Syaahi ki Awaaz

She remembers the bustel of wind o'er her face, She remembers the view, beguiling yet artless, Not afraid of heights, nor fear of falls She flew her last flight that summer. Her feet were cracked, but her heart still beat Her eyes were restive, but her mind rebelled For she was thirsty and so were her nestlings And ironically enough, her blood demanded her life, So she knew that it was her last flight. She flew till she could move no more, She flew till her wings were sore, And then out of the blue she surrendered, Free falling , tearing the wind like a sword, Like the dancing warriors of the war. 'Water' she said at last, Her voice was but a murmur, like a secret about to die with her, But wait, now I know her secret! She looked at me as she took her last breath. -Kaush Rajasthan, the land of royalty, welcomes Falmingos every year, but with drying up of the water bodies these innocent creatures have become victims

The video above is today's Delhi and your future. Mask can't save us now.  With AQI touching 400 and rising, there is little hope that the smoke cloud will tide over anytime soon. After Holocaust, this might be the next and world's biggest gas chamber. This blog is a SOS call to all who hear me. This Diwali don't let this evil win. Don't let the cracker smoke burn innocent lungs. Reduce your carbon footprint, before you are reduced to lifeless carbon. Let everyone breath and let nature express it's vibrance that it once had. All is not lost, at least not yet.

What if, time was a friend That danced to my beats A fellow compeer till the end And not a chain round my wrist What if, the arrow never betrayed the bow, And stayed together not hurting a soul Better still, stayed with Cupid For love to blossom forever more What if, dreams were real And reality, a nightmare Which faded with a drop of sunshine Never to return, never to fear What if, all this were true Your time, actions and thoughts were controlled by you Then perhaps, failure would just be Somebody you once knew. -kaush

Blue is a color with lots of emotions. Blue is an ingredient on the canvas of every child, which the naive mind uses to depict the piousness of the water and the grandness of the sky. It represents our struggles against imperialism, when our ancestors were told to labour for blue indigo and the fruit was reaped by the British. It was the beginning of Gandhi rule and the end of all our agonies. Blue is the poison that Shiva, the Neelkanth, drank to shield the world from destruction. Blue is a potent weapon of transformation towards the better. Blue is an ethos of many philosophies. In today's context, blue can be understood with a novel touch. The ink that we use to pen down our thoughts, our ideas and emotions is also blue, a symbol of literacy. This is what India needs. A pen in every hand, an idea in every mind and determination in every heart. This dream can be brought to life by a combined action of the state and the people within. Education has a stereotypical noti

The city remains silent. No lit candles in hands, no despair on face and no emotions in the heart. Is this because the girls are alive, unlike Nirbhaya? Or is it mere ignorance? Muzzafarpur witnessed one of the most heinous crimes recently. Around 30 girls kept in captivity were raped continuously for 2 years. The racket was running right under the nose of the government who failed to keep up to it's promise. When will the fear of law make their hands shake before they commit? The wave of agony spread like wild fire when it happened in Delhi. That was a time when there was hope. Today hope is bleak. Today we live in a society with least tolerance in matters of cow slaughter. We see riots in the name of religion. We ignore the polluted air that we breathe and the plastic which form huge piles. All we do, is complain while sitting in the safe ambience of our homes. When will it Dawn on people that we ourselves are corrupt and no coercive means by any authority can transform the wo

The End is near The alarm beeped with all kinds of musical tunes set to wake us up. We were lying on the bed half-dead. We begged for a few more minutes of sleep, but time is a cruel beast. "It's 6:50. We won't be able to catch our bus to Bairsaini." Ini announced. This was our last chance to trek in the mountains. If we miss it, our trip would have a void which we will regret for the rest of our lives. Listening to Ini and reminding myself of reveries that waited for us on the mountain top, I jumped out of the bed and like a squadron leader ordered everyone to wake up. "20 minutes is all that we have. It will take 10 minutes for us to reach the bus stop. Let's go. We can make it!" I said. Breaking the orthodox hoax about ladies being more sensitive towards their looks, we left our camp within 10 minutes. Covered with blankets and caps, the 5 Eskimos were striding towards the bus stop. We were already behind schedule so I ran, leaving the 4 behind to

Mountains are calling... At 6 we reached Parvati valley. Surrounded by mountains from all the 4 sides, listening to the sound of river water, gently flowing over the burnished stones, made us forget all our weariness of the 22 hour long journey. We had no plans now. We had no place to take refuge for the night or a safe place to keep our heavy luggage. Our first task was to look for one. Wayfaring through the market we saw many things that we wanted to buy but we knew, we must not loose our focus. It was hard to overlook the dazzling market before us. Finally we decided to live in a camp by the river which had a picturesque scene of the mountains. We explored our camp site and relaxed for a bit. Now we were ready to go again, this time to hunt for food. Parvati valley is best known for its Israeli cuisine. We went to a restaurant with a good view and some hearty music. I drank some hot chocolate that day. I fail to remember the taste, but I remember the feeling. In the cold

Punjab tourism We thought that by this time we would be in Himachal and would finally become one with nature. But here we were, standing in a local bus stop in Punjab, with the sun over our heads, being as harsh as it possibly could and a bag on our shoulder, weighing like a ton. It is a bit funny though, that in this moment we were not complaining about our situation. There was a feeling that probably it was not as bad as it might sound. There was an unexplained content in our hearts. We were together and that was the only thing that mattered. Many buses passed by and we jumped on every bus to ask whether it will take us to our destination. It made a spectacle. About 15 people with huge trekking bags running towards each and every bus on the road, but never got on any. It was probably not a common sight for the people of Kurali, the small town where we were stranded. At last a man came and out of sympathy helped us, by telling whatever he could. Finally after a good field resear

The tragedy The bus was ready and so were the people inside. I could feel the rush inside of me. Standing outside the door, I gazed at the stairs. They were covered with blue carpet. I stepped inside the bus. It had a peculiar smell, smell of adventure perhaps. It was around 8 in the night, when the engine roared and we took off towards our destiny. Was it good or was it bad, it was yet to be discovered.  I sat with Khando, a girl with an independent mind and a sanctified soul. Her experience and knowledge made her the perfect candidate for the Columbus of our ship. Behind me was Verma. Her look was just a cover, for what she was capable of could instill fear in people. Beside her was Tanya, the girl with the power of persuasion. Her voice was an enchantment which could make men believe that sun can rise from the west. On our right was Indirayani. Her strength, both physical and mental was unbeatable. She was our Iron Lady. Lastly, I was there. On our way the bus stopped for a br

The Hardest Part "I want to go to Himachal with my friends." I said to my mom. She turned around and reminded herself of the first time I said the same thing to her.  The first time I asked her for a permit, it was a college trip which eventually got cancelled. Ever since then all our plans to cross Delhi border failed miserably. This was our last hope. A trip that had no strings attached to the college, a trip with my 4 best friends.  Mom stood there for a while, staring at the floor and then she looked at me and said "Ok". This small word meant the world to me. Little did I know that in her mind, she was positive that the plan would never take flight, like the ones made before.  As the time passed and we booked our tickets and made arrangements for the trip, the darkest fears of my parents resurfaced. The thought that this time the plan might work was disturbing them. As the day came closer, they would very often call me for short pep talks about how this dre