Amit Goes Blogging

Heroism is not a trait but an opportunity. The opportunity seized me when we were at the foothills of Sahyadri range and were to begin our trek to Rajgad. The other hikers were in no hurry; they were more interested in photo shoot. But, my spirits were raring to seize the fort. The bottle in my hand felt like a sword and the jacket was my armour. I was a commander leading a troop and mounting on my horse-like feet, I galloped towards the fort. Soon, I lost sight of my troop. The voices were heard for a while; I quickened my pace and the voices died out. I was now alone. As I was scaling the hill, I saw an old lady standing under the shade of a tree hiding behind the trunk. “What is she doing here in the desolation?” I thought. I recently started reading Dracula and an encounter with ghosts had caught my fancy. But, it was an inappropriate place for my fascination to materialise. The oldie had drawn her saree over her head and only a part of her face was visible. The wrinkles on her fac...

You will be gone,  Gone in the mortifying indifference,  Gone without requiting my love,  Gone, leaving violent memories.  I shall return too,  Return in the shame of disdain,  Return with dry sobs,  Return, carrying a dying twilight.  There you go with inglorious pride, I sneer my affection true,  And vow it'll never ever,  Pass from me hence.  Now the anger smoulders inside,  And anguish bursts in refrain:  Do it unto another,  Do it unto another.  Donning an armour of make-believe,  With the hidden sword of insult,  And, a quiver of sweet allurements, I am ready to avenge: Stage the old sentiment,  Trap the love victim,  And, with all might and main,  Thrust the indifference, the affront,  Deep, very deep! 

In the summer of 1999, my parents had some unusual plans: we were to spend our vacations 1000 km away from home at Chitrakut where Shree Ram spent 11 years of his 14-year exile. There was an ashram in Chitrakut and the Swamiji heading the ashram was also a Yoga exponent. My mother had been suffering from arthritis. This made father very anxious and he did everything possible to alleviate her suffering. But, her resistance proved a hurdle in my father’s attempts to restore her health. He could neither pull her into the habit of morning-walk nor make her take to the treadmill by her bed. When Father bought her costly, light-weight sneakers, she poked fun at him saying that he was stepping into dotage. While mother was a mother to her kids, Father knew that his dear wife craves no less attention. He decided to take her to the ashram at Chitrakut. Again, she wouldn't relent without a fuss. She said she would neither stay at the ashram nor at a hotel. She wanted freedom for her chi...

Indian weddings are very cordial and flamboyant affair. Careful planning and money go into making them successful, which means avoiding a fiasco. The close relatives of both the parties undergo countless difficulties to ensure that the wedding is highly spoken of for years to come. Also, the larger the turn out, the greater is one’s social standing. In the olden days, when parties entering an alliance lived in the same town or village, the marriage procession proceeded from the boy’s house to the girl’s place amid a lot of fanfare. The wedding expenses are on the girl’s side and the boy’s relatives make it a point to manage a large turn out at the wedding and make things cumbersome for the girl’s side. These traditional pranks put the patience and sociability of the bride’s family to test.  I shall share an incident of one wedding party that had some great plans of putting the bride’s side to test. The girl's family lived in a city and the boy's family was from a small t...

We not only buck undesirable influences but also override the most coveted influences of personalities.  I have always been careful to avoid making promises, even to myself, lest the natural course of events be interfered with or resisted. The state of holding to a promise is very much like grappling with the vow of celibacy alongside mounting frustration. Promises made in storm are, indeed, forgotten in calm. The purpose that drove us when life seemed meaningless changes altogether when we find meaning in our lives and vice-versa. A little feeling that stirs the heart to bind itself to promises for life soon gives way to some other feeling and we feel betrayed by our previous circumstance. We mark out our lives based on what goes flitting past us. One fine day, all the spirit of the good old days sublimates into thin air. With the spirit gone; the energy gone, we wake up, as it were, from a dream, and find ourselves completely wavered from our conviction.  We move from...

A dimly-lit lounge, bartenders pouring shot after shot into my dangling glass, plush sofas, and gristly bottoms heaving over the leather and hairy hands rubbing against me is what I call loneliness. After years of anticipation and effort what I ran into was always a bunch of males, a sorrow I have cried out my heart at umpteen times but to no avail.  It was loneliness when I had the love and care of my parents who did everything possible to make me see their love, no matter, how contrary my experience was to the truth. And, now when it's my turn to express my love and care, they are unable to come to terms with it. Crashed expectations raise the dust of loneliness before my eyes once I retire home from work!  I have been lavished with great love by the near and dear ones; some of them epitomized selfless love as is only heard of these days. But they are very far now and also old. My love made many unsaid promises to them. Those promises are still with me in their unfulfilled s...

It happened too soon! I never thought my enthusiasm, like a moth, was jesting with fire. My aspirations of being a writer were throttled by macabre stories that have left my heart aching. Only a callous heart could make merry at such painful experiences and treat them as material for some sensational writing. On hearing them, I felt I was punished for venturing into life with a writer's ambition. But, life was much more cruel to her who related her agony to me, a split fraction of which has taken away the chimerical peace of my heart. I would have happily suffered hundred whips on my back and would have been still be hopeful of the good times. But, not anymore. Why God did not appear on the scene and save her from that butcher! She was pricked, tortured and dragged through the mud. All this because she loved that inhuman wretch. The wretch used her, abused her, cajoled her and again abused her. And, love made light of it all and would have happily offered itself again for the worst...

That god forbidden instinct took hold of him in his drunkenness - the instinct to gamble! After a successful term at the college, his well-imposed academic constraints yielded to the influence of ignoble company of gamblers and hooligans. As it is he was drunk in the glory that education conferred upon him in that small town. That fateful evening paved his downfall. Goaded by a friend, he made his way to the gambling den. The previous evening had adumbrated the doom when he lost Rs. 4000 at one sitting. Gambling is like a bee sting: leaves you with a pain and also leaves the sting buried under the skin. And, another gambling session seems to be the only cure to both. The only wisdom about gambling is avoiding it. But, 'fools rush in where angels fear to tread'. My foolish friend staked again that evening to recover what he lost the previous day. After hitting a few chances, he started losing out on four bets at 10k, 20k, 20k, 20k and at the closing was under a debt of Rs. ...

She left! Our reunion was at the mercy of a few hours, but it was not to be. My eyes are still running hither thither anxiously hoping against the reality that has struck me brutally. The anguish howls in my ears and my eyes stare into the nothingness that has filled the place. The barrenness of this place will prick me as long as I am here and I have to bear with it every moment of my stay here. She kept asking me why I didn't stop her. She wanted the prayers of my heart to issue from my lips. I forbade from doing so, for lips spell commitment and it is something I cannot stick to now. I am torn between desiring and disowning; crushed between her overpowering love and the devotion of my first love; hung between the liberating love and the binding commitment. Why does my heart reach out in love to her? Why does she beat with my heart? Why every spring of love invites me to bathe in its waters? Am I not cheating on my previous commitments? Let the questions remain and let love rema...

In the last three days, I have been called a lecher by two girls. They were parallel flings and coincidentally both fell apart almost the same time. Let the readers be informed that there was no physicality involved. It was a misreading of my intentions that caused estrangement. Well, I am not depressed at all. I was kind of expecting such a glorious end.  Flings move onto being love affairs if the counterparts aren't treated as human resources. But, people interest me only so long as a sense of mystery surrounds them. I start in the right direction but goaded by a sense of experimentation, I end up falling out of the relationship. But, I don't regret the disaster because now I am a writer who welcomes even the untoward with open arms. I Now, when people narrate the sorry incidents of their lives, they pledge me to secrecy and to strictly desist from making their tale food for my writing. I am seen as a threat to their private lives. I have people telling me that a writer can n...