"The darkness of losing a friend and the thought of losing green to concrete...In loving my city I have come to hate it more than I can bear. It is in spite of the city itself- it is beacause of what has been done to it. The tide of speculation has decreed to banish open space and greenery in favour of boxes for shopping and living. Sunlight is a rarer commodity still. The plants, merry in a wild overgrown garden by a lake, find comfort in each other's shadows, shying away from the eroding gaze of ramphant 'development'. Perhaps they count their days. Perhaps they care less and dance away in the nostalgia of a tropical breeze."




To worship a book is such a pure thought; it is such a divine direction to take- the minute you begin to give human form to something that is not human, things start to get fuzzy. To worship an idol brings with it an inevitable association- something that allows a grey area, a layer of sponge- to those who want to find their own definitions of the ‘ultimate’...This is where the lines between the ‘not-so-good’ and ‘not-so-bad’ get smudged; there are multiples- and clear direction is lost in the complication of loyalties. Help!




“Aakhone mein jiske koi to khwaab hai,
Khush hai wohi jo thoda betaab hai..
Zindagi mein koi arzoo kejiye, phir dekhiye...

Hoton pe jiske koi to geet hai,
Woh hare bhi to uski hi jeet hai..
Dil mein jo geet hai, junjuna lejiye, phir dekhiye...

Yadon mein jiski kiseeka naam hai,
Sapnon ke jaise uski hi hashaan hai,
Koi to ho jise apna dil dejiye, phir dekhiye...

Khwaab buniye zaraa, geet suniye zaraa, phool chuniye zaraa- phir dekhiye...”