Fiction of Love



My farm house is away from city... alone in jungle like me. It is one of the most severe monsoons on the earth tonight and in my life too. Dark clouds, storming wind, pouring rain, ear slitting cloud smashes. Barely a meter of path is visible from inside the car because of heavy rain, muddy road and foggy sight. Windshield wipers are sounding loud to remind me that I am alone... I entered my farm house, parked the car and logged in to the wooden mansion. It is dark dead inside like I am... my boots are whacking on the wooden floors. Wooden floors have its own style of juggling sound with leather boots tapping on staircase mixing with sprinkling rainfall outside. I lit up a cigarette when I reached my bedroom cum bar. Made a large peg of Mosinee Italian red malt Wine and reclined on the arm chair at the balcony. Everything in my site has got used to with the rain except me. Tree’s leafs, braches, stems are all soaked in water. Grassland is appearing like a sea lake... no birds singing, no squirrels are chuckling. Every business of this nature is halted except my cigarette’s smoke which turns wet as soon as it come out of lungs into this wet rain mixed air.

Peace never comes in peaceful places... the more you seek peace more you go away from it. When I was happy with my love in her arms, I wished time must stop still right there. Today I am left alone in this world and once again I am wishing that time must stop still as I cannot bear anything worse from this and I know the worse is still to come. Tomorrow morning will be the worst day of my life or perhaps worst day this earth will witness... I don’t want the morning to come. I don’t want the sun to rise again. This rain, this jungle, this balcony, this wine, smoke and me and nothing else I want for now. However this is not what I wanted from life... but this is all I can manage to have as of now. I was destined to face this day... a day when everyone hates me who otherwise loved me like the prince of god.

I have seen people die of hunger, debt laden man commits suicide and poor health suffering man pleads for death but I am no where among them. I was the master of fate, prince my queen mom, brave soldier of my king dad. Love, fame, glory nothings was less to my disposal... This is when life played cruellest havoc on me...

“Dreaming big is crime, doing over capacity is sin” I whispered. I know there is no one to listen to me. No one to understand me, I am deliberately here... away from everyone who wanted a few answers from me. I am perhaps by choice here where no one can find me and I can breathe last. Breathe last? I recalled Suicide I thought of it! This is how I can make the time stand still! An idea rang in my mind. This is how I can faceoff tomorrow...! I raised the determination to validate my thought. How can a man of my stature suicide? A counterview defended my life. Will I not be declared a quitter? This I never wanted to be ‘a quitter’ but considering all that happened in my life I am a loser. A loser who raised the hope of everyone he met but failed in his own battle. A loser who made many dreamers dream high, act high and die higher... A loser who will not be respected even from those whom I taught what is respect. I am liable to quit, I must quit near my bed was a maverick German pistol loaded with 10 live ammo. With my honey love Kumud I once discussed about my wishful death. I did not want to die of any disease, not by suicide nor by accident. I wanted the most useful death life can bear. I wanted my death to be meaningful but today neither my life nor my death has any significance in this world. She kissed me when I said to her that whenever I die, I must not be cremated beneath land, sailed into water or burnt on bier... I must and should be ejected into the space by wrapping my body from national flag of my country. She kissed me for being heroic for she named as Kumud ‘the flower’ the most selfless friend of humanity. From birth to death flowers are unnoticed friend of mankind. Flower is even more adorable for those who are brave. ‘Brave’ this how my father knew me. He named me Pareesh ‘a love name of a brave emperor of India in the epic of Mahbharatha Pareekshit’. I don’t how much I served to my name but yes I tried hard... today, I have no desires left to think of anything which relates to my name. I was most proud of my name once but not today. I am stigma to my own name today... I cogged up the pistol and placed it right in the middle of my two eyes at the forehead. A little push to trigger will relieve me from the pain of being abandoned, from the suffocation of being left alone, shame of being stigmatized, refused to be loved from my life kumud. One bullet will smash all that inside my skull which has turned me sleepless. One shot will set me free of everything which has tied me from last 30 years as a son, brother, lover and visionary. I recalled, I once promised kumud that I will die laughing so I stretched my lips. I looked around once again as everything around me I am seeing, I am seeing for last time. Everything will lose its sheen after pushing the trigger resting at my finger’s command. Rain has stopped, sun has set, darkness is growing... two flowers in the garden are dancing in the breeze as if are making love. One of the flowers is looking like my kumud. Shall I call her before I call my death? I developed a lust for life once again. I hate this lust... life should not be loved, it just should be lived till respect is alive. I have lost my respect in the eye of my love Kumud I must not make her life painful any more. I must die before anyone gets me here. I replaced the cogged pistol right in the middle of my two eyes. I have not closed my eyes, I wanted to see me dying, and I want to see everything that happens to a dying man for as long as I can.... I started laughing... louder... further. I am the rare man in the world witnessing that death is happier than life. I am happy I am about to end my life. I strongly ribbed my finger around the trigger. Cell phoned ranged! iin screen it says ‘Kumud calling....’

One finger can push the call button to talk to my honey another finger can push the trigger of pistol... I am laughing no more. A sense of fear logged in, I am sweating... staring at the phone! She may have some good news for me but there cannot be any good thing for me in the world. Death is the easiest escape from pain but love is the noblest thing human can have. A finger will chose love, another will chose death. For me, Prareesh, love and death both are meaningless but I have to chose one. This phone call will last 20 seconds but death is eternity...



What Should I chose?



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The 4th Idiot



"We have exhibited three varieties of idiots in a grand Indian cinema starring Amir Khan. It also had fourth variety of Idiot. Fourth breed of idiot can never bond with other three idiots... Why? Well you have to read it full..."

Fourth Idiot is missing? 
Critique is the independent and stray art of analysing other’s art. Ever since art grew, criticizers grew in the same pace. Criticism is socially and legally permitted not only permitted but also promoted in any democratic society. Howsoever an artist is determined of welcoming critiques; it is always painful to hear. Further painful is paying smile in return by being courteous in gesture. Getting used to with critiques is as essential as mastering the art you perform or love. This is one such dark face of success which remains unnoticed as a hidden demon in the path of heaven. 
Vindo Kamili, Saurav Ganguly, Vinod Khanna, Arjun Rampal, Shashi Tharoor are a few such living examples who are extremely talented in their respective arts but are just not perfect in handling critiques. On the contrary Digvijay Singh, Kapil Sibbal, Mallika Sherawat and Rahul Bose are few classic examples who mastered critique handling better than excelling in their respective talents.
The point is, there exists, a special category of human who are specialized in analyzing the performance of any artist a bit more mercilessly as a part of their fun or profession. By virtue this category of homo-sapiens uses all its possible neural capacity to peel off the beauty of any art and serves it naked among the same audience who previously were praising the artist. This would have been consumable had it been enough but further to it an artist is supposed to remain courteous to this category so that the art keep on growing bigger, better and shiner...
Idiots are those who accept the challenges of life without calculating the risk involved in it with a confidence that they will survive ‘may what come’ in future... three well known idiots are...
One who only follows the heart irrespective of what the world thinks of them. They give their critiques deaf ears. Like that of Ranchhor Das Chhanchhan or fhunschuk Vangdu of great Indian cinema ‘3 Idiots’.
Second is the one who’s extremely talented in one art but compromises to what his expectators want him to do. i.e. the Farhan who was good at photography but wanted to be engineer because this is what his parents wanted form him.
Type three is the one like kastoori mriga (A deer ignorant of its source of fragrance). Capable, eligible but not believes in him. Like that of Raju who wanted to be engineer but was just afraid of testing his own capacity of being great engineer.
The beauty of this cinemascope is that none of the characters depicted in it were losers! The dean of the college ‘Virus’, the strongly number ‘two’ rank-holder from Uganda Chatur, that infamous price tag fiancĂ© villain Shantanu and the doctorni heroine Isha every one of them was talented and successful.
The trick was those who were termed villain in this perfect cinema were very good in critiques. Virus had a hundred reasons to prove that Rancho was a bad guy. Price tag had a perfect Alta vista of scaling everything by MRP and that Chatur knew only one way of success i.e. by hook or by crook. All these three people were very smart in passing remarks, expert comments and devaluing others. I call this category as the 4th category of Idiots. As they also take the uncalculated risk... What’s big deal when life is risk in itself... but like life even risk also ends... everything ends; it is just that something ends very painfully. As is this is the case with 4th Idiot of Indian society.

Punishment Can Never Prevent Crime

"We like film because we like to know how hero beats the villain. We all are determined that end of the movie bad man will be defeated. Does this mean that all who are going to watch a movie are like hero? They do not do what villains do? Does this mean that everyone is clear about what is crime and what should not be done? If it's so, than why crime happens?"

We expose them to crime... 


What does criminal believe? Is it different from lay man's believe? Do they feel guilty? Do they repent on their sin? Whatever or however justified answer you bring. I am not convinced with this prototype agenda of punishment as a prevention of crime. I am having the other side of story to narrate....
  
I am more interested to understand why civil crime happens. It's never a true statement that all those who sees 3 Idiot in silver screen agrees to its conclusion that don't run behind success. I want to know that why someone fails to recognize that their act is sin or crime.

So much so in my interpretation of observations, I found that it is the parenting that develops the instinctive belief system of any human. Later it is just garnished by the teachers, friends and professional seniors. If in a family, parents believe that only their religion is supreme than kids of that family unarguably inherit that belief system. If a family believes that their kids are entitled to remain ignorant from grown-up affairs than kids of that family gets attached with outer shell of society who fuels anti-family elements in their minds.

I read some of the experts commenting upon the work signature of every presidents of United States. These experts have magnificently linked the relations between the parenting of these presidents with all that they have done during their terms in office. It has clearly expressed the impact of being single parent child in the work signatures of Mr. Obama, Mr. Clinton and Mr. Nixion.

In our home as well we can Identify how different was the work signature of Indira Gandhi by being a single parent child...

Microscopically, I have observed that those kids who never enjoyed the love of their parents are not good parents or are not inclined with social traditions. They make their own belief system about the parents, importance of parents, society, ethics and justice. They are influenced by negative shell of human society, they are more bold in risk taking. they are more thriving to let the world know them... they want to be identified... they want to be heard and in this thriving need of getting recognized they do acts which is out of league! For this reason they become the victim of anti-element of the society!

A better India can only be created by better parenting... let me bring some facts for you from our own holybooks.

Rajmata Kunti was an unmarried mother (curse in Indian Society) because she had been donated by her father, King Shoorraj of Mathura, to King, Kunti Bhoj of Bhojpur. Her real name was Pratha she was very much dear to her bio-logical father but for a pseudo promise he gifted her to a friend king who was childless. Pratha's upbringing in Bhojpur was not done by any Queen but by a slave Dhatri... this is so she become the virgin mother by some mythological and complex ideology of a Maharshi Durvasa's visit to Bhojpur...

Child of Durvasa and Unmarried Kunti(Pratha) was Karna who had been thrown away in River Ashwaa in mercilessness. He had a thriving need of knowing that why he did not look like other laymen of Champanagri (Where he later found by a chariot driver Adhiraj and his wife Radhamata. Why do he look like a Prince and while he posses all that power like of Prince, he is not recognized as a prince. This questions about his identity and recognition dragged him in to the wrong path. To which he only had to curse his biological mother Kunti.

Being a teacher by profession, I am not blaming parents for the wrong upbringing of their wards but this is a proven fact. I have not conducted any survey but would like to do so with the help of any prisoner's welfare society to support my view that bad environment of home hampers the character making of a person. With a general observation I found that 
  1. A family where elders talk in high pitch and use abusive vocabulary, kids fail to develop sense of respect and turn on to engage themselves with bad people in environment. 
  2. A family where elders do not mind kids kleptomaniac deeds, kids turnout to become thief by hobby. 
  3. A family where elders don't mind kids non-rightful demands, kids happen to take others property for granted. 

Among such parenting exists ambiguity of nurturing ethical belief system of kids. If parents justifies the demand of dowry, discriminates sister from bother or practices biased affection towards any one kid. Such kids turn out to have criminal instincts.

Making any kids understand the social obligations is one of the key responsibility of parents. Teacher, Friends or relatives come in contact of any kid very late by the time character building phase gets over. So friends, in the interest of your family, kids, society and nation, please practice healthy parenting. You will help minimize civil crimes significantly.
Jai Hind...   

Inspire School of Motivation

"Advertisement is unethical? I should say over hype is unethical.... One should always know 'how mach bad is too much bad' I am walking the talk and talking the walk... so for me this article is no offensive for my beloved readers... :) Happy Reading"
Inspire School of Motivation Indore MP India

Year 2003 was the inception of a revolution in Education system! 2003, we got inspired to Inspire those who will Inspire the generations to come. 


We had nothing but one thing in mind 'Ask them to join us for what they want from us... we will deliver 100 times more than their expectations...' This is how we redefined the methods of effective teaching. We are the leaders in the art of teaching!!! We hijack the learning souls of our students. Before they walk in to our class... they know that they just have to 'lock their seat belts' and take off into the journey of amazing learning... 

Yes we teach English... many come and ask to us 'why we encourage English and discourage Hindi'.... We reply them, 'we don't encourage English, we teach English'. 60% of our students are non-local and of Hindi Medium background they don't feel confident... just because they do not know a foreign language! We, with full intention, work on enhancing their confidence of learning any thing of their desire! Later we just provide them an environment to practice... In turn they end-up learning a lot more than just English. This is where lies our success.

We understand, young generation of India is not lacking knowledge but they magnificently lacks the art of 'expression of knowledge'. This is so true that majority of our students are not even capable to express themselves in their first language. We believe that majority of Indians know English more than they feel they know it  but ratio of good speaker is even lesser then our expectations. It happened so because kids believe that English is a language of fashion and influential society. Though this is not right! many 4rth class labors in Kerela, Khajuraho and Agara speaks in English language because this fetches them their bread and butter.

We at Inspire make our students believe that English is just a language and it has nothing like fashion or influence attached with. It just so happened that majority of world population speaks this language so it becomes important for all of us to learn it.

English is most easiest language of the world.... that's why it is accepted from everyone:) very later our students realize that in process of learning English they got to learn 'Interview Skills, GD Skills and Presentation Skills' they never realize that we made their personality sound enough to influence the world.... NOT by teaching English but by garnishing values...... Jai Hind

We at Inspire often close our eyes, spread our hands like wings and sing "Hum Honge Kaamyaab... Ek Din!!!! Ho Ho man me hai vishwash.. pura hai vishwas" 

A College Farewell Eve

Some of us will remain with some of us but most of us will navigate alone… in this unknown other shore of the sea....
We all are gathering outside hotel Infinity, waiting every one of us to come before we together walk in the farewell party organized ny our juniors for us. One after one... couples, love buds, trio-pals, newly wedded couple, group of friends have started arriving. All are in Saari and Shervaani, a dress code our juniors requested for us... I am watching these wet eyed smiling faces. They all were strangers some two years ago. They all were looking like chicks on that induction day organized by our seniors. I am recalling a year old time when my seniors were all cried in the shoulder of each other on their farewell night thrown by us. We forced some of our seniors to propose their one-side lover as this may be the last chance to do so... This year, it appears that such propose game will not be required. Our batch will record a history in IIPS for maximum number of crushes, love weddings and heart breaks... as if during our MBA 'fall in love' was the subject of specialization.   

I am exceptionally graced with the hobby of day dreaming, I can imagine the scenes as perfect as I am watching any movie in theater. I mentally closed my eyes to recall my first day of college..... 
It was raining nah... It was drizzling when I was walking in the corridors of DAVV Taxshasila campus on the first day of my MBA life... Musical morning, everyone passing by was noticing my crime of hiding giggles inside my lips. 
Light yellow shirt and black gray trouser with a 'nakali wala' rayban ka chashmaa. I was feeling like most dashing dude on the earth because that's what I knew about MBA. However that smile of joining a new-new college where new-new girls will also join new-new degree had a denting pain of possible ragging from the seniors. 18th July, we had been summoned there... yes summoned....
College was especially adorned that day... very uniquely with fuzzi glittering cloths, ribbon and trendy cartoons. Calligraphic chart papers were showing us directions for where to go.... for the first time I had been treated that gracefully. Two girls were standing on the doors, pasted kum-kum on my forehead and greeted me with red-rose bud. I was bubbling inside only to realize that those were my seniors. The wow effect did not last longer than a minute when I realized that our seniors will peal us to naked today before they finally butcher us.
Today, all those teasing stunts have turned to melodious memories. We feel so happy when some senior couple announces their marriages in Facebook. It becomes the matter of hour’s gossip among us... I wish in coming tomorrows, our beloved juniors will feel same like we do.
A friend dragged me out of my neural world and we started walking into the hall of farewell. One after one... in a group of two or three... Teasing each other... prickling, praising, girls of my class are looking so gorgeous like never before, they are in their best capacity of looking heart crushing material. Perfumes of all kind are fumed in the chilling air-conditioned hall.
Every junior is looking happy, graceful and courteous to us... every classmate of mine is having heavy heart along with happy lips. We are hiding our pain of separation in our smiles so much so that our cheeks are sensing the pain of stretching too long for too much time. 
As a usual backbencher, I am sitting at the last corner seat. Watching everyone from my perfect angle of personal eye... mute, lost... all time least bothering creature. Today loving buds of my class are holding their hands tighter than usual and those who have not declared their relationship in public, but quite a few knows them, are also appearing more close to each other. Everybody is careful for every ones behavior, watching like a third eye of media... everyone's Facebook app is on standby in the mobile.... Camhawk geeks are gadget ready to capture every glimpse of this farewell eve. Ready to click and publish... My lips are wide for those who are happy and eyes are wet for those who are feeling the end of journey. 
In a boat, in this long sea, for two long years... with beautiful co-travelers… for many storms and jaw dropping sky views... many lovely sunrises, many partying sun sets, Many heart breaks, many love buds.... we are now nearing the other shore of the sea. From here, we all have different destinies to walk. Some of us will remain with some of us but most of us will navigate alone… in this unknown other shore of the sea.... 
Our juniors made two liners for depicting the character of everyone. As a tradition every junior batch does this to their seniors every year... I have been termed as 'The Ocean of imaginations' argumentatively acceptable especially when that cute junior herself confessed that she specially my two-liner exclusively. It became hurricane news for my gadget buff classmates to bang me on FB walls.
We danced like maniac... more we recalled that we are dancing together for the last time... more monstrous we danced... all that perfume fumed into sweat or perhaps those thin droplets of tears we skillfully wiped off while dancing…. Tunes after tunes! We wished to dance till eternity but destiny made her call…..  
A farewell is a formal bid of bye-bye, a few classes, a few exams, vivas... freaky formalities keeps us chested to college for a little more while but than a sense non-belonging holds the very nerves when we walk in the corridors of classrooms. Those same corridors, welcoming us some two years ago are bidding us last bye... everything, everyone have turned away. They are planning to welcome some new of our kind... these corridors will be afresh for those who will come here in a few months... to feel what we felt, to do what we did, to fun the way we fun... to leave the way we are leaving....
wo ek se the, ya ek hi the, ya ek hone ko the, 
har haath, bichhadte saath ke saath... khone ko the...

yaadein maddhim si jali, lav bani, fir kalrav bani,
doobati shaam me shamaa ki tarah... sab rone ko the...

har syahi, har lafz, har ek ahd-e-wafa,
aansoo me, aanchal me, ya rumal me... sanjone ko the.... 

koi baat thi, koi saath thi, koi saath ki firaak me thi,
mogare se, maala se, moti se mere yaar... sab bikharne ko the...