Journey so far

She was the usual kind of girl, not that pretty to look at..lets call her “presentable”.

Ambitions were ambigious , dreams..wild, knowledge limited till Chetan Bhagat, Nicholas sparks and that category. Life was all about waking up in the morning with the smell of steaming tea making its way through her jammed nostrils, drinking it still in half sleep and burning her tongue  after which the full day she couldn’t get the taste of anything, brushing her teeth in the mandatory up and down motion after which came left and right, wearing uniform was no big deal but styling her hair the correct way.. God that was tough!

She sat down to eat her breakfast, not much time did she take to gulp down bread,  only a fair 20 minutes, another 5 minutes for drinking tea..and she was all set for the day. Unique is what she thought herself to be..untill and unless her ideas seem to match with innumerous others. Confined within the tinee-tiny town, whose crown jewel be the exquisite kunchunjunga, whose weather is often compared to the mood of women, whose tea is worldwide famous but whose residence lacks recognition , who still stores the toy being a world heritage, whose area is so small that when one goes out on a date one has to have more than two pair of eyes..its a guarantee that he is  going to bump into atleast one of his relative, and after he has bumped into a relative he cant help getting bumped into the same relative a couple of times MORE! A town where people think more than twice to wash clothes dreading it will take more than a week to get dried, a town where people take bath once a week and still manage to stay clean. A town which has so less to offer her yet is her world..

Away for three years she would close her eyes remembering those streets she walked. By heart did she remember it and when in her thoughts she walked the same streets she actually could smell that same fresh and revitalizing air, she could feel that chill after a sudden wind passed by her and when she opened her eyes she was brought back to reality. Then she would realize that she is thousands of miles away. No smell of steaming tea! She lived in a place so full of orange that she sometimes believed that her eyes were orange in colour. A place where she was enlightened with things she cannot explain, of miracles that happened to her but no one saw, of bonds she made which acts like an invisible thread binding her still.

Thousands of miles away..clutching memories, clutching her dear memories was how she survived. As another reality dawns upon her, her surroundings change. She now stays most probably, according to her, temporarily in a place which is mostly known as a “linker” to the northeast. On her way to college everyday she sees a man selling fish, she has never seen the fishes but she knows he is selling it. As soon as she gets down from the rickshaw she hears many drivers shouting names of her dear hometown and her beloveds . Annoyed she swiftly walks past them..crosses the road and gets into a blue bus..escape it is.

Clutching her bag she takes out her phone, her blue umbrella peeping from inside, she draws the window open. The engine rattles and the bus moves with a man selling newspaper , a woman distributing pamphlets to everyone..which most probably no one reads, with all this happenimg in the background  she looks outside. The man selling newspapers gets down and the woman too with another unsatisfactory look. As everything is settled and the bus moves on she slowly pulls out her earphones, plugs into her phone, shuts both her ears and vanishes from the seat to a world of her own. Sometimes she finds herself dancing just like in one of the music videos and sometimes she is a victim of heartbreak which never happened and other times she, well.. she just exists.

The approach of the conductor brings her back to her seat, a note or a two gone.

Everyday the halt annoys her because the bus always stops a bit away from the campus entrance. Settling her hair she reaches her class and as the room fills, her mind wanders to all the possibilities of her future. Anticipating, assuming, sometimes even knowing she smiles to her ownself..

And as I write about this one girl I almost feel afraid recalling a line from one of my favourite books “Wuthering Heights” : ‘gave up everything to possess everything’. I pray to my orange God “Swami keep her strong, dont let her break down and let her always see God in all her endevours. Let her not be so ambitious that she would loose everything just to possess everything”.





Gorkhaland Gorkhaland Gorkhaland
All scream but WITHOUT unison
Half the crowd already sold
They shout cuz they are told
The other half too innocent
Its the name that brings us shame
The land of thunder!
Our Gurkhas are no less than thunder!!
Who gave the word “Gorkhaland”?
That traitor who sold us all?
DARJEELING is the name
“Gorkhaland” is just a game!
People should stop acting so lame!
They just want us to be tamed!!
Janta is the name of football
Played in a field of hypocrisy by polticians..
Their goal being a stackfull of money.
No one is better in this game
All are but the same..
Only our people
Our dearest Janta
Timi j bhanyo tyai maanta???
Understand why aren’t we getting what we deserve..
There is always our own playing it..
We dont need a leader.
We need a representator for our community!
Green and yellow isn’t our colour
Its white with the Gurkha symbol,
Sharpest of all the weapon.
Raise your own voice
Right now you are just echoing.

I want Darjeeling!!

I am Darjeeling

Art by @noriart13

My name is Darjeeling.
I have also been called Dorje-ling.
My past is very vast,
Only 26 alphabets cannot suffice.
If you try to explore my past,
It is similar to diving,
Diving into the deepest ocean
From one you might never come out.

I was once called “The queen of Hills”
A crown soon snatched away from me.
Then there came days where I was teased
“Pahar ki raani maila ki khani”.
I shed a tear or two..

My residents loved me
But they didn’t love me as well.
I still get confused…
Do they love me?
Love, is it so confusing?
Buddha said:
“When you like a flower, you just pluck it,
When you love a flower you water it”.
Am I being plucked?
Or am I being watered?

These days I am mostly bruised,
And these bruises hurt..
I have never been left as I am,
I have an identity crisis,
Iv been pulled and pushed away,
What am I?
I dont want to be Switzerland!
I am Darjeeling,
Give me back my crown…

I bleed! I bleed! I bleed!
Its not blood..
Its my identity…
When I have bleeded enough..
I will be but an empty space,
A tabula rasa…

I try to think of happy days,
Oh wait…
There were no happy days.
I was constantly raped,
Yes i was raped..
Raped by the Government!
Raped by the system!
Raped by forces I could never see..

My sockets are empty,
Not a single drop of tear in it
I can only moan my fading…
My muffled moans,
Deafened by warnings,
Deafened by terror,
Deafened by chaos..

Let me just be me,
I am Darjeeling,
I want to be Darjeeling,
With these same people who are confused nomore.
My nomore confused warriors,
Who can protect my crown.

My pride resides in their hands,
Let them restore my pride,
Let them bring me my crown back.
They are my Gurkhas,
My “Sceptre” (Dorje) and my “Torch”.



I made a terrible mistake
A terrible terrible one
I trusted the weather of my hometown!
How could I!

A sunny day it was
A funny thought occured
“Aee aju pardaina paani
Akash ma tann tann gham channi”

All was fine that day,
It was full of fun and gay,
But suddenly what’s that hey,
A Drop of water on my face
See told you, I had to pay.

It rained..
Not cats and dogs,
It rained
Lions and tigers that day.

Had bid my friend a byee
No shelter caught my eye
So jogging started I.

My footsteps I could hear
But another’s was also near
I speeded my steps
It speeded its…

I stopped, it stopped
Surprisingly no raindrop touched me now!
Up tilted my head
And a big colourful umbrella greeted my eyes.

My eyes followed downwards the handle,
A hand ,
A face,
A smiling face,
A smiling happy face,
A smiling happy face with a tooth missing,
No hair,
Maroon dress!

“Thank you” I croaked,
She only smiled,
Tilted her head side to side.
She moved with a rythm,
One I could not catch.

I gave her a shy glance,
Her walk was like a dance,
And I told her in advance ,
If a shelter is found
I will hold my ground.

Again that head tilted,
Something within me melted.
A shop on the way,
Pointed my fingers that way
We both entered its shelter.

“Go ahead” I said,
Flashing that tootless smile again,
She entered the shop
With a kind of hopp
Came back with two Munch
Handed me one “Baabbaaaaii”
And Off she went…

Standing there I watched her dance,
All along she danced not walked,
Half way, she turned back,
Gestured me to eat the Munch.
Ripping the packet open,
I took a munch of that Munch
Believe me it was the best lunch.

She moved forward,
That huge colourful umbrella
Dancing in her rythm.
I hope I meet my new friend again
My toothless monk friend again..


Night after night,

Before sleeping tight,
I whisper his name
Trying to blow away my inner flame.
A daily ritual it has become,
No sleep comes if no name uttered,
And as Morpheus drags me to his home,
I see a thousand dead bodies,
Skeletons but all alive.
No dragon glass to kill them,
No swords to fight them,
Only corroding rocks lay by my side.
I pick up the rock
Only to find dust in my hand.
The dead come face to face,
Crawling, running, screaming
Step by step backwards..
I fall from a hill,
With a huge thunder sound I land on my bed.
Opening my eyes the white ceiling greets
With thunder, lighting ,rain outside my window.
What an unsuccessful attempt
Dear Dead!

Lamp of our nights

A stroll across the terrace,

In that slow motion heroine feel

I looked up at the magnificent sky.

The vast space so meticulous
Embedded with a rotund lamp of night,
And teeny-tiny torches lit,
Something gently sundered within.

The zephyr swaying my hair,
My blue scarf wavering behind,
And the redolenece from no particular source,
I breathed in the scent of nostalgia.
Sneezing away to glory
I let it pass…

The wind still caressing my hair
Better than my old lover,
I smiled at a thought of a lover.
An old song tarrying in the air,
I let a small giggle mix with it
Adding a little swril with my frilly skirt…

Far away, a tree whispered,
I couldn’t get far to that sight,
But I knew in that shady light,
It fell in love with that lamp of night.
How long will the tree live?
A thought to it I give.
And so benign the answer is wispered:

Till love is claimed no figure…

Showers of blessings

After Anantapur (Sri Sathya Institute of Higher Learning)

Having studied in the abode of God, the outside world looked a bit too dazzling at first. I stumbled a few times, not knowing how to deal with certain things. After three years I entered the world again with weapons of love, kindness and peace. It was like being born again, everything was new and alien to me. Things didn’t go as I thought it would, many hurdles came and I have to admit, my faith shook. Many a times I questioned His omnipresence, many a times I fought with Him asking him to answer my unanswered prayers. Well I just wanted an easy way out, I wanted him to take decisions for me and I would blindly follow them. As time passed I realized I didn’t have to scream out to him because he was residing in me, sometimes I would just talk to myself saying “what if I had this” and the next moment I would have that. Just like a genie He would fulfill my wishes. 
Since all the sisters of ‘Sai Daughter’ were working hard to collect funds, I thought I could help too by making some things and selling them…for funds. It was a trend of dream catchers so I started making them. People started buying it and I was collecting pretty good amount of money. I would see the designs from the internet and try to make similar ones. One day I ran out of feathers and I decided that I would get it from the market. That day I wanted to make a dream catcher which would have red feathers as I had seen a beautiful picture of it in the internet. But during my previous visit to the craftshop, the shopkeeper had told me that red feathers were not in stock so I was a bit sad. And I thought to myself that it would have been so nice had I got red feathers. I went to the market with my mother and brought feathers of different colours (red was still not available) . While returning home we had to pass a Church, since it was quite late it had become a bit dark. As we were walking, suddenly my eyes caught a glimpse of some red coloured things on the floor just outside the church. I bent down to take a good look at it. Low and behold…red feathers they were. One, two, countless numbers of red feathers carpeted my way! I kept on picking it just like a small child giggling all the way to glory. I kept on picking it till my hands were full, then I walked fast to catch up with mother with tears in my eyes knowing what had just happened. When my mother saw red feathers in my hands she asked me where I got it from and I just smiled and said “God sent it”.
He knows what we want and for that we dont need to keep on asking him for it. Ask him once with sincerity and love, you will get it. Call it coincidence or call it anything but just think about it, the feathers fallen outside the church had to be red in colour? Why not any other colour? And why did it have to be me to see them?  
Feather is just a small weightless thing I know but doesn’t it amaze you? How he sent it to me? Imagine how I felt when my path was carpeted with what I wanted that was magical, simlpy magical. I did not pick up feathers from the road that day, I picked up precious jewels of love which hangs above my bed everyday….

Social networking

With all the social networking site,

Trying to calm your inner fights?
Hey you girl/boy/man/woman
The cheerful smiles on your screen
“They are so happy” that doesn’t mean
Even that girl so lean
Might also be suffering from the age of teen.
Skinny jeans and her top of crop,
After the photo, may have drop,
In a changing room of one shop!
A girl on his lappy,
And you think they happy,
Believe me they just evolved from the stage of wearing nappy.
A good caption on their picture?
Let me tell you, is no fixture!
Your screen, hey you yes your screen
Maybe not all, but most is a fein.
Do you think I am done?
No I am not done because I am no Donne,
My poem may not reach to all
But you know where the pieces fall,
Don’t be a fool
This networking site for some
Is just a tool to act all cool.
A medium of communication
Now made the space for commentation
Of verbal fightings and shocking interpretations..
A choice is always given
In which way things should be driven
Is the land not enough
That we occupy even the technological space?
I repeat my self again with no one to disgrace
This networking site “for some”
Is just a tool to act cool.

The Hauting words

So many words I wanted to say
Left unsaid..
But it hung around in the air,
Always echoing somewhere.
I tried to catch it to burry,
My hands here and there in hurry.
Ghostly words..haunting
Always daunting!
Like the buzz of the fastest bee,
The hiss of the poisonous snake,
Like the hidden cricket in the bush,
That constant ghost words
Hushing and hissing,
Never lets me live in peace ,
Never lets me live in peace..
Metallic cross I hold,
Suddenly be all bold,
Exorcism it is today ,
Each and every word
Will go to my Lord.
No more haunting
No more daunting.
Be quiet…
Let me catch it..
There it is,
Those words murmuring,
Wherever I move it moves along,
Let me get hold of the source!
Then it will be over..
Following the sound
Where do I reach?
Mirror..where in the mirror? 

My frantic reflection.

Oh dear..No..
No..this can’t be
Its me..its in me?

Inside me it was borne?
I am the source?
Am I…?

Book pillow

How beautiful it is

To fall asleep on top of a book
“So lazy!” feels the ones who look
But the sleeper only knows
What kind of a sleep the book shows.
Dreams of letters
Which never does fetter,
Crossing the horizon
Taking the sleeper to a paradise,
Of the sun and moon together in the sky
Where the sleeper can also fly
And bid world a goodbye.
The air whispers sweet words of love
A breathtaking flight of a white dove,
Beneath a radiant bower
Fully laden with exotic flowers,
Spreading fragrance of beauty
Lulling the sleeper to a more better sleep.
The book is the softest pillow,
The sleeper fallen so below,
Its hard to bring her back
All the power to do so you will lack.
Let her sleep,
Her dreams are deep
In which you cant ever peep.
So let her be
Go find a book
Dont just stop and look..
Because it is beautiful to fall asleep
On top of a book.

Awaken Thy Past (ATP)

​Sun rises first in the morning,

Can there be a place where it doesn’t?

Let me take you to a place,
God’s most beloved space,
Where the bell ringer never lost her pace.
She rose before the sun,
I am sure her favourite too was the bun,
Eating bun ok not the hair bun
Because I am trying not to make a pun!

Eight and hundred dings were dong,
Some ears heard a sweet song,
The others were dreaming for far too long.
Sleepy eyes and lazy legs,
Dashing here and dashing there
Pantry dear we finally are here!
Supra greetings dear God,
But wake thy self first “Oh Lord”!
Roll call taken by that girl so tall,
I think my friend beside me is about to fall.
Sleepy head I say,
But all she wanted was her bed to lay.

Just like home, there would be morning tea,
But only one ladle! Half more was our plea.
Folded legs and empty cups,
Talking about innumerable stuffs,
To reach your room you were last,
Just to find your bath line has already passed!
Inviting bed and your sleepiness,
Remember how you slept past the breakfast bell?
Hastily covering nighty with half saree
And managing to sneak with all the “tayaree”.

Audi prayers,
There is a guest this morning?
Oh you hope its not boring,
But the sister beside you is already snoring!

Classes full of Godliness,
One more experience you would plead,
Honestly was it trick or treat?
Shaking sleepiness from your seat,
You would give sleep a nice beat,
And wonder how the girl in front has a hair so neat.

Finally lunch time!
Your favourite spinach daal,
I can still get that taste so yumm..
And that butter milk
Which tasted more like silk.

Drowzy classes after lunch,
Half closed eyes of the whole bunch.
Making it till the last bell,
Rushing for snacks with your bagpacks,
Praying for jim-jam or is it puffed rice poha?

Bhajan time it would be.
Washing face and combing hair,
Keeping place hey that wasn’t fair!
Closed eyes and clapping hands,
The sound best among any bands,
Because this is God’s own little land.

Last of all the meal,
And then its time for your mouths to seal,
But we all know that wasn’t the deal,
Midnight snacks we all had is what I feel.
The world’s best rasam
Is of ATP I kasam!

Those terrace walks,
And all those talks.
Sipping milk from the cups,
Talking about past present and future,
All these while the moon smiled from up above.

Study hours were more of gossip hours,
Books opened but did you study?
Only the most studious ones did
And missed all the fun.

And like that every night passed..
Waiting for our bell ringer to wake up first,
Because she rose before the sun
I am sure her favourite too was the bun,
Eating bun ok not the hair bun
Because I am trying not to make a pun!