एउटा नौलो प्रयास!!

एका बिहानैको मिर्मिरेमा व्हिस्कीको चुस्की लिंदै विलिन हुन लागेको चन्द्रमा टटोल्दै निन्द्रादेवीको पर्खाईमा बसीरहेको छु| रातभरिको अनिदो शरीर थकित छ| आँखाहरु लोलाईसकेका छन् तैपनि निन्द्रा भने लागेको छैन| मनमा अनेकौं कुराहरु खेलिरहेका छन्| निन्द्राको अभावले हो कि व्हिस्की को नशाले हो, ठम्याउने प्रयत्न गरिन मैले|

मैले त्यसदिन पक्कै पनि आफुले आफुलाई नंग्याउने अठोट गरेको हुनुपर्छ| गाँजा र चरेश को धुँवामा रुमल्लिएको ति दिनहरुको स्मरणले मस्तिस्क ताजा भयो| क्याम्पसको कक्षाहरु छोडेर माथि बुढासुब्बा डाँडामा राँगाको सुकुटीको साथमा छ्याँग र निगार पिएको झझल्को आयो मनमा| क्याम्पस जाने निउमा होस्टेलबाट एउटा कापी च्यापेर हिड्थे म, तर मेरो दिन बित्थ्यो छाता चोकको पूल हाउसमा| घर बाट ट्युसन पढ्न मागेको पैसा (भविस्यमा डाक्टर, इन्जिनियर बन्न I.Sc. पढदै गरेको छोरोले मागेको, बाऊले नपठाउन पनि कसरी) गिल म्यारी र चुरोटमा सकिन्थ्यो| कोरेक्स र प्रोक्सिबोनको खर्च चाहिँ बेला-बेलामा किताब किन्ने बहानामा पुरा गरिन्थ्यो|

यसैबीच एकदिन घर गएको, आमालाई देखिन| बाऊले घरबाट निकाली सकेछन्| भाई-बहिनीहरुले रुँदै सुनाए| दु:ख लाग्यो, बाऊसँग ठुलो महाभारत भयो, मेरो केहि लागेन, कसैको केहि लागेन| म धरान फर्के, फेरी त्यही सुन्दर संसारमा| I.Sc. प्रथम वर्ष त जसोतसो पास गरियो| मेरा पखेटाहरु झनै ठुला भए, जाँड-रक्सिको ठाउँ कोरेक्स र प्रोक्सिबोनले लियो| साथमा ब्राउन सुगर पनि थपियो| ब्राउन सुगरको साथ चाहिँ क्षणिक थियो| सारै महँगो, जहीतही नपाउने र मैले त्यसको आनन्द पनि त्यति लिन सकिन|

मेरो दिनचर्या यसरी नै व्यतित हुँदै गयो| बेला बेलामा आमालाई भेट्न जान्थे| "राम्ररी पढ्नु, ज्ञानी हुनु, बाऊसंग झगडा नगर्नु, ठुलो मान्छे बन्नु अनि मलाई नबिर्सिनु" भनेर सम्झाउन्थिन| आमाको कुराले मन चसक्क हुन्थ्यो| एक-दुई दिन मजाले पढ्थे, नोट-सोट सार्थे| कक्षाहरु सबै जान्थे| तर के गर्ने, कुकुरको पुच्छर बाह्र वर्ष भुंग्रोमा राखे नि बांगै भने झैँ म पनि तेस्रो दिन देखि फेरी त्यही नविन हुन्थे| आमालाई नबिर्सिने, ज्ञानी बन्ने सोचहरु सबै विलिन हुन्थे|

हुँदा-हुँदा समय बितेको पत्तै पाईएन| दोस्रो वर्षको परीक्षा पनि सकियो| घर गइयो, बाऊले डान्स रेस्टुरेन्ट खोलेका रहेछन्| त्यही डान्स रेस्टुरेन्टको झिलिमिलीमा एक-डेढ वर्ष मस्त रमाइलो गरियो| दोस्रा वर्षको परिक्षामा असफल भइयो| दुई वर्षे I.Sc. को खुड्कीलो पार गर्न तिन वर्ष लाग्यो| केटीहरु पनि सजिलै आए सजिलै गए तर व्हिस्कीले साथ छोडेन|

अचानक आफुले आफुलाई मध्यदिनमा मरुभूमिको बिचमा लडिरहेको पाँए| टाडा क्षितिजबाट कोहि आउँदै गरेको देखें| यसो नियालेर हेरेको एउटा भीमकाय प्राणी मै तिर लम्किरहेको थियो निकै तेज गतिमा, हातमा विशाल हतियार लिएर| हत्त न पत्त आँखा खोलेको, म त गुडगांवको आफ्नै कोठा माथिको छतको डिलमा टाउको अडेश लाएर निदायछु| हाथमा भएको व्हिस्कीको गिलासले भने साथ छोडेको रहेनछ| खुशी लाग्यो, आनन्दको अनुभूति भयो| व्हिस्कीको एक अन्तिम चुस्की पिए अनि आफ्नो बिस्तरा तिर लम्के, एउटा नया दिनको आशमा|

P.S. खाडी मुलुकको एउटा घर बाट कता कता मेरो कानमा "थुक्क जाँडे" को गुन्जन गुन्जियो| :-p

Falling off a cliff..

I slipped on the edge and fell off the cliff. My sorroundings zoomed and passed by me in flashes as I rolled over tumbling to the chasm below. I struggled, swinging my arms and legs desperately hoping against hope that I would strike something that would stop me. I took bumps on my knees and my head occassionally bounced off the rocks. I tried to grasp the rock with my bare hands but was no match against the mighty pull of the gravity sucking me to its pit. As I approached the end of the chasm, I realized there were a lot of things yet to be done and the worst would be to give up trying. Twigs and branches snapped off as I tried to hold on to them and I rolled on continuing to fall. There was a sudden pain on my left wrist and a searing pain rushed through my body in a flash. Everything was numb then. There was no pain, I wasn't feeling anything. Instinctively I stretched my right hand and grabbed the branch with both hands as I clung to it with my dear life.

I tried to lift my head above to see how low I had fallen and could only see the clear blue sky. I shifted my sight below and could see the never ending stretch of the barren rock heading towards the chasm. I moved my head around and could only see the barren rock stretched on my sides. I was dangling by a branch that swayed around dangerously in the middle of nowhere with the deep dark chasm below. I could hear the birds chirp and animals roar in joy. Even those in wild were mocking my fate. There was an eagle soaring by in the majestic blue sky. I was at my nadir but still alive. I tried to move my legs and searched for a wedge to rest them but the whole body burnt in agonizing pain.

I felt for a moment that it would be easier to just let go off the branch and bring an end to this wretched life. The thought of leaving behind the ordeal with such a simple act as letting go off that branch and embracing death was very tempting but a big question loomed over my head. What if? What if I don't die instantly? What if I land and just end up breaking all of my bones? What if I end up paralysed in the mysterious valley beneath with insects, mice and those wild animals crawled all over my body feeding off me while I am still breathing, still alive? That mere thought sent shivers down my spine. I had to try every bit till I had one last breath left in me. The scary 'what if' forced me to search that wedge even more frantically. There it was!

As I rested my leg on it and inched my way up, I saw more of those cracks and wedges that would help me climb up. All I needed was patience, perseverance, dedication, self-belief and not giving up. The journey was to be a very difficult one (putting it mildly) and too slow but being in the nadir helped in its own way. I was heading in only one direction and that was upwards. Every inch I gained was an inch away from the pit, away from my nadir. I was severely beaten, battered and bruised. There were bumps on my head and knees and some bones were broken too. There were cuts all over my body. Some mere scratches while some were nasty and deep. Some wounds would go unnoticed while some would leave indelible scars. But they would heal, that I was sure of. Nothing beats time, when it comes to healing, let them be wounds or memories, no matter how bad or nasty they are. I don't how long it took me. I couldn't count them in hours, days or months. I would rather say, it was a significant period but I was finally out on the top, away from the chasm. I had overcome a hurdle. It just felt good to be back on top. Nothing to hold on, to keep me from falling. It felt good to just lie down and stretch my legs and arms as I pleased. It felt good to have the sun's rays kiss my face. It felt as if I had my head on my mom's lap as she stroked my face and put me off to sleep.

Today as I stand on that very edge and look down upon the mysterious chasm below, it brings a smile on my face and a joy that I am alive. A happiness that knows no bounds. How strange it is that the memories of the moment that made you cry, brings a smile to your face and the moment that brought joy, moists your eyes today. As I stand on the edge of the cliff today, neither am I frightened to hit another rock bottom nor am I arrogant and brash that I won't stumble ever again. I am a little more careful and watch my steps. No matter how adventurous I get, I make sure that I take necessary safety precautions. Before I take risks I ensure that the gains are worth the risks. Having said all of that, no matter how careful I am, I can't stop following my heart. No matter how many times I am dumped, I can't stop falling in love. No matter how many times I fail, I can't stop trying. No matter how many times I am betrayed upon, I can't stop trusting. No matter how many times I have tripped over and fallen, I can't stop rising up and walking again. I would rather be dead than not follow my heart.

Weekend at Kari's!!

Beating the chilly Delhi night with a blower and a laptop resting on my thighs, drinking Scapa with Buff Sukuti, Pork Luncheon Meat, accompanied by a wonderful company. Who could have imagined that a laptop could be so handy. It was very flattering to have her watch while I was cooking. It was indeed very gratifying to sense her joy and have her appreciate the spicy tea with black pepper. We sat listening to playlist comprising of the favourite numbers from Scorpions, G n R, John Lennon, Garth Brooks, Kenny Rogers, Dire Straits, Led Zeppelin, Bob Dylan, Phil Collins, etc. I didn't know "Another Day in Paradise" had a soul version. That was weird in a nice way. Lounging on her cane chair with the blower desperately trying to keep us warm, had me thinking, "Could the night get any better?" I doubted, but yes, falling asleep to the tunes of Kenny G was definitely the icing on the cake. The best time I've ever had in Delhi. Its right up there among the best times I've ever had. I won't thank you for obvious 'cultural' reasons but Kari, you definitely deserve loads of hugs.

The Ordeal continued!!

We knew that for the next 12 days we wouldn't be eating any salt. I was ok as I thought its just 12 days, its just gonna fly away. Wishful thinking, I bet it was!! That evening just passed by eating lots of oranges, few apples and a couple of potatoes with sugar and black pepper. There were quite a few people who would stay there all night long giving us company.

Its a belief that the soul of the dead body strays around on earth for 13 days and hence the rituals (kiriya) for that many days. Only upon completion of the rituals, the soul heads for the heaven, so it is said. During these 13 days, the immediate family members who are in kiriya are considered impure and are supposed to be vulnerable to attacks by the straying soul. Hence, people giving us company or simply kurawas.

The next day began with the Brahmin waking us up early in the morning. We were to take a bath. Never in our (me and my brother) lives had we taken a bath early in the morning that too with cold water. We always take a shower mid-day. It definitely took us more than an effort to pour that first lota (brass vessel) of water on our head. Being in the terai really helped as the water pulled by the hand pumps are luke warm during the winters and cold during the summers. As I poured water on myself, I couldn't stop wondering how would people accomplish this in the hilly areas where the water is icy cold. We were not even allowed a towel to wipe ourselves dry or wrap onto so changing the clothes would be a task as we would be out in the open and there would be someone or the other keeping a watch on us.

It was my brother's duty to cook rice with milk which was to be rolled onto a ball (pinda) and offered by me (the eldest son) to the straying soul (aatma). Upon completing the ritual, we cooked rice and served dollops of it on 3 separate banana leaves for mom, brother and myself. The brahmin then dropped some sugar, cucumber, bits of roughly crushed ginger and a huge serving of ghee. That was our lunch. Bon appetit!! I could not swallow more than a mouthful and off it went to the dustbin as my relatives started shouting, yelling and some even pleading with me. I just waived off at them and walked away.

The evening was more eventful with people dropping by to play cards while I decided to make something eatable out of those peanuts, potatoes and various edible roots. I boiled those potatoes and deep fried them on ghee with the peanuts. It was definitely a treat to watch that smile on brother's and mom's face while they hungrily ate them. I too loved them, was delicious! How I missed some salt and hot chillies?

That was the routine for the next 11 days as I eagerly looked forward to the evening while I counted down every passing hour. After a couple of days I realized that every single part of the left side of my body was sore. It was so bad that even a slight touch would send me shivers of pain. The remaining days would be spent lying down on my right side or walking around bare feet as I wondered the meaning of salt in my life. How much I missed it, how much I missed the simple daal, bhaat, tarkari? It also made me realize how unfaithful we are to those little gifts of life that we so overlook unless we are faced with dire situations.

On the 10th day, there was a big feast where 12 brahmins were fed. I am not sure if any of them complained of an upset stomach later but I sure was drooling on their food. With the completion of the 13th day rituals, we were finally fed a good meal. It wasn't anything fancy, just simple daal, bhat, tarakari and aloo ko achar, I am sure it wouldn't even have met my attention any other day. But that day, it was a treat. I am sure I haven't eaten as much even on those occasions when I have been stoned. Someone looking at me eating that day would, I guess, surely have felt that I hadn't eaten all my life. I had shut all my remaining senses to relish the sense of taste.

After my lunch was over and as I sat in the chair, I realized that I was feeling drowsy. Was it due to the amount of food or just the amount of salt? I was in a state of high. A salt-induced high, I suppose. I had heard about it for the umpteenth time but was a first-hand experience. I felt content. I felt content that I was now able to tingle my taste buds again with the spices of life. A vacuum was created by dad's passing away and will not be filled, neither with time nor with any amount of mourning. It will not be healed with any amount of laments. However, a cliche it is, "life goes on." With this, I hope to put a period on my narration of those arduous moments but I can't promise.

The Ordeal Begins...

As my dad's body lay sitting cross-legged on the wall, me and my brother sat in either flanks. With the rooster's call, the new day dawned on us and my head was filled with turbulent thoughts. I approached dad's eldest brother and informed him about my decision of not doing the rituals. Within minutes my decision was ridiculed upon, and I was branded an outcast. I was given a choice that I could either choose to leave, not being allowed to carry the family name any further or just carry on with the rituals. Of course, they gave me half an hour to make my decision. Honestly speaking I could have just got up, carried my bag and walked away. I didnt give a rat's ass to what people thought about me. I wouldn't let anyone dictate the terms of life to me. I decided giving a last glance towards mom before I walked away. I could see her still red-eyes full of tears just looking at me intently as if to say, "please, don't go away." Then sister came to me and whispered, "With dad's passing away, a chapter in our life has ended. Please do not start a new chapter. You do not care about the society and we all love and respect you for what you've done till date. You will walk away and leave. You might never even return back. But what about us? We can't walk away from this society. We have to live here among all these people and we need them. Most of all we need you at this hour." My little sister had indeed grown up and I guess outsmarted me.

As I poured water over my head, I felt numb. I sat there as a cousin started off with his barber skills. I could not even feel those rough strokes of the razor on my scalp. As the first lock dropped to my feet, I felt choked, it was a surreal feeling as if I wasn't even there. Then in an instant the reality seeped in, the dread got blurred and I couldn't hold back a tear drop. 7 years of patience and rebelliousness had such a forceful and unfortunate ending. One by one the locks dropped until the count reached 32. I then realized I had lost them, lost all of them for good. I could definitely wait for another 7 years but the lost ones aren't going to be back. So there I was, from a Rastafarian to a Monk in a jiffy.

The body was place in a cross-legged sitting position in the special bamboo stretcher which also had a back rest that supported to the body. The body was then taken to our farmland which has a special burial land where the deceased bodies of the family members are buried in close proximity to each other. By the time we reached, a burial spot had been selected and a roughly five-feet cube had already been dug out. We went around the spot 3 times with the bamboo stretcher on our shoulders after which the body was laid at the bottom of the pit. A lot of stuffs was then thrown into the pit as the brahmin was reading out sanskrit verses of some purana, the last of which were a set of mom's churas 'glass bangles'. We then threw in a handful of salt and walked away while the mason was set on sealing the pit.

Me and my brother were then asked to pour a bucket of water on ourselves with the clothes on. We were handed out pieces of white clothes of varied sizes. A small but long piece of cloth was rolled to be made like a thick string (kandani) that was supposed to be tied around the waist to hold the loin cloth. Another piece of white cloth was a makeshift loin cloth (kachchha). We were also given a piece of white cloth to be tied on our bald head, another to be put around our neck and the last piece of cloth was a fairly larger and used to wrap our waist extending upto the knees. These would be our garb for 13 days. It took me a moment to realize we somehow had become untouchables. We were to cook our own food. Anything we asked for (if we could have it) were rolled on or thrown to us. We were to sleep on a makeshift bed made of a couple of layers of straw and a blanket woven of very rough fibres (radi). We were not even allowed to sit on benches or chairs. As I was creeping about it, I heard someone say, "You call this unfair. Wait and watch." And so I did..

My Calling rendering me Insomniac!!

Since dad's passing, I've had some harsh realizations. Life in itself is nothing but a mere journey. All of us are travellers who co-incidentally happen to just bump across each other. With some, the journey is brief, with a lot of others it is even briefer. The only real destination is either the funeral pyre on which we are burnt to ashes or the ground beneath where we are laid and fed upon by the maggots.

Getting good grades, landing a good job, owning a car, owning a house, falling in love, marriage, settling down, having kids, having a family are all the norms of life. It was done in the past so its an unwritten law and meant to be just followed. No questions asked. When something is done repeatedly over a period of time, it automatically becomes the law of the nature. Its like the points of attractions you have on your travel guidebooks. So, they are a "must do".

If a guy/gal decides that he/she doesn't want to get married, he is considered either insane or a gay (no pun intended). If someone doesn't want to be a part of the rat race, he/she is considered to be incompetent. The reaction is the same when someone gets blown off when he/she visits Agra and decides not to visit the Taj Mahal. Its definitely not necessary that Taj Mahal would charm everyone. Why can't we accept each other for who they are? Just live and Let Die. Everyone's got the right to choose to die if they can choose to live.

Coming back to my realization, dad and me have always had a rocky relationship. I accept that he wasn't a perfect human being however he was the best dad. He had always been ill, ever since I remember. Not seriously ill, more of a recurring illness. Never saw him sit under the fan in 28 years of my life, may be 25 that I have memories of. People had to switch off their fans or air-conditions if they wanted him in the room. Never saw him drink a glass of cold water. Even in the harshest of summers. Never in my life. He never smoked a cigarette nor drank. The only liquor I saw him drink was the first sip of beer when one does a "cheers!" along with a bunch of pals and medicines, ohh yea..loads of them. Yet, I never imagined that he would leave us. Not now, not when it happened. I sure hadn't expected it when he called me home last March (after a gap of about 4-5 years). Yes, we had a fallout, had some irreconcilable differences and decided to go different ways. It was more of me walking out on him than he on me.

The reason for the callup was he wanted me to get married which I obviously denied. What better could be expected of a REBEL? The reason was nothing besides not being ready. What would I have done had I known it would be the last thing he ever asked of me? I am not sure as there are no ifs and buts in life but I do not regret my decision. I just followed my heart. However, a lot of things were left unsaid. I am sure I wasn't able to convince him. He must have surely felt hurt or did he accept my decision. I will never know that. While he was on his death bed, everytime he got out of his drugs-induced unconsciousness, he wanted to talk. I know he had lots of things he wanted to tell us but he never could. Every time he tried to speak and he wasn't able to, he just stared upwards to the ceiling with eyes full of tears and realizing that he was helpless, just shut his eyes and let the tears flow away. There were so many things each of us wanted to tell him. Some we managed to and he responded by those little nods but I am sure he had more to tell us than we had to tell him.

Its just so weird that even though we are all aware about the uncertainties of life and death, we decide to become so ungrateful to the niceties of life. We are so engrossed in the rat race and walking the beaten path that we forget the very essence of life, LIVING IT. We forget to appreciate the very fact that we are alive and are more bothered about money, more money and more money. What am I doing here in a foreign land living away from my mom and brother when it is now that they need me the most? I need to find a purpose in life. I need to know what I want of it. I know we need money. Thats the basic necessity of life like water and food. But for how long? How much do I need? What else do I need to sacrifice in achieving that? What is it that I really want to make out of this life? What is my calling? These bloody questions are surely rendering me insomniac.

Dad, May you RIP!!

I went inside the ICU and although I was briefed about his situation, I wasn't ready for what was laid in front of me. There was my dad in the state of drug-laden unconsciousness. His semi-bald head covered with hair longer than I had ever seen them. His always dyed hair was almost all-grey. His beard looked like someone had carelessly chopped them off. He was almost engulfed in a mess of wires and pipes. His arms had ballooned off and there were hardly any space without a prick mark. His chest was thumping in an unusual and artificial manner because of the ventilator pumping air in and out of his lungs. I called out "baba" a couple of times only to be met with the slow humming noise of the ventilator.

I then had a lengthy discussion with the doctor. Apparently, dad's both lungs had collapsed to such an extent that they were not able to breath in enough air, hence the ventilator. His blood pressure was very unstable. His kidneys were also affected and he was a known diabetic. His gall bladder stone and hernia were a trifle and didn't even figure in our discussion. The doctor informed me that we could keep him in the ventilator for months or take him home, the choice was ours. However, he also added that there hadn't been an iota of improvement in the past 2 days since he was in ICU.

I walked out dejected and we had a long session of discussion between myself, mom, sister, brother and some cousins. We came to an unanimous decision of taking him home. As we were making arrangements, there were also quite a few visitors coming to check him. One of those visitor came to us after visiting dad and casually informed us that dad's condition was okay and he recognized the visitor. Initially we brushed it aside thinking he was one of those exaggerating lots who would go on about how dad talked to them and all the bullshit.

However after a while, I decided to check back on dad myself one more time. So, I took my brother along with me and there he was with his eyes wide open staring at the ceiling above him. This time when I called out "baba", he turned his head towards us and instantly he had his eyes full of tears. He then tried to lift his head, open his mouth as if to say something. It had been almost 3 days that he had uttered his last words. He was struggling to raise his hand and pull out the ventilator's pipe off his mouth. I held his struggling hand, asked him to relax and told him everything would be fine now that I was there with him. He nodded his head meekly as if saying, "No son, nothing's gonna be fine."

The nurses butted in and roughly tried to pull his hands apart to tie them so that he wouldn't yank the pipes off. I was like, "WHAT THE FUCK!! No one's tying my dad's hands". I asked them to back off and also assured them that I wouldn't let dad struggle as I tried to calm him down. I couldn't hold back my tears anymore and I was sobbing uncontrollably. I then pulled brother out and sent mom and sister in as the fucking hospital didn't have any spare gowns.

After a while mom and sister came out wailing. It took me a while to control both of them and we agreed that we would not take him home that day. We returned back the next morning and was disappointed to find out that dad's condition had detiorated. Hence, we decided to take him home.

We drove back in an ambulance with us continuously pumping air using a portable ventilator. Upon reaching home the rituals of "gai daan" was completed. Dad got out of his consciousness sometime late in the evening and started struggling again. He was definitely responding to the different voices calling him 'baba', 'kaka', 'bhai', 'daju'. His teary-eyes searched for those voices while he struggled with the ventilator's pipe stuffed through his throat. When he replied with a positive nod to a question posed by my sister if he was feeling uncomfortable with the pipe and should we take it out, that was it for us. We couldn't see him suffer anymore. Once the pipe was replaced with an oxygen mask, he was calm and off to a sleep. He bade adieu to us at 11:50 pm on Monday evening, 15th of November '10 without uttering a word in 5 days. As a part of our traditions, we made his body sit cross legged with the back resting against the wall. As all of us were sobbing and trying to come to terms with the eternal truth, I knew it would be a long night ahead. The only thought striking my head was a few lines from "Kaalmahima", a poem by KabiShiromani Leknath Poudel:

भाका, भूल, दया, क्षमा र ममता, सन्तोष जान्दैन त्यो,
इन्द्रै बिन्ति गरुन् झुकेर पदमा त्यो बिन्ति मान्दैन त्यो,
थुप्रोमा उधिनी मिठो र नमिठो रोजेर छान्दैन त्यो,
खाता जाँची सबै दुरुस्त नबुझी बिर्सेर हान्दैन त्यो ।१।

राजा रङ्क सबै समान उसका वैषम्य गर्दैन त्यो,
आयो टप्प टिप्यो, लग्यो, मिति पुग्यो टारेर र्टर्दैन त्यो,
लाखौँ औषध अस्त्रशस्त्र महिमा देखेर र्डर्दैन त्यो,
व्याधातुल्य लुकेर चल्दछ सदा मारेर मर्दैन त्यो ।२।

When the GOING gets TOUGH, the TOUGH gets GOING!!

Always kept telling myself, EXPECT THE UNEXPECTED and yet today when I am at CROSSROADS LEADING TO NOWHERE, I realize that I ain't prepared to accept that LIFE INDEED IS A NASTY BITCH!

However, on second thoughts, I ask myself what would I have done if LIFE WAS A SMOOTH SAIL. I know not the answers. I don't pretend to be the ENLIGHTENED ONE. All I can say is yes, LIFE'S BEEN A BITCH and ITS SCREWED ME WITH ALL ITS MIGHT but I have enjoyed every minute of it so, HELL YEA!! BRING IT ON BABY!..I dare you and I promise you I'LL BOUNCE BACK EVEN STRONGER!

My locks are a year old!!

The frowns of middle-aged men and women,

the kids sticking their tongues out ever so slightly,

the gutsier ones requesting to touch and feel them,

some express their complements,

while some dare with their disparagements

some turning their heads to get a second glance

all in all am enjoying the attention

..one year of dreading and still going strong.

Missing Goa..

Basking on the morning sun on my little patio,
Rolling a joint with a chilled Kingfisher by my side,
couldn't start the day any better.
Getting messy eating the crabs, the sea food platter
The gorgeous view of the sea and,
the sound of waves lapping against the shore.
All of it is washed away like the sands of time
All that remains now is memory, a mere memory.
Missing GOA.