Sometimes, an author just rambles on...

His words find meaning only when the harmony of his soul matches that of the reader...

Otherwise they are just mere words, juxtaposed to create a pleonasm. 

As I prepare for the battle, a war wages within... so much is at stake, that Mahabharat's gamble would be put to shame.


But I have to carry on... if not for myself, for the guardian angels that I have around me.


This is my offering to them...

The beauty of music is that at any point in time, each soul in the entire universe will find atleast one song dedicated to it. The passion of the soul and the sorrow of the melody together set forth a harmony, a resonance that shrouds the entire life force into a warm blanket of love that gives birth to another melody… and the cycle begins once again…

And it rained all night

It rained all night...
She perched on her broken swing and listened to Anjan Dutta crooning her favorite melody. He sang the song of rains and broken hearts, silent tears and moments gone by... She listened like an obedient child... She rocked... he hummed... they both were separated in their wistful mournings... but the universe had other plans...


They were oblivious.
And it rained all night...

Matchbox Heroes

"Because he's the hero Gotham deserves, but not the one it needs right now... and so we'll hunt him, because he can take it. Because he's not a hero. He's a silent guardian, a watchful protector... a dark knight."- Lt. James Gordon. As the camera pans on Batman taking flight on his batpod with the police dogs set on him like a hungry pack of wolves, the commissioner of Gotham City summarizes how a hero can sometimes be misunderstood and labeled a villain even as the common men (in this case the habitants of Gotham City) reap the benefits of his valiant efforts.

The history of mankind has been witness to many an unsung hero, who has, by his actions and bravery, filled the shoes of ten men at a time, and yet has gone unrecognized. The deadliest conflict in the history of mankind, the World War II saw the only usage of nuclear weapons in warfare, besides the Holocaust and mass deaths of the populace. Perhaps the most unnoticed of all the heroes that sacrificed themselves in the biggest war that mankind has ever engaged in are the women of Korea, China, Japan and Philippines, but women from Thailand, Vietnam,Malaysia, Taiwan, Indonesia, and other Japanese-occupied territories.

These women, often called "jugun ianfu", Japanese for Military Sex Slaves were forced into prostitution after being abducted from their homes. Some were only at the beginning of their teens, when they were forced into the flesh trade. The euphemism used for them was “military comfort women” and they were placed in military brothels. Estimates say that a staggering number of 200,000 women were working as prostitutes, to serve the soldiers of the Japanese Imperial Army.

Japanese historian Yoshiaki Yoshimi states that the undercurrent of discontentment amongst  the soldiers led to this kind of a well-organized process of prostitution. These women remain unnamed and faceless in the pages of history, where more valiant and dauntless people occupy place of respect, but the "jugun ianfu" still remain a major factor in the way Japan kept its militia organized.

Looking further back into the pages of history unfolds interesting facts from the ancient times. Plagiarism, it reveals, which has become such a big issue in today’s world ruled by technology, has been present in the entire history of mankind. History gives credit to The Greeks for their invention of Mathematics, Philosophy, Art and Architecture, but little do people know that this adroitness was derived and not invented by them. NASA and BBC have both studied and explained how the Egyptians were the ones who originally developed the Pythagorus theorem, which was only adopted by Pythagorus who studied in Egypt. The ancient Greeks have also been held responsible by the BBC in its study, for borrowing the Egyptian alphabet and taking credit for it. The Egyptians never got their due credit for inventing the alphabet and remain the Matchbox Heroes till date.

Jumping forward to the 18^th century again shows some interesting facts that failed to make it to the pages of history. History has always been unkind to the less glamorous people, and has always given privilege to the people who have hogged the limelight or have made big inventions. But some others who have made earnest and substantial changes in the history of mankind, have got lost in the midst of the pages and the covers that honor the more efficacious ones.

Did anyone care to find out about the smaller inventions of the Industrial Revolution? It was Charles Brooks who invented the street sweeper, the machines with the big brushes. If searched thoroughly, Brooks might be found in one of those thick books of history, with a mention of his name beside his invention. No one wants to spend newsprint on someone who cannot glamorize himself.

The Industrial Revolution actually took place in Great Britain, and then it spread to the other parts of the world. It definitely was a boon to mankind, a huge leap from the previously manual labour and draft-animal-based economy. The introduction of the machine based economy changed the world forever and paved the way for the technology that has become such an indispensible part of our lives today.

Everyone knows that Thomas Edison invented the light bulb and Alexander Graham Bell the telephone. But has history cared to find out that it was Lewis Latimer who invented the filament of the bulb and diagramed the telephone for Graham Bell? Even the inventor of the refrigeration system for trucks, later adopted for airplanes, trains and boats has somehow escaped the pages of history and remains unknown to most of the people.

They have remained unnamed and faceless, but history wouldn’t have been the same without them. I salute all those matchbox heroes for making the world that is.

Nail Polishing

I am upset. I am sad. And I am indignant. At my perfectly painted nails being screwed royally.

It had been quite some time since I wanted to paint my nails a dark chocolate color. The nail polish bottle was calling out to me. But I had been too caught up with a beautiful coral red and a perfect shade of magenta pink to pay heed to its calls.

But I couldn’t ignore the summons of my nail polish bottle anymore.  (The red color on my nails was beginning to peel away- Plight of a housewife). So anyways, I take out my nail polish remover bottle, clean my nails and give myself a nice little pampering manicure that was long overdue.

My nails start to glow and I feel proud of them again. So I bring out my choco baby, and tell her she can finally sit pretty on my nails. Two careful coats with a base coat do the job for me.  Perfectly manicured and painted nails- the fruit of my hard work. And they start to look like they were borrowed from Filmfare or Femina (or Cosmo if I may dare say). And I am a happy pampered woman again.

But no… the Gods above have something else in store for me. The power goes out and I am bathed in darkness. It’s scary to say the least since I am home alone (the hubby’s out of town).  Considering I was watching a scary movie during my manicure, which centered around a family moving into a new house and strange things start happening when they watch a particular soap on TV every afternoon; I kind of feel the hairs on my back standing up. I was watching television too! And we have moved in only recently…

Nonetheless, I gather up my wits, telling myself that is just a figment of somebody else’s imagination, so I shouldn’t let it scare me. After all, the hubby calls me Bengal Tigress!! I fumble for the matchbox in the dim, unhelpful light of the mobile screen, and fish out a candle. I bargained for one, but I get two. Too good, I say.

But it was said too much too soon. As I carry the candles to the balcony to check if the entire neighborhood is soaking in the same darkness, I see a shadowy reflection on a picture on one of the walls of my room. Two flickers of light and an indistinct figure. It takes me a while to realize it’s me, as the old fear gets ready to creep back into my mind. I push it away into the dark corners, instilling some sense and logic instead.

While I am busy fighting my inner darkness and the demons that live there, one of the candles has burned enough and hot, molten wax drips onto my fingers. Jolted out of my reverie, as I try to save myself from the sudden attack of the liquefied villain, it drips further down onto my perfectly painted nails!!

Oh the pain! Nope not physical hurt. The pains of seeing your hardwork go waste, or shall I say waxed.

Check out the smudges on the finger tips

Now my nails have a fourth coat of wax on them. I tried peeling it off… but the polish is coming off with it, making it look so ugly! 

Damn you power cut. Damn you scary movies. And damn you wax!

My pedicure saved the day a bit though. There was no wax dripping on my toes. Thankfully.

 But my nails look awful!!! :( :(

Mon kharaper dupur bela

Mon kharaper dupur bela

Poronto rodey bikeler barta niye ashe

Bindu bindu ghaame chokher jol mishe jay

Nonta shadey mlaan din

Esho hey godhuli… rangiye diye jao

Brewing tea- trouble

For a person who has always had her morning tea served at her bedside all life, being a married woman is a freaking tough job. You still want your tea, your husband wants his too, but who will brew the beverage, without brewing trouble as the by-product?
Removing the warm, snuggly covers of the blanket, stretching lazily in bed while you are still half asleep, the image of a hot cup of steaming tea lulls you back to dreamland, while you expect it to sprout appendages and walk to your bedside. Probably it would present itself on a colorful tray decorated with a few fresh daisies picked from your garden in the morning, take a little bow, and say, “Madam, tea is ready.” For some reason the mug likes to refer to itself as a third person.


Who cares? As long as you can take a sip and say, “Wah! Taj!!”


But nope… that is not gonna be happenin. You will wake up in the morning, and while you are still stretching lazily trying to shrug off the last shreds of sleep from your body and mind, a voice will drone on near your ear (left or right, depending on which side of the bed is your area); “Chai banao” or “Chai Lao”. Never a request or a hint of appeal in the voice- just to massage my ego a bit- it always sounds like I was born to wake up every morning and disregarding my own need to cling to the bed for those extra five minutes, meant to sprint to the kitchen and magically produce the beverage.
Why o why, I ask?
I am a woman. Hath not a Woman eyes? Hath not a Woman hands (NOT for brewing hot beverages), organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions (to test that last one, try getting me outta the bed!); fed with the same food, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means (though sometimes only a little pampering and love is enough), snuggled and comforted by the same blanket, as a man is?
If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you anger us, do we not snap?
And if you DO ask us for tea, early in the morning, we definitely do snap. All you will get is, “Dude, get yer own.”
Seriously, how tough is it to get out of bed once in a while, and getting the tea and newspaper for your woman in the morning? There are loads that we go through all by ourselves anyways; atleast try sharing the tea controversy with us… it’s a free country and the Mughals were kicked out long back. No use trying to keep up to the long lost Maharaja heritage.


Dude! Get Real!