means enthroned girl

Barsaat Ki Dhun

Dear Barsaat ki dhun

It has been a week since I listened to you for the first time. That day, as usual, I was roaming in the jungle of youtube in search of some knowledge & wisdom. Suddenly I bumped into you. You were a newcomer, still, you had already grabbed millions of views. When I listened to you, I felt warmth in that rainy weather. Maybe with your warm embrace, you injected me with adrenaline and I helplessly fell in love with you. Since then, you are ruling my realm, be it Youtube or Spotify, be it night or day. Each time I plug in my earphone, it’s you there waiting for me. I must say that in those 5 minutes 42 seconds I feel like love is not that complex & crooked as we assume. It’s simple & sweet, just like you. I move into fairyland, each time you buzz in my ears. I get spellbound. What a lyrics! What a voice! What a tune! What a story! What a picturisation! What a composition!

किसी शायर का दिल बनके
बरसाती हैं बूँदें तुमपे
नज़ारा उफ़ क्या होता है
गुज़रती हैं जब जुल्फों से

You hooked me up from the first line itself with your surreal metaphor. For the world, the words of a poet may seem like the pearls of intellect. But if you visit the heart of a poet, all you will see is the raindrops of emotions pouring incessantly. When you fall in love, you romanticize everything. Even in the wet black tresses of your lover, you feel a rainbow of beauty peeping towards you. Funny, but true.

वो पहली सी बारिश बनके
बरस जाओ ना तुम हमपे
हवा का रुख बदल जाये
मोहब्बत करना तुम ऐसे

In this age of boyfriend girlfriend, still, some people lock their hearts until they meet someone whom they can call husband/wife. In this age of breakup & patch-up, still, some people have made up their minds to put a tick mark on the bride/groom of their parents’ choice. I hope people like these must have smiled after watching the picturisation of this song. Somewhere deep inside their heart, they must have dreamt a love story like this. Is there any girl who doesn’t like her lover following her in the road, rambling around her home, standing beside her with an umbrella during rain? Is there any boy who doesn’t like his lover returning back to look at him, smiling at him from her window, coming out of her house to meet him during rain? How much we grow up, we can never be civilised in love. Love is something that makes us kiddish, wild & berserk.

जिस्मों से बरसती बारिश ने रूह भीगा दी है
इस मौसम की साजिश ने ये नींदे उड़ा दी है
वैसे तो डुबाने को बस एक बूंद ही काफी है
सोचो तो जरा क्या होगा अभी रात ये बाकि है

I wonder how some people think romance is synonymous with sex. Don’t they ever feel that rain is the festival of romance & romance is the celebration of love! Those people who think that romance is all about undressing & getting undressed physically, I feel pity for them. Somedays walk holding the hand of your lover in a rain-drenched deserted road, somedays dance with your partner in the rain, somedays splash the puddle & laugh at each other, somedays share a single cup of coffee from a roadside stall with raindrops mixed in it, somedays make a paperboat with your names written on it & sail it together. You will feel a chill running down your spine & your heart getting filled with purity & contentment.

बिजली चमकी लिपट गये हम
बादल गरजा सिमट गये हम
होश भी हो जाने दो गुम
सुन सुन सुन बरसात की धुन सुन
सुन सुन सुन बरसात की धुन सुन
सुन सुन सुन बरसात की धुन सुन

When you find yourself in the tight embrace of your beloved, you feel loose, loose like the sand falling from the palm. You feel like you are in the safest place in the world. You feel like now thunder can’t snatch your tranquillity, lightning can’t scare your heart, wind can’t blow away your happiness. You lose your conscience, still, you feel everything. Lightning may land you in the world of exclamation. Thunder may throw at you the pebbles of interrogation. But somedays listen to the rimjhim of rain, all you can feel is devotion. Listen to barsaat ki dhun & you won’t be disappointed.

I convey my heartfelt thanks to all your creators, Jubin Nautiyal, Rochak Kohli, Anu Malik, Rashmi Virag, Gurmeet Chaudhary, Karishma Sharma, Ashish Panda & all the T-series team for gifting such a piece of soothing music. Many songs enter & leave our playlist without letting us know. But I hope you will stay & make me smile every monsoon, a little more.


Rain: A Reminder

Rain reminds me of happiness
when I see the children
paddling newspaper boats
on roadside rills & gushing ripple
with bunches of smiles dangling from their lips

Rain reminds me of enjoyment
when I see the young lads
playing football with completely drenched bodies & fully enthusiastic minds
& the playground getting soaked with their laughter

Rain reminds me of romance
when I see a young couple
sharing fixed gazes with each other
while sipping chai from the same cup
under an omfed stall

Rain reminds me of misery
when I see a handicapped beggar
trembling underneath the flyover
after dragging his broken legs for hours
& the raindrops kissing his bare wounds

Rain reminds me of anger
when amidst the soothing rimjhim music
suddenly thunder roars
making me relate to how the uncle staying next door
yells at aunty at midnight
when the whole city relishes with the lullaby of stars

Rain reminds me of purity
when petrichor gets birth
after mating of incessant precipitation
with the parched soil
And the wind carries that soulful scent to my nostrils

Rain reminds me of amour-propre
when I peep into the puddle
with my head loaded with taunts & tantrums of society
& the puddle stares me back calling me beautiful

Rain reminds me of my weakness & strength simultaneously
when all the agonies of my inside flow through my eyes
and all those pass away with the drizzle outside
leaving behind a suitcase of self-realisation.

Rain reminds me of change
when homemade pakoras taste better than domino’s pizza after so many days
when I see the wilted plant of our garden bearing loads of greens after so many months
when my diary heartily welcomes a happy poetry after so many days


Goodbyes aren’t as ugly as we think. They hold a folded beauty that we fail to notice. The culprit with a final judgement is much luckier than the one without judgement. Because he has the idea about his mistake and the punishment for that. But what about the person who is still unaware of where did s/he go wrong. It is much better to throw a goodbye instead of gifting your arrogance & ignorance on regular basis. It is much better to leave with a reason instead of allowing the other person to search a thousand reasons why s/he should leave the path on which you had once walked together. It is much better to shut the door instead of keeping the door open to allow the people to return, the people who never looked like guests once upon a time. Isn’t it right to cut that thread of the shirt whose button has already been missed! Because you know that thread will neither vanish by itself nor will regain its previous strength. Isn’t it right to bury the cadaver of your pet! Isn’t it right to uproot that dead plant on your terrace! Because you are not nincompoop. You have a brain. You know it very well that it is so stupid to cook for that pet, to water that plant anymore. Isn’t it right to become a full stop when hanging as an apostrophe suffocates you to death! You know what, the people who disappear from your life without giving a proper cease, don’t do it being a prey of circumstance. They do it out of choice. Because it feeds their ego, their attitude develop wings and their pride fly in the sky of illusionary worthiness carrying the message that “Look! I ditched him.” ” Yes! I left her”. Sometimes I wonder. Are some people so cold-hearted that they can’t give an ultimate goodbye! Or are some people so unworthy that they don’t deserve a clear closure!

Girls or gallantry

The girls in my poem share the same saga of life,

but sing it in different tunes.

Their skins are the crayons of various shades,

but their shadows call each other beautiful.

They are not the statues of opinions that other people build,

they are the mountains of individuality that God has created.

The twinkles in their eyes are revolutions

that can evolve one’s perspective

and their tears are courageous soldiers

who never walk back.

Sometimes their lips are the stories of silence and sometimes the poetries which never end.

Hormones march barefooted on their faces

And the world mistook their footprints as pimples.

Their faces engrave stories so deep, just like the ocean.

But their smiles always free float without dipping into the abyss.

Sometimes their tresses seem wavy like clouds in the sky

and sometimes straight like rays of Sun

Sometimes a night clads their tresses

and sometimes a sunrise settles there.

They aren’t the breasts underneath their kurtis which make them look attractive,

but underneath their breasts, they have hearts that make them attractive

that only a few dare to discover.

Their bodies are not prey for manhood,

but they are the shrines of sanctity where the world prays for a future.

Sometimes their minds become homes for monsters of mischief and sometimes for saints of innocence.

For them, walls of social norms grow taller each day a little more.

But the trophies of appreciation for their patience, passion & sacrifice become smaller each day a little more.

They all are equally pretty in their own ways

But truth is that your eyes hold the cobwebs of comparison

Your sugarcoated compliments aren’t their necessity when mirrors smile at them

All they need

All they crave badly

is to be understood

by me, by you, by the society, by the world.

I can’t conclude what to call them

Queens or reign

Fighters or struggle

Wizards or magic

Goddesses or apocalypse

Girls or gallantry!


The tragedy of hair fall

Noodles waves & brooms

Charcoal coffee & gold

Silky oily & rough

Ponytail, braid & bun

This is how the girls like me nickname them

Out of love

Love that smiles

looking at Juhi Chawla in Kesh king

and Vidya Balan in Nihar Naturals.

Dreaming the same lengthy shiny tresses one day,

each night I wet my scalp with oils

until some drops glide on my forehead.

Saving egg and onion from my omelette,

I apply them to my head

Ignoring the bone-breaking cold

I shampoo my hairs for hours

with the little hope that the prop roots of my banyan tree will strengthen my beauty

But the coiled strands in my comb,

glued strands on my chair,

scattering strands on the floor,

and hanging strands on my tee

sings the saga of betrayal,

betrayal of my hairs that is hard for me to accept

Maa blames my fast food for this

Papa says your stress is the real culprit

and Bhai mocks me telling to cut my hairs short

Relatives who had seen the past richness of my flora sympathises me now

and my dear friends embrace me with the same pinch

Travelling the road from the boys’ barbershop

to high priced ladies parlour,

my hairs have raised their worth

The worth that jumps in anger

when someone defines them as mere strings of keratin

The worth that jumps in laughter

when I cry for them & pray for their development…