Operation Life.....Dissecting it!!

Because my grief seems quiet and apart,
Think not for such a reason it is less.
True sorrow makes a silence in the heart,
Joy has its friends but grief, its loneliness

The wound that tears does too readily confess.
It can be mended by fortune or by art.
But there are woes no medicine can dress,
For there are wounds that from the spirit start.

So do not wonder that I do not weep,
Or say my anguish is too little shown.
There is a quiet here, there is a sleep,
There is a peace that I’ve made my own.

So many wounds are bandaged within,
Healing them always takes a slow turn.
As much as I try, internally and without,
My heart bleeds, no more can I learn.

What do I crave for? What do I want?
What do I long for? What have I got?
Queries to explain, answers to be found,
Mysteries to unravel, thats what life's about!!

TO MEET HIM WAS WRITTEN IN MY STARS….

Walking on a busy roadside pavement one day, below the blazing sun along with the warm loo winds breezing through my dry tresses, I noticed a streaming crowd across the street. Under the shade of the huge banyan tree with its roots drooping down and touching the earth, multitude of people had congregated around it. I struggled my way to cut through the raging traffic and managed to cross the road just to see an uncommon site in a city like Delhi.

Sitting right in front of me was a short man with flabby arms, a huge paunch and glittering eyes - the typical Indian astrologer.

I managed to wrestle my way through the swarm of throbbing masses and showed him my palms. Holding it in his rough hands, he scrutinized them carefully and looked up to me. His appearance intimidated me.

The astrologer was wearing a saffron-dyed bulky spherical turban round his baldhead, while a small tail of hair made its way out in the rear. He was dressed in a kurta and a dhoti. His clothing was frayed and soiled and his hair unkempt. His face was smeared with ash and on his forehead a vertical vermilion mark had been applied, closer to the shape of an exclamation mark. He sat in a squatting position, with his knees drawn up and heels touching the hams. During conversations, his teeth would flash through his black moustaches. His hands moved frantically to assert his point of view while his wobbly head nodded in agreement.

Conducting business in makeshift locations, his equipment was appropriately mobile. Hanging on the tree, right behind him, was a huge chart of zodiacal constellations. In the front, a white sheet had been spread which contained his professional yet unsophisticated tools- a few shells and coins, bundles of paper and cloth with gibberish written all over, a pack of cards with astronomical signs and planets painted on them, maps and diagrams of heavenly bodies, a caged-parrot and a box containing the earnings of the day.

Charging me a hefty amount of Rs.100 for a five-minute talk on my impending future, I went away mumbling a few obscenities. Looking back, I saw him digging his short nose into the astrological books to gain perception and find out answers for his other curious and prospective customers.