Matlab ka sansaar ye hai matlab ka sansaar....
Sabkuch hai bekaar, yahan pe sab kuch hai bekaar.
Haani laabh ki tulna hoti, dukh ka hai byapaar..
Matlab ka sansaar ye hai matlab ka sansaar.
log bure, buri hai ye duniya, bura iska adhaar
Matlab ka sansaar ye hai matlab ka sansaar
Lahu se hori khel hai hota, hota hai deh byapaar..
Bol ka na koi mol yahan par, bas milte hain tiraskaar
Matlab ka sansaar ye hai matlab ka sansaar
Prem bhav jo machal uthe kahin, cheere use nafrat ka dhaar
Bhabnaon ki na koi kadra yahan pe, na hai wosulon ka koi bhaar
Matlab ka sansaar ye hai matlab ka sansaar
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Thursday, August 21, 2008
On true Love
About Love
A whole lot of literature has been written, spoken and understood on the same constant topic LOVE. I am a minnow in the same. What do I know about it is too small might be. But What do I understood is honest and by self analysis, not from preexisting literature or gyan. I have had never experienced love ever before, till now what ever wittings I had published here on the topic was imaginary and not by experience. Here it goes what I had earned the hard way:
Love is feeling. A feeling of greatness and righteousness. Being self righteous is love for being self righteous enables you to choose between whats love is and what its not. Is it about pursuing it as if its a goal to achieve? Or is it in possession? I am afraid its not. Its about pursuing the fact or being righteous and gaining honest. Naked honesty. Its about respecting the values of the beloved. Standing by the commitment of the beloved. A commitment is commitment. She is not committed to me but the fact is she is committed. And I must respect this commitment for I love her. Love lies not is possessing the physical entity but in the courage to behold it even with out it. The materialistic possession of the body might give me solace but the solace of fallacies. Truth lies beneath it. I have to seek it if at all I love. I have to understand love lies in respecting guarding her respect and values not in sacrificing them for mere feeling of being master. The body dies with you even the values and even the sense of love. But what lives on is the re-definition of love bequeathed from era to era. And love for me as I have understood is in respecting her commitment and not in realizing my materialistic emotions. I am a mortal man bonded with emotions too but I have this curse of righteousness on me. I have to live by it. I still love her. I still. But the power of Love takes away the "I", "still" and "her" from it. All that remains is the virtue of LOVE. Till eternity. I love you. Still and till and until.
Truly
Abinash
A whole lot of literature has been written, spoken and understood on the same constant topic LOVE. I am a minnow in the same. What do I know about it is too small might be. But What do I understood is honest and by self analysis, not from preexisting literature or gyan. I have had never experienced love ever before, till now what ever wittings I had published here on the topic was imaginary and not by experience. Here it goes what I had earned the hard way:
Love is feeling. A feeling of greatness and righteousness. Being self righteous is love for being self righteous enables you to choose between whats love is and what its not. Is it about pursuing it as if its a goal to achieve? Or is it in possession? I am afraid its not. Its about pursuing the fact or being righteous and gaining honest. Naked honesty. Its about respecting the values of the beloved. Standing by the commitment of the beloved. A commitment is commitment. She is not committed to me but the fact is she is committed. And I must respect this commitment for I love her. Love lies not is possessing the physical entity but in the courage to behold it even with out it. The materialistic possession of the body might give me solace but the solace of fallacies. Truth lies beneath it. I have to seek it if at all I love. I have to understand love lies in respecting guarding her respect and values not in sacrificing them for mere feeling of being master. The body dies with you even the values and even the sense of love. But what lives on is the re-definition of love bequeathed from era to era. And love for me as I have understood is in respecting her commitment and not in realizing my materialistic emotions. I am a mortal man bonded with emotions too but I have this curse of righteousness on me. I have to live by it. I still love her. I still. But the power of Love takes away the "I", "still" and "her" from it. All that remains is the virtue of LOVE. Till eternity. I love you. Still and till and until.
Truly
Abinash
Thursday, August 07, 2008
Transition
It was crowded like any other day. shiny cars
with beautiful ladies inside halting at the red
traffic light. And in the hustle of crowd people
running off the foot path to make a fortune
though tiny from this halted traffic of rich.
Except for one. The little boy, crying silently
on the footpath. Eyes just brimming with tear, yet
to come out. The silent cry lost in the noisy
engines. Bare body he did not care about how rich
these people are and how poor his fellow mates
are. All he cared about was about his need. He
needed care. Getting off the bike I went slowly
to the kid, asked his name but got two droplets of
tears running down the black chicks as answer.
At least I freed what he was holding back. Tears.
He didn't care even about me or my existence. He
ran back on the footpath till he reached a
distance he felt safe. Looked back at me. I
smiled, he cried.Again. And he vanished from my
sight. I could no longer hear the noise of the
engines nor of those rich man shouting on their
cell phones. It was a silent world for me. I was
waken back to the noisy reality by a traffic
constable shouting over my shoulder for my
license and why I have parked the bike on the
footpath. In almost slow motion I could feel
myself drifting from what I feel real to what
they feel real. From silence to noise. From
individual need to mass desire. From myself to
the political society. I went on.
P.S. It was on this Koramangala signal (near my
office) Tuesday morning.
Truly
Abinash
with beautiful ladies inside halting at the red
traffic light. And in the hustle of crowd people
running off the foot path to make a fortune
though tiny from this halted traffic of rich.
Except for one. The little boy, crying silently
on the footpath. Eyes just brimming with tear, yet
to come out. The silent cry lost in the noisy
engines. Bare body he did not care about how rich
these people are and how poor his fellow mates
are. All he cared about was about his need. He
needed care. Getting off the bike I went slowly
to the kid, asked his name but got two droplets of
tears running down the black chicks as answer.
At least I freed what he was holding back. Tears.
He didn't care even about me or my existence. He
ran back on the footpath till he reached a
distance he felt safe. Looked back at me. I
smiled, he cried.Again. And he vanished from my
sight. I could no longer hear the noise of the
engines nor of those rich man shouting on their
cell phones. It was a silent world for me. I was
waken back to the noisy reality by a traffic
constable shouting over my shoulder for my
license and why I have parked the bike on the
footpath. In almost slow motion I could feel
myself drifting from what I feel real to what
they feel real. From silence to noise. From
individual need to mass desire. From myself to
the political society. I went on.
P.S. It was on this Koramangala signal (near my
office) Tuesday morning.
Truly
Abinash
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
The half lit day.
The shades are always half lit. Half lit is also half dark. You wake up appreciating the day. But the day does not always appreciates you. I asked for just a smile and what I got was a anything but a smile. I smiled but. The same way I used to. At least the same way I try to. The thirst of her smile remains a morning dream. Like looking for dew on a petal when sun is at the top. I take a look back on the figure which I can see quickly becoming a shade. For me. And a shade is always half lit. Half lit is also half dark.
Truly
Abinash
Truly
Abinash
Friday, August 01, 2008
The conscious stupidity
succeed in being smart. Walking down the busy road your eyes catch up to some one's style and almost in voluntarily you emulate it. Spontaneously. Speaking in a meeting you suddenly realize people are watching you and the action changes. The consciousness of the disposition becomes apparent. You are explaining something and suddenly you realize some one is listening to you.... the pitch changes, the ascent changes the words changes. Everything which was natural and unconscious (at least superficially) becomes unnatural and conscious(deeply). You realize you are behaving in a weird or stupid way, suddenly who console yourself with false assumptions. That can't be me. No my fault. At least not now.
And all these are conspicuous when you are with some one of opposite sex (I assume all readers are straight sexually).
Wonder of wonders The above logic applies most of the time on both or all the people involved almost making everyone conscious of everyone's stupidity.
But still it has been the way since ages and it will continue to be till ages. Kudos. :)
Truly
abinash
And all these are conspicuous when you are with some one of opposite sex (I assume all readers are straight sexually).
Wonder of wonders The above logic applies most of the time on both or all the people involved almost making everyone conscious of everyone's stupidity.
But still it has been the way since ages and it will continue to be till ages. Kudos. :)
Truly
abinash
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