Right Write

                                       He found me the infallible cure of all illness, the panacea against all evils, the absolute answer to all myths and mysteries of life, the Truth of all Truths called Sai. He is our Guruji, Shri CB Satpathy. For quite some time Guruji had been advising me to visit Shirdi and seek Baba’s blessings. And the opportunities came as I set out for the cherished destination with my wife and six years old daughter on 10 th March 1994. After visiting a relative at Mumbai, when we reached Shirdi next morning by bus, I couldn’t believe a small town as this could occupy such prominent place in the tourist map of India. As we got down the bus, we saw an old man about sixty with white beards straightaway came to us and said, “Welcome sir; give me  the luggage and I will take you to the best lodge near the temple. Instantly the porter appealed to us a...

                                 Far from home, Away from wife and son, When I look at friends and others, I feel alone. Off from office, When time hangs heavy and still, And I find it hard to kill, I feel alone. Out in the market, Teeming with hectic crowd, When language lets me down, I feel alone. In the city streets, Amidst overflowing drains and dirty linens, When I look for solace, I feel alone. In political overdrive, When banners and posters dominate cityscape, Deafening sloganeering adding the din In publicity overtaken by propaganda, I feel alone. When things are not in favour, And circumstances conspire, When solutions look bleak, afar I feel alone.                        ---------

                          A gust of cold wind. A stir. And I am awake…to the Kumbh consciousness, as lying awake a little longer in the makeshift camp of Noida Sai Sansthan I tried to connect to various sounds wafting from numerous camps set up at the Mahakumbh 2001 at Allahabad. A few yards away, from the camp of Shirdi Sai Sansthan was the refrain “Om Shri Sai Nathaya Namah”. Opposite our camp. from Shri Ram Sharanam Sansthan was the chorus from ‘Amrit Vani’. From another camp rose the bhajan “Kabhi Ram banke”. A little away, a camp was resounding with “Kabir Dohe”. From a far distance, perhaps an Akhara was resonating with ‘Omkar’ mantra. And dominating all these and many other muffled overtones was the nonstop announcements from the Bhoole Bhatke camp on the Triveni Ghat. I turned. Through the crack on the corner of the roof, I peered out at the night sky. The crescent moon, in an assortment of twinkling star...

                                         23 rd February 1976. 2.00 AM at room no. 35, East Hostel, Ravenshaw College, Cuttack. All these details have earned much more eminence than my birth day and are thus ever green in my mind. It was the last day for submission of entries for the college short story competition and the dead line was to expire at 5.00 PM. The college notice board had set my mind ablaze with a crazy desire to compete for the contest. I gave up evening walks and gossip sessions. The steaming aroma of dosa and upma in the college square South Indian Café no more held any attraction. The call of Herman Hess’ ‘Siddharth’ running houseful weeks at the nearby Grand Talkie was turned down. Every day, every evening, I sat alone at the window in my hostel room, eyes quietly grazing the distant skyline, mind upset in frenzied search for some idea. Fifteen days thus pas...

                                                                                                          The day breaks                         Just like another day.                        Dancing streaks of sunshine                        On the grilled balcony wall           ...

                                           “Lo”,  Went an abrupt chorus, “The lights of Dhaulakuan”. And I jerked, my stupor shattered To see the jaundiced eyes In cold greetings. And far away lay my forlorn dream: The majestic grandeur of the abode of kings, The legend of love, The lore of loyalty, Of sizzling chivalry, Of supreme sacrifice, All in ruins In the silence of colossal wreck, Amid lone level stretches of sand. The palaces, the lakes, The temples, the forts, Silhouette against iridescent stars, The silver moon shimmering in marbles, The jingling camels, The screeching peacocks, Weird like Arabian Nights! Amber still reflects The old glory of Man Singh In the Chamber of Mirrors. Ajmer keeps buzzing with pilgrims In the qawalis of Khwaja Chisti’s Dargah, In the hymns at Pushkar. Jaipur celebrates the...

                                                             Writing is a connection Between idea and expression You look for the Idea Godot; The elusive elf And hide and seek it goes.                                             Half clad, it sometimes comes, Sometimes half revealed, Sometimes presents the full-blown Idea Seeking self- expression. When the Godot does not show up You go after it, Godot yourself. Day in and day out In hot pursuit You look inward, You look outward, You look point blank Only to go blank. You bleed your heart out; At the Idea’s altar, You die a tho...