Sunday Morning Post

After taking a dip at the holy Ganges I looked up, to the sky, tiny droplets of water kissing my already wet cheeks. Since it was the rainy season I had the whole ghat for me, the rarity of a clean river had been a concern. As it turned out the concern was short lived. Keeping the legends apart, the river and the raindrops struck a chord with me. How thriving and bustling would have the great Magadhan empire been - the empire which even Alexandrian troops feared - I wondered. How Kashi and its awe inspiring temples grew from rubble on more occasion than one. How Mark Twain must have felt taking a dip at the Ganges in Varanasi. For him, the place was ' Older than the legends itself '. Or 5000 years ago - in the absence of maps and transportation - how Kapil Muni reached Gangasagar on his own, sadly his ashram doesn't survive anymore. Amongst all the centuries old civilization and evolution Ganges had been at the epicentre of the grand ancient India, the tale of which i...

It was raining the day I bumped into him, after a long time, quite unexpectedly, like in the movies. No appointments sought, no schedules fixed. Looking back at the bump which resulted in our accident, I can conclude - ' Not all accidents end up hurting you ' - it was best that we met. He, definitely, didn't look anywhere close to his own self. And yet, from the many things I could have said, I chose to say - " Why and when did you stop writing, depriving yourself and us of getting a peek into your world of thoughts and dreams? " - the most unpleasant of the things I could have at the moment given the situation he lay in. But, you know me, how straightforward and blunt I can get at times. Obviously, he didn't have an answer, just like us he had forgotten to look into the things which are the sources of happiness in moments of despair and dejection. Writing was one of those sources for him, I had known it, since long. The four walls of my house had tak...