Alex's . . .

सारी शिकायतें मिटाने लगी. . . अब कुछ  माँगना बचा नहीं. . . घर में बसाया लुटेरा, पर वफ़ा परिंदों भी जानते,  सदियों की शिकायतें मिटाने लगी, किसीको माँगना अब कुछ नहीं बाकी, यह साली प्यार किसे हराया आखिर?                      Made this from the lyrics in the movie Lootera after enjoying the movie..Such a pleasing watch !!!

              Love.Pure love.Not just between any two people.Between two characters( inspired by 'The Last Leaf' I presume). Both the characters played seemlessly by two good actors.      Now place this love in a historical background in 1950s where excavations,artifacts and a zameendar fit in so perfectly .Colour them with good supporting casts.           As good as it sounds already,it's definetly not enough to make a good movie. If I became a fan of Vikramaditya Motwane after Udaan,then I dont know what Lootera has done to me.I think I respect his art skill even more now.             The way he has captured the emotions in every scene which is highlighted in every frame by very appropriate music and amazingly wonderful lyrics.That is what makes it a beautiful poem. It always turns me on whenever there is meaningful lyrics/music.The kind that happens ( more often than not) on A.R.R songs. The lyrics were beautiful. By the way,did I tell you the lyrics we

  All the sea shore’s also an ocean, Waves of emotions rises n falls, Never ceasing and never is ending, In every human and between them. Friendship,affection,indulgence, Love,lovesickness,pangs, Lust,envy,ogles, Waves of emotions rises n falls. Moon residing in the Ivory tower, Breaking solitude frequents only the sea, But never the seashore because No greed,no deceit,no tiff!

From childhood’s hour I have not been As most were;I could not bring My passions from a common spring. From the same source I have not taken My sorrow; I could not awaken My heart to joy at the same tone; And all I loved, I loved alone. —Edgar Alan Poe In the pic: My new bike Schwinn Searcher 4(2013)

                    What is this? A very very short story titled ‘Twitter short story’. Guessed where the action takes place? All right good. Is this a real story? No!. My common sense and ego has succeeded in thwarting my sincere efforts to convince myself that this is a real incident from my twitter life. Fact is that it is a fiction. But what is the truth? It’s not in my nature to complicate things .May be these cute people who scan twitter every other minute might find some resemblance which could be their illusion or co incidence or just that, it’s the truth! The story:                           They met each other by flawless chance. No other pollutants. Just pure chance. It was a typical definition for ‘chance’ that you would find in any lexicon. He   clicked on a random trending topic and magically(no black magic) she appeared on his timeline. She likes talking about her studies. She doesnt think that it is a show off , he thought. She thought that he thinks o

She's a diaphanous whelp, Whelped by the unservile woman,time, To her opulent master,Cricket: One among a muckle of whelps! Most her friends are his bete-noire. But he loves her,She knows. It's to her,commiseration! She's to  him(mind),Comfort . Indigence!He needs her,She knows. Benevolence!Forever to stay,She yearns. Arcane Creator concealed 'How',she rues. All die over time!But not all memories torment.

Nations have passed away and left no traces, And History gives the naked cause of it-- One single, simple reason in all cases; They fell because their people were not fit. Now, though our Body be mis-shapen, blind, Lame, feverish, lacking substance, power or skill, This is the Law which every law embraces- Be fit--be fit! for Honour's sake be fit. Let clear conscience rule us, In heart and mind be truth, And let's create more reasons to feel proud, Proud of our heritage..our Nation!! HARK!!The whole nation is waking up, Let new leaders arise and lead.And remember; Boys and girls, men,women and kids-- Be fit -- be fit! And once again, be fit!                                            --Added to Rudyard Kipling's poem