All posts tagged: Love

The Sins of America

Things have been volatile in our part of the world. Unsettling, as what happened was not conceived well before or rather this only was the peace deal. The Peace deals that started taking shape of some form during the Trump era, without any allies on the table; of all not even India who for last twenty years singlehandedly built almost everything for the Afghan nation- from the roads to schools, to their dams, to even the Parliament- this was never what the Indians were working for and it has shaken the trust the allies had on them. As every other being thought that the Taliban would be given a fight, tall talks of resistance by the afghan forces were given, President Ghani talking about winning the final war against the battles that Taliban has won fled just like the US Army, quietly in the night. Biden talking about the inevitability of Kabul falling, or it not being the rerun of what happened in Vietnam, rather it is the worst what will take shape in the …

Happy Birthday Incredible India

Your place is not only on the map but also in the heart Freedom and power brings responsibility. That responsibility rests upon each one of us. Before the birth of freedom we endured all the pain of labour, even divided with heavy hearts; that echoing memory of division. Some of those pains continue even now. Nevertheless the past is over and it is the future that must be directed. The future is not one of ease or resting but of incessant striving so that we might fulfil the pledges we have so often taken and the one we shall take today, one more time. The service of India, of Bharat means the service of the millions who suffer. It means not only ending poverty but ignorance, unawareness, diseases and above all, inequality of opportunities, understanding the importance of this ancient land, this oldest active and growing civilization. And so we have to labour and to work and work hard to give reality to our dreams. Those dreams are for India, but they are also for …

The Lovers

Where are the lovers? The ones who roamed and flew kisses at each passing nightingale; that one who promised me the movies and stilts on the Valentines. I haven’t seen none and I don’t think one would come, instead i called him last night, in my sleep. His year began with a cold shower last valentines morning, of course it was February, of course it was cold. For many years he dismissed the day of love by saying saint valentines’s mother was a pagan and did not believe in Christ herself, rather was in love with a tree outside her home. So he, my boyfriend decided to love a tree that stood outside their home. You know trees also have gender right! Also because his mother would rebel of even thinking about going outside, once she was walking on a street, and just when she reached at the centre of a four way, she yelled out loud saying I detest this urban theatre,  Every one is a clone of the other. Look a likes, inside …

Singing the uhuru burn

The case of chasing sun a fat girl wedded to life singing the uhuru burn what will remain of this world continuity and creativity in uncle hassan’s sleep losing his spirits walking away from his favorite tree her signs his silence her future poetry a journey to the stone country on top of a bus with an x zorastree on a kiss less day Taiwan’s highway Terminal eating Imagining an Adivasi cinema Translated museums is bad hand writing freedom? Freedom from brain First the god will die and soon men. Love, like living is commerce and commerce is time and time in the case of the chasing sun that fat girl who wedded to life kept singing the uhuru burn

Better than perfect ?

Draw a perfect circle. Use a compass or a plotter. Now, zoom in. If you zoom in close enough, you’ll discover that it’s not a perfect circle at all. In fact, anything we create, at close enough magnification, isn’t perfect. It’s foolish to wait until you’ve made something that’s perfect, because you never will. The alternative is to continue to move toward your imaginary ideal, shipping as you iterate. Getter better is the path to better.

Songs of the playground

It is hot in Barmer. My right cheek has swelled. Ulcers recognize heat. I am staying with amma here, a Bhopa. Last night we decided to attend Pabu ki phad. Happens rarely now. A local god. Reincarnation of Laksman. Bhopas sing and dance for Pabu. For two nights Bhopas from all across the region had come to sing and dance reciting Pabu’s story. Anada Ram was the most prolific Ravanhatta musician. He died 33 years ago. His wife, Amma never sang after that. I am here to document her son. He never learnt Ravanhatta. He wanted to be an actor. He dances for tourists coming to Jaisalmer in winter season. I have known him for eight months now. There were many other dancers from the community yesterday. Veer was going to show me one of his acts dancing on the mirror glass with fire in his mouth. He does not dance in the community. He is ashamed. I was awed last night. So were six hundred people. He got cut but still kept dancing. His …