Wednesday, 22 April 2015


Sunday, 22 February 2015


Monday, 26 January 2015

Paradise within the wild.

The safaris were hopeless, yes. I didn't get to see any sort of predators, this fact agitated me - agreed. I found it all disappointing, I admit. I lost interest during safaris a lot of times because herbivores are something I can even get to see in my own city, to be honest. 
But, sometimes, when one bothers to look beyond the shadow of the hood covering their head, they get an opportunity to see something not pretty, classy, elegant or cool but, fascinating. Who knew I would get a chance to sing the Coldplay song, "This could be para- para- paradise. Para- para- paradise. Could be para- para- paradise.Whoa-oh-oh oh-oooh oh-oh-oh."

Ranthambore Trip , 2015. 

Sunday, 18 January 2015


On the suggestion of a dear friend (thank you Zeal), I have decided to put up my random musings on the blog. Attempts to improve the content will be made, I promise. 
Here's to the first one. 

Tuesday, 16 December 2014

The Party.

Shimmering lights,
Gazing eyes;
Boasting might
And, saying lies.

Shaking hands,
Warm hugs;
Making friends
And, raising mugs.

Stroking beards,
Blushing cheeks;
Playing billiards
And, the alcohol reeks.

Avoiding embarrassments,
Exchanging gifts;
Expressing endearments
And, offering lifts.

Wishing farewell,
And, walking through the doors
Leaving for the host, cleaning chores. 

Friday, 17 October 2014

The missing fragment of ardour...

The book lay open,
With memories forgotten
The present unopened
With the time to come, unwoven.

Pages with burnt edges,
Underlined clauses
And, dramatic utterances.
All, binded within a frame
Which was nothing
An evidence of the time
 That had already lost its fame.

The chapters, as they perpetuated,
Love stirred and so did hatred.
Intensity prolonged,
Misconceptions formed
And, our story was eventually torn.

Pondering about what is gone,
And, acting all forlorn.
It is not a crime
Squandering time.

With a few emotions at cost,
The tenderness in me became sore
And, the faith in you got lost.
I ask for nothing more

The piece of my soul that you once tore.

Thursday, 4 September 2014


I could see a trail of blood all over the battleground. A clear, deep blue stream flowing down the edge, falling drop by drop on the plains below, creating a small puddle. It was fascinating as to how there was greenery all around. Dark green bushes to parrot green herbs with traces of pink and orange dots which seemed like flowers. I raised my eyes a little and saw a layer of white, stagnant at a side with different shades of blue flowing upon it which seemed like the sky. Tall and slender men with bushy heads were lying still, oblivious to their surroundings, with blood dripping from their bushy heads. An empty caravan with an opening on the top of it instead of the side was lying in a corner. It seemed to have tumbled over. By the caravan, I could see a well, taller than its surroundings and translucent, filled with clear water. After seeing it, all I could do was  wonder about who could have made it in the middle of a battleground. On the other side of the battleground, I could see a long symmetrical structure with a sharp edge on one of its ends and somehow, it reminded me of a spear. The longest spear I'd ever seen. Beside this unusually long spear, was kept, as it seemed to be, a partly white and grey box with one of its sides new and unused and the other one blunt with usage. Everything seemed to be a mess on the battleground except the rectangular white plain which was lying undisturbed at the far end of the ground. As I was looking around with curiosity bubbling within me, I suddenly saw two clamps holding a white dish consisting of samples of the blood I'd just seen, the stream, the greenery, the clear water from the well and, I could also see a part of the sky in it only more vibrant in color than the one I had seen.  I looked in scrutiny, only to realize that the clamps were actually a pair of hands. I dared to gaze above and, I met her curious eyes, her eyebrows raised in question. I noticed one of the dead men tucked behind her ear but, the man didn't seem to have blood on his bushy head, instead, it was clean, the dark brown shade of his hair clearly visible. Amidst my observation, I heard a voice ask,
 "Why are you staring at the painting equipment? Why don't you clean up the spilled paints, wash the used brushes? ", and, I snapped back to reality, forgetting my reverie.