Saheb ji ki Laxmi

Prince to Pauper, all are in the celebratory mode, because it is that part of the year, when everyone eagerly awaits the arrival of Goddess Laxmi to their abodes.
We are very well aware with the historical significance of Deepawali, when Lord Ram along with his wife Sita and younger brother Laxman returned to Ayodhya, after exile of fourteen years. The residents of Ayodhya celebrated this event with lighting the clay lamps with mustard oil, it also happened to be Amavsaya that day, so it gave all the more reason to people of Ayodhya to light-up the paths. May be it became synonymous with coming of Ram-rajya, which in those times implied, that, it was the establishment of ‘Law and order’ and of course equality. 

 Times have changed now, and Delhi gives a wider perspective to the significance of Deepwali now.
Residing in South Delhi, the Lutyens Delhi to be precise, getting to share space with the creme de la creme, can be benefiting as well as disheartening at times.

Deepawali gives you a better explanation of being an elite class or a middle class.

At least in today’s time and age.
Saheb ji as he is fondly called by most of the colony ‘maids, helpers or drivers’ doesn’t have to flex his muscle power, because it goes without saying that he is all rich and mighty. The never-ending row of sedan or swanky cars, that too, for a government official is not that easy, especially for me, as I happen to be a ‘Fauji’ . But it does come as a privilege for me to share the same block number as Mr. Saheb ji, who also happens to be my next door neighbour.
Diwali gift culture is more rampant in Delhi, as compared to rest of the country.

And what better view other than Saheb ji house-hold can give.

As per the internal sources, I mean my maid, the Goddess resides in the house of Mr. Sahebji, he himself has been residing in that house for more than two decades now. He has almost established a Ram-Rajya of today for himself here, but it is more of a luxurious one.

Well the grass appears to be greener always on the neighbours end, but what do , I do, to make my grass greener, I mean apart from watering it, how do I lure Laxmi ji.

Is neighbour’s pride my envy??
How to tackle the volley of questions by my maid ,when the doorbell of my neighbour’s is rung by unknown faces, and me like an alert neighbour peeps through my window, with my eyes widened, or at times hiding behind the curtains, only to be blinded by the glitter of the golden wrapped gift boxes , the gift bearers a literally pleading Sahebji to accept their gifts.. My maid just draws comparisons of the luxurious and middle class life. And how I just give her pack of pattisha available in the canteen and five hundred rupees for Diwali, and how generous my next door neighbours are.  
Well I too, clean my house with equal zeal and effort, but still await a single door-bell for the boxes laden with goodies. For me its all about give and take, what i get has to be returned, its like passing the parcel, but not to forget, for me investment or expenditure is more than the profit , unlike Sahebji.
The coming for festivities gives me more of budget blues than enjoyment.

The bundle of rupees/notes dwindles or falls like a pack of cards, without buying crackers, my kids suffer the aftermath of bursting them , with air laden with pollution and dust, and I making regular visits to the doctors.  

The dogs of the colony also know about the most prosperous house in the colony and can be seen making rounds outside it, as they are fed well there, but for them too, Diwali turns out to be a nightmare outside Sahebji residence as non-stop bursting crackers till mid-night , makes them hide in crevices. Poor harassed creatures run for shelter, after all its a dog’s life , they too soon realize.
More than merry making, I am counting my left pennies, Diwali makes me realize that I am ‘ penny wise intelligent and pound wise foolish’, I go and haggle with poor road side vendors for earthen lamps but in a split-second buy all the sweets displayed in the air-conditioned shops, but only to realize later, that people now days prefer dry fruits or fresh fruit baskets, as they have become more health conscious. Yes Diwali does adds on that extra-pounds to me, well that is the only gain I have , during this festival.
After cleaning the house when it is time to make arrangements for the Pooja, the actual Laxmi , I mean Saheb ji’s wife is dressed in her traditional best, ready twenty-four hours of the day making rounds to others place , at times attending visitors and excepting gifts and at times busy in the card parties.

Well it is Sahebji ki Diwali and his laxmi too, the commercialization of the festival has only added in gains of Sahebji.
After celebrating choti Diwali , Shaheb ji locks his doors and leaves for get away destinations, away from the polluted city , the family likes to holiday individually, but receive gifts before Diwali in unison, may be Laxmi ji likes the latest and modern things now, as she showers them more with prosperity and gifts of course.
There were times when as a kid, earthern lamps and electric festoon lights brightened my grandparents home, all houses looked just the same with colourful rangoli made up of dry colours and rice flour, the marigold flowers embellished the thresholds, streets abuzz with activity, wild life safe and sound in the jungles.

But now, the hectic buying spree is more of a staus quo, the urge to splurge and indulge in extravaganzas is about blessings of Laxmi ji.

I as a middle class, with my heart and doors open, still wait for the money Goddess, is it my greed??

Deepawali means the ‘row of lamps’, and as the rockets soar high making a kaleidoscope of patterns, the neighbourhood lightens up but only to realise that the next morning has been high jacked by the blanket of thick smog and the remnants of the previous nights celebrations are scattered all over , telling us that the paper rupee notes were so brutally burnt down .
Well amidst the bureaucrats, diplomats, embassies and businessmen of Delhi , amidst the conspicuous consumption, economics involved with proliferation of shops and kiosks, dealing with gift items and of course my wealthy rich neighbours, I just forgot to mention the other side, I was so busy highlighting my own grievances that I forgot that half the Delhi almost resides on the roads, with free pollution supply and free electricity of the lamppost and blaring light of the vehicles in the night, for whom the Laxmi comes through begging and they do not have to maintain the cleanliness part, as more shabby and dirty they look, more alms they collect, for their daily meals, yes for them she pays her flying visits only , rest Laxmi ji belongs to only Sahebji, she likes to laze around in the huge lockers, like his loyalist, and for us she pays her temporary visits.


What a day it was!

All good things come to an end, but the nostalgia associated with them lingers on.

One such memory is of my student days of school. Those were the best days of my life, now as I look back.

It was after the gruelling session of two years, that my result was about to be declared . 

It had been torturous two years in eleventh and twelfth standard ,  when my Physics teacher, who also happened to be my class teacher made my life hell.

Constant nagging, being labelled as a weak student, in parents teacher meet parents were always asked to make their ward study hard, all practical files marked in red ink, flunking in unit tests of the particular subject had put me in the category of  dull students. 

Though I worked very hard ,but still the marks and the marks sheet always demoralised and discouraged me.

The very thought of Mrs .Bhatnagar, whom we now started calling as bhatakti aatma , i mean roaming ghost kept on haunting me, her constant taunts made me work hard though ,but most of the time it was heartbreaking . 

For those two years, i dreaded my physics classes the most, keeping my fingers crossed , every time she entered the class. Every time she picked me up for questioning,  and bombarded me with subject pertaining questions ,  I experienced the hell let loose on me. I behaved abnormally and shivers ran down my spine.

She made me stand outside the class or at the back , which was rather insulting. The complete two years were spend in fear and attending tuition classes , but the result or outcome remained to be the same.

But today , after two years ,  it was the day, which would finally seal my fate as fail or pass.

It was the day when my twelfth standard board results would be out, I had already spent sleepless nights for many weeks now . 

I entered the school premises with my parents and younger brother, but some how could not muster the courage to see the result board as my parents and brother proceeded to read my result.

Suddenly my brother came rushing back, I was about to get a heartattack , the shock of my life, but it rather turned out to be a surprise , the smile on his face said it all. 

I had passed with flying colours  with distinction in all five subjects including physics . 

My parents hugged me, the congratulatory messages from relatives and friends started pouring in. Even Mrs Bhatnagar praised me, for my diligence and dedication. It was absolutely the best day of my life, and I can definitely say, ‘what a day it was’.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’

House on the hills

2How desperately I want a house on the hills. Being a city dweller, staying amongst the concrete jungles in pint sized houses with exorbitant prices and rent , on top of that monthly installments , i truly realise the significance of houses on the hills.

A small house with a big balcony and wide windows, where there are wide screens of  nature and not the multiplexes .  The magnificent view with chirpy birds and hustling leaves on the ground. The squirrels and mynas play takes over the computer games. The fresh and chilly breeze replaces all the airconditioners . 

The fireplace with burning logs of wood in the winters does not adds on to smog but warmth of cosy confines of the hill house.

The muddy rocky undiscovered paths leading to the house, replacement to all gyms, treadmills and walking plazas. Elevators do not exist here, because young or old, all are pedestrians . 

People here are still untouched by junk food or beverages, as the green vegetables grown outside the house with natural fertiliser of cowdung ,does not require green houses or chemicals and chilled water from the ancient Wells bars the entry of water coolers.

No dengue or chickegunia can  ever spread it’s pangs as cowdung cakes acts as deterrent to such deadly diseases. No mosquito repellent creams or machines are required . 

The small hill house has acres of land surrounding it, where man and beast live in harmony.

The ancestral deities reside there and make their presence felt with chiming bells ,  the sound of which echoes across the hills.

The mighty deodar and pine houses  the numerous other tiny beings in its branches . During winters the mighty deodars appear like the snowman with a blanket of snow  over them.

The star studded skies give birth to many interesting stories as we lie on the cot on our terrace  . The gentle moonlight falling on the rooftop of the hill house  overshadows all the lampposts and streetlights of the city.

As the children sit in the porch soaking the winter sun, they have the pickle in the jars to accompany them.

The fragrance of the ghee emanating from the kitchen attracts many visitors, who sit for hours sipping hot tea and telling stories of the neighbouring houses ,  it is then we realise that chatting on our mobiles and phones is useless, the real conversation takes place here, with the people and the nature.

The  hill house is witness to coming and going of many generations ,  who spent their precious years in the lap of this house. It still stands rock solid, with numerous stories in its folds and every nook and corner.

But now for years why does it lie in neglect, is it because no one comes here now, or it has lost its charm. May be it could not keep pace with changing times, could not provide or fulfill the ever changing human greed, in want of more.

But now I want to get back here, but i do not want to rebuild it, for my selfish interests, I don’t want a modular kitchen with electric chimneys, i don’t  want the social sites,  but only the social connections.i do not want the compound walls, I am safe and secure from the prying eyes here. 

I want to run away from the suffocation of the city, sit in peace on a riverside, watch the grazing cows, unlike  the ones in the city surviving on polythene . 

Leopards and tigers roam free in the jungle, so the zoos do not exist here.

Here man and animals live in harmony and coexist  ,  as the house on the hills watches over.

I am ready to settle here, away from humdrum of noisy polluted cities but then,  when I turn around, the hill house stands in the ruins, all neglected ,  it would be a herculean task to repair it and now it has no old company of trees,birds , rivers or animals. The neighbouring hills have been cut open to make more houses and roads. To please the tourists with  the facility of electricity and water supply, the gushing streams of water lie tattered with garbage.

Amidst all this my hill house still stands but in much more inferior state, but do not worry my new abode, i will  accept you the way you are, your originalty is your strength, it holds in it my childhood.Yes the house on the hills has memories of my growing years embedded in it, where I want go back, again. It has been a shelter to me, it’s roof has always protected me.

So here I’m again to stay with my house on the hills….

What’s in a name!!

“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet”, is a frequently referred part of William Shakespeare’s play ” Romeo and Juliet”. The Valentine fever caught on to me too last week and so I decided to revisit the pages of ”Romeo and Juliet”. But what caught on to my imagination was the above mentioned line by Juliet.I can well imagine her distress, when she lamented by saying “What’s in a name?” I do not know if everyone would subscribe to Juliet’s view, that name is nothing. As we all know that a talent of a person is not dependent on his or name!!!!!!!!, but our astrologers have proved otherwise, – as our numerologists our making crisp currency notes away from their moorings by making small adjustments in spelling our names, that will shower gold on us, and of course on them too.
  Point to ponder is, that how can a double ‘ee’ or double ‘ss’ in our names will bring us luck. But, I have seen people especially the rich and mighty changing their names to gain more popularity and fame, because their name has now become integral part of their identity, proving our dear Juliet wrong, thus name is essential, after all we all want fame as well as name, isn’t it.
The power of name and its value has long been immortalized in prose, poetry and religious ceremonies such naming ceremony of children. 

Names given to us or others , at times offend us and at times please us, making our bonds more strong.

Pet names are endearing ones that show affection, where babies are caressed by calling them Guglu, bebu, sweety or bachu.

Pen name or nom de Plume is pseudonym used by famous writers as well, to make themselves more distinctive, disguise his or her gender, to distance or protect one’s identity.

J.K .Rowling of famous ‘ Harry Potter’ series is actually Joanne Rowling, but to appeal to young girls as well as boys she changed her name.

Benjamin Franklin wrote under the pen name ‘Busy Body’, Charles Dickens under ‘ Boz’, Charles Lamb under ‘Elia’ and George Eliot under ‘Ann Evans’ , the list is endless.
A clerk feels dignified when his designation is referred as Office Assistant, a cook as Chef, or Caterer, Washer man as Launderer, barber as ‘Hair dresser’, mechanic as ‘Technician’, Compounder as Pharmacist and last but not the least housewife as’Homemaker’. There work remains the same but it feels much more dignified associating yourself with these names.

A name does not define the ‘Character’ of a person, but it does gives an identity to one.

For instance, we call our near and dear ones with nick names and people we dislike or detest are given secret names by us.

Sometimes certain words used for people leave such a rude impression, so terms such as ‘special children, visually and hearing impaired’ were discovered instead of mentally challenged and dumb and deaf. A ‘name’ gives dignity and respect to a person’s occupation. 
Apart from humans, even animals are given names. When we have them as our pets and they also start responding to the names with which they are called out for. Even stray animals such as cows, dogs or cats start responding to names they are called regularly with.

I have a bunch of stray dogs in my locality, whom when I feed, they have lately started responding to the names I call them with, a black dog responds on being called ‘Blacky’, Brown one responds on ‘Browny’ and the one being slightly bigger in built responds on being called ‘Sheroo”.
The interesting part is, even cities have their nick names, Jaipur is called the ‘ Pink City’, Bangalore is known as city of gardens, Hyderabad is known as city of bangles/twin city and likewise cities and places have nick names all over the world.
“What’s in a name?” please ask this to Mr. James Bond and prompt you get the reply, ‘it’s Bond, James Bond’.

A ‘ noun’ is defined as a ‘ name of a person, place or a thing’ and it is always written in capital. See how important a name is. Ever noticed people belonging to: Punjab become Punjabis, Goa become Goans and Kashmir become Kashmirirs. The names also help us identify our nationalities.
Alas! the debate continues, we should not make our name/ sir name our vehicle or weapon to get our work done but with our actions prove to others that we our worthy of our names and value them.  
As I value my name

Anjali sharma

Mighty Pines

One thing Hills are synonmous with, is the tall Deodar and Pine trees. As we ascend the foothills, the flora and fauna changes varying according to the temperatures.Deodars or Himalayan cedar gets its name from the Sanskrit deva-daru (divine tree) and is found in extreme of climate,i.e upper reaches of Himalayas.
But, one tree which can be found in almost every part of Himachal is the Pine tree, my favorite . It is even found in places like Hamirpur and Una bordering with Punjab.
Hamirpur unlike the hill-stations is basically a plain area , but we will find the pine trees in abundance there, which more or less makes it a mini-hill station.
The road leading from the NIT to Central school in Hamirpur gives beautiful glimpse of the mighty Pine trees. These trees can be found in hot, humid as well as cold climate areas.

In Summers the Pine-needles become the major source of fuel for many villagers.

The resin from these trees is use for various purposes, including the medicinal ones.
The presence of Pine trees can make any plain look like a hill station, as one happens to visit Delhi, the Pine trees can also be spotted in Nehru Garden in Chanakyapuri.

Beaming in full glory on a mount with regularly shedding of pine-cones, these trees steal the show.
But in Himachal, whether the lower or upper, the Pines are omnipresent, and under these benedictory pines, near the sky kissing hills, clear blue skies in the day and star studded nights with a brighter moon, with wood smoke and mist, sweet smell of pine-needles, the dew drops falling, makes you love and appreciate these mystical woods more and more.

Dear, 16 year old me.

​Teenage is all about Wonder Years, where we are still trying to figure the upcoming complexities of life and innocence of childhood left behind.

What fascinates a young mind about teens is , probably two things, the soon becoming of an official adult at 18 years and the excitement attached to being called a sweet sixteen. 

Well for me it was definitely very fascinating to enter the world of being addressed as a 16 year old.

It was more of coming face to face with lot of revelations ,  more than happier ones , they were like facing the harsh realities of life, and yes reality bites.

What if , suddenly  you are addressed as a grown up or expected to behave more maturely, a list of responsibilities are showered upon you. Very conveniently people put you in the category of being a child or an adult ,as per their ease.

Well ”Sweet 16′ is more of a concept adopted from the West , but half heartedly by us , Indians, also one would never find Indian parents throwing a party for their child turning 16, instead they start worrying about their child’s  future and their settling down on professional as well as personal front.
But now when I go down the memory lane, I very distinctly  remember my sweet 16 phase, more than anything else, because there were so much of expectations attached to being a 16 year old.
”Dear 16 Year old me’ , now that you are gone , how fondly I remember you, for all good and bad reasons, as you have always hogged the limelight and overshadowed the rest of the teen years . I really pity 13, 14 15 ,17, 18 and 19 th year of my teens, who never got as much importance as the 16th year. Yes 16 th year was the talk of the town.  Almost similar to rest of the teen years, but still much talked about, basking in glory and sunshine.
Now when ever I play tombola,  and strike out the number 16 , as called out as sweet 16, i really get nostalgic, but back then, sweet 16 was not as sweet and happening.

It was a phase when the metamorphosis was still going on, I was not yet a butterfly, but in my final stages of being  a caterpillar ,  the hopes were high, but still lot of milestones were to be covered.

The rosy picture portrayed of being 16 was not so glossy ,  the hidden crushes, proposals ,  pimples, puberty, were like hindrances or speed breakers for a smooth sailing.

The bollywood movies were a spoiler then, where hopes of secret romance were raised high but then suddenly we landed with a thud , on coming face to face with ground realities . 
There was so much to cope up with, exams, studies, tutorials and the dreadful board tenth exams, which ate up my dreams of being a sweet 16. 

The tension of securing high percentage now at sweet 16 for a better 17 and 18th year took away most of the time.

The gained height and puberty did not make me any prettier but rather confused the kids, whether to call me a Didi or aunty . 

At 16 I was eagerly waiting to turn 18 ,for getting my own driving licence, but wanted to look as young as a child.

The special mention or treatment of being 16 was limited to the movies only, in reality it perturbed the parents ,as for girls, they may go astray after watching hindi movies and they may elope with someone ,  and for boys ,parents worry was pertaining their getting into wrong company, as this was the age when they had appearance of facial hair with arrival of beard and moustache and peer pressure.

There were lots of  apprehensions surrounding this sweet 16 thing, more than enjoying it, it rather gave sleepless nights, at  times due to expectations of the society and at times due to hormonal changes.

  • But now as I look back after almost two decades, I feel it was such a carefree age, but then I will feel the same after a decade or so, I guess so.

After all ,age is just a number , whether you are 16 or 34 . If we still have the child like innocence ,  exuberance of a teenager and maturity of an adult ,then even 60 becomes the new 16.

So,Happy 16 Forever.

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‘This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’

Display of Dolls

October marks the beginning of festive season. Whether it is in the North or South part of our country, people celebrate various festivals at this time of the year , which are similar to each other in many ways.

Being from North and staying only in that part of India , I never had the privilege to witness full-fledged festivity of South.

Recently visiting a colleague from down South, during Navratri, l witnessed the beautiful doll figurine display at there place. Also known as Bommai kolu/Bommai Golu/Bombe Habba in Tamil Nadu, Karnataka and Andhra Pradesh, this display marks the celebration of Navratri. 

The way the beginning of Navratri , the first day of fasting is celebrated with Maa Shailputri (daughter of the Mountain king), similarly the the doll display marks the first day and begins with Mahalaya and continues till Vijayadshmi. 

Bommai Kolu in Tamil means Divine Presence, in Telgu Bommala Koluvu means Court of Toys, and Bombe Habba means Doll festival. And I was able witness and feel the presence of all three.

A beautiful display of dolls depicting various Gods on a wooden rack of odd numbered shelves. The one I saw was a rack of 9 shelves using wooden planks of equal size, which could be fitted in any order, these planks were called Kolu or Padi, which also means steps.

Further these steps were covered with fabric and then adorned with various dolls. The meter sight of these idols transported me to my childhood. The way we made a doll house and played ghar -ghar. 

The display also highlighted the day to day activities of a common household of India. The lady of the house had very beautifully and meticulously placed these dolls, and preserving them with utmost care over the period of almost 18 YEARS. She had also kept her daughter’s toys collected over years , from a toddler to a teenager now.

In South India , bride is presented with Marapacchi Bommai by her parents as a part of Wedding trousseau to initiate the yearly tradition of’ Navratri Golu’, in her new home with her husband. Which takes place every year during Navratri. 

For me it was a lifetime experience, as well for my 6 year old. The beautiful bright coloured dolls depicting Durga , Laxmi and Saraswati. Ganesha as well as Buddha sharing the same dias with playful Krishna and reserve Rama. 

Ten Avatars of Vishnu ,almost similar to Darwin’s theory of evolution. Beautifully depicting evolution of various Avatars, from Matsya (fish), koorma (tortoise),varaha (boar),Narshimha (human lion),Vamana (dwarf), Parasurama (angry man),Lord Rama (perfect man), Lord Krishna (divine statesman),Balarama (elder brother of Krishna) and Kalki (mighty warrior).These are Avatars which have time and again according to Hindu mythology, have come to save the mortals on earth.

Overall it was thrilling and an educative visit to a glimpse of India , which is so beautiful and culturally rich .

The Bit of Ravana in me.

(Parts of Effigy of Ravana taken for Dusshera)

Lord Rama is said to be the incarnation of Lord Vishnu ,but for path of righteousness he sacrificed his pregnant wife.

He is the epitome of a devoted son , dotting husband and a caring big brother.

We all want be like Lord Rama,  but even he was not a God but a human made of flesh , blood and errors,Who abandoned his wife in the name of morality. 
Ravana is portrayed as a villian , but he never left his wife in lurch. 

History tells us the stories from the perspective of a winner and not a loser. So the one loses becomes a villian with evil qualities ,and the focus shifts towards the achievements of a winner , the one with good qualities.

But the point to ponder is :we all are made of black and white , we all are with grey shades , somewhat like Ravana. He was not a human to be hated but characteristics in a human , we would hate to see.

But there is ‘a little bit of Ravana’ in all of us.

We all have our merits and demerits.

Like Ravana , our achievements make us arrogant . Ravana was a learned man , a scholar but one wrong step led to his doom.

He became too powerful in the head , the fame went to his head, so his education became null and  void, he could not put it in practical wisdom.

Burning his effigy every year on Dusshera,  does not mean that it is to demean a man called Ravana, but to burn the  man like Ravana, within all of us.

Before our ego turns out to be an Achilles Heel for us, it is better to give it up.

Let not your head become so high-headed that it starts believing , that we can be ten times smarter then others.

We would have reacted the same way, the way Ravana reacted on seeing his sister’s chopped nose, despite of being aware of the fact.

Don’t we encroach upon others properties, cut down forests to make concretes, put others down in this cut throat competitive world.

Every man is an embodiment of neither total goodness or total badness. Despite of being well educated don’t we behave like illiterates, don’t we at the drop of a hat hurl abuses at the fellow driver overtaking us. Don’t we give  lecherous and lust full looks to a female travelling or staying alone.

All of us have Ravana inside us, yes the piece of Ravana. Neither we are saints nor sinners, but acts of injustice boils our blood and at times our  own acts cannot  be justified. 

To err is human, but to do something knowingly for our own selfish and vested interests is having a piece of Ravana in us. When we try to overpower the weak , we give rise to Ravana in us. When we tell our children to behave properly,  tell them stories full of morals and ourselves on the other hand do not adhere to them, we give rise to Ravana in us.

If others success makes us jealous then we have Ravana in us, but  if the same jealousy makes us strive for better with hardwork and effort, then we our putting our knowledge into use and not into arrogance. 

Ravana was a learned man ,a family man and a great ruler, but his urge to put others down , to prove his unethical demands led to his destruction. 

Life offers us a slice of Rama as well as a slice of Ravana, we have positives and negatives both.

If we strive to follow the path of righteousness like Rama, then we also must learn to love our family like Ravana. 

If Ravana committed a crime by abducting Sita, so did Rama by abandoning her.

We all have piece of Rama as well as Ravana in us, the good and bad of both.

And the onus lies on us , how to imbibe the good and let go the evil.

Till then we cannot deny the existence of both.
Most importantly, when we tell our children the stories about characters of Ramayana,  let’s not only tell bad things about Ravana but also his positive qualities of a hardworking knowledgeable man, who also loved his family. 
Happy Dusshera,  with this Dusshera let’s burn the evil within us and give rise to the human attributes within us . Away from the devil and the divine , something more human.

# Dusshera 

A Life Well Lived

​Well life is like a rainbow, but we do have  colours of black, white and grey in it.

It is made up of various shades and hues, a blend of various colours, seasons and emotions.

But in the end of every journey taken and every relationship lost, we realize it’s essence.

The roller coaster ride of childhood only becomes memorable , once we reach our late teens, the significance of adolescence is understood , only when we reach our middle age, and finally when we reach our old age, we tend to remember various phases of life , which seem to be so delightful now. We crib our old age and always complain about it, but we forget that, ‘old age is a privilege denied to many’ . ‘A life well lived’, cannot be complete without the inclusion of sunset years.

Life is a series of images, and happy are those, who find humour in every day life.

“The world is comedy to those that think, a tragedy to those that feel”

-Horace Walpole. 

We all living beings are mortal beings, so what is the point being morse,  all will take the same path, whether long or short of it.

Let the white light pass through prism and scatters into a rainbow.

Life must be understood backwards, but it has to be lived forward.

My grand father always believed that , life is a miracle in itself, so live it well.

Well he passed away recently,  at the age of 84. For many this number may be a ripe number.

But for him there was more to look forward to , for spending more, .Age was not a deterrent for him.

Despite of losing his wife and a young son, he looked forward to life, he subtracted the sorrows and added the joys to his family by becoming the caretaker to his remaining family. At 83 when he was diagnosed with brain tumour,  he did not loose hope. Always looked forward for family gatherings and functions.  He lived in the moment,  his zest for life gave us immense support and courage to look forward to meeting him, despite of his failing health.

For me ‘a life well spent’ would be the appreciation of each phase gone by , not by lamenting the times gone by but by happily getting  lost in my nostalgiac world and also looking forward for coming times.

This is what I have learnt from my grandfather,  appreciation of each day as it comes.

Though life can be cruel at times, good to many in bits and pieces,not a cake walk for everyone, but then, at the end of the day , it is only the good memories that count.

Ups and downs are part and parcel of life, so let’s not regret it but try to spend them and gain experience from them. Let’s play our parts well.


All the world’s a stage

And all the men and women merely players;

They have their exits and their entrances;

And one man in his time plays many parts,

His acts being seven ages.”

– William Shakespeare 

I am spending my life well, as I take it as a box of chocolates with dark bitter and sweet chocolates


I cry, laugh, smile, yell, feel sad as well as happy, and so I’m spending my life well.This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda