The Magical Hands

His hands are gifted. He knows magic. Creating immaculate shapes out of plain mud has been a gift he inherited in legacy. 

 His name is Zaffar and he resides in Zangam, a rural village of Kashmir, with his family of ten and a kucha one room house. Every morning, he walks twenty miles to fetch what he calls the finest and rarest alluvial soil in the mountainous region, for which he needs to plough, carry and till until they are enough to make around 20 utensils a day. As I indulge in a conversation with him - with the help of a local interpreter who translated his Kashmiri into Urdu to me, his four sons: Zeeshan, Rizwan, Zaqeer and Misal run and surround us. I smile at them and ask them whether they go to school. Zaffar hesitates to answer. 

Zeeshan, the oldest one among them being around 12, is the only one who could converse in Urdu and he tells me that he used to go to school till 4th grade, where he learnt little bit of Urdu. Ever since the birth of his fifth and sixth brothers, who are around 2 and 1 respectively, he has not been going to school as his father needs his help to carry extra soil. I am taken aback. Zaffar, who couldn't make most of the Urdu that his bright young son spoke to me, asks my interpreter about what I inquired. I quickly change the topic by asking him how many pots, utensils and hukka pots he sells on a daily basis. He makes around 30 in total, out of which 4-5 get broken when they are taken into furnace and he sells them at around 10 rupees each.

I am saddened. A gifted artisan, whose art is unparalleled and whose skills could earn him fame at the world level, is making just around 200 rupees a day, for earning that he and his son have to walk for over ten miles daily, have to find and till unclaimed lands in inaccessible tract and carry around twenty kilos of soil on their backs; for which his son had to leave his school; with which he has to feed his family of ten and few months down the line, survive the biting cold of Kashmir.

Having nothing more left to say or hear, I begin to leave his house, asking Zeeshan one last question: 'do you want to go to school?' I inwardly pray to hear a yes and await his reply.

He says, 'Yes, even my father wants me to go to school. But, he needs help as well and I'm the elder son.'

I am touched by his maturity. I, being a struggling artist myself, couldn't empathize more. I made a promise to them that the next time I return, I would stay in their village for three months and teach them, and meanwhile, I'll support their education financially as much as I can, with the help of my willing friends and help Zaffar market his art in cities.

They are waiting to hear from me. I'm waiting to hear from you. Please help me raise money for rural artisans - people who are gifted but owing to their lack of resources, are not able to monetize their gift.

P.S. In case you want to help Zaffar, you can contribute in my fundraising campaign at Milaap (www.milaap.org/harsh). Having met over fifty such artisans during my ongoing tour into the roots of India, I urge you to lend your helping hand.

Empower Zaffar and thousands others by GIVING A LOAN at: www.milaap.org/harsh

The Surreal World

How many times have you felt the need to express what you are seeing, what you are hearing? After several years of association with different forms of art, I can somewhat feel why great painters like John Constable used to start painting in the middle of meadows just to express the beauty that they used to see, how Rahman got the tune for the soulful song Tere Bina of the movie Guru in his dreams, how writers can see stories floating in the air and how avid travellers can explore the best of unseen places without prior planning.

I can feel this need to express. When I saw the Taj Mahal last week, or when I saw Van Gogh's original paintings some years ago and now, when I heard Adele carefully for the first time. I can go on and on writing about how deeply moved I feel when those masterpiece stir my soul with their impeccable beauty and inimitable charm. And the appreciation would never stop, just because they are not just real, but surreal.

My Dream Girl

When it comes to me imagining what my dream girl should be like, there always comes an image of a girl who's passionate, caring and independent. These three adjectives are all that I want in my dream girl. I've not mentioned that she should be beautiful. Do you know why? Because those three qualities would make her the most beautiful woman in my life.

Now, coming to the explanation part.

Why passionate?

-> Because only then will she understand me and I'll understand her.

-> Because she'll have something else, other than me, in her life to make her life worth living.

Why caring?

-> What's love, without fun and care. What's life, with nobody to share.

-> Care is not about preventing me from falling down, but it's about standing by my side and encouraging me to stand up.

Why independent? Not only financially, but mentally as well.

-> Because I'm a lazy dog and I hate responsibility. Okay, on a serious note, because I'm a mortal.

-> Because I want to respect her for what she is, not what she gives. I want to respect her self-respect.

-> Because I want her to learn life the hard way, along with me, so that we can understand each other better and live life fully.

Now, why all the three?

Because, that's what my mother is like.

Because, that's what she is like.

Because, that's what I admire.

That Little Town

Once upon a time, there was a little town. It was a place where inhabitants were more popular than landmarks, where being social was a part of living, where people were satisfied with whatever little they possessed, where the status of a person was determined by his grace rather than his assets, where being cordial was not a necessity but a habit, where good food was meant to be shared with all the known persons, where a cricket ball hitting a window pane would instigate reprimand but not duels. I used to live in one such town. It was little, much like a cocoon, with a world of its own, away from the world that was outside.

The world is no more the same. It has changed. They say that change is good. But I could never accept it. My little town has been polluted. Polluted with jealousy, greed and amoralilty. In the race of being modernized, the cocoon that gave my little town its life, has been vandalized. Where has the belongingness gone? Why the neighbours who were earlier considered as 'Uncles' and 'Aunts' are now no more than 'people of Flat No. 121'? Why achievements have become more important than happiness? I miss my little town. Sometimes, I feel it to be illusionary, a figment of my imagination, maybe my childish sensibility couldn't unravel the stratas of the hidden feelings that lay beneath that superficial affection. Or maybe, the world indeed has changed. Change, that's not good. Not good at all. Amen.

They tried to change. They have changed.

They didn't try to change. They got changed.

They resisted change. They were changed.

They were dumb. They haven't changed.

P.S. Well, I'm dumb. Like it, only if you're dumb too.

On Failure

Ha! I experienced failure. It's hard, you know. The effort it takes to overcome the urge to break down, to cry out loud, to droop down and to surrender to the circumstances is immeasurable. The day for which you'd been preparing for months comes and passes by, slapping hard on your cheek saying that you didn't deserve it. Who likes it? You? Me? None of us. I know it's hard. It's harder to be hard in this situation. You can't let your loose side be visible to someone else. Ha! Nobody likes to be seen in tears.

The sun has set, it's pretty dark outside. It's cold. And it's biting. Biting hard. Life is so unfair. You never know when it can turn its back at your face. And trust me, its back looks yuck! It's smelly, dirty and detestable. At the bottom of your heart, you feel like slamming it really hard. Hard - I mean real hard. Things aren't easy, you know. Especially when you've thought so much about it and even thought so much after it ... it seems like a blank wall. They tell you the game isn't over. There are plenty of other opportunities in the coming days. They are silly. They don't know the game that you were preparing for is over. Over. And it's never gonna come back. Sad, isn't it?

I don't know why but I'm feeling a bit like a rider. The destination where I was planning to stop wasn't right, I think. Thankfully, my horse knows where it has to go. And, it's on the right track just because there is someone more intelligent than me who's directing it(read God). It's time to get to know my horse well. Synergy, as it's called, lies here.

Love

Every journey begins and ends at you. Why shouldn't it? It's for you and with you.

On Passion

Passion. The only word that can differentiate you from yourself. Because when it overpowers you, you're not you. You're the passion. Think about it.

Confusion

Do you know what's the meaning of confusion? Here it is - my career options. What to choose, if you can suggest a clear answer to my perplexity, I would bow down to you.

1. Full time entrepreneurship - Do I really want to go full time? Entrepreneurship can be started at any age, but taking up a desired job from the campus won't be possible later on.
2. Job - Taking up a job - seems like a smart choice. It's always better to gain some experience of working in a big firm. But would I be doing justice to my venture? Would I be able to take out time for it? Now that I've started up, I can't take a step back. Confused!
3. Full time writing - It's a secure job and one of the most enthralling one too. With already over 25,000 readers, I can pen down three novels every year and sustain myself financially quite comfortably. But again, I hate to be residing in my comfort zone. I want challenges! And what about the venture? It won't give me time to write. OMG!
4. Full time photography - This is stepping out of my comfort zone. I know I've the knack and I've the passion to pursue it. And this is one of the most exciting things. But am I really ready to take it up as a career? Again, my venture!
5. Studying further: I can study further. I can go pursue Physics in Glasgow University, I already have an offer for the same. I can apply for Creative Writing course in Cambridge. Or I can wait for my CAT score. But dude, am I ready to study further? Absolutely NO!
6. Learn Music: I want to learn composition. I want to learn music. Can I quit everything and pursue it? No, I don't think that I would. Come on, I can do it at any point of my life.
7. Or anything else - such as paragliding or bungee jumping? Hell no!

So the only option left is - doing everything at the same time and cracking my brains completely.

P.S. God help me, otherwise I'll come and kill you.

When you aspire

I abhor the word 'aspiring' before any of my ambitions. I get so impatient that I immediately start working and planning to get rid of the 'aspiring' label before my aspirations. It may be wrong, but the connotation that the word 'aspiring' has on my mind is that of a 'wannabe'.

When I aspired to be an engineer, I prepared for IIT and cracked it. When I aspired to learn to play guitar without any teacher, I spent 6 hours a day for two months with it and got it. When I aspired to be a writer, immediately I wrote a novel, found a publisher and got it published. When I aspired to be a photographer, I learned the photography techniques, bought an SLR and did it.

And now I am aspiring to be an entrepreneur. And you know what, I am feeling restless. I want to get rid of this 'aspiring' tag behind the word entrepreneur. It kills me from within. It makes me feel ungratified. So, what I am doing to get rid of it? Well, that's the right question to ask. Ironically, the answer is in the question itself - 'I am doing' - I am doing all I can, pouring down my heart and soul into it. And trust me, within a month's time, you'll see what I mean when I say 'pouring down my heart and soul'.

In the recent days, I have developed a belief, which will sound a bit harsh but for me it holds. It says that when your aspiration takes a very long time to get fulfilled, it means that either you're not doing anything or you're doing many things but all wrong. Aspiration, without action, is stagnation.

And that's why I fear the word 'aspiring' prefixed before any of my ambitions. It makes me feel like a 'wannabe'. To end this emotive recount, I end it with one of my one-liners.

'When you aspire, perspire!' - Harsh Snehanshu

P.S. It feels great to be having a surge of emotions for something that I 'aspire'.

A Human without an 'e'

I am a human.
Imperfect but not immortal.
I make mistakes.
And don't ever feel the guilt.

I am a human.
Mean but not bad.
I hurt her.
And didn't ever feel her pain.

I am a human.
A cruel murderer.
For I killed her faith.
And I don't even feel sad.

Why?
Why am I not sorry?
Is it because I don't love her
Or is it because - I am a human.

She is also a human.
Why is she so perfect?
Is it because she loves me more than
Anything else - that makes her so humane?

I always told her,
"You're gifted in love."
And continued, "While I am quite ordinary
- being just a human."

I am still not feeling the guilt
Though, I desperately want to feel it
But I am unable to.
After all, I am just a human.

Human - an excuse to make mistakes.
Human - an excuse to hurt your emotions.
Human - an excuse to play with your heart.
Human - an excuse for all my faults.

Forgive me, though still
I am not feeling sorry.
But someday, I'm sure that I will -
Since I am just a human.

Read to find the title yourself!

Every night when I go to sleep, her smell haunts me, making me feel lonely and helpless with every passing moment; making my tongue go parched and my heart go still, with my mind totally blank. That smell calls me to experience her soul once again with bright new sets of ideas and ideals, with a new eye that I've got now. The farther I went from her, the closer I became to her.

She is in my soul, she is the part of my every breath, my every heartbeat, my every single thought. Her ideologies are rare, her character is pure, her beauty is sublime, her love is unparalleled, her simplicity is appealing, her name is beautiful, her smell is inexpressible, she sits much above these petty words.

I had so much want to run away from her; and I even managed to do so, but in the process I didn't realize that this running away had its destination fixed only at her. I find myself baffled seeing myself missing her more than any other thing else in my life.

Do you know who's she? I know you know her, perhaps equally well as me, or even more than me. Yes, she is my soil - my India - my soul - my people; the only word that I can call my own without any reconsideration. She is right here with me rather within me pulling me towards her every moment, every single second.

I miss my country - and my country is so special to me just because of the people living there who have made my life out there a one-in-a-million experience. And you know what, you're one of them. Thank you for being a part of my life and influencing it in the most subtle way - by constituting my motherland and making it so special for me.

If you haven't already guessed what should be the title of this post, then here it is - 'Soil in my soul'.

P.S. Soil and soul are nearer to each other in my real life than in the English language.
P.S. The style of this article is inspired from my friend Debanjan.

The Living God - 2

God asked me, 'Ask anything that you want to get in your next life?'
I replied, 'I want you to be with me.'
God replied, 'Your wish is granted.'
I came to Earth and searched for God all-around.
Here and there, in all the faces I saw, but I couldn't find him.
Just then, someone picked me up in her caressing arms,
And in a moment, I fell asleep.
God came in my dreams.
I asked, 'Where have you been? You didn't grant my wish!'
He said, 'I am there with you. Just open your eyes.'
I opened my eyes, looked at those two most reassuring eyes
And said my first word - 'Ma!'

The Father and The Son

There was a father
Who used to boast with glee -
"As soon as my son turns 18,
I'll set him free."

"I taught him all the things
That should have been taught
And there is absolutely nothing left
That I forgot."

What a father
He would have been?
No words did he use to teach, rather
He taught through his actions which the son had seen

His son very faintly remembers
A 'heartless drunkard' beating a woman late at night
Amidst groans and tears, all that 3-years old could hear
Was - "Son, please stop your father!", a lady screaming in fright.

Time passed, wife passed and soon
The son turned seven
With nothing special but gloom
As his birthday present

Since he found accidentally
That his father smuggles goods,
Embezzles large sums of money,
And takes drugs with all the dirty foods

The shock was absorbed
In almost no time
And this remained their way of life,
Until the son's eyes went blind to crime

The years went by
And the son was 14 in a blink
The father was full of joy
To find his son's interest in his business - quite keen

The small-child that used to live
Died within the son soon
Drugs, money and lust started catching his eyes,
Instead of the stars and the moon!

The young lad
Was now the partner of his father
His right hand - he often called
And the one who'd take his business farther

Time flew and the cub turned 18
The proud father set him 'free'
But, the young man couldn't find the freedom
No matter how far did he see

He could devise no way out
To kill the throbbing boredom
There was no path throughout
Which could let him feel that exhilarating freedom

He's 19 now and imprisoned for life
For he killed his father - who could never be
The teacher who taught things that should have been taught
Instead, just set him 'free'!

He will never be able to witness that freedom
Nor does he want to see
Since, he saw that exhilarating moment once
- When he set his father 'free'!

(Wrote on paper, on train, from Mallaig to Glasgow, 16th June)

P.S. The actions of the father here led to his own death by his own son, who when set free realized that freedom doesn't mean to be free from guardianship rather to be free from evil. And ironically, he chose the path of evil to get rid of it.
P.S. Parents forget that it's not their talks but their actions which has a never-ending effect on their child. If they speak good language, they are honest and caring; their children will definitely be like them. Cheers to my parents!

'She'

There are people
Who claim to love me, and then there is 'She'
Who doesn't claim a thing
But loves me condition-free

They speak out aloud, shout and exclaim.
Whilst she chooses silence to speak her heart-out with glee.
No matter how much they may claim,
They'll always remain 'people' in my eyes, they can never become 'She'.

"Who is this 'She'?"
I surely made you think
Replying to which,
"She is my best friend", I say with a wink.

"Why is 'She' so special?"
If that's your question
There are no special reasons
What I can mention.

More than the reasons, it is she
Who is special to me
The moment she came into my life
'I' was transformed into 'we'

They sometimes ask me
"What makes 'us' so apart from 'she'?"
I reflect and say to them
"Your 'us' can't make me 'we'."

"She just gives me a bit more than what everyone gives",
After thinking for reasons, do I conceive.
"Be it love, time or the key to happiness,
With her by my side, utter bliss is what I receive."

To all you 'people'
I have just a thing to say
No matter how much love you give to me
She'll continue giving me a bit more everyday.

P.S. This poem is dedicated to my soul-mate. I don't know how are you or where are you or when will we meet but I can assure you from the core of my heart that I'll give you everything a bit more than everyone else.
P.S. I am a hardcore romantic.

8 things I love to do:

The points are in the hierarchical order:

• Writing stories(on blog) - It is my passion. I am mad about it. My mind has started searching for a climax or a twist in every simple event of my life. I am doing work and suddenly a flash of idea rings my mind. Day by day, I am getting amazed to know how this amazing thing called 'passion' works!
  
  
• Playing guitar - The mere plucking of strings with my fingers gives me inexpressible joy. I know how to play about a dozen of instruments, but not one gives me as much pleasure which guitar gives. The pain in cuts and bruised fingers gives a sense of satisfaction that's incomparable.
  
  
• Catching the moment on my cam - My eyes tries to search for the weirdest of weird things in the surroundings and my finger waiting for the moment of that perfect 'click'. I've realized that a real photographer is the one who instead of looking through the camera makes the camera look through his eyes.
  
  
• Writing with hand - I love my handwriting, I find it artistic and beautiful. No matter whatever keyboards or voice recognition softwares the mighty human brain develops, nothing can take the joy of writing with my hand.
  
  
• Cooking - I was not sure about this one a couple of weeks ago, but now suddenly this has become my newest passion. I can find cooking quite similar to learning music - you get better and better with experimenting.
  
  
• Telling stories - This one hidden talent is known to very few people around the world. I have great stock of stories - all kinds - real life stories, inspirational stuff, humorous stuffs and anecdotes of all the famous personalities fed into my mind. Just remind me whenever you get time and I'll get started. Most of these stories have entered my CPU through books like Chicken Soup and anecdotes owes its origin to the numerous biographies that my bespectacled eyes skimmed through.
  
  
• Turning the pages of a Book - The essence and importance of books can never be overshadowed from my life. The mere joy I get while turning the pages of the book propels me to the Cloud Nine. I dream of the day when the large library at my home will have one shelf for the author named 'Harsh Snehanshu'.
  
  
• Teaching - This is the job that I want to do. I want to teach. I want to teach a subject called 'life' in addition to my area. I want to be the best teacher alive out there in the world. A teacher whose mere teaching attracts students, numbering more than registered for the course.
  

P.S. As days are passing out here, the more I am getting closer to myself. And the more I am getting closer to myself, the more I am falling in love with me.

The Stepping Stone

Have you ever had a flash of idea? An idea which can make you lose your sleep, can overpower your thinking so vehemently that no moment passes without it. If not then certainly you are missing an important ingredient of life, called passion. I am not here to preach you about passion but I want to share my experience with my passion. For those who don't know, I have written a novel titled 'Oops! 'I' fell in love!' which is due its release this August. It is a comedy of errors in a vulnerable small-town guy's tryst with love in this strange Delhi.

After writing this bit of humorous thingy, an irresistible urge to write something with a message - impactful but without any trace of philosophy - came within me. My urge to get this flash of idea made me into a story-teller and in the meantime I wrote about five stories which turned quite impressive(even to me!). Ideas for a dozen more of these are in the assembly line waiting for my exams to end, but none of them could help me out with the theme for my next novel, until the day before.

It's a matter of just yesterday. After struggling for over a month to find MY IDEA I have finally got it ~ in just a flash of second. I was sitting in the library and reading my plasma notes with the concentration of a drunken driver when I was shaken by this thought. The idea traced back to my last article '18+' in Graffiti and it made me think of an issue which could be addressed in a novel which is still(hopefully) not thought of by anyone else on this planet!

Friends, I have an immense pleasure in announcing that I have got a theme for my next novel. With AIDS as the backdrop, I would address the issue, "If a sufferer is deprived of love and care, what devastating impact he/she can have on the society!" I am not disclosing the plot, nor am I going to publish it on blog. I would be working silently on this theme for the next half of year and then come up with my creation materialized in my hand.

It is a very dark theme and demands quite a lot of research at my end. The moment I got this idea, my mind jumped in thrill and enthusiasm. I called two of my closest friends and shared my excitement with them, they instilled faith in me by being very appreciative of my plot and even the uniqueness of idea. I searched my mobile contact list and I felt really bad that I could not share it with anybody else since either they would not share the same excitement as me or they would be too critical.(It happens, as I've seen that if you bestow the right to judge your work to someone who has no niche in your field of art, they tend to be over-critical, they start thinking that they are the God! Offences meant!)

AN EXCERPT FROM MY DIARY:
20th April

With great hope at night I called my Dad and said, "Dad, I have got that flash - my BIG idea! I am going to write about AIDS, in a completely different perspective! Dark theme!"

I then went on to discuss my whole plot with him and he showed some mixed reactions - happy but fearful.

"It will serve two purposes - (a) Create awareness about AIDS in an impactful way, and (b) develop respect amongst people towards the affected few. We are educated ones and I think I will create a long-lasting impact on the society with a dark theme instead of the same happy ending themes. For that I would need to meet AIDS affected people and need their story of discrimination plus their feelings towards society." I continued.

To which Dad replied, "That's really innovative, brilliant sketch. But don't mix up with those AIDS affected ones too much. Avoid shaking hands or even accepting something from their hand or any physical proximity. Always maintain safe distance from them."

I was stunned. I replied, "Dad, you know everything about how AIDS occurs and it is not communicable, but still! I am shocked. I am sorry to inform you that your advice worked in the wrong way. These words of yours have made me a thousand times more enthusiastic about doing immense research in writing this. I would meet the affected people, shake hands with them and even hug them. And I will change this very perception of people around me."

Dad did not reply. Perhaps, his inner voice saying that his son is right overpowered his fatherly protective feelings for me. I instantly knew that he inwardly desired me to break free from all these social taboos and reach out to my dream!

"Thank you Dad." I said.

"I am proud of you son!" He said. There were tears in my eyes, and I could see his eyes too filled with tears, which were however 1000 kms away from me. I smiled anticipating the green signal in the path of my dream.

P.S. I love you Dad.

Yet another day...

11:30 pm. There are two guys. Ayush and Deb. They are roommates. And best friends too. And guess what? Tomorrow is Ayush's birthday! And to add icing on the cake, tomorrow is just half an hour away.

11.50 pm. Deb, busy in thinking what special can he do on Ayush's birthday is perplexed because he wanted to make it a bit special but he could find nothing. The midnight is approaching, with a slight hint of cold in the atmosphere and a tinge of excitement evolving on Ayush's face. Just 10 minutes to go for the big day, with the clock's seconds hand moving swiftly in the anticipation of the special day coming ahead, the environment seems festive.

Meanwhile, Ayush is receiving phone-calls from all his friends and well-wishers who were competing amongst themselves to be the first one to wish him 'Happy Birthday', in advance.

Deb is getting a bit nervous. His dilemma has not yet been solved. He hasn't bought anything special as a gift for Ayush, since Ayush already had everything he could think of. Still, he hoped to make the moment special, somehow.

11.58 am. Just two minutes to go. Searching his dust-laden shelves, Deb finally finds something that can give a special touch on the birthday of his best friend, Ayush. Deb gets his unused and dusty harmonica(mouthorgan) from his shelf and waits for the last 30 seconds to go. Ayush is busy on phone.

Just at the moment, the clock's second hand hits 12, Deb starts playing the 'Happy Birthday' tune on his harmonica. The dust inside the harmonica gets trapped in Deb's throat with the breath he takes in, but still it does not hinder his spirit.

Hearing the sound of the harmonica, Ayush, whose ears are still glued to his mobile, says, "Yaar, noise mat kar. Disturb ho rha hai!"

P.S. It's a true story.
P.S. No offences, please. It's just written to emphasize the way mobile phones have replaced true emotions and sincere feelings.

The Best Policy

The day I joined IIT, I started losing something. That loss may not be irrepairable, but still over the last one and half years of my stay in this place, the losing process continued. The thing that I started losing had been ingrained in my personality right from my childhood to my school-days, it being an integral part of my character. Even my fellow friends used to praise me for that, but after coming to this place, my character started deteriorating. The thing I am talking about is Honesty. The tag of unscratched honesty that I carried over the whole of my schooling days was shredded the day I joined this institute.

Copying assignments, lab reports, term papers and almost every other thing related to academics became a commonplace in my life. I don't know what motivated me for doing that, perhaps this dishonesty is the bonanza we receive as a part of being an IITian, my conscience didn't even stop me or told me that this is not what I used to do or this habit is bad! My fellow class-mates(leaving a few gems!) did the same and I felt this was nothing bad or wrong. The experiments were done with fraud readings and even sometime left incomplete relying on copying the readings from my friends. All this continued to be happening without any guilt on my part.

And the last minor, it was my exam of Mathematical Physics - being amongst the toughest courses I have this semester. I had screwed the Minor 1 paper of that subject and was desperate to score more. Exam-time came, all my friends - including me - planned out that we would sit next to each other, and help each other out in the paper. On the day of the exam, we got up early and rushed to the exam-hall quite early just to capture the last seats for us to facilitate us in cheating from each others' answer-sheet.

Exam started - and as expected - the paper was tough. Out of the four questions - I knew just three. The fourth one carried highest marks and I started with that. While putting my brains to that question, I got stuck. I wanted to look into my friend's answer-sheet who had done that question, but to my surprise, I could not gather the courage to look into his copy. The fear didn't come into the picture because of the invigilators since they were not too vigilant, rather it was just my 'Self' which inhibited me to carry out that thing called cheating. My friends were taking use of this silly freedom of the backbench to the max while I was busy fighting with myself. In the dilemma of this yes and no, I wasted about 20 minutes of the exam-time out of the prescribed 60 minutes and as a result even the questions which I knew were also left incomplete. I could solve only one question completely and a half of the second one.

Last to last week, I got my answer sheet - I got a dismal 7 out of 25, which was worse than even the marks of Minor 1. My friends, who sat together during that exam-time, got marks in diverse range from 12 to 18 and managed to score quite good considering the toughness of the paper. Presently, carrying the copy in my hands, I can proudly proclaim that I am much happier than them because my conscience has been awakened and I re-learnt the great truth of life - honesty brings pride. The honesty that had been in me in the yesteryears is again going to be a part of my life and truth is to be my constant companion.

Thank you all my friends for(unknowingly) bringing in this transformation in me.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
P.S. I want to dedicate this article to my dearest friend Sunny, who has his principles, values and integrity intact despite living amidst the lowest grades of unscrupulous people. You are really a gem and a living source of inspiration for me.

10 things to do before you climb your death-bed

These are some of the moments which defined my life. These moments were the best moments in my life, and I want to recommend some of these to you all. Hope you also share your best moments with me.

1. Watching the sunrise from Kanyakumari, the tip of India: It was 4:30 in the morning, I got up and ran to the beach. There were people of all the ages, with a single burning desire to see the most beautiful dawn of their lifetime. The small sun appeared in the horizon out of nowhere, colourful clouds danced in welcoming it thus embarking the beginning of yet another wonderful day.
2. The Shawshank Redemption : If there is one movie which you can't miss in your entire lifetime, it's this. The Shawshank Redemption - A Story of Hope. There is no better source of inspiration available on the entire earth.
3. A tour on Shikara : Kashmir, considered as a paradise on earth, remains incomplete if we don't mention shikara. Its basically a small boat. Cruising through the ice-cold Dal lake in the Shikara with hands and feet being frozen and eyes being mesmerized to see the beauty of the lake surrounded by mountains, I felt at bliss.
4. IIT Insti Top : The city of history and majesty, Delhi, and a 10 floor high vantage point to give a panorama to this city - Incomparable. The breeze that flows at midnight at this place together with the soothing moonlit darkness multiplies the effect thousand times.
5. Guitar(My Eva!) : If in your lifetime, you don't happen to exhaust your fingers trying to make a song out of this, then certainly you missed something big. Fingers ready to bleed the next moment and you still determined to reproduce the song that you just heard perfectly, leaves you no option to think of any other thing. It is a great game of passion vs comfort!
   
6. Sudarshan Kriya : I am not a Bhakta of Sri Sri Ravi Shanker, nor any active member of his foundation, but I really respect him for his ingenious invention "Sudarshan Kriya". Tiring, exhausting and straining while you do the kriya, and utmost destressing, comforting and relaxing when it's over. It was the first moment in my life when I achieved the state of blankness with awareness in my mind for 15 long minutes.
7. The Autobiography of a Yogi - This is not just a book, not just a best-seller, but it is a sheer revelation. The things which are unbelievable and still exist, the infinity of human potential, the sublimity of the soul and the siddhi's conquering even death. There is no other so radical book ever published in the history of the world.
8. Writing : Thoughts are integral component of our existence. Of all the chatter that our mind produces, there comes something which is so new, so radical, so unique, so profound, so hilarious that you get an instant urge to secure it forever in words. You just pay attention to your thoughts to know how wonderful you are. I bet once you realize your thought's beauty, you will instantly wanna store them in words.
   
9. Listening to Indian Classical music and maestros : If you want to feel elation, relaxation as well as divinity at the same time, lock yourself in a room, and play any Classical music at a serene volume. It will take away all the stress and bring you closer with divine. In India, in guru-shishya parampara, music is treated as Goddess Saraswati, and every maestro - be it Zakir Hussain, Amjad Ali Khan, L.Subramaniam or Hari Prasad Chaurasia - strive for the union with the divine through their music everytime. See the documentary "The Speaking Hand" on tabla virtuoso Ustad Zakir Hussain to inspire yourself.
10. Share your feelings : The last point is very close to my heart, as it is totally my own thinking - no inspiration for this. Before you climb your death-bed, at least write a testimonial to all your friends on orkut and even in life. Make them know how much you like them, how special they are, what were the moments when you learned from them, and what are the things that makes them special in your life. You can make yourself happiest only by making others happy.
    

Nostalgia

The smell of rain
The muddy terrain
With football on the wet grass
A dozen guys going insane

Kicking each other more than the ball
Dodging and dancing in rock-n-roll
Totally lost in the game
With laughter and cheers crushing every wall

Iota of ecstasy painted on each face
Felt like a shower of God's Grace
Oblivious to the surroundings
Enthusiasm climbing much above the base

Soft drizzle played with sweat
Bestowing relief to the wet
Some slipped and skidded
While others trying a goal to set

The fight for water after the games
Calling each other by the funny nicknames
Fully exhausted, yet
Pushing hard for recognition and claims

Tired, back home
Rubbing soap hard to have a foam
To clean the wounds
And shrug off the loam

Those days are still alive
Vibrant and full of jive
Making me nostalgic
Everytime in my mind, they contrive!

The elusive thing is not any ploy
It's something enigmatic, O boy!
It's we played not for success then
But instead, just for JOY...

P.S. It's my second attempt at writing poem. I had a thought which I thought could be best described by a poem.
P.S. This poem tries to distinguish the borderline difference between success and joy. When we have success vs joy, often people choose success, but the reality is - "Success is doing the thing which gives us joy."
P.S. It's not too long, nor too philosophical, I hope you can go through it once and comment!!!