THE INDIAN COMMENTATOR

The musician was quiet. Not literally, though. He had been silent long enough now that the people associated with him started worrying about his career. One day his assistant asked him: “If you continue to be lazy like this, it’s not just you who would starve, but all of us and your family along. We would be charged with cases for not carrying out our professional commitments.” “I know.” There was a pause. “I was taken in by the sudden success I had and was creating a lot of music at a time. At one point, it ceased to seem music any more. It was just a noise. Too much noise. And in this noise, I failed to listen to the music of my own heartbeat. I am mending my mistake now, by listening to myself in silence. Be with me.” The musician fell silent again.

"In Facebook we are lucky. We have the like button to say that I like it. But in life, we are under huge trouble. Since, no word could match the way we feel when we like someone."-- -Anu I never believed it. But I have to tell you how drastic the change in my view was. After meeting the girl I met in my town I started believing in it. Nothing serious: I never once believed ‘liking’ someone, something, etc. could be propagandist. No, it certainly and seriously should not be. Being a propagandist myself, I can inform you what propaganda really means. Well, don’t misunderstand me. Propaganda is a word usually used with politics and people associated with politics. I am no politician. I am teacher. And believe me, teachers too can have propagandas. Not political, though. But there are teachers with political desires under cover. And I never intend to be one of them, frankly. Being a teacher, I have my own propagandas. Like, a good student is someone who behaves well to teacher...

You feel you live in a democracy. You just feel. That is what democracy does. It makes you feel. Many times I felt that democracy itself is a feeling. You feel a lot of other significant emotions alongside, too. Like freedom, for example. Is freedom a feeling? It can take up a whole two thousand words argument and still can remain chaste. Doesn't it hurt you when you are not free to do anything, say to move out with your boyfriend? Indeed, and so freedom belongs to that above mentioned category of psychological traits—feelings. As we have started a healthy discussion about feelings, let us continue with it. There is a lot more to discuss. And it can exceed any word count again. You are not just a box of feelings, like the old time gramophone. You are a complex being. You belong to a better category, a genre that hasn’t yet maligned by the presuppositions. If you are in a new territory undiscovered by any one, you are lucky. You are experiencing the most original of the eart...

A wind from the Far East crossed the Himalayas one day, full of moisture. The moisture condensed. The high cold weather that was usual in the region, transformed the moisture into an ice flake. The wind was pleased greatly, because it had given birth to a baby. After a year the wind returned to the mountains to meet her child, the snowflake. The snowflake was happy to see his mother, too. Seeing the snowflake sparkle with happiness, the wind asked, “Why are you so happy my child?” “I am happy to see you mother. And I know this too, that you will be traversing over the oceans after leaving the mountains.” The sun, who was bright over them that time, heard what the snowflake and the wind had said. It is surprising how a snowflake living in the high mountains knows about the oceans, the sun thought. It embarrassed him, because he had never expected the snowflake to know a lot of things. He decided to talk to the snowflake. The sun talked with the snowflake with its rays of light....

This is the final i-poem in this series, “Rain i-poems”. This poem is short but says about the perseverance of the drops that make the rain. Blessings 7 Until the final drop, It rains.

Summer or autumn, This rain is not seasonal, Happy or sad, Like my tears.

5 Before it rains, The clouds go grey. Before I cry, My heart bleeds.

You complained of the mud, But I was grateful, Of our toes, the rain had cleansed.