YoU WiLl NeVeR LeT mY HaNd Go.......

A Little girl and her father were crossing a bridge.
The father was kind of scared so he asked his little daughter,
‘Sweetheart, please hold my hand so that you don’t fall into the river.’
The little girl said, ‘No, Dad. You hold my hand.’
‘What’s the difference?’ Asked the puzzled father.
‘There’s a big difference,’ replied the little girl.

‘If I hold your hand and something happens to me,
chances are that I may let your hand go.
But if you hold my hand, I know for sure that no matter what happens,
you will never let my hand go.’

In any relationship, the essence of trust is not in its bind,
but in its bond.

So hold the hand of the person who loves you rather than expecting them to hold yours..

ThE HoLy FlAmE...

Once upon a time a man had heard, that in a foreign place, far away, there was a holy flame burning. So he got up and left his home to find the holy flame and bring some of its light back home to his house. He thought: 'When I have this light, then I will have happiness and life and all the people I love will have it too.'

He travelled far, far away and finally found the holy flame, with which he lit his light. On his way back he had only one worry: 'That his light could go out.'

On his way home he met someone who was freezing and didn't have any fire and who begged him to give him some of his fire. The man with the light hesitated for a moment. Wasn't his light too precious, too holy to be given away for something ordinary like that? Despite these doubts, he decided to give some of his light to the one who was freezing in the darkness.

The man continued his journey home and when he had almost reached his house a terrible thunderstorm started. He tried to protect his light from the rain and the storm, but at the end his light went out.

To return the long way back to the place where the holy flame was burning was impossible, he wouldn't have had enough strength to go back this far - but he was strong enough to return to the human being whom he had helped on his way home.

.........and with his light he could light his own again.. =)

MeMoRiEs

When Gulli-Danda & Kanche (marbles) were more popular than cricket.
When we always had friends to play aais-paais (I Spy), chhepan-chhepai
& pitthoo anytime ... When we desperately waited for 'Yeh Jo Hai
Jindagi' (Doordarshan serial)
When chitrahaar, vikram-baitaal, Dada Daadi Ki Kahaniyaan were so fulfilling.
When there was just one Tv in every five houses and...
When Bisleris were not sold in the trains and we were worrying if papas will get back into the train in time or not when they were getting down at stations to fill up the water bottle ...
When we were going to bed by 9.00pm sharp except for the 'Yeh Jo Hai Jindagi' day .....
When Holis & Diwalis meant mostly hand-made pakwaans and sweets and moms seeking our help while preparing them ...
When Maths teachers were not worried of our Mummies and papas while slapping/beating us ...
When we were exchanging comics and stamps and Chacha-Chaudaris & Billus were our heroes ...
When we were in Nanihaals every summer and loved flying kites and plucking and eating unripe mangoes and leechies ...
When one movie every Sunday evening on television was more than asked for and 'ek do teen chaar' and 'Rajani' inspired us ...
When 50 paisa meant at least 10 toffees ...
When left over pages of the last years notebooks were used for rough work or even fair work ...
When 'Chelpark' and 'Natraaj' were encouraged against 'Reynolds
& family' ...
When the first rain meant getting drenched and playing in water and mud and making 'kaagaj ki kishtis' ...
When there were no phones to tell friends that we will be at their homes at six in the evening ...
When our parents always had 15 paise blue colored 'Antardesis' and 5 paise machli wale stamps at home ...
When we remembered tens of jokes and were not finding 'ice-cream & papa' type jokes foolish enough to stop us from laughing ...
When we were not seeing patakhes on Diwalis and gulaals on
Holis as air and noise polluting or allergic agents ...

The list can be endless ...
On the serious note I would like to summarize with ...
When we were using our hearts more than our brains, even for scientifically brainy activities like 'thinking' and 'deciding' ...
When we were crying and laughing more often, more openly and more sincerely ...
When we were enjoying our present more than worrying about our future ...
When being emotional was not synonymous to being weak ...
When sharing worries and happiness didn't mean getting vulnerable to the listener ...
When blacks and whites were the favorite colors instead of greys ...
When journeys also were important and not just the destinations ...
When life was a passenger's sleeper giving enough time and opportunity to enjoy the sceneries from its open and transparent glass windows instead of some
super fast's second ac with its curtained, closed and dark windows ...
Do you really miss them .. don't u?

MaN aNd GoD

I walked on the clouds, realizing that this Heaven was exactly like I had imagined it to be. White, with Angels playing the harp on receding clouds. The sound of birds chirping and a distant waterfall could be heard. Suddenly, a huge bronze gate emerged from no-where. I was at the threshold of the divine abode. I realized that I was barefoot.

A blinding white light, like a trillion mini Auroras, descended from higher reaches. This was God, surely. It had to be God. It spoke out, a booming baritone, with an unimaginable sense of serenity in it.

“Welcome. Welcome to Heaven. You have been granted entrance in My adobe. You have led a life of honesty, self-sacrifice and generosity. I bless you, son.”

I searched for a face, for eyes, but was only met with light, bright white light.

“But before I allow you to enter this peaceful world, as is My duty, I will answer one question. Feel free to ask.”

“I…er…question?”, I was baffled.

“Yes, one single question. It may be any question. Topical, philosophical, metaphysical, definitive – anything. Any question, to which you need an answer. Any question, which needs to be answered. Any question, to which man below on Earth does not know anything about. Ask.”

Questions. Millions of them flooded my insignificant mind, what is life? Death? What, truly is the purpose of life? What is peace? What is happiness? Why do we die? What is…

“Man’s true identity?”

“Man?”, God asked.
“Erm…yes, what is man’s true identity, God. Who am I, God? Who am I?”

God’s next few words, like a sharp knife on a deserted rock, left a mark. A deep, invisible mark.

“Man’s true identity is unknown, even to me – his maker. His is everything, yet he is none. He is the leader of his own life, yet a slave to his own soul.

Man, who is he?

A doctor. Does he cure? No, he kills.
A politician. Does he change the world? No, he lies.
A sportsman. Does he inspire? No, he takes bribes.
A lawyer. Does he work a miracle? No, he cheats.
A teacher. Does he educate? No, he sells it at a price.
A policeman. Does he demolish Hell’s messengers? No, he is only a pawn.
A businessman. Does he end poverty? No, he is self-obsessed.
A priest. Does he show the world to someone? No, he thinks the world about himself.

Everyone of them, terrorists. You don’t need guns to be one.

Today man is someone good and evil. He is a paradox of himself. A timeless mystery and an eternal source of wonder. Man is superior to God, yet is inferior to the numerous insects trampled underneath his leather boots.”

God paused for a second. I breathed in wonderfully pure air. Someone, somewhere was singing a melodious hymn. God continued –

“Today, Man is falling into an impenetrable darkness, a darkness from which it becomes difficult even for me to recover him. But that is beside the point, you asked me Who You Are, right? Well, let me tell you – man has a million different identities shrouded in one single profound identity.


Every single non-living, base item in this world is a metaphorical example of man. Anything and everything in this world resembles man in one aspect or the other. You may test and see.”

I wondered. I pondered.

“A candle?”

“It should light up the place, but in doing so – it always leaves a thin trail of black smoke.”

“A tree?”

“It’s duty is to give shade and fruits. But it will be undoubtedly cut down one day.”

“A cloud?”
“It gives relief in the form of rain and tension in the form of lightning.”

I paused. God sensed my inability to continue.

“You may continue to ask me, I will keep giving answers. Yet, it’s finally time now to tell you man’s true identity. Do you want to know it?”

I looked up steadfastly. The bright light began to glow softly as the words fell like petals, reverberating on the bronze gate, over the clouds and into my ears –

“Man’s true identity is this – Man is a person, a human being. A living thing. Do you understand?”

I shook my head.

God smiled and uttered those immaculate words – “I am man.”

“Y…yy…you??”

“I am within Man as Man is within me.”

I stood dumbstruck.

“Man is God. God is Man. They are one and the same. I created Man. Man created me. That is man’s true identity. He created the Heaven and the Hell. He is the Alpha and the Omega.

I live within man, as man lives within Me. I am man’s son, yet I am his father. He controls me. I control him. But there are problems. The Devil hates him, but Man, being confused about my reality – hates me. He hates me, not the Devil. He does not believe in my existence. That is man’s only mistake. The mistake due to which he is falling into that impenetrable darkness.”
I asked cautiously, “Have you forgiven him, God?”

Suddenly the bronze gates of Heaven opened. I saw a wonderful sight. I saw a lush green field, large trees, small children playing around the grassy bushes. I saw a huge tree in the centre of the field, beneath it sat a man. He was meditating. His eyes were closed. He was praying. Not to God, not to any religion, or to any symbol. He was not of any religion but was not irreligious. Within a stroke of inspiration – I realized that this man was God. Yet, he sat like an ordinary man. I understood suddenly that man was forgiven. God had forgiven him.

Without my realization, inside the abode of Heaven, a smile came fleetingly to my lips and a single drop of tear emerged from my eyes and beautified my cheeks.

TwO LeTtErS

It was the morning after the battle. The silvery rays of dawn fell upon the bodies lying scattered in the aftermath of the fight. The morning papers all around the nation must be declaring that it was a glorious battle, and a great victory.


It is a strange place—“No Man’s land”. With all the arrogance of man who claims to own the earth, here was one strip that had been declared free of that bondage. Yet, scarred by the landmines and splattered with blood, it had been ravaged by both countries it lay between.


As I walked, I saw two soldiers who had apparently stuck each other a mortal blow and died falling upon each other. One arm boldly showing the insignia of Pakistan lay upon a shoulder marked with the crossed swords of an Indian army jawan. The land around them were covered in their blood…neither Indian blood, nor Pakistani…just human blood , draining away the dreams and hopes and love of two lives. As I kneeled beside them, I saw a bluish piece of paper jutting out of the pocket of the Indian jawan. With the characteristic curiosity of a reporter, I gently pulled it out. It was an inland letter, almost torn at the fold at constant reading and re-reading.


“My Dearest son…

May Ishwar keep you safe and well. How are you , my son? It is now three months since you have sent a letter. My old eyes are thirsting for a sight of you.

Your sister’s wedding has been fixed, but she is very stubborn, son. She insists that she will not get married without her Bhaiyya’s blessings. She is waiting to know when you will next come home. I have talked to the boy’s father, and he understands, but how long can we postpone it like that? The boy is very good, he is an Engineer and they have not even mentioned dowry. She is lucky to get such a match. But I feel very sad that my bulbul is going away… Your son is now almost one year old now. He is walking a little and looks just like you when you were young. Bahu is very loving and takes good care of me and your mother. But she always looks sad and spends hours in the puja room praying. She is very worried at the trouble at the border. But she is always cheerful with your mother and never lets her hear anything about the trouble. You know your mother’s heart is very weak and the doctor has said she must not be anxious. Poor bahu, she never mentions her anxieties to anyone.

Your mother keeps asking about you. I tell her that the army is like that, he would be remembering us, but he will not get time to send a letter. He will probably come home very soon. But beta, do write to us when you can and let us know. Just send us a telegram if you cannot write a letter. When you come, we will have Choti’s wedding also.

I am fine, have some pain in my legs, but bahu has got me some medicines from the town. Otherwise, all is well at home

God bless you, my son.

Your loving Father.”



I was trembling as I finished reading... I carefully folded it and put it back in the soldier’s pocket. As I was about to walk away, I saw that the Pakistani soldier had something clutched tightly in his hand. Shaken though I was, something prompted me to gently disentangle his fingers and look at it. It was also—it appeared—a yellowed piece of paper, muddy and bloodied. I hesitated, but then gently opened it to see the delicate writing in Urdu.



Beloved husband,

Peace and blessing of Allah be upon you!

I have just completed my Namaz, and yet, my heart is heavy. How long it has been since you have come home! And along with that, the news from the border is always of trouble. May Allah keep you safe through it all.
Abbu is very unwell. I think it is because his heart is anxious that he has not heard anything from you. Please send him some message somehow. He is aged and his whole life is centred upon you. But he is very loving towards me and never allows me to do any housework; he always says that I should rest because of the baby. It is only 2 more months now, and the only time I have seen his eyes happy are when he thinks of his grandchild.

Ammi is fine, she prepares all sorts of things for me and says it is good for the baby. But in her eyes , I can see the worry as the news comes from the borders. The other day, Shareef Bhai’s nephew was brought home injured after a battle. His arm has been amputated. Allah! I can still hear the weeping of his mother. Abbu has been anxious since then. He keeps going to the mosque to offer special prayers.

Your brother is also intent upon joining the army. Abbu looks very sad when he says that. But you are his hero, and he keeps telling me, Bhabhijaan, my brother is so brave. Yes, I know, I tell him. But my heart is anxious, and I do the special prayers so that Allah may protect you. Who is there for us but you?

Please do send us a message soon. When will you come home next? God willing, will you come home to see when our baby is born?

Praying for you,

Your Loving Wife.

My eyes glazed as I looked upon the two bodies,lying upon each other.

I am not sure who had won this battle.But standing there surrounded, by the bodies of those past caring about the fortunes of war,it seemed to me too,an immaterial thing who had won.I was thinking about the families and loved ones of the dead,who had definitely lost...

FiRsT LoVe

I was twenty two when I fell truly in love for the first time. I had had crushes before, but they were never really serious. But Rishi was different…

I don’t think I really got over it. Even now, when I call and he answers, I am bowled over by the sound of his voice. And he has not forgotten me either; he always recognizes my voice instantly, and he calls me often. I can almost see that winsome smile when I hear him…

I first met him when he came with his mother to visit his aunt. Nalini deedi was my neighbor. I had just completed my graduation at the time and I had a lot of time on my hands. I used to drop in on her often just for some light-hearted gossip, and it was one of those times that she told me that her sister Rajini and nephew Rishi were coming for a short visit.

“Rishi is such a nice boy! Quite mature for his age, very intelligent, warm and caring…” She was all praises for her nephew, but I just took that as an aunt’s prejudice. At the time, I was on particularly harsh terms with the male population, and I did not believe there were any worth knowing among them. Having been subjected to two “ladki dekhne aana” ceremonies (Ceremony of seeing the girl with a view to marrying her) had decidedly embittered me towards the male population.

But the minute I saw him, I was lost. I had heard of love at first sight, but this?! Who could resist that smile, or those eyes? He was the picture of perfection. His features looked as if they had been honed to flawlessness by a Master sculptor. His eyes were bright, fearless and open, as if he expected everyone to be his special friend. His smile, both shy and endearing, reminded me of the sun peeping from behind heavy clouds during the monsoons. He was better dressed than any guy I had seen so far; though he probably had his mother to thank for that! And he was courteous and friendly; altogether, very, very attractive.

And I fell in love with him.
He made me think about what my mother had hinted at the day I graduated; about marriage, and having a family. He made me wonder if it was not time to settle down… He made me wonder what it would be like if he were my own.

It wasn’t the same for him though. At first, he was a bit reserved, though considerate and polite; he would watch me as I spoke to his mother and aunt, and sometimes give me a quick smile. I used to wait for those moments, pretending I wasn’t looking at him, but he quickly saw through that and would laugh when he caught me peeping. I don’t believe those eyes missed a thing that was happening around him. I was constantly astonished at his perceptiveness and intelligence.

He never could pronounce my name properly, but I loved the way he spoke my name. When he saw me at the door, I’d strain to hear as he went to call his aunt and announce my arrival.

But it was the day of the interview that made all the difference.

It was horrible, that interview! The interviewer seemed to have some sadistic pleasure in breaking me down. By the end of it, I was sure I was hopelessly stupid, worthless and would never get a job or be anything in life. It was in total dejection that I rang the bell at Nalini deedi’s place, and Rishi came to the door. He looked at my face and for a moment, his face seemed to mirror my unhappiness. When I sat on the sofa, he hesitated a moment, and then sat by me. Then he cautiously patted my hand and gave me a smile.

I was so touched! I smiled at him through my tears and the relief on his face was obvious. What odd places one finds empathy and understanding! He waited a few moments, while I regained my composure. Then as usual, he went in to call his mother. At the door, he turned and smiled, as if sharing a secret. My heart almost burst with happiness. All my gloom was wiped away as if by magic!

That day I noticed him observing me closely and as I was leaving, I saw him looking at me through the window. On an impulse, I turned and waved. And to my joy, he smiled and We became friends after that. He’d look out the window and smile delightedly when he saw me. Once he got acquainted, he began to talk to me. I could listen to him for hours together. His mother would smile as she saw us sitting together. Sometimes, we went out together, and his lively interest revived the old sights of the city in my eyes too.

I didn't know how long it would last, but I did not care. I woke up each day looking forward to seeing him, went to sleep smiling over something he had said. I grabbed each moment like a precious jewel, to be stored away as memories.

Three weeks flew by and then--it was over. I thought my heart would break when I saw tears in his usually smiling eyes. I watched from the door sadly as they got ready to leave, wondering if I would ever see him again. I had always known he would have to go, but it was heart-wrenching whenit happened.

Just as he was about to get into the taxi, he turned, ran to me and hugged me tightly. He wiped the tears from my eyes and kissed me on both cheeks.

Then he pushed his favourite red car into my hands and lisped with all the fevour of his three years "Didi,thish ish for you.I luvv you velly much."

"I love you too,Rishi darling"

And I still do.He just called me to tell me about his first day in school.

No matter how many loves I have in my life,he will always be my very first true love.

tHe fRiGhTeNiNg sOLItUdE

“I want to die before you.” She said looking into his eyes. He didn’t answer her. His silence said it all. His solitude frightened him more than anything else in the world. His children were big now and their own kids to look after. The old age had caught up with him like the layers of dust on a light bulb, which blocked the light coming out from that old bulb. He had lived his life. His children gave him almost everything except the love, which he had given them in abundance when they were young.

“What’s the matter? Can’t you sleep?” She asked, “ Do you have pain?”

“No, I just can’t sleep.” He replied looking at her.

“Are you worried about what I told you this evening?” She asked.

“Yes..I’ve no one, but only you. Even if I loose you then what’s the point in living?” He asked.

She started talking to him, but he was lost in his own thoughts. She was his only person who kept him away from his solitude. She used to talk about many things, which meant nothing. But he just listened to her…her voice. She would ask in the middle of the night, whether he was awake? If he answered her then she would start talking endlessly, and he would give signs now and then to say that he was listening. This tiny room was their world. He realised in the consuming loneliness of this crowded house. She was his only sound. He was so dependent on her for almost everything in life. She brought him milk, food, newspaper, medicine and anything he wanted. Many times before he would ask for it. She understood him so well. She was the only wall between him and his frightening solitude. He also knew soon this wall may collapse and the solitude would sallow him like the waves of the greedy sea….he had infinite time to think about the memories of his life lived. But how long would he rewind and play the same cassette again and again in his mind.
“Tell me?” She asked.

“Yes?” He said.

“What would you do after I’m gone?” She asked.

“What do you scare me like this?” He asked, “ I can’t live even a moment without you in this world and you know it too well.”

“Ha, you’re still romantic.” She teased him.

“I will leave as soon as you leave.” He said.

“How? will you bribe death to take you along with me or what?” She asked.

“Wait and see, what I’ll do.” He replied.

Next day night, he showed her a small bottle and it contained some liquid.

“What is it?” She asked him curiously.

“Poison!” He said smiling at her.

“Poison? Why do we need it? We don’t have any rats to kill in our room, do we?” She said.

“Stupid. It’s not for rats! It’s for me!”

“For you?” She asked shocked.

“Yes, I’m going to empty it down my throat as soon as you leave your body,” He told her.“ Now, let me see where you’ll go leaving me alone.”

“Don’t you want to live?” She asked.

“Live? What for?” He said. “Can I hug you?”

“Come on, don’t be romantic…that too in this age,” She teased him. “ Now..close your eyes and go to sleep.”

“O.k.” He said with a sigh.

Next day morning, the two daughter-in-laws giggled as they walked towards their room. Then:-

“You know, I wonder why he still needs her at this age…why can’t he leave her alone..” Said the first daughter-in-law knocking on the door. There was no response.

“Let’s open it!” said the second daughter-in-law pushing the doors forward. They saw them laying in each others arms.

“See how romantic they are in this age.” Giggled the first daughter-in-law.

“Yes..what is that bottle?’ She said.

“Which bottle?” She asked.

“That bottle!” She said pointing her finger towards the empty bottle in the hand of the old lady.