Men ~ there are so many kinds of em !

Hard working men are dili-GENT, 
Smart workers are intelli-GENT


Agreeable ones are conver-GENT, 
Rebellious one are insur-GENT, 
Radical thinkers are tan-GENT

Rulers are re-GENT, 
Middle men are a-GENT, 
Poor ones are indi-GENT

Some men are pun-GENT, 
cos they are negli-GENT, 
others use deter-GENT

Control freaks are strin-GENT,
Easy to yield are indul-GENT

Bright men are efful-GENT, 
Ones still rising are emer-GENT

& some just don't quit, they are resur-GENT !!

MS - the dancing Madonna

MS had always been a dancer. The music never mattered; it could be rock n' roll, blues, pop, bollywood peppy numbers, she loved them all. She would close her eyes and with a blissful smile begin to move to her own sense of rhythm. Her smile so fresh as if she's just heard the first joke of her life. It was always pretty to see her sway to her own mental notes. She never worried about a partner, MS danced by herself. As if her soul and her body were the two partners, dancing in sync with each other.


We went to a discotheque once. They had flashing lights, booming speakers, crowd comprising of mostly students and loud music. Whatever music was playing, MS moved effortlessly on the floor. Her smooth twists and twirls would have made any good gymnast admire and envy her at the same time. On another occasion she played some number on youtube over the laptop speakers and danced in the room. She commanded the whole floor, moving back and forth like a Gopika in her bhakti trance; until sweat was dripping down the middle of her back. I was lost in the moment and took a while to applaud her when she finished.


Dancing with MS was a challenge. It was a communication class. There were no exams or grades but you were supposed to answer the questions raised in her movements and also expected to pose your own. There were no books, yet many topics were covered, including faith, trust, work, family, aging, love, forgiveness and even death. She taught the meaning of life, the final bridge between life and death being narrated in her moves. She was a research if only one could study her dancing and learn. The last lecture was very brief though. It felt like a funeral procession instead of a graduation ceremony. The dancing stopped.

Rain !!

I watched with amazement as rain droplets covered the window and a thick stream dripped right at the center of the pane. Sipping my cuppa, I leaned in closer to hear the a-la nightingale sound, awaiting my flight departure at the Mumbai airport. I watched the bubbles rise in the puddles with amazement as each drop made a spatter. In my mind, the professional said ~ 'what the heck, another flight delay'; but soon the kid overpowered him and said ~ 'let's enjoy one of the greatest gift of nature, Rain !!' I soon forgot my trivial worries in the grandiose sight and the anticipation of the sweet smell that would permeate from the soil beneath.

As a kid, I always loved rains, jumping in the puddles, sliding over the wet mosaic of the balcony. It was time to play games other than cricket in the colony playground. I loved watching the rain wet the leaves and cleanse the trees, rocks and buildings. I would imagine the Rainbow to be a huge seven colored swing on which the rain-god took a ride. Some of my most memorable walks have been in the rain. All wet, I would lift my head to the sky and let the rain fall on my face with my mouth open wide, as if requesting heaven to pour out its nectar of life.

Even after the rain is gone, the cool zephyr would fill the home; the surroundings become so clear as if everything has been given a fresh top-coat; the sound of the water as it gushes through the drainpipes in the neighborhood, the moistness at the corners of the windows and walls, all affirming that GOD was here and she showered her catalyst of growth and life today.

I guess everyone loves rain for some reason or the other. It's amazing how a simple phenomenon of precipitation continues to give ~ inspiration to poets, imagination to artists, free irrigation to farmers, brings life to the half dead - half open buds, quench of thirst to the 'Chataka' (mythological bird that drinks only rainwater), food diggers get an excuse for relishing 'Pakoras', kids get to sail there 'Kagaj ki kashtis' and get drenched in Nature's love shower and all living things get respite from the harsh summer. 

To me, being in the rain revitalizes my soul. The lyrics of Madonna's song quite aptly describe my feelings:

Feel it on the finger tips
Hear it on the window pane
Let love come down like, Rain

Wash away the sorrow
Take away the pain
Let love come down like, Rain !!

I'm looking forward to the monsoon ........... I hope it comes soon !!

Manjistha - My journey with an Angel

Travel by Indian Railways has become miserable. Dirty compartments, security is practically non-existent, disabled unfriendly, ever stooping level of service by railway staff; and GOD bless if one visits the toilet. I'll save my criticism for another time but I hope DIDI (or the next Railway minister) will do something, sometime.

Anyways, so here I was travelling to my hometown after months, feeling nostalgic, stressed (thanks to local Delhi conveyance), but looking forward to a relaxing weekend at home. There was still some time for the train to depart, but I decided to settle down on my side lower berth, took out 'The story of my experiments with truth' and began to read Gandhiji's experiences and events in apartheid South Africa. Just as the train began its slow departure from the platform, I was joined by a sweet 4 yr old girl accompanied by her smartly dressed mother. Just one look at Manjistha (her name, that I came to know of later) told me that Gandhiji will have to wait for my return journey, as I was already lost in her black eyes and innocent charm.

They both settled opposite me and it wasn't long before I stuck a conversation with Manjistha's mother. As it turned out they were also from Gwalior and she knew a lot of people in my locality. Coincidently, she also knew a lot of professors from my engineering college as they had studied together. Thankfully though, she hadn't heard of my misdemeanors either in Gwalior or my college.

So, once the ice was broken and maa was at ease with the stranger, me and Manjistha started chatting. Soon she came over to my side of the berth and started playing with my mobile. I was amazed at this toddler's ability to learn the functions of such a complex technological gadget in a matter of mere minutes. After a snack break, we started singing poems and jingles together; she even told me a story about a dog called Comet. I was laughing and enjoying this so much that no passenger in the audible vicinity had any doubt about who the bigger kid was.

Manjistha got tired after a while and decided to snuggle into me for her nap, still holding onto my mobile in her hands. A tear formed in the corner of my eye as she hugged me in her sleep without any fear, trepidation or concern. What a fool I was to have missed this platonic bliss while T was there. I played with her hair while the angel slept in complete abandon to the earthly issues of time, money and resources; that me and her mother kept discussing.

The train was about to reach our destination when she woke up. She was feeling hungry and decided to munch popcorns. When I casually declined her offer, she pushed one right into my mouth and didn't lower her hand till I had finished eating it .......... 'Ek popcorn ka woh dana, sukh de gaya mujh ko manmaana'. I guess for children, kindness is impulsive. They know that what you give with all your heart return to you blessed and multiplied.

Unfortunately, like all times, this journey too came to an end as we reached Gwalior by late evening. As we started deboarding, I held her in my arms to save her from the in-rush. I bid adieu to Manjistha and her mother after we got down and started to head home. That little girl and her sweet hug will stay in my heart forever. Btw, her mother told me that Manjistha actually means a medicinal herb (could there be a better name). Who knows what she may grow up to be, but to me, Manjistha will always be an angel and a sweet memory of love and compassion.