Tuesday, November 26, 2013

Salaam Mumbai

Its been a while since it happened, and whatever happened was not good, yet the spirit on Mumbai is not shaken and Mumbai still stands foiling all the plans of terrorist. Salute to thee the city of lights, still standing erect amidst all plight. Poem written as a tribute to the mumbai city on 26/11/2009 and to that every individual who dropped a shed of tear for the wounded and shaheed Indians.
Their day begins before the sun rise,
The young, the old, the strong and the wise,
Their feet bound to the clock’s tick,
They start each day with a strong kick.
They are the mumbaikars, the busy bee,
Why I salute them you will see.bangladesh-soil-may-have-been-used-in-26-11
They always climb the local trains,
In the sun or even in the rains,
They race against time,
And with the clock their feet rhyme.
They are the mumbaikars, the worthy lot,
Living in the city humid and hot.


Every one has his own life,
With arrogant son or over smart wife,
They bear mean bosses or bad teachers,
They avoid the beggars and religion preachers,
They are the mumbaikars, the hard worker,
They love wada pav more than burgers.

Then ten terrorist saw the town,
In a little boat, they came around.
They attacked the city breaking its backbone,
They were happy with the job perfectly done.
The essence of the city was a bit shaken, genImage-medium
The world shook seeing the city weaken.

The police force came to fight the goons,
But the fight they could not stop it soon.
It was raining bullets, which made the city rattle.
The warriors used the 13th century weapons, to fight the 21st century battle.
But finally the warriors won the war,
the terrorist thought their message has reached afar.

Suddenly the city raised its helping hand,
They were ordinary people without a magic wand.
They didn’t need superman to save their soul,
Ordinary people reconstructed the city back to the whole.
The are the mumbaikars, the common men, 
victoriat-mumbai-weekend-packages-mediumAt times they turn to super-men.

All the people big and small,
All the people short and tall,
Today they were neither Muslims nor Hindus,
Neither were they Marathi's, Bhaiyaa's or Mallu’s
Today they were just humans,
Supermen and wonder women.

Setting aside their differences, they helped each other,
Even helping their enemies. They didn’t bother,
On its feet, again, the city rose,
Seeing the site, the terrorist froze.
All the months of planning went in vain,
For the city felt very little pain.


They again wake up before sun-rise,
Join the work with tear in the sad eyes,
For the brothers who had died,
For the orphans and widows who have cried.
I salute to thee: the spirit of Mumbai city,
Yee are proven best, its the terrorist I pity.
mumbai_skyline




The awesome picture of Mumbai:  http://www.andyross.net
Others pictures taken from Google Images, if you hold the copywrite, do inform I will remove them or mention your link.

Sunday, November 17, 2013

[Short Story] There will always be injustice


In a small hut located in a little distance from Kurushetra, a great tension was brimming. The greatest warriors on earth were holed up in the small hut at the edge of Kurushetra. Bhima was quietly eating his rice with Krishna, their advisor. Next to them, the giant mace that would soon slay more than hundred people in a single day was resting peacefully waiting for the opportunity to attack.

Krishna had no weapons next to him, he simply kept his flute and the conch on the dining table and enjoying the rice. Arjuna was pacing across the room nervous the bow and arrow that infamously had pierced every target his eyes had set out for was resting on the floor, calm and peaceful.

"What are we fighting for? And who are we fighting against?"Arjuna spoke nervously, "Our own Pitahma? our grand-father? Our own teacher, who taught us warfare and our own cousins?"
"Should we be excited, should we be worried, should we be happy?"

Krishna quietly gulped another morsel of his rice. Bhima shrugged, "I don't know about you, but I am fighting Duryodhana and I won't sit quietly till I break his legs as I promised."

Krishna smiled at the hulk of a man and patted on his arm with his clean hands.

"Krishna, say something, is this Dharma that we are fighting our own brothers?"

Krishna washed his hands and walked towards Arjuna, "So far you were talking, Arjuna. I will only speak when you ask me to."

"Then speak, Krishna, for I do not want to win this battle over the bodies of our own teacher, grandfather and our cousins. If this is law, I cannot follow this."

Krishna smiled, "Advise is a dangerous thing to give, unsolicited advise is even more dangerous to provide," Krishna said, "Even God will not tell you what to do, you have to ask the right question to get correct answer, so tell me noble friend, what is your question."

"How do you justify this war, Krishna? How do we raise weapon against our own family?" Arjuna asked.

"Arjuna, remember, you do not raise your weapon against your grandfather. This battle is when a grandfather stands in way of his own grandson



Have you read my book yet?

Have you read my book yet?
An epic adventure across space and time