Where the wind speaks volumes,
And there’s a story in every stone.
Where birdsong, echoes my soul
This paradise beckons, my every bone,
Every drop, every chirp, that ray of light –
Cascading across the canopy.
Every flower, every leaf,
And that wandering doe;
Words loose meaning,
And thoughts are beyond substance.
Transfixed, I stare at those quivering depths,
Stunned in my own silence
For here nature spoke!

Silence, for words do no justice for the majesty that is nature.

Photo credits: Kalyan

May this moment in time, cease for all eternity as I stand transfixed in its resplendent glory!

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As always, Be kind and have fun!



The label conundrum!

‘Labels’, there has been quite a lot of talk about them lately. It seems to me that we find a strange sense of comfort in labelling everything. It’s almost as though categorizing things as so, makes them, in our eyes more relate-able. If you think about it we label society to understand where we belong. As if belonging to a stereotype was like a brotherhood of sorts. There seems to exist, certain, unspecified hierarchy and a weird comradery associated with these labels. So why does society enforce itself to fit into stereotypes. It feels as though we have now created a persona for stereotypes, and are forcing ourselves to fit the image.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not a question of morality when talking about stereotypes, but rather a question of need? Why do we find a need to believe that we are just like anybody else? Are we really that afraid to be different? I don’t have anything against labels and stereotypes, I think they are useful in a certain sense, but the problem arises when we expect a stereotype to act a certain way. You don’t act a certain way because you are labelled as so; on the contrary, you are labelled as so because of your actions. Labels and stereotypes are like book titles to me. They are relevant somehow, but you just don’t get the whole picture. What people fail to understand is that there is more to a person than a label or two? We as a society have come far in the past few decades, in understanding our own behaviour, the question is how much longer till we are able to accept ourselves for what we are.

I find the need to explain this; when I say accept ourselves, I don’t mean use it as an excuse to explain our actions, or the lack of it; rather, I mean, we have to have an educated opinion of human behaviour and understand its many flaws to grow as human beings. Being tied down to a static image of a stereotype only seems to give us an excuse to hide behind.

What do you think? Do you find it necessary to fall into stereotypes? How do you deal with it when people expect you to act a certain way because if their misguided perception of you?

To Acceptance! May we always find the courage to accept ourselves and others, and the strength to grow!

Let’s all be equal! Share it! Leave a comment! Thanks!

Image credits: ‘Now Accepting Applications’ by Barbara Friedman

As always, Be kind and have fun!

Things that grind my gears!

The past few days have been very annoying. Almost every time I manage to write something and post it online I’ve had my browser crash, and anyone who posts everyday knows that is not a good thing. I’ve come pretty close to putting my fist through the laptop screen quite a number of times. So I thought I’d write a post about the things that “grind my gears” so to speak. Here’s mt list –

  •  The quintessential white guy that thinks ‘Slumdog Millionaire’ is an accurate representation of India, which is almost as if we all live in a sea of human excrement
  • That guy on the road who has the turn lights on but never turns. Seriously! It’s a F****** switch, just flip it over how hard can that be?
  • Those noobs on social media that are incapable of writing an entire word. If you have to make up an entire sentence out of an endless array of abbreviations to prove that you are “cool”, then you are not. Matter of fact you are so far away from being cool, it is not even funny.
  • That dick at work who thinks staring at you incessantly is cool and that you are somehow going to fall for him. I mean seriously in the history of things has that shit ever worked? Get your head out of your ass and get a life!
  • Those idiots who think talking in a fake “African American” accent is cool. No it is not, absolutely not! You just look like a walking comedy act.
  • When you get dressed finally after half an hour,then go change all over again. I mean, you are not gonna look like Scarlett Johansson no matter which dress you wear! So get your shit together, at least we get to watch the movie then.
  • You know what annoys me most of all CAPTCHA! Screw you browser! if I were a robot then i won’t need to come to your stupid website and click on your stupid link.
  • That person who gets offended in a comedy show. It is a comedy show you numbnut and if you sit your ugly ass in the front row, he’ll make fun of you!
  • That food joint that gives you a stupid plastic fork with your food. They bend, you idiots!
  • Those stupid chain messages that say “press like to save a life”, pressing like won’t do jack! You wanna save a life, go volunteer or donate.
  • Those verbally challenged idiots who use “fuck” instead of every word in a sentence. Get a dictionary!

The list is endless, but for the day, ill end there for the list of things that grind my gears. Do you agree with my list? What put’s you off?

May you never have to put up with this shit anymore!

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As always, Be kind and have fun!

I’m a Feminist!

Feminism, such a misconceived concept isn’t it. It is strange that something that stands for what is so fundamentally basic can be mistaken as so.

feminism ˈfɛmɪnɪz(ə)m/
noun: feminism – the advocacy of women’s rights on the ground of the equality of the sexes.
Lately accepting that you are a feminist somehow manages to imply that you hate men. So I thought I’d be best to confess straight up.
I am a feminist. That means I like men but I won’t put up with their bullshit. I respect them but won’t stand for insults. As a feminist, I am not against men, in fact I stand up for them. I believe one is human before being male or female. As babies we did not differentiate between male and female, but then again we could not differentiate between food and floor, but that’s beside the point. Somewhere along the line as we grew up, so did this arrogance so often associated with the sexes, also grew. It is sad really that we force not just the women in our society but the men as well to somehow confirm to our stereotypes of what it is to be man and woman.
In a sense, we have forced the men of our society to pertain to our ideology of what is “Manly”. Seriously what is so wrong for a guy to be sensitive, delicate, weak? If you think about it, because men are forced to put up a tough facade, women become weaker. For logic dictates that if one be strong then comparatively the other is weak.
As educated members of society it is sad that we find it so hard to accept ourselves, let alone others. for what we are. Imagine if men were not forced to be manly, then women won’t have to be submissive. Don’t mistake me I am not justifying the action of men or women here. This is sort of like the food chain an endless circle of hunter and prey. As long as one side is there the other will always exist. And it’s about time we break this endless cycle of pointless facade. Aren’t we all tired of pretending to keep up appearances, even-though none of us give a shit.
As I write this I wonder why I am writing this. What purpose will it serve. I’d be lying if I said I knew. However this I do hope, that the next time you hear someone say they are a feminist, just remember, they believe we are all equal. That’s all – nothing more, nothing less. And if you stand up for yourself without insulting another, you are a feminist. If you believe we as humans have the same right to life as every other, you are a feminist. Feminist is a mere term. Whether you choose to call yourself one or not is not the point. If you stand for equality that is all that matters. If you are, then I salute you. The world needs more minds to open up.
To a life of endless happiness! May we always find joy and radiate it around us!

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Image credits: hillary h ~ Gender is overrated

As always, Be kind and have fun!

What is strength?

Ever since I had taken on to the idea of writing one article/post a day, I’ve been fretting on trying to find meaningful topics and ideas to write on. Some time back a dear friend of mine had asked me this question, and though it has taken me a while, I thought I’d pen down a response.

“At the ages of 14, 15, 16, 17, children upto the 1800s were fighting battles. Physically. Mentally. Logically. Politically. Name it.  …… My question is: Where is that strength? Where are those people? As newer people enter the realms of the earth, are they becoming more materialistic? AS we sit glued to our computers, are we missing that strength that is to be collected by going out, mingling with nature, practicing dance and music? What is happening to the world? Just an opinion di. If you have something to say. Keep Writing!”

What is strength exactly? Is it being strong to fight wars for glory, for extending your countries borders, or is it strong to fight for conviction, to fight for a belief, a cause, for a purpose? And if the latter be strong, then is fighting for glory not a purpose? Truthfully speaking this argument is a never ending cycle of endless questions. To me true strength is having the courage to stand your ground for what you believe in, and also have the open-mindedness to acknowledge when you are wrong.

Stone Faces

Stone Faces by Miquel Vernet

To answer your question, first of all, I think it is premature to compare two whole different eras in this manner. For once, we no longer find the need to fight blood thirsty wars, instead we wreak havoc with just a computer. And strength itself is subjective, for example –

“There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me.”
Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

“It gives me strength to have somebody to fight for; I can never fight for myself, but, for others, I can kill.”
Emilie Autumn, The Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls

These are two completely different accounts of strength, which drives home further the fact that, what I see as strength is so completely different from what you may perceive of it. But the underlying commonality in all our ideas is that a strong person is one with conviction to stand their ground and the courage to change that conviction if need be.

I do believe however, as a generation of human beings, we are becoming more and more materialistic and vain. Computers and other forms of technologies have actively taken over our lives. But I also see an increasing wave of awareness, a growing wealth of profound knowledge amongst young adults that is refreshingly realistic. Just having this conversation is representative of our understanding and appreciation of strength.

Simply put the times that we live in are tumultuous at best, and while traditional values, conservative outlook has taken a back seat, we are not stuck in chaos, cowering terrified. There is a surge in public awareness and a sort of selflessness, like never seen before is exhibited (of-course, not by all). True strength is shown in all its forms by many young adults around us. As a young adult, I’d say we live in interesting times, and I am definitely looking forward to it.

What do you think? What are your ideas of strength, and where do you think we as a society are heading towards?

As always, Be kind and have fun!

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The Promise!

“Promises are only as strong as the person who gives them-”
~ Stephen Richards

It is becoming increasingly apparent to me that as time flies by, I seem to be caught up in an endless cycle of Hiatus – Guilt – Frenzied writing – Writers block, over and over again. Not only is my inexperience as a writer glaringly apparent here you find it hard to follow me and I find myself starting over innumerable times. In an effort to end this viscous cycle I am committing myself to you, my dear readers.

I commit myself to post something every day. It may be a full article, a poem, a question, just about anything, but I will be here every day. I may make many a mistakes along the way but I’ll pull through, and that is  a promise. And in return I request that you be more patient with my mistakes and stick with me.

Lets make for an interesting and sensible relationship. Let’s muse – no topic shall be taboo and no question too paltry.

This is my promise to you! And I intend to keep it!

– To a better future

Be nice! Have fun!

A relentless bundle of joy!

Her tiny being convulsed,
Shaking with sheer exuberance;
Her hands and legs moved about,
In absolute uncoordinated joy.
With barely any effort,
And, such torrential joy
She brought forth an utterance –
A monosyllabic splutter,
Incongruous, it was with profound meaning,
A gurgling sound so abstruse,
As I struggled to make sense of it,
Her lips parted, with ever so quaint a smile.
As though bathed in radiance anew,
I experienced a calm, so absolute,
A torrential joy rushed through me,
It evoked in me, a primordial emotion:
A sort of love and reverence,
For I would do anything there was,
Anything, to protect that shy little smile,
Etched it was in my being forever-
My frail little bundle –
A relentless bundle of joy!

Dedicated to my little bundles of joy! All of you, ones who are and others yet to come.

May you forever smile with euphoric happiness… 🙂

Meenakshi Ram, Sanath Kumar, Saadhvi Dushyanth, Shambhavi Karthik, Janvi Rao, Dhanya Ganesh, Raghotthaman, Laya, Raghav and Adithi

And to the rest of you my dear friends, Happy New Year!
I wish you all, lots of sleep, a hike and more random holidays in the middle of the week.
(it is all want this year and I wish you the same ;). )

Suchithra Ramakrishnan

A tribute to Love

She starred into the abyss of her own mind
Beneath all the cynicism and bigotry
She found a dream buried within the chasm of her psyche
Beyond the irrelevance of her daily rituals,
It came to her with startling ease
Such simplistic appeal it had that she chided herself,
At not having thought of it before
But what was it that made her think she wondered?
For she was pained and angry
“Why me?” she thought to herself.
“Why is it that I have to bear this burden alone?”
For alone she was sitting in the hospital corridor
“I’ve done nothing wrong! Why must I have such a predicament?”
She fought wildly the tears that came to her eyes.
For she was too proud to cry,
And far less trusting to ask for help!
It was then that she saw, a child run to her mother’s arms
With a shock she realised the child was blind.
Deep within her she fought between emotions
For she was sad, she felt sorry for the child who could not enjoy the world’s beauties
But then again looking at the sheer pleasure in the child’s face
That absolute pleasure she seemed to radiant around her
That absolute trust she had towards her mother.
She felt a pang of envy, for she no longer knew how to trust
“Could I ever trust someone so much?” She wondered
“Why not?” said a small voice within her
There it came to her, with such ease
An emotion so startling that for the first time in years
She felt overcome. Like a summer storm,
It brought with it the memories of long forgotten home
And memories flooded her.
Slowly the tips of her mouth curled upwards,
Her eyes moistened and for the first time in a long time she smiled,
A smile so true, and so filled with love that it bought a tear to her eye
She let it fall down her cheek.
She turned, and there ‘she’ stood with arms outstretched
She ran to her arms like the child she was
And cried for the first time in 20 years
The walls around her crumbled…
“Thank You mom” she said “I love you!”

With Love and Reverence, I dedicate this poem as a humble tribute I pay to my mother, sister and all the women in my life.
I am who I am because of you. Thank You!

Romancing the book!

A friend once asked me how can you read that damned thing for so long, don’t you ever get bored?

Reading a book is like tasting wine, the similarities are undeniable. Don’t get cynical as yet, wait till i’m done. In a wine tasting, there is a certain ceremony involved. Firstly, pop the cork, then as you fill your goblet, feast your eyes on that velveteen crimson hue. Let your senses drink in the aroma as you twirl the wine within the goblet. Finally take a sip, a small one, cradle it in your palette and ever so slowly let it slide down your throat as you loose yourself in its richness. Well now most of you (you derisive people) might think how a book could ever compare to wine; I mean seriously let’s face it “a book!”  Let me educate your senses (to the joys ever so profound from just reading a book!)


Say you’ve found a book (a vintage classic like an old edition of Shakespeare), If you were me you’d be jumping for joy already. Well let’s begin, romancing the book. First as you run your fingers over the embossed letters, the hard cover softened with time. the cracked spine from the many times it has been read and the patterns of groves along the side forming intricate patterns. As you open the book the scent of old paper transports you back in time, almost like the smell of wet earth.  You are then evoked by the rustling of brittle paper. Feast your eyes on the veered font and slowly read. By the time you realize what had just happened you are done with the book and are left with a profound sense of ecstatic satisfaction and a deep longing for more.

It is not just about reading a book, it is being transported back in time and history; you open a book so old and think, this was a witness to the second world war, it saw empires raise and fall, in my hands is a witness to the making of history. Reading is an art so fundamental, yet so profoundly complex. A book is no longer merely a tool for time travel, but it is an experience. Like the wine it may be new or old, classic or vintage, but each is an experience that once experienced, you can never really get enough of… so my friend experience.

Nirvana, On a Train Journey

There is always been something quite endearing, about the trains in India, despite the obvious attempts by the Southern Railway. As a child trains meant only one thing to us – ‘holidays’  two whole months of unadulterated fun, and of not being yelled at to finish homework or studies. I still remember, fighting with my siblings on who got the middle berth, for it is strategically the comfortable place on the train. It has just the right amount of air coming through and is almost always clean. And then we made up stories about the ticket checking officer who in our eyes had the ‘best job ever’, well he had to travel in the train for a living. What more could one ask for?

Even as an adult, there still is an inextricable charm to a rail ride (of course, sweaty shoulders and cockroaches are a major put off, no doubt). It just always seems to put things in perspective.  The Indian Railway System is a whole different system; a collection of coincidences, that just seem to manifest in almost the right order by some other-worldly force. The system itself looks like an accident waiting to happen, but somehow seems to thrive because of that very chaos. As an onlooker, an Indian train provides the best example to experience the vividness of India. As Gregory Robert Davis, describes in his book ‘Shantaram’-

Bellowing threats, insults, and curses, he thumped a path through the choking throng. Men fell and were pushed aside with every lift and thrust of his powerful legs. In the centre of the crowd, the din was so loud that I could feel it drumming on my skin. People shouted and screamed as if they were the victims of a terrible disaster. Garbled, indecipherable announcements blared from the loudspeakers over our heads. Sirens, bells, and whistles wailed constantly. We reached a carriage that was, like all the others, filled to its capacity with a solid wall of bodies in the doorway. It was a seemingly impenetrable human barrier of legs and backs and heads.

In the instant that the train started on its journey, the gouging, biting, and brawling ceased completely and were replaced by a studied and gentle courtesy that persisted throughout the entire journey.

Such is the nature of train rides in India, seems like a roller coaster ride of emotions. Minutes after haggling for a seat, two ladies too big to fit in the seat alone, would simply cram their selves on to the sagging seat and have a perfectly civil conversation on the weather, even joke about it.

In my opinion, the best way to experience India at its fullest is to find a window on a train and stick to it. As if the multitude of people were not enough to amaze you there is always outside the window. The endless emerald fields brimming with paddy bobbing in the breeze, the greyed silhouettes of the Ghats looking over the horizon of palm trees; pregnant clouds with the promise of rain, the smell of wet earth, reddened by the golden hues of the setting sun, bringing with it the memory of home. Truly it is Nirvana, a sense of unexplainable longing, for the journey to never end, reluctance, to get back to the bustling reality of things.