THE INDIAN COMMENTATOR

The question in love is 'Yes' or 'No'. They can be answers too, but it is when they are asked, they become more significant. For they carry with them, all the vulnerability, security, instability, surety, hopelessness, hope, anxiety, and peace involved in love. Everyone believes they fall in love or raise in love--as some like to believe-- and some live with whom they love, some die, some simply forget, never identifying what actually they felt towards the person they met. It might be an attraction for their physical appearance, liking towards their character, or feeling of comfort when they spend time with each other. Love never happens when they believe it to be. The majority will not realise when it happens. Those who realise this, may differ in their sensation of the feeling of love from the others. There are some who take it as a feeling of hatred. This is the reason that in love, some people, fight. They feel as if fighting would bring their partner closer and th...

[This story is also published in Authspot ] [ a story from India, ded icated to all the teachers and students in the world... ] It was my friend who told me about Raghavan master that, he is one of the greatest teachers he has ever met, and that he would be a good choice for me too. “Why should I go searching for a teacher? I simply get them in my school.”–I said. “If you want to be guided, you should search for your guide. It is your duty and necessity, you will understand it, my friend.”–He said, with peace in his words. “But how can we realise that someone is the best teacher or guide? How can we find them?”–I was curious this time. He narrated me his own experience, how he had found his teacher. “It was I who searched for my teacher, but it was my teacher, as I now realise benefited by me.” Seeing me rather interested in his deep philosophy, he smiled and continued. (And I like him for that, he gets me quickly). He continued: “When I met Raghavan master, he asked me, what ...

How many of us wait for someone? I am not talking about waiting for love to happen, but waiting for the beloved who has departed from you due to some reasons, except death. I have published a small piece carrying my views on this topic. You can read that on this link: Socyberty . I request you to write your opinions as well in the comment box below.

Individual , the conglomerate entity, has differences rather than similarities with each other. But every individual is confined to the helplessness of generalized perception. In other words, it is a human deficiency that human beings can't afford unwanted energy expenditure as part of their increasing utility demands that leads them to generalize things to a certain extent on the basis of some perc eivable common threads running through them. These threads can be observed as the major factors identified similar in the things around. This 'weakness' of identifying similarities can be a boon to the human civilization. Read the full article on SOCYBRETY .

on one personal pain... ------------------------------------ The catastrophe of the night, ravished me with a meteorite, of the heavenly space. I welled up, as an emotion, unexampled, inexplicable, I felt highly vulnerable. The dark barbarian has his hands, and legs and his whole body, rested upon my flesh, crushing it down the earth. I cried, I spewed out my stomach, my eyes came out of the skull, my skin ripped off and my mind, left alone, like an emotion inexplicable. I cried. Tears turned to blood. And I knew the morning was coming. [You can read this poem in Authspot also.]

[The poem was formerly published with Authspot ] Just let the day pass, and let the moon rest, in the night's lap. To give you hopes, of thousands of stars. The day will take away with it, the rain and flaming sun. Your bread might be wet, from the lack of roof. Your hearth might be damp, and there might only be smoke. Your children might scream in- the sermon of hunger; in its metamorphosis: void in front of the eye holes. And your wife's breasts might stick to bone, as if your husband's time has gone. Then you are about to have - a gleam of truth; It lacks that last bit of potion, to save some lives: love; the invaluable currency. The world has gone crazy in growth! Let the day pass.

You don't know me, more than a stranger does. Even strangers know that, they don't know me. But you have declared, in an instance that, you know me, like I am nothing. As if I am nothing more than a wall notice you had read. As if with a meter scale you can, assess me like the stumps you had seen. As if with a plain gaze you can see across, like the rivers you had met. As if with a stone you can throw me down, like the fruits you had tasted. You don't know me, more than a stranger does. Even the strangers know what epics are, what trees, the ocean, or the stars are. And you know me? Did you know that I do not exist? Or that I lied? ---------------------------------- [This poem is previously published here ]

A POEM. The thing I drew was a female. The thing was as if in a mirror, someone standing in between- me and my art: a female thing. The thing was only a thing, as it had no hands to clasp, and no legs to part; a torso: on which I can work- my inmost sensuous spark. I made her nothing short of- an exhibition piece. The pride I had was that of a 'creator'; conceiving, constructing, controlling. But the pride died quickly, and the corpse turned into lust. The only thing I found in her as lack, was the place for me to enter. ----------------------------------------------------- [This poem is previously published in BOOKSIE ]