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An Individual who is passionately in love with the immortal poetry of Nature. One who is striving towards the attainment of spiritual harmony.

Sunday, January 6, 2013

"...and the world was silent again" for Lalit.

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 35; the thirty-fifth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for the month is "...and the world was silent again"

He had to let her go, far, far away from him, across the seven seas, into a land unknown to him, into a world where he had no entry. She, who was the love of his life, his only hope, his only friend, the only woman who gave meaning to his sustenance. She was indispensable for him, as he was for her. Such was the compatibility that existed between the two. Such a harmony which was soon to come to an end, they never knew...

The rhythm was shattered by the entry of a stout and handsome young man, a supposed soldier, a traveler as well,  into Aparna’s life; he who stole her heart away. She fell madly in love, (for who would not?) with this gentle, loving man of twenty eight. They soon went to a nearby temple and got united in holy matrimony.


That was the last that Lalit saw of her, staring at him with her enormous, pretty eyes,waving him goodbye, leaving him with a loneliness that was emphatically destructive.


Years passed by… every new day brought him with a new hope that he would hear from her, that she still would say that she loved him, still cared for him. Oh! Why did he let her go? Why couldn’t he stop that man from taking his sole joy away from him? He could sense that Aparna was sure to try to be in touch. But alas!there was no news, no calls, no letters. Was this the kind of reciprocation that was expected from his unconditional love for her? For how long could he hold on to his patience?  He longed to see her, to hear, at least for once, her soft, sweet voice, to see the satiated smile on her lips, before he could breathe his last.

2nd of January, 2013, the fiftieth year of his birth, a parcel arrives at Lalit's beggard door. Quite confused, his gaze falls at the address, yes, it was correct, and the name was his; and the sender’s name... some Sophie from Milton, Romania. Sophie? He couldn't recollect that name. Curiously enough, while unraveling the filthy ribbons attached to the tiny box, he discovered a small note that was stuck to a corner. Breathlessly unfolding it, read through the lines…

“Aparna's  wish was that this box must reach you at any cost, for you were the one whom she was desperate to see  before her last breath. She escaped from her devastated village during the communal rife and took refuge here. Her husband was killed in the political combat. She was badly injured when she had arrived. She was physically, as well as mentally tortured in her village and outcast by the society of her husband. She somehow managed to escape with the help of a kind and common friend, who brought her at my doorstep, to be kept and treated under my custody. She was four months pregnant at the time. But her injuries were too deep, which she could endure not more than a week…”

His soul lost, could read no further, grasping for breath, he rummaged through the contents. Much to his dismay, he found all those undelivered letters for him, which were never cared to be posted. With his dry, trembling fingers, he unfolded the freckled, yellow pages, which read the story of her regret and shame of her marriage to a brutal terrorist, her unsuccessful attempts to escape the torture of his inhuman fury and the physical abuses of her in-laws.How incessantly she  thought of Lalit and missed him desperately at each and every moment of her suffering, that she was sorry to have left him alone to fall for a gentle stranger who turned out to be a brute. She begged and begged for forgiveness...

With eyes sore, and heart crumbling to dust, he found the pictures of her childhood, when she was a little kid, holding on to his fingers, learning how to take the first step, the pictures depicting the tale of their togetherness, of their love...he also found, among the contents, compressed into a small ball,  the very first sweater that he had knitted for her on the first winter of her life.

Lalit's wait was over. He was but a waking corpse. Pressing the memories to his breast, uttered a cry of anguish at his immense loss, the cry of his soul with a throat that spilled blood over her name ...

"Aparna, Aparna…"

“My daughter, oh, my daughter…”

Once again, his world turned silent, ever since the silence after the demise of his beloved wife, some five and thirty years ago while giving birth…the silence, now complete.

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

Sunday, April 1, 2012


This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 26; the 26th Edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The topic for this month is 'That Last Night'.

While the festive season was on,
The Goddess, welcomed with hands outstretched
With hymns, prayers... abounded with colour the lively world
Smile on each face, enthusiasm and anticipation in all hearts
To go on fast for the nine days of Navrathri...
Such a time of devotion, sacred togetherness, such vivacious gathering...

Never did I know then that it would be the night last
That last night and the last time that I would speak to you, my Mother,
And the day next, SILENCE...thy cold lips could no longer move to utter praise for the Almighty...
Thy immaculate worship, turned but to dust...
To perish underneath the surface...
Thy holy soul, departed forever from this earthly abode…I stood as stiff as a stone...
Gazing at thy still body...lying motionless on the ground...Thy limbs drawn stiff, immovable...
So helpless was I that night...was left a disabled spectacle of anguish...
While the merry tunes were resounding the air with mirth and joviality.

The silence of that space, that part of my being, still stands void…
Without you... the most precious, my Mother.
The countless days and the lonely nights that I keep missing you
Ceaselessly, incessantly, the essence of your gait...
Still lingers in the breeze...I feel your presence,
I smell the aroma of your reckless locks...
You are here, yet invisible to the naked eye.


Years passed by, my sole dependence on you alone, my Father
My friend, my guide, my comfort, with whom I shared my joys and my pangs
Who cared for more than a mother during the tough hours of parturition...
The one who guided me to climb the heights of prosperity...
Pacified each other by the sweet exchange of words, over an evening cup of coffee...
He, who was the strength that sustained my living... until, again…
This cruel cruel destiny, envious of this petite solace of togetherness...
Once again, it was the night that was the last…
That last night and the last time that I spoke to you, my Father
And the day next, SILENCE… thy parched lips, immovable... no more of those loquacious evenings...
The eternal darkness that has engulfed me now , that vacant treasury of my heart which yearns for thy blessed touch
So far away from mortal reach you are, gone to an unknown world of perpetual peace...the most precious…my Father
I know you are, yet invisible to my naked eye...

Lost to infinity, my love, my worship, my beloved parents
Those fatal nights which'll keep haunting me to my grave.

Life is but an endless dream,
Striving each day for wealth, for fame...
Till you reach the last night of your life's doom
And then, nothing remains…the cemetery is the wrong place to hold your material bounty,
You are a poor man at your grave...
Just a dusty identity engraved in the tombstone
Glaring at the oblivious world, speechless, motionless and helpless...

Such unpleasant occurrences have left me a perspicacious individual
Wishing to live each day gloriously and conquer 'That Last Night' to come, with commendable deeds, a true successor of pure blood...
And leave behind a smile that the world shall remember.

A tribute to my parents, who are no more...

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

Monday, August 15, 2011


This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 23; the twenty-third edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for this month is FREE.

Twilight, the myriad colours of the vast horizon penetrate through the wavering thoughts of Sereen, bringing to the fore varied images of life’s authentic existence. It juggles between the confounded theory of fidelity in marriage and the betrayal from her own soul mate. It has been fifteen years of turmoil and trepidation, love and hatred, insult and remorse. Constant endurance left her a voluntary handicap in taking a stern decision for her living self. It’s an unforgivable existence, a hellish survival, created by the entry of an abominable female, the other woman, and that too, after so many years of togetherness, where she had been a perpetual support for her husband during joy and woe, success and failure, in every walk of life...now, the other woman is the prime cause of the ultimate damage to their otherwise trusted relationship. Its time to make a decision, to put an end to the monotonous ignominy of verbal interactions. Her hypersensitive psyche cries to be free, free from the clutches of matrimonial bondage. Her injured ego can no longer undergo the resentful attitude, the humiliating approach of her husband's irrational behaviour.

Ever since their marriage, it was his limitless desire to be fondled and flattered. For him, the love for the self played a dominant role in the ignition of petty issues in day to day affairs, irrespective of the responsibilities that a normal family life demand. Even the birth of a child brought no sense of mature thinking towards the fulfilment of paternal duties. On the other hand, Sereen was absolutely dedicated to her home and her profession. She did established herself as an accomplished woman of substance, but the weighty burden of servitude, both at home and at work place, left her, at times, a coaxing individual, much to the dislike of her husband. She, inadvertently ignored her husband’s relentless hankering for that physical urge, which eventually led to a liaison with his present mistress, crushing the pillars of their concrete mansion, built on the principles of loyalty and devotion.With such an abhorrent attitude, he confessed that he wants to ditch her for good, and also his child... that he finds heaven in the company of his new found present love. Yet, his hypocritical self prevents him to make a public declaration of his inexplicable intentions.

Sereen has been a noteworthy figure amongst friends and relations. With her charm and poise, she has been loved and respected by one and all. Her sincerity, dedication towards work, her self-respect brought her fame and popularity. She has been a perfect mother and a great daughter-in-law. Then what did really go wrong? How is it that during the fifteen years, her husband overlooked such virtuous qualities? Where, at the twilight of their life, priority stands in the upbringing of their only lovable child, that innocent soul, who has been experiencing an incessant grief of indignant interaction in the house. At such a tender age, she has neither understanding, nor the power, to retaliate or to subjugate such irresponsible mannerisms of the seniors. Being a concerned mother, she cannot, at any cost, put her child’s future at stake for such an apathetic man. She has to break loose from the emotional ties which still impel her to compromise and adjust with circumstances beyond her control. But is he really worth this sacrifice? Her desperate attempt to seek consolation leaves her abashed and mentally unbalanced. If love leaves as residue anguish and venom, then is it worth the sacrifice that it demands?

At the crossroads, life often produces complicated predicaments. It becomes a major issue to many, specially at critical junctures, whether to take or not to take that one bold step...innumerable hurdles to cross perhaps, profuse hardships to encounter, yet life has to move on. In this crucial juncture, Sereen is, perhaps, averse to perceive the rainbow in the sky, but, if one thinks profoundly, the other side of every fear, is freedom. One day, Sereen will also be free, but the question is, when?

Only when we are enslaved, do we yearn and strive to be free. Once we are free, do we handle with care this ultimate achievement?

                                                                  HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY TO ALL  

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

Sunday, April 3, 2011


This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 19; the nineteenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

“Lead yourself from the unreal to the ultimate truth, from the darkness of your mind to a world of light and from the death of ignorance to the immortality of knowledge. Transform your thoughts into actions and make your journey a pleasurable route to a blessed destiny.”

Lies in our subconscious the divination
Of an idyllic world, enamored by infantile chastity
Of the shepherd hearing his lamb’s tender reply
While grazing the folks in the sojourn mountains and valleys.

This happens to be the halcyon harbour
Of an unknown journey to a strange new destination
With a concupiscence to achieve the extremity
Intellect becomes oblivious to the satiety of the peregrination.

Childhood diffuses the beam of the morrow
Leaving fond impression of bygone memories
Unforeseeable fortune should not be the barricade
To disrupt the harmony of the manifold tunes or be the cause for worries.

A material youth juggles with interrogations of basic fulfilments
“When can I buy a new Mercedes Benz?”
“When can I eat out of German Silver?”
“When can I pay off my mortgage?”

Life becomes wretched in such disgraceful pursuit
Rapturous youth departs from the living
Wealth is achieved which might go astray
It’s only the accomplishment of ‘belief’ which lingers with the being.

 In this wondrous promenade leading to the Elysium
Two distinctive souls are united in holy matrimony
It’s the music which creates this melodious strain
Adorning the saunter with either comfort or agony.

A thousand different circumstances contribute to a single journey
It’s the liberty of the self to think, feel and do as he yearns
In this tangible world, is there really a Station?
In the trip it self lies true happiness, not in the ultimate destination.

Such an inevitably arduous journey is meliorated by a truthful comrade
Who stands by in good times and bad, draught, riot, war, king’s court and even after obliteration  
To walk side by side when the rest walks either in front, or behind
Asserting every challenge as a veracious and a hospitable guide.

A journey is like a home to enrich a hankering soul
With no regrets of tomorrow or fear of the future
With sight as blind and spirit as elevated
Get through the hardest instances by taking just one step at a time.

“Life perishes leaving behind a miraculous wonder
The good deeds in the world to seek and ponder.
The twilight sky after the set of the golden sun
Brings gentle breeze for the living to stay warm.
The nostalgic melody continues its mellifluous hum
In this beautiful journey, holding hands, keep moving along.”
The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Saturday, December 4, 2010


Michael Hopkins sat clumsily on a bench in Greenway Park. It was a warm summer month, at 6:30 in the evening. The little ones, some of them were fondling with the sand, some were enthralled at the play field , old men and women dotted on the benches, the distinguished players were having a  tournament of soccer. The eccentric young couples were seen strolling through the long promenade, involved in crucial discussions, arousing curiosity of the passerby. The aroma of the maple leaves and blueberry bushes were being carried by the partially algid breeze. A few vehicles were seen to be moving languorously in the dark street.
It was a pleasing scene for anyone who wished to spend some time after the rushing lifestyle of urban dwelling. Hopkins was observing each expression with intent, reflections of the sudden disappearance of his wife was flashing across his mind. The ten years of solitude and anxiety about the incident, left him with a realization that a great deal of mystery is involved in the revelation of character in life, even if it is his own character to himself.
Dusk was spreading its gloom over the entire expanse, the western sky was emitting shades of orange, violet and blue. Visibility was getting poorer. Margaret, his pretty and charming wife, by a blunder of fate, was born in a lower middle-class family. Having received normal education from high school, with a mediocre circle of friends, she had no chances of getting known, or being married to a distinguished guy.  Her only sacred possession was her beauty, which placed her high in the rank of women who were keenly sought after. She was a dreamer. She dreamt of exotic outings, branded shopping, expensive parlours, candlelight dinners, aristocratic gatherings, delightful operas and ardent appreciation by dignified men of honour.
 She was unhappy, very unhappy with the reality that life imposed upon her. She wanted to flee, get rid of her commonplace existence and pursue the dreams that she cherished. She wanted to live the life of a queen with fame and fortune kissing her feet. She wanted an opportunity, she was seeking for the same.
Hopkins had always been a very humble and hard-working clerk, an accountant in a small government firm. He was always content with achieved perspectives. He neither had flying ambition, nor platonic expectations. His looks were ordinary too, unlike his wife.  Set against their contradictory ideologies, his love for her was illimitable. But due to the pressure of fulfilling her immaterial appeals, he could barely spend time with her. He worked hard, tried to earn overtime, worked during the long weekends. Even while at home, he tried to labour on his files. He wanted to keep her happy and satiated. What he never realized in their two years of married life was her ignorance and detestation of him. He believed that she was happy with his modest expression of adoration.

Darkness was looming large, veiling the street and walkways. People were receding to their cosy chambers to conclude a day of intense activity. Hopkins rose from his seat to proceed towards his apartment. The mysterious disappearance of his wife since ten years, left him absolutely in solicitude. Since ten years he had been trying to locate her, travelling from pillar to post  to get some kind of information based on her whereabouts. Neither any of her relatives, nor friends could give any news. One distant relative told him that she was heard to be in Waterloo, a small town, a few miles from Toronto. But he wasn’t aware of the address. Ever since then, he came to live in Waterloo, took up a petty job and continued with the never-ending quest, with the simple hope that some day, he would find her.
As he was sombrely progressing towards his apartment, the brief message which she left for him just the day she vanished, flashed in his memory. He could still not figure out the sense of the words, or the actual cause of her departure. It read:

Dear Michael
I have perceived a castle and in pursuit of it, I wave good bye.

The unfathomable theory of devious character analysis was far beyond Hopkins’ incomprehensive intellect. On his return from work, absolutely exhausted, he found the note placed on top of the rusted gas stove. He saw that the room was messy, unlike the other days, the clothes were lying scattered on the bed and chair. The old, wooden dressing table was disorganized. That wasn’t Margaret’s accustomed arrangement.  In the refrigerator, he found the cold meat, cooked the previous night, the wasted vegetables and a half bottle of wine. The quietness of the four walls, the sinister ticking of the clock, the dismantled furniture, all brought to his mind the fear of the unknown. He read through the message over and over again, but couldn’t decipher its true sense.
Perhaps she deserved more attention! Perhaps he had been ignorant of his limited camaraderie! How could she walk out without any confabulations? He could find no answer to the never-ending queries that the note kindled. He felt that his puny cell had lost its breath. The loneliness was gripping his soul. He couldn’t imagine a life without her. She was the oxygen of his sustenance. She was the inspiration of his perseverance. He came to a realization that success in a marriage does not come just by finding for yourself the right mate, but by being the right mate. As he stood at the door gazing at the scattered items, he couldn’t hold back the incessant tears of excruciating deprivation. He would, for certain, change for better once she returns. What could be the mystery behind the sudden desertion?
Since then, he’d been desperately foraging for the food of his existence. He was, perhaps, coming to terms with the fact that she might no longer be alive. Before he could proceed towards the elevator, he went to the laundry room to collect his clothes, which he had put to wash before he left for the park. As he was about to pick the items up, a frail and sickly lady, a cleaner maid, was trying to push through the way with a trolley carrying various cleaning liquids and wash cloths.
He moved aside to clear the passage. As she drew nearer, he was awestruck by the familiar posture of an apparently visible apparition, which benumbed his senses and congealed his spirit. What an unimaginable transformation he was witnessing! Was it the undistinguishable countenance that he had been yearning to possess over the years? Was it the same person, the quest for whom became the life force of his sustenance?
 The lady, equally struck with bewilderment and embarrassment, drastically tried to push herself out of the entrance in haste. The unexpected meeting with the person whom she had ditched ten years back, placed her beneath the sharp edge of a guillotine. She wanted to escape without being recognized or interrogated, until the warm caress of those familiar arms barred her exit.
He could see her acutely then. A lean figure, stooped due to premature aging,  perceivable wrinkles at the forehead, untidy grey curls falling loose on her bent shoulders, the pathetic look of those large brown eyes, sheltered by dark, wrinkled contours. She was shabbily dressed, torn at every fold. A stark contrast to the unmatchable beauty of her youth. Unmistakably it was Margaret ! His Maggie!  His prayers have been answered! He was overjoyed. His long quest, finally, brought a rainbow of colours in his bleak spirit. He thanked the Almighty for keeping her alive. 
“My love, finally, finally I found you Maggie. How I missed you, how I longed to see you. But why? Why in this state?”
He kissed her again and again. Margaret, still under stupor, ashamed of her demeanor, of her attire, of her betrayal, bursting with regret and remorse, wanted to flee from his adorable arms, but he held her tight for sure, to support her, to annihilate her agony, her misery, demanding no explanation.
Struck with utter penitence and ignominy, she started to bawl severely, letting loose her extreme affliction.
“Michael, I deserve to be castigated. For the name of God, let me go. I committed a hellish act. I don’t deserve to be loved so intensely.”
“Maggie, stop. I don’t want to know why you quit your home or walked out of my life. After years of meditation I got you back. We can start afresh. There is time. Let’s go home, let’s forget what went by and welcome a new beginning.”
Margaret was taken aback at Michael’s proposal . She couldn’t escape the thought that the workings of the human heart gives rise to the profoundest mystery of the universe. For a moment, we get despair of our kind, and the very next moment, we see in them a reflection of a divine image. She wanted to talk, to tell him the story of her temptation and betrayal, and the cause of her misery.
“No, Michael, before you take me in, I must tell you the mystery which might have haunted you till this day of the eclipse. Please don’t stop me, my sins will never be redeemed if I don’t reveal the truth.”
“As for forgiveness, I never thought that you ever committed any sin. My only concern was your well being. What grieves me most is to see my beautiful bride in a paroxysm of languish. If you think that the revelation would assuage your soul, go ahead, I lend my ears.”
“I always had high ambitions. I was never content with the salary that you brought home and the life that I was leading. My soaring desire for recognition and wealth, placed me in the loving arms of Edgar, the son of the wealthy businessman, who lived in our locality. He wooed me, flattered me, promised me a grand life, the life that I longed to experience. That particular day, we eloped. He brought me here, saying that they were opening up a new factory of which he was the proprietor. He started to work and we were leading a normal and happy life. Within two years time, we were blessed with a son.
 I never knew, till then, there was waiting for me a reversal of fortune. Shortly, after our son’s birth, I realized that Edgar was keeping himself aloof from me. I had asked him several times, but he never revealed. I took it to be a casual factory affair. But gradually, his temperament showed a complete change in is attitude towards us. When one day, his close friend, briefed me of the fact that Edgar’s wife  wanted him back and his dad cautioned him against loss of his share of property and deprivation of ownership of the present firm, if he wasn’t ready to take her back. She was the daughter of another renowned industrialist and their marriage was a business deal. Edgar always disliked her because of her haughty insolence. Edgar’s father-in-law threatened to seize their family business for he was trusted with the power of attorney by his dad. We were not married, he couldn’t though. It was a live- together understanding. He straightaway asked me to move out of his life. He neither had any concern for me, nor for our little son. He abused me and confirmed that I brought misery to his life, responsible for his downfall. I had to move out, for he threatened to kill me and my son, if I went against his will.
Penniless, homeless, with a baby at my breast, I had been leading a harsh life, working in factories and cleaning apartments to nurture my son, who is now eight years of age. I realized the fact that the face of a lover is unknown, precisely because it is manifested with so much of oneself, a mystery having the possibilities of torment. I have to pay for my sins, I am bound to suffer. I cant be a burden on your pious soul. How I wish I could have comprehended your feelings, your selfless love for me, your sacrifice... no, I am a sinner. Please go away.”
“My Maggie, every human being is bound to make mistakes, take multifarious decisions which may prove to be erroneous. Life is so full of complexities and imperfections. At times its difficult to resist temptations. But you have worked really hard all these years for the sake of your innocent child. Your sins are paid off. Where is my son? Lets go and see him, Maggie. You don’t need to work now. You’ll illumine my life with mirth. Let’s live happily and bring up our kid with good education and supportive parenting.”
There wasn’t anything left for Margaret to proclaim. She had forsaken a Saint, in pursuit of a Demon. She remembered the lines that she came across in one of the books that she read earlier:
“Love rules the court, the camp, the grove, And men below, and saints above: For love is heaven, and heaven is love.”
Walter Scott

Life itself is a mysterious journey, an incredible odyssey, neither visible, nor reasoned by mortal senses. In this enthusiastic journey towards the ultimate destination, marriage, a phenomenal occurrence, cannot be held by a chain. It is woven by hundreds of tiny threads which sew a couple together through the years. Even if you fall out of love for one another, wait till the bond keeps you together to fall in again. Its a unison of two mysterious characters which takes a little effort to understand, compromise at times and also, if needs be, a little sacrifice...the mystery will spontaneously be resolved and life will lead to an endless stream of glory.

 The addition of the right spices in correct proportions works a delicious and appetizing meal. What is your opinion?

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