The Idiosyncrasies of Life

i was born a name.then a face.then a habit.then a race. i became the fearsmy father feared.i wore the weightmy mother seared. i spoke in voicesi never knew.i walked in shoesi never grew. but one still night,i stopped the spin.and found the “i”was deep within.

“for the first time, i moaned without apology” i was told to fold my legs,to sit like modesty, cross-wrapped in fear,to let my voice be music, not moan,to keep hunger confined to kitchens and prayer. they dressed my curves in decency,measured desire in teaspoons of shame,taught me that lust is a male domain-i learnt silence before i knew my name. but i kept a theatre behind my eyes,with red…

“a message to my childhood bullies” they spat my name like bitter pills,twisting it till even echoes winced.i wore their laughter like loose threads,unravelling in every hallway inch. a “loser” scrawled on my locker door,a bruise of ink that never dried.they’d bump and bark and call it play-while i just clenched the storm inside. my fists were fires, fingers folded,forged in flame but cooled…

“every word, a wound returned” suits sit smug with sacred seals,scribing sins the sword conceals.candles curse what cannons cheer,cloaks of virtue veiling fear. statues speak of stolen grace,scrolls erased, then re-embrace.monuments made from martyr moans,museums lined with plundered bones. ashes airbrushed into art,agonies auctioned part by part.children charred in cradle cries,cameras cold…

“for those who were told they were too dark to deserve” i was born under the same bastard sun –but they prayed i’d bleach before i turned one.grandma held me like a broken wish,said, “don’t worry… kuch lep laga dena, this’ll fix.” they checked my elbows, compared my knees,scrubbed my neck like it held disease.“no, she’s not adopted,” they’d often joke –just darker than what the catalog…

“i’ve seen it all, babygirl” i’m time -no cap, i’ve seen the scroll.from boomers’ grooves to alpha’s toll.each gen thinks they’re the final boss –but trust me, love, y’all mid at most. boomers: “talk softly, dress neat, write checks, repeat.” they called me “hip,” they called me “rad,”drank black coffee, not ‘dad-to-bad’.they smoked indoors and said, “behave!”then blamed it all on…

“silent spine of a screaming world” born not in squalor, nor in gold,but in that grey where dreams decay –a nameless cog, a tale untold,he cried, then wiped his tears away. no toys adorned his birthday floor,no sweets in schoolbag wrapped in lace.just second-hand and something more –the silence of a missing place. to school he marched in worn-out shoes,his ink a patchwork of spilled…

“a prayer from the gods to pray to them” in a realm beyond faith and celestial flair,past temples abandoned and incense-less air,there lies a lounge with marble floors scuffed,where gods long forgotten gather – aloof and stuffed. they sip on ambrosia from chipped gold mugs,wrapped in old tunics, complaining like thugs.no prayers arrive, no offerings made –just echoes of hymns that decades…

“for those who muted their own legacy” in a high-rise hive of glass and chrome,he files his roots beneath “unknown.”his name, once wild as monsoon rain,now clipped and styled for urban gain. the syllables he shed like skin,once sacred, now a source of sin.that surname – a rusted bell of caste –he muffled it to move up fast. the gods he knew now wait outside,their chants replaced with lo-fi…

“an ode to a man who glitched before he healed” i woke with a flicker in the corner of my sight,the ceiling fan spun like a buffering byte.my bedsheet shimmered in 480p,and my own hands lagged behind me. outside, the trees refreshed in loops,birds chirped in tones from whatsapp groups.the sky had a filter, warm and fake,the clouds swiped left before they could break. my coffee steamed like a…

“the silent voice of a mother” another morning, cold and bareyour room still locked from nighti hovered near with steady stepspretending things were rightyour plate stayed full on the tableyour bedsheets, folded stilllook in your silence, my dear child –echoes of my touch lie still your laughter changed its colourfrom sunlight into smokethe spark behind your tired eyesdimmed with every jokeyou…

“an ode to holding on” the smiles around cannot dissolve her grey,she laughs, yet something scorches deep inside.she tells herself, “just hold on -one more day.” she’s learned to hide her tears in disarray,to walk through storms with nothing left to guide.the smiles around cannot dissolve her grey. they ask, “you’re fine, right?” -she nods, looks away,while broken thoughts like oceans swell…

After a four week sabbatical due to health reasons, I could finally remove the time to publish the long overdue and requested Chapter Six of my Ninth book- "The Religion Called Pragmatism". This is the longest chapter yet. Have fun reading. Peace!

Previous Chapter First Chapter the-religion-called-pragmatism-ch06-1Download What was there before the Earth existed? What led to the creation of it? Why is it that all the idealistic universal, geographical, solar and celestial features got imbibed into this heavenly body, so much so that it created prime conditions for the creation and survival of all the beings that we know of and more?…

Yes... the fifth chapter of my ninth book- "The Religion Called Pragmatism" released for free (yet again) today on my website. This one is special. It takes place in one of the most wondrous cities on the face of Earth- Mumbai...

Previous Chapter First Chapter the-religion-called-pragmatism-ch05Download Ignorance… a quality condescended upon by many… but a dire necessity for the survival of many more. We ignore what doesn’t matter to us… and sometimes we ignore what matters most to protect ourselves. We generally tend to ignore the joy of those above us, and the pain of those below us… all so that whatever we possess…

Another Sunday... Another chapter. Yes, Chapter Four of my 9th Book "The Religion Called Pragmatism" is live on my website. Just a reminder, this is the first (and perhaps the only) time that I'm releasing a book for free. Do read, download and share.

Previous Chapter First Chapter the-religion-called-pragmatism-ch04Download Intellect… something humankind has defined as its individual, singular and exclusive property. Yet, has time and again failed to showcase it. Definition perhaps is not sufficient for display. This property has been subjected to so much egotistical acute streamlining that it led to the coalesced definition of…