100days (18)

It’s mothers day, but the news channels are tagged with the question on safety of women. our mothers, sisters, daughters and friends, none are safe. on a bigger perspective not even the men are. the ones who fall to the distress and commit these crimes are also someone’s son, brother or a friend.

Let’s try to make this world a better place, let’s have the dreams have wings, rather than chopping it of before they even bloom. Happy mothers day. Stay safe, let others be safe.




#waiting (translation):
When the twilight dawns
We started our day,
And when the moon was drowsy,
We said good bye.
A tea and a snack,
Was the binding matter,
Rest were the souls.

Time has passed by,
The old Neem tree still stands awaiting,
But we moved away to fulfill the life.

It’s unknown why time moves,
But the mystery is why friends part.
Though i know,
I took the first step to move.
I realize now
that now when i look back…
I’m just me…


100days (4)

cotton is just a soft ball that we use everyday, but never take it serious. It has nothing to do with our lives, but just dress us, clean us, color us and more importantly heal us when we are wounded.

Last day, this ball of cotton made me think of  how our life’s philosophy is related to a ball of cotton.  We all are remembered when our friends and relatives are hurt, but forgotten once they are back to normal phase of happiness.

Suicide: a murderous option

She pushed another piece of firewood into hot chulha. By the time her children came, she was making their lunch ready. Appu and Raju would come running for their meals, even though school provided mid-day meal, they preferred eating from their mother. Wiping off another drop of sweat, she continued baking roti for her cherries.

“Appu’s mother?” someone called out from the door. “A visitor in this burning sun?” She was a bit shocked when a stranger called. She walked out to front door and found some men with a child in their hand. “What happened to my son?” with tears pouring out of eyes she ran and grabbed the little body from the hands of the village man. “He fell on the way”, said Appu with a low voice. “What happened tell me the truth? Did u do something? She pulled him by hand and asked. “We are leaving, your elder son called us to take bring him home, so we came.” “Thank you” she replied with gratitude. Villagers departed.

She sat on the corridor, and asked Raju, “What happened sweet heart?” “We were running and coming here; accidentally I stamped on a stone and fell.” He told her with tears flowing. “Don’t cry my son. Is it hurting?” she asked. She was sure of it though. She could see a discoloration on the knee, which in fact meant another joint bleed.

She took them inside, painkiller she had kept as precaution. She instructed 8-year-old Appu to fresh up, who was rubbing the legs of his younger brother Raju who had just turned 6. Appu knew he can’t apply direct pressure, as that can increase the chances of a bleed. Appu, had his portion of roti, and saw mother caring Raju and feeding him. Raju, who had a ‘funny feeling’ in the knee, had a screwing pain, which stopped him from having food or even resting. Mother told Appu to go and inform father who was in the fields. And requested him to walk slowly so that he doesn’t hurt his already injured knee. Planting a kiss on his forehead, she asked him to go.

Appu returned with his father, in a flash. Father was sweating, he was panting. Breathing heavy he looked at the swollen leg of his younger son, Raju. Mother and he shared a glance and nodded. She wept out. He knelt and tried consoling her. “I will get some money from someone. Will take him to hospital.” Father assured as mother wept loudly on his chest. “Don’t worry nothing will happen” saying so he walked out.

Agriculture didn’t yield much to fulfill the hunger of four stomach and then for the treatment of their children. Appu and Raju had bleeding disorder, which is also known as Hemophilia. Their parents had spent lacs for the treatment of both, not so long before this fall of Raju. “Is he going to be fine?” Appu asked mother in a worried tone. Everything is going to be fine, saying so she hugged both her children tight. Tears followed as though out of a reservoir. Raju, who had a terrible pain in the knee, found comfort in the motherly warmth, he slipped into sleep as mother held him tight to her chest.

“Another ransom today, another term of treatment. Stay in the Bangalore city without job? None to look after the fields. Another devastating yield. What will we eat once back?” the questioned echoed in her head. “how good their life is going to be like this?” she was breaking down. Dark was taking over, sun had hidden somewhere in the horizon, for no reason apparent.

Raju had slipped into deep sleep. She slowly laid him down, and got up. Wiping her tears away, she prayed to the God one last time. “Oh Lord, give me the strength. Today I want it most.” She bit her tongue and her pain.

Waking up Appu, she gave him some pills, for building internal strength. The pills were sleeping pills. She sat beside him watching him slipping into sleep. Kissing his forehead, and reassuring him that she loved him a lot, but can’t love him long enough.

Taking 2 feet rope with shivering hands, she decided to end her and Raju’s life.

Salvation; moksha from the terrible life.

Father rushed in to the house to find his wife and young son hanging. He was broken; his screams bought neighbors, who took the three to local hospital. Hospital confirmed death of Raju and mother, but fortunately or unfortunately, they could save Appu.

Appu and his father walked back into Hemophilia Society Bangalore Chapter, where they are counseled and given new hope. Chapter does what it can in the best manner. But nothing else in the world can replace a mother’s love, a brother’s shore up.

One decision of committing suicide, left many lives strangled. The lives that are prone to bleed, have blood flowing as tears for the rest of life.



when Janjo Jose, my friend bought me this image, I had it framed immediately with my words. surrounded by the colleagues who need a smoke for solutions to come, or to stay awake, or to let the creativity flow out. we in corporate have witnessed the tragedies, where the smoke just takes over uninvited. lives, families, and dreams just fade away in to the smoke.

One day it hit me

One day it hit me,
When? how? I won’t know,
But it just… Hit me.

The wise said,
Be happy, it’s not gonna get you killed.
But it would shatter me;
They never said.
They, the one who had been hit before,
And couldn’t recover ever.

When it at all begin,
It was a bite of cherry,
And I didn’t know it was chilly in disguise.
The bite that bought smile,
Was feasting on me now.

The magic had taken me to ninth cloud,
I was the Princess Anna,
But the magic had the all-consuming color too,
The color of end,
The darkness,
And it caught me in its clutches.
The fire took me under its hood.
I was weeping,
I was perishing.

Call it the magic,
Or the darkness,
Call it the forbidden fruit,
Or a poisoned cherry.
Once you go for it,
You are never out of it.

You may call it anything,
But I will stamp it as…
Gruesome Love.


the idea is not mine, it didn’t hit me anytime recently though. I thank RUMs for the idea she planted, and for allowing me to put them in this format here….



It’s not easy after a day long work in the office to be fresh, but there are these souls you meet on your go, who bring smiles and makes you forget the tiredness and boredom. over the cup of icedtea-coffee-vada-tea-paratha and books we didn’t discuss any path breaking science success, or a time changing political decision.

Silence, smiles, and few verses from The Prophet by Khalil Gibran, Marlon Brando, Alpacino… they were in our thoughts and talks.

It’s not everyone’s talent to bring smiles, but the few who does, are rarer than diamond.