tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39612243432334085612024-03-09T01:19:45.607+05:30D TALES OF D PIED PIPERSaptadeephttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02032692479022301237noreply@blogger.comBlogger23125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3961224343233408561.post-21336353455341967692012-11-25T01:51:00.001+05:302012-11-25T02:14:16.195+05:30The Ghost & the Man Within<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Hey people.....this poem is like a bit strange...even for me actually....& I have pretty less words to describe it. It's like the duality of a person who exists as a man in this world & yet as a ghost in the world it wants to be in. I hope the Pied Piper can enthrall you with this poem too. But I want you to let the words flow in its pace n not hurry the moment, I want you to bring the images that the words crave in your mind for we all are ghosts in someone's else's world & yet the desire remains to live like a man.<br />
If you like it....please share it to let someone be a part of this experience.<br />
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<u>THE GHOST & THE MAN WITHIN</u></div>
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- SAPTADEEP BASU (2012)</div>
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I’m the ghost of your dreams,</div>
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The memories that never tends to die,</div>
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Escaping and probably hiding,</div>
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Living my life with the crumbs of your scattered life.</div>
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Sometimes I meant someone.....</div>
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Someone like anyone that walks by you;</div>
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May be you cared.....but what if it never bothered you at
all.</div>
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I dream about you.....that you are thinking of me right now,</div>
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What do I care if you still sleep beside him?</div>
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I own your memories and the body is just a whore.</div>
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I am done living my life as a ghost.</div>
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I want my feelings to be of a man,</div>
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Bold, confident and handsome as you want to see me,</div>
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I walk infront of you,</div>
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I stare into those dark eyes, and pause for a moment;</div>
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Like a deep breath I let you seep inside my soul, </div>
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Huh.....but the voiceless tears roll down. </div>
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Why I just can’t speak any more?</div>
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Why I cannot be the man beside you caressing the body I
craved for?</div>
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Why do I suffer at all?</div>
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Yes, I just live to be the ghost of your dreams,</div>
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But the memories never let the feelings die,</div>
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Which survives yet another day,</div>
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With a wish buried deep inside;</div>
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Miles apart they will recite my rhymes,</div>
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Whispering in your ears;</div>
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I want to love you like a man this one time.</div>
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*************</div>
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Saptadeephttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02032692479022301237noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3961224343233408561.post-13119076209828509782012-08-27T00:33:00.001+05:302012-08-29T15:54:26.655+05:30The Lost Song<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
There are times in your life when someone enters it and changes it forever. You don't know whether its for good or bad, whether its right or wrong.....you simply don't care. And yet boundaries exist, lines are drawn and limitations are marked. This poem is an ode to those emotions which have no name and yet they exist and live with you, probably forever.This is a story of a confused boy and a lovestruck girl, their friendship, their emotions which they could never understand, their expressions of their own feelings and the guilt attached with it, their understanding of the limitations of life and their own journey of it.<br />
I request you the read the poem and feel it for your stories too may be a part of it. Each para of the poem will bring you the feelings of the boy and the girl one after another (the feelings of the girl are in italics for clarity), the way they felt it in their lives, till the last stanza where they speak together, probably for good. Friends, these words are special to me and I hope they can mean the same to you.<br />
<br />
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<u><b>THE LOST SONG</b></u></div>
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<br /></div>
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- SAPTADEEP BASU (2012)</div>
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<br /></div>
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A friend was she till I last knew her,</div>
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Little bit of her caught in herself, a little left to fly;</div>
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A subdued smile like the silent waves, and that kohl dipped eyes
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mind.</div>
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*** </div>
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<i>A friend was he till I last knew him,</i></div>
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<i>Sometimes more than it, sometimes pretty less;</i></div>
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*** </div>
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I never knew what feelings were; probably I never cared much,</div>
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I didn’t knew she existed; for I had a different world,</div>
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Years rolled by like the sands of time, and memories washed
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The picture of hers and that subtle smile.</div>
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*** </div>
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*** </div>
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I was a calm sea till I met a storm,</div>
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She crossed my solitary life giving the lyrics to my song,</div>
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The longing in her voice made me a restless soul,</div>
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<i>He had his
love and so did I, and yet those unknown feelings crashed at my door,</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-align: center; text-indent: -36pt;">
<i>Are we
friends, may be more than it or just nothing at all?</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-align: center; text-indent: -36pt;">
*** </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-align: center; text-indent: -36pt;">
I don’t know
if I fell for her; I don’t understand love anymore,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-align: center; text-indent: -36pt;">
I don’t know
why it hurts when she cries; I can’t even read the emotions I have hidden deep
inside,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-align: center; text-indent: -36pt;">
Sometimes I
think about the world and it seems so wrong and sometimes about us when it’s
all right,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-align: center; text-indent: -36pt;">
I knew I was
running away from something, and yet I didn’t want to stop and decide.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-align: center; text-indent: -36pt;">
*** </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-align: center; text-indent: -36pt;">
<i>I don’t know
whom I had hurt more, and I don’t know whom I have cheated,</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i>Was it my reality or my dreams or was it just me all the way,</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i>I sobbed, I cried and I devoured my happiness in the fight,</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i>But neither my reality took me in his arms, and nor my
dreams was there within my sight.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
*** </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-align: center; text-indent: -36pt;">
<b>One fine day
we decided not to talk anymore,</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-align: center; text-indent: -36pt;">
<b>Some feelings
have no names, and we probably realised they are not worth dying for,</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-align: center; text-indent: -36pt;">
<b>A friend was
her till I last knew her, will be the name of the song;</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-align: center; text-indent: -36pt;">
<b>A friend was
him till I last knew him, will be the end of the song.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-align: center; text-indent: -36pt;">
************************</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt; text-indent: -36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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IF YOU LIKE IT....SHARE IT & LET SOMEONE BE A PART OF THIS AMAZING FEELING!!!</div>
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<div class="fb-comments" data-href="http://dtalesofdpiedpiper.blogspot.in/" data-num-posts="2" data-width="470"></div>Saptadeephttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02032692479022301237noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3961224343233408561.post-1631684754665435262012-06-11T01:13:00.000+05:302012-08-27T00:36:08.699+05:30My Few Words<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
There are times I wished I had said you all. And yet the time never came my way. I don't know why I stopped and I would never knew what you felt.<br />
This poem is about those few words that often are held back for the "moment" and then it never comes our way. I never realised why I always stood like a silent stranger when you were always so close to my heart. Why I never allowed those words to slip through.<br />
Yes, even with a bagfull of words, the pied piper has faltered to express what he felt for you.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u>My Few Words</u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b> -Saptadeep Basu (2012)</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A few words left unspoken yesterday,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A few words kept hidden from today,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A few promises that were broken to keep others alive,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qFTEtwZxcmc/T9T6N_-q0VI/AAAAAAAAAG8/vbl3F1GW5KI/s1600/71175_285921450772_1451112_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qFTEtwZxcmc/T9T6N_-q0VI/AAAAAAAAAG8/vbl3F1GW5KI/s1600/71175_285921450772_1451112_n.jpg" /></a></div>
And a few spare feelings, that were left buried deep inside.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The seconds ticked by in a gruesome pace,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Caught in a web of “could have been” moments;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sometimes I whispered them; sometimes I had chosen to shout;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But my feelings had always been spoken to myself.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Couldn’t tell you how beautiful you looked with your dimpled
smile,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Couldn’t hum the song that I had written for those
mesmerising eyes,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Couldn’t give you the letters, I had dumped below my lonely
bed,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Where often I had expressed; and which only I had read. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I never cared for the
flowers to bloom,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Never dreamt for the rainbow to peep through my door,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had never wished for the violins to play for us,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All I waited for was a perfect start.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Today as you walk away with your steady steps,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tramping those silly feelings that you never knew existed,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wish I could stop you and pour out my heart,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And not fade away unnoticed, as my life slowly departs.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Few words will yet be left unspoken today,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Some promises buried with my soul,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Few spare feelings with no wings to fly, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And tell you all I had always wished for.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
**********************************</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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Saptadeephttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02032692479022301237noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3961224343233408561.post-27299848987116263142012-05-09T21:48:00.001+05:302012-05-09T21:48:41.558+05:30Somewhere down d line<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-engEpADCDEA/T6qV4stDLNI/AAAAAAAAAGg/Fwi1B54Czc0/s1600/IMG_0867.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-engEpADCDEA/T6qV4stDLNI/AAAAAAAAAGg/Fwi1B54Czc0/s400/IMG_0867.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A journey that never ceases to end </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3BEp0wN9U6U/T6qW91h4cmI/AAAAAAAAAGo/lJ9yYB_5Bqs/s1600/IMG_0533.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3BEp0wN9U6U/T6qW91h4cmI/AAAAAAAAAGo/lJ9yYB_5Bqs/s400/IMG_0533.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A world long forgotten</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6FSvsNgE5Yg/T6qYMKG6g8I/AAAAAAAAAGw/KDSiiixe6C0/s1600/IMG_0865.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6FSvsNgE5Yg/T6qYMKG6g8I/AAAAAAAAAGw/KDSiiixe6C0/s400/IMG_0865.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There is only one way...& it is forward</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>Saptadeephttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02032692479022301237noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3961224343233408561.post-42100181317744037972012-04-30T01:12:00.000+05:302012-05-05T20:43:06.555+05:30HER QUEST<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ekVZ9qNv_Aw/T6VDZBm0IvI/AAAAAAAAAGU/k_2kpdkxHYg/s1600/ssp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ekVZ9qNv_Aw/T6VDZBm0IvI/AAAAAAAAAGU/k_2kpdkxHYg/s1600/ssp.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
I don't know why it took me such a long time to write something.....why I had written something like this....but then may be there is a quest that often remains unheard in a lot of relations burdened with marriage, family and society and what ensues is a gradual exploitation.<br />
This poem is a cry to all those women shackled under the chains of physical exploitation to break free.....seek their freedom, whatever be the cost, for it is their own.....I hope I can reach out to someone in need!!!<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u><b>HER QUEST </b></u></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
- SAPTADEEP BASU (2012)</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Thirty years by my side,</div>
<div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Another thirty I might just crawl by;</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Locked up deep inside,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Was a fucking quest burning alight.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Ravaged my puny youth satiating your bored desires,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Your different positions which you proudly proclaimed your
“emotions”;</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Ramming me hard to prove you were a man,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
If you could have survived the pain, I would have called you
a “woman”.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
My broken jaw testifies your love,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
My battered body has served your need,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Zz-kBNGUM3M/T52YoOJRkLI/AAAAAAAAAFs/W6GhrTCxyv0/s1600/1777_S_rape-l.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="188" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Zz-kBNGUM3M/T52YoOJRkLI/AAAAAAAAAFs/W6GhrTCxyv0/s200/1777_S_rape-l.jpg" width="200" /></a>My swollen eyes still have its dreams,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
When between my legs you satisfy your greed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
I want to rape your soul,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
Feel the pleasure of seeing you bleed,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
As I have been a million times,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
Like a piece of flesh under the butcher’s knife.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
I bloat like a corpse in your stinking piss,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
To cleanse my soul of my nuptial deeds,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
A naked facade that shall shame the heavens;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
Was ready for you to plunder once again.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
I lay beside you caressing your hair,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Slithering over your skin, but you didn’t care;</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Held you down to devour it as you often wished,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Yet tonight, it simply caved in.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Locked deep inside, the quest still burnt alight,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Why I had let thirty years simply pass by?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
I rubbed myself hard and felt the woman in ages,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Till I was wet in the flow of red.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
***</div>
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</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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</div>
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<br /></div>
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</div>Saptadeephttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02032692479022301237noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3961224343233408561.post-22204315349251656522012-02-09T00:56:00.001+05:302012-02-09T01:13:08.566+05:30The tryst of being a “MIDAS”<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
Way back in history, there was a king of Macedonia, King Midas. The great king was blessed with a wish that anything he would touch would transform into pure gold. He was ecstatic with his good fortune, a feeling that he would be propelled among the greatest of kings, the richest and the most powerful. All went well, till he was hungry. He picked up a morsel to eat and it turned into pure gold, and he famished into oblivion.<br />
<br />
Many thousands years later, one Mahendra Singh Dhoni bursted into the Indian cricket team. After years of misfit in the wicket keeping slot, Dhoni with his long mane was a refreshing change. From the irritating noise behind the stumps in Mongia days to the measured silence in Dhoni’s time, from the ghastly silence of runs from wicket keeper batsmen to the ballad of sixes in Dhoni’s days, he became the toast of the nation. His belligerent batting, his commitment to the game, his connect to the Indian youth propelled him to the greatest throne the cricket crazy nation could offer, the captainship of the “men in blue”. And the lad never disappointed. He won everything that came his way that the sport could offer to a captain. From T20 world cup to ODI world cup to test no. 1 team and even IPL & Champions league. Everything he touched turned into gold. Midas Dhoni’s team seemed invincible.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iVTKnycMq5w/TzLK75zWG5I/AAAAAAAAAFM/hNGtUh55JVo/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="188" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iVTKnycMq5w/TzLK75zWG5I/AAAAAAAAAFM/hNGtUh55JVo/s320/images.jpg" width="269" /></a></div><br />
In his period of success, he rarely showed emotions and never gobbled the limelight. Even in the trying of situations he seemed unfazed, possibly disinterested and let the game go on till the climax, when he pulled back the game on the dice with threads invisible to the lesser mortals. He gambled with zeal and yet remained the unperturbed spectator. If he failed, he acknowledged his gambles and walked on, while the cricket pundits spent nights’ debating his shrewd tactics. He was the calm leader of a fearfully united battle clan. Both on the field and off it, he was politically and media correct. Behind the curtains, he showed glimpses of the great Clive Llyod with inferior artillery at hand. It seemed the bloom of Dhoni’s spring and his tryst with lady luck would last for long till came the gloom and despair of the English and Aussie summers. <br />
<br />
The cracks in the clan surfaced. The very voices that anointed him the captain of a billion hopes, now questioned his authority of leading eleven people on field. His gambles were now whispered as the whims of fading captaincy. His “captain cool” image suddenly was seen as a timid submission of an ailing leader. His statements were no more digested as media correct but were dissected till it became fodder for his own grave. Overnight he was projected as a quitter of Test leadership, as if some Mayan calendar has prophesised the decimation of his Test career in 2013. Many in the team suddenly seemed too keen to shoulder the role of the Midas. Parallels were drawn with another Shakespearean hero of the nation, Saurav Ganguly. It seemed our World Cup victory had been decades ago.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iAjIjF7eh9A/TzLLXGiXh7I/AAAAAAAAAFU/M9zAO0aw1wY/s1600/D396EB6B58B885A11BFEEFF881B335AD_1301774304841_28.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="204" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iAjIjF7eh9A/TzLLXGiXh7I/AAAAAAAAAFU/M9zAO0aw1wY/s320/D396EB6B58B885A11BFEEFF881B335AD_1301774304841_28.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Dhoni unlike Saurav had got a team forged with steel, an ideal balance of youth and experience, but maybe it was with that steel that forged the nail in his coffin. Saurav when captain had a daunting task of creating a team from a gang. He commanded respect, for his team members were his fellow mates (in age group and experience) or young guns brought to the arena by him. His aggression was uninhibited as he was as good a Test and ODI player as anyone else in the “men in blue”. The young respected him to the core as he was always behind them; the seniors avoided the finger pointing as he was one of their own and the BCCI muted discord as he was one of the big four with a terrific record backing him. <br />
<br />
With Dhoni, superficially though the task seemed easier, but it brought the additional burden of handling the seniors. He was calm, his aggression subdued as he had to lead players whom he had adored and worshipped during all his formative years. He cannot force them to retire neither could he drop them from the squad. He was never the class act with the bat when compared to Saurav, particularly in Tests, and that made it difficult for him to contain even his comparatively successful mates in the team. When success soared him, the voices were bound to be a whisper, till it eluded him for the first time and the whisper turned into a chaos. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tMoSmUUvAxA/TzLL9dgyxII/AAAAAAAAAFc/P8yoOlHgbWU/s1600/ganguly-dhoni-afp-630.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="226" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tMoSmUUvAxA/TzLL9dgyxII/AAAAAAAAAFc/P8yoOlHgbWU/s320/ganguly-dhoni-afp-630.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Dhoni’s success ratio in tests is directly proportional to the respect he commands as a batsman and captain in the dressing room in Test matches. For Dhoni, it is easier to rest himself in Test matches rather than asking Tendulkar, Dravid or non performing Laxman to rest for the match. His success in limited overs cricket proves the fact that, unless the reins of the horse is in your hands you cannot ride it. His man management, silent leadership skill was what steadied the Indian ship when there was none to look up to. His act of letting Ganguly captain the last few overs of his final test and let Tendulkar steal the limelight of the World Cup victory from him is a testament of the wise head over his shoulders. His “never say die” attitude and tremendous fitness levels, performing as a captain in all the formats of cricket and even mating success in a globalised IPL team proves his leadership skills beyond doubts as compared to his present day peers. Tough decisions have to be taken, for a religion like cricket cannot be maligned, but not at the cost of its preacher. India failed overseas as a team and crucifying Dhoni for it would be the easiest job. But then, has anyone proved their credentials (even in IPL) to deserve his role?<br />
<br />
The history of larger than life captains in India has always been like the fable of Midas. Till they had the golden touch, they were hailed as the greatest, but one failed step of the team, they were thrown into oblivion. Team India needs Dhoni, atleast to tide over the generation of the greatest batsmen India has ever produced. We have seen the great Kapil Dev in tears in national television, shunned forever, after putting India in World cricket map. We have endured Saurav Ganguly fight for his existence and forced to bow out of the arena, where he created champions. We now see a faltering Dhoni amidst intense pressure justify his place in Test matches till 2013. Aren’t we Indians fed up of the old fable or do we need more Midas to keep constantly reminding us of the moral of the story forever?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aCVyFw5CBwA/TzLMa91EFUI/AAAAAAAAAFk/9mrLEkSqkM0/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aCVyFw5CBwA/TzLMa91EFUI/AAAAAAAAAFk/9mrLEkSqkM0/s1600/images.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div class="fb-like" data-send="true" data-show-faces="true" data-width="450"></div>Saptadeephttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02032692479022301237noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3961224343233408561.post-89320684654256009702012-01-20T00:34:00.000+05:302012-01-20T00:34:43.673+05:30Its Now or Never<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Sometimes, someone's life seems so bloody perfect, that your imperfection glares at you. A happy family, a happily married life, a good job, a great girlfriend.....and among all these perfectionists, there lives millions of imperfect fellows....This poem is for those DESTINY'S FUCKED UP CHILDREN.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><u><b>ITS NOW OR NEVER</b></u></div><div style="text-align: center;"><u><b> </b></u></div><div style="text-align: center;"> - SAPTADEEP BASU (2011)<u><b><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;">With a pen in his hand & a memory in sight,<br />
Began the poet in his struggle to rhyme;<br />
Juggling with his words till the end of the night,<br />
Promising him, an end to smile.</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br />
A thousand words wasted.....a million to go,<br />
Fighting with himself.....he had his happiness to flow;<br />
But the laughter dimmed and the wails aloud,<br />
The butchered heart once again cried loud.</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br />
He tried to breathe life to the tear soaked paper,<br />
Scribbled the title, “It’s now or never”;<br />
Lit the stale smoke he saved for the day,<br />
And let the moment lazily graze away.</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br />
The words came and yet flew by,<br />
The silent pen refused to oblige;<br />
The empty bottle of vodka laughed at my wits<br />
I struggled for the night, while she called it quits.</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br />
The morning kissed the night goodbye,<br />
The sky from my window lent a pretty sight;<br />
The poet resigned in his struggle to rhyme,<br />
And his futile attempt to make himself smile.</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-f6t-KcCLyYc/TxhonoD-lEI/AAAAAAAAAFA/G8uuXaXDw5E/s1600/bloodstained_journal_by_objekt_stock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-f6t-KcCLyYc/TxhonoD-lEI/AAAAAAAAAFA/G8uuXaXDw5E/s200/bloodstained_journal_by_objekt_stock.jpg" width="145" /></a><br />
Hours fled till the sun baked the earth,<br />
The birds chirped a mournful dirge,<br />
The open window rattled in the wind,<br />
Releasing the silence caught within.</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br />
The blood stained paper fluttered in the breeze,<br />
“It’s now or never” as the moment ceased;<br />
His final words held his reason to smile;<br />
“A silent poem from a fucked up child”.</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"> </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;">*** <br />
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</div></div><div class="fb-like" data-send="true" data-show-faces="true" data-width="450"></div>Saptadeephttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02032692479022301237noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3961224343233408561.post-33076639241947145152011-12-09T01:41:00.002+05:302012-01-06T17:23:47.952+05:30Seduction Of Death<div align="center"><a target="_blank" href= " http://blogjunta.com/EdchoiceContests/editors-choice-3rd-january-2012 " title="Blogjunta EditorsChoice at www.Blogjunta.com"><br />
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<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">Friends, sometimes life is easier to define then a feeling that you heve never felt...."Death". This poem is an attempt to understand the strange mystery when life hangs in balance, when you just don't know whether to welcome the feel or just shun it as you have done all your life.</span> Or maybe there's just a hidden beauty in all the gory descriptions of death. The Pied Piper feels humbled when the moment is thrusted upon someone and when someone tries to enjoy the seduction of the moment.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;">Read ......but pause for a thought.....</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><u><b>Seduction of Death</b></u></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;">- SAPTADEEP BASU (2011)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FDPoYeiK94w/TuEaV1sk0_I/AAAAAAAAAE4/x0Oaz70z-4c/s1600/corpse_bride___beauty_of_death_by_allexda-d3gc9ov.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FDPoYeiK94w/TuEaV1sk0_I/AAAAAAAAAE4/x0Oaz70z-4c/s320/corpse_bride___beauty_of_death_by_allexda-d3gc9ov.jpg" width="318" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">My final moments of life....my last reason to live,</div></div><div style="text-align: left;">To encounter my mistress in her last deceit.</div><div style="text-align: left;">My breath grew heavy but life refused to retreat,</div><div style="text-align: left;">For somewhere in me....yet a virgin lived.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Flashes of memories and my distorted life,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Etched your beauty that I despised;</div><div style="text-align: left;">And yet my blurry vision search for you tonight,</div><div style="text-align: left;">To cease the pain and this lonely night.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">The seconds eased as the moment froze,</div><div style="text-align: left;">The cries of death deafened my soul;</div><div style="text-align: left;">The gory winter lost its shrill,</div><div style="text-align: left;">As her silhouette touched my window sill.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Dawning her black silk she came to me,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Her eyes were dark and just too deep to see;</div><div style="text-align: left;">I admiringly gazed in that face smeared with blood,</div><div style="text-align: left;">And felt the warmth..... in her cold touch.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Her flawed body shone in the glitter of the night,</div><div style="text-align: center;">Her skin was dark and yet so divine;</div><div style="text-align: center;">Her lips thirsty for the naked kill,</div><div style="text-align: center;">Waiting to taste life and the pain I feel.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I devoured her beauty as she slipped her veil,</div><div style="text-align: center;">She slithered on me with a serpent’s skill;</div><div style="text-align: center;">My tormented soul agonisingly cried,</div><div style="text-align: center;">Titillating between death and life. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">The essence of life bloomed once again,</div><div style="text-align: center;">As she entered my soul and savoured her moment;</div><div style="text-align: center;">She thrusted deep as I cried in vain,</div><div style="text-align: center;">And life blew away in the fountain of pain.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">She ripped my body and clawed my heart,</div><div style="text-align: center;">She sealed her final kiss and my soul was ready to depart;</div><div style="text-align: center;">A corpse laid bare; happy with its new found numbness,</div><div style="text-align: center;">As I walked away with my virginity in shambles.</div><div style="text-align: center;">*****<br />
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</div><div class="fb-like" data-send="true" data-show-faces="true" data-width="450"></div></div>Saptadeephttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02032692479022301237noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3961224343233408561.post-6450459020006055222011-11-18T01:08:00.006+05:302011-12-09T13:06:26.361+05:30The Uncrowned Prince<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div align="center"><a href="http://blogjunta.com/EdchoiceContests/editors-choice-6th-december-2011" target="_blank" title="Blogjunta EditorsChoice at www.Blogjunta.com"><br />
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This article is also featured in http://scganguly.com/2011/11/uncrowned-prince/<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">How many times has a man’s journey been more important than the destination he reached? The answer lies in a grey area between “perhaps none” & “maybe someone”. It is because the beauty & struggle of a journey is epitomised by the height of the destination achieved. It is the destination that makes a mortal immortalised, metamorphose a survivor to a winner and convert a prince to an emperor. It is what demarcates a “would be” to an “icon”. They are the “greats” who adorn the yellow pages of history and survive the tiring test of time. They are “Demigods” for their destinations catapult them to a league where common man can only look up at them with awe struck aspiration.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">And then there are “legends”. Men who reside in the hearts of people. Stories are never written about them but recounted numerous times through memories, passed onto different generations such that they become an epic themselves. It’s their journey that defines an era. It’s their walk that stands as the destination, for a destination can be reached, but a journey cannot be emulated. They are fallible, but their failures make them human. They can be loved, hated, tainted and adored all at the same time. They prefer to remain the “uncrowned prince” forever.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Such is the journey of a man whom we know as Saurav Ganguly. Some love to call him “The Prince of Kolkata”, for some he is “Lord Snooty”, some revere him as the “God in offside”, others simply dismiss him as a mediocre fielder, for his fans he is “Dada”, for his critics just an “on the record” successful Indian captain idolised by Bengalis. With Saurav, everyone has an opinion, every judgement stands to define him and yet they seem incomplete. It may be partly because the legend of Saurav was never quantified. Statistics are reserved for the great for it’s the mind boggling numbers that record their supremacy through an era. Inspite of being the 6<sup>th</sup> highest run grosser in Test cricket & 2<sup>nd</sup> highest run scorer in ODI’s for India (5<sup>th</sup> highest in ODI in world cricket), numbers have least defined Saurav. The annals of history will always remember him as the maker of a resurgent Indian team broken free from the shackles of “antiquated cricket” that young India indentifies with today.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vVyK4Y7k198/TsVhdjOXHqI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/6tzoAYGXppo/s1600/saurav+ganguly+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vVyK4Y7k198/TsVhdjOXHqI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/6tzoAYGXppo/s320/saurav+ganguly+5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Saurav as a cricketer may soon fade from the transient memories of die hard cricket lovers. No “Wisden” can ever record his elegant offside strokes that seemed like an artist expression of freedom. He brazenly poked and lavishly drived. He danced in his crease and lofted the red cherry to thank the Gods. His offside strokes created awe and leg side pulls invoked humour sometimes. He loved the spinners and the quickies loved him. Anyone in his generation who could bowl 130kmph+ had taken a shy at his head. But then “icons” are built with numbers; not with their “presence”! “Presence” is for the mere mortal who displays his bare-chested antics in the revered Lord’s balcony to inspire a generation to lead. But alas statistics don’t record inspiration too!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-w4ny9z8EPDo/TsVhSG6bOdI/AAAAAAAAAEI/OyQbTU2F9cY/s1600/sourav-shirt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-w4ny9z8EPDo/TsVhSG6bOdI/AAAAAAAAAEI/OyQbTU2F9cY/s1600/sourav-shirt.jpg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">On records, Saurav was never the best batsman to strut the cricketing arena and definitely not the fittest, his bowling was a fluke and as a fielder he was often awful. He was also not amongst the greatest captains to hold the World Cup ever in his hands. For the pundits, the discussion ends there. For the lovers of the game, that is where the charisma of Saurav emerges. A battle hardened warlord who helped a generation to dream big. He despised the mundaneness of the gentleman’s game and made it a man’s game. He backed his warriors and they never disappointed him. He himself had risen to fall and fallen to rise again, like the phoenix in Egyptian tales. A punching bag that always comes back to you no matter how hard you hit it. He had a passion that cannot be quoted in words and his emotions never cheated on him even when he clings to his numerous Gods when they seemed the only hope. The world of cricket was never dull with the antics of Saurav around. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3WqVUyqLyhc/TsVinLI-BjI/AAAAAAAAAEw/K-IJNaCU0dg/s1600/ganguly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3WqVUyqLyhc/TsVinLI-BjI/AAAAAAAAAEw/K-IJNaCU0dg/s1600/ganguly.jpg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Captainship came to him with Indian cricket rocked in match fixing saga and the “God” himself deciding to step down. In addition was a baggage of a billion expectations, an unsettled test opening pair, half a dozen poor seamers, one able spinner and few mediocre wicket keepers. When the evening of his captainship dawned, he left a team with a subtle mix of youth, experience, insatiable hunger and fearlessness to the core called “Team India”. And as they say, in between was history. History that was good and history that was far worse. A king stripped of his kingdom but refused to surrender his throne, refusing to bow down to the corridors of power. But that was always the man we knew, the man the nation revered, the fallacies of being human. He had to go, but none knew how, for somehow he always came back at you. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZbF7wxFtSgY/TsViLuygg3I/AAAAAAAAAEo/giPaIjVSRJw/s1600/harbhajan-singh-sourav-ganguly-ishant-sharma-zaheer-khan-2008-11-10-7-3-14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="219" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZbF7wxFtSgY/TsViLuygg3I/AAAAAAAAAEo/giPaIjVSRJw/s320/harbhajan-singh-sourav-ganguly-ishant-sharma-zaheer-khan-2008-11-10-7-3-14.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The evening, Saurav strutted the arena for the last time, few heaved relief, many angered by the way he was cornered and yet happy that the pain had ceased, millions with a hope that the man will bounce back and billions disappointed to see the lone surviving tiger wounded and bloodied with his countless battles walking towards the endless night. But then with so much blood spilled, how much fight did the man had left in him? </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Cricket will never miss Saurav, for there are many “greats” to stand tall and slug it in the record books. But then, the people who make cricket worth its dough will always miss the legend who was more than the game. Someone who exemplified the beauty of cricket beyond the 22 yards. Someday, the truth will soon give way to a myth of a mystical warrior who once walked past the mortal names in the arena of the champions. He would remain the “uncrowned prince” forever.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zCddYFyL-cU/TsVhmGsxrqI/AAAAAAAAAEY/jEEIbc4tEOg/s1600/10ganguly2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zCddYFyL-cU/TsVhmGsxrqI/AAAAAAAAAEY/jEEIbc4tEOg/s1600/10ganguly2.jpg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">P.S. – Sachin will always remain the best cricketer the world has ever seen and M.S. Dhoni the rightful heir to the captainship. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ecxbxAhAyqg/TsVhtPOfQ7I/AAAAAAAAAEg/2aZMDQAv8_8/s1600/SouravGangulyDadaSLastMatch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ecxbxAhAyqg/TsVhtPOfQ7I/AAAAAAAAAEg/2aZMDQAv8_8/s320/SouravGangulyDadaSLastMatch.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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This article is also featured in http://scganguly.com/2011/11/uncrowned-prince/</div>Saptadeephttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02032692479022301237noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3961224343233408561.post-35532853989443584392011-11-04T19:01:00.004+05:302011-12-19T00:17:38.776+05:30When you cry!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div align="center"><a href="http://www.blogjunta.com/EdchoiceContests/editors-choice-16th-november-2011" target="_blank" title="Blogjunta EditorsChoice at www.Blogjunta.com"><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">I have always tried hard to know why I make you cry.....why I feel so helpless sometimes.....why a single touch can change the world around us........why we love each other so much. Why does that drop touching your cheeks make me feel so vulnerable......telling me so many things that my jugglery of words fails to comprehend. If love is meant to be happy, why did I ever make you cry? Your swollen eyes demand for an answer but the questions fail me & I prefer to remain the mute spectator and let the silence speak for my love.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Maybe I could never answer you, but then I can tell you the truth of what goes through me, when you cry!!!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><b><u><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">When you cry!</span></u></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">- SAPTADEEP BASU (2011) </span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ELHc4ADh-mw/TrPon-e7rlI/AAAAAAAAADQ/qsKLlzTCl5o/s1600/tears.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="145" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ELHc4ADh-mw/TrPon-e7rlI/AAAAAAAAADQ/qsKLlzTCl5o/s200/tears.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Drops of tears trickling down your eyes,</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">The pain of which I could never surmise;</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Your moistened cheeks desolately stare,</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">For a feeling I could never care.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Droplets of dew hang from your lashes,</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Waiting to shed for our afternoon clashes;</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">& your little nose turns red with fury......</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">But wasn’t I always left being sorry?</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Your damp pillow has its own story,</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">That your pale lips refuse to reveal;</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Your voice cheats your feelings again,</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">& the chaotic silence is what that remains.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Your heavy breath & your pounding heart,</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">They quietly crave for my loving touch;</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">& doleful me, in search of rhymes,</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">For a twinkle in your eyes, in search of a smile.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Once again I muster up courage to hold your hand,</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Promising a world more than a pack of cards;</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Wipe your tears for the final time,</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">& love you till the world aparts.</span></div></div></div><br />
<div class="fb-like" data-send="true" data-show-faces="true" data-width="450"></div>Saptadeephttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02032692479022301237noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3961224343233408561.post-52928215870146672122011-10-27T17:41:00.003+05:302011-10-28T00:24:05.405+05:30RA.ONE - Randomly Adulterated<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I have never written a movie review, but then as it is said, “when things go out hand, angels descend to protect mankind”. So here I’m ready to defend mankind from G.ONE. Why G.ONE & not RA.ONE? Well simply because the latter seems to be a more likeable character. While both robotic and non-robotic Shahrukh seemed the same matching each other in idiocy, other than his awkward looking wig of course, RA.ONE seemed the potent character out of videogames with his mechanical approach, straight talk and crafted physique. So, let’s delve a bit deeper into the RA.ONE mystery.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The movie begins with a long haired Shahrukh fighting the sisters of Bruce Lee named Iski Lee, Uski Lee & Sabki Lee in one of the most boring battles ever to protect Desi Girl (yes you guessed it right, Priyanka Chopra), courtesy a dream of his son who hates his fathers cowardly idiotic ways. Then begins a tirade of stupid scenes, where Shahrukh tries his best to emulate Jacques Clouseau of Pink Pather fame. But then he forgets that Pink Panther was a comedy, and this was supposed to be a sci-fi. What we end up seeing is a top programmer of one of the world’s best gaming company with actions matching a nerdy 5 year old. His wife still hooked to Golmal-3 avatar, is hell bent on learning Hindi belt gaalis. And poor son obviously is irritated and ashamed by his parent’s insane act!!!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The movie builds up, with Shahrukh creating a game for his son with the most potent villain, Random Access Version 1 (RA.ONE) & the good one (G.ONE aka Jeevan). The rules of the games are set, but RA.ONE moves out of the virtual world to real world to fight Shahrukh’s son who defeated him in the game. In all this skirmish, the real Shahrukh dies and comes alive our real hero G.ONE. A good plot unfolds and good visual effects are incorporated too. Even though some scenes make you remember Aliens & Transformer series, but then RA.ONE keeps you interested.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">But things go really wrong when the plot returns to <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">India</st1:place></st1:country-region>. The robot G.ONE, is just as idiotic & goofy as its maker. The robot has got a personal folder of its maker, which makes it wear lungi, dance Chammak Challo, belt out the right shayaris in just the right timing, make promises and do anything else that Rajnikant left unfinished in “Robot”. At the night however, it hangs itself to the antenna of the roof of Kareena’s house in Batman style searching for RA.ONE. Worth mentioning here is Kareena Kapoor, who looked great to keep the viewers entertained while G.ONE was self destructing itself in its videogame avatar.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">RA.ONE hunted down G.ONE to Chennai (the airport was the clue), but in the very next scene G.ONE was in Mumbai trains to protect Kareena while RA.ONE drove Shahrukh’s kid from Chennai to Mumbai expo!!! Suddenly G.ONE became serious. Kareena was saved and so was Mumbai from further mayhem. G.ONE transported himself through open electrical wires to reach RA.ONE which was strange considering all this while he seemed somewhat with limited abilities and kept jumping buildings. RA.ONE meanwhile kept on changing looks, however Rampal really attracted him a lot as he went back to Rampal style inspite of becoming Kareena in between. The final fight could have been better choreographed, almost a “Tekken” copy & G.ONE defeats RA.ONE (with 0.01% chances) and Shahrukh’s prophecy of good over evil survives. G.ONE goes back with RA.ONE to their virtual world to return again (possibly for part-II).</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The story has nothing new in its kitty and the climax unfolds in the first 20 mins itself. All the actors were shadowed to make Shahrukh seem goofier and worth mentioning is Dilip Tahil who made a special effort for that. The music though was peppy and background score for G.ONE was good too. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">As far as watching the movie is concerned, its good in bits and pieces and worth a watch. Hope part-II will have more of RA.ONE and less of the nerdy G.ONE.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tZpJu8fpTiw/TqlKqjovkzI/AAAAAAAAADI/-QfQHwFj9oA/s1600/raone-350_102611085405.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="205" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tZpJu8fpTiw/TqlKqjovkzI/AAAAAAAAADI/-QfQHwFj9oA/s320/raone-350_102611085405.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
</div></div>Saptadeephttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02032692479022301237noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3961224343233408561.post-35873446933052154932011-10-10T21:58:00.001+05:302011-10-10T22:00:46.740+05:30Bengali Fish Curry<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">In the global jungle of civilization hiding a Bengali is a toughest job to do. Whether it is for his fish tainted hands or his fetish for “Ananda Bazaar Patrika”, a Bengali always stands out amongst the crowd. Loving or hating a Bengali is your personal choice, but ignoring one is at your own risk. He is indomitable, a pocket dynamo ready to burst if wrongly held. He can fight for a 50 paisa for 50 minutes and still turn out victorious. <i>Ki Dada thik bolchi to?</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Every Bengali can be divided into two subgroups, “Dada” & “Didi”, no matter in which age group they belong. Maybe it’s because a Bengali never turns old enough to be an uncle or aunty. However I’m often surprised why Bipasha Basu was never included in the “Didi” category! Bengali men are always “Bhadraloks” in their pristine white dhoti, not withstanding their antagonistic behaviour in local trains and buses. They are also all about panache<b>. </b>Everything right from their oil dripping side parted hairstyle, to their neatly trimmed moustache, their “Punjabis” (though I never realised why they are called so) & multi coloured lungis, none can beat them in their unique style statement. They may be short in size but not short with their voice. You can beat a Bengali to pulp, but even God doesn’t dare to quarrel with a Bengali. They are also one of the most intelligent species to ever walk the Earth. It is said, “When ten foxes die, a Bengali is born”, and it makes me wonder about the reproductive capacity of the foxes!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Poschim Bongo is a proud “nation”. (& now we need Columbus to discover a Purbo Bongo) Infact it is the only one with a motto, “<i>Cholbey Naa</i>”! Maybe that is why “<i>Amra laal Bhalobasi</i>”. When the world is moving at a frantic pace, we love to cling to our past, “eating” the cheapest whisky available (as we hate to drink, <i>Amra khali khete bhalobashi</i>), expecting someone else to turn back the time for us. We are more than “roshogollas”, “sondesh” & unfortunately “highly inflammable churon” of “3 Idots” fame. We idolise Saurav Ganguly, because we never had anyone competing against him and expect him to play till a walking stick replaces his bat (& God, he never disappoints). If the world has Man U & Arsenal, we have Mohun Bagan & East Bengal. We love our jokes but alas the lesser mortals were never able to pierce through the humour (as they often turn out in Bengali). We never had an identity crisis, just like all “Southies & Northies” seem like Siamese twins. Our impeccable Engrazi & flawless Hindi make us stand out among the rest. <i>“Hum thik bolta hai na?”</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i>Dhur! Bohut hoye geche</i>.......if you have Rajnikant, we also have Mithun......and the discussion ends there.</div></div>Saptadeephttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02032692479022301237noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3961224343233408561.post-4613544367739034862011-08-19T01:48:00.001+05:302011-11-08T00:04:06.901+05:30An open letter to mr. Rahul Gandhi<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Dear Rahul Gandhi,</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> I wonder what is keeping you busy nowadays. I even wonder more thinking about what your favourite uncle, Mr. Diggy (as we all love to call him) is busy with! Suddenly all his rhetoric seems to be on a pause mode & all your activism in a stop mode. Didn’t he just announce a few months back that you were “ready” to claim your ancestral Prime Minister’s seat? And wow, you just seemed ready in your pristine white kurta pyjama in the backdrop of rustic villagers, having your free daily lunches in poor people’s home (who cannot afford a square meal a day), walking miles under the sun and riding in a train. Perfect and enough isn’t it to become the PM of the most chaotic democracy in the world. After all silence is the antidote to chaos and there cannot be a bigger example than your composed self. And yes, we Indians don’t doubt about your eligibility for the coveted post. With looks to kill and lineage to die for, one doesn’t require boring economic policies, national agendas or anti corruption policies to make that CV look dreary.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> By the way have you heard about Anna Hazare and his fast unto death? I know it makes little sense when half the country is anyways fasting because of poverty, but a show of solidarity would have surely helped your portfolio. However, we are too small a fish to understand your grand goals of making a great India; maybe you thought that some fasting will control the ever ballooning food prices brought about by your economist PM. But something that surprises me and would perhaps alarm you is that, inspite of your tremendous hard work and inspiration to million Indian youth under the banner of “Youth Congress” (even though I’m really ignorant of how many youth was actually infused, as the Congress is still the oldest party, and what was the ultimate result of your past 6-7 years of effort. I apologise for the same), a 74 year old is manoeuvring greater youth and even children in a mere span of 6-7 months. I accept that you hate the limelight and want to be the “Robinhood Pandey”, but then isn’t it high time that common Indians like me should atleast know what you are up to behind the curtains so that even we can join uncle Diggy’s rhetoric “Rahul for PM”.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> By the way, I’ve overheard a lot of people saying that the stage is set for Rahul to douse this anti-corruption crisis. If he has to prove his worth, it is now. But then frankly, you were already crowned the “youth icon of India” at 40 and by ratings the most popular choice to PM post, only with one single Kalavati speech. Even Obama cannot match your oratorical skills. (Poor Obama only knows how many times he had to repeat “Yes we can”, before Americans voted him to power). I believe you have saved your best for the last. After all, it better to keep your mouth shut and appear stupid than to open it and remove all doubt? Moreover your family has been in power for so many years that you know that Indians believe in “Forgive & Forget”. And even you probably realise your limited skill set, which is only to become the PM of India, else it might be difficult to even find you a job with your qualifications in “shining modern India”. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> Anyways, by the time all this hullaballoo over corruption ends, I believe you will be back in your white kurta pyjama once again displaying your dimples in the front pages of newspapers. How long can young India be satiated by a old man after all. But then till this movement unfolds please keep uncle Diggy in chains. Hope you can fulfil this sole demand from your devoted youth followers. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Best wishes for your future.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Regards,</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Your biggest fan.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-soPfjLq-7fw/Tk1zdEdbe-I/AAAAAAAAAC8/6iUg2jYnYTg/s1600/rahul_gandhi_20090501.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="184" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-soPfjLq-7fw/Tk1zdEdbe-I/AAAAAAAAAC8/6iUg2jYnYTg/s320/rahul_gandhi_20090501.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div></div>Saptadeephttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02032692479022301237noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3961224343233408561.post-5586913334448348632011-07-03T01:21:00.005+05:302011-12-09T13:06:35.802+05:30Her Eyes!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mjTNwkQ6t0k/ThM7UCJUYuI/AAAAAAAAAC4/Eeuj40e2of0/s1600/ttp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mjTNwkQ6t0k/ThM7UCJUYuI/AAAAAAAAAC4/Eeuj40e2of0/s1600/ttp.jpg" /></a></div><br />
I've been tired of people telling me, "Can't you ever write sumthing that doesnot holds pain in it.....it's happy...filled with love as it should be......well, d efforts are never at a loss, it's just that in the struggle of love and pain, my pain has always got the upper hand. However, last nyt was when I had a feeling, I've been longing for......a feeling where my words fail......a feeling when those eyes wakes me up in the middle of the night......the beauty of which I fail to describe.....my words are an ode to those eyes!!!<br />
(Friends I request you to read the poem with its flow, go slow to feel the mystifying beauty of her eyes)<br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><u>HER EYES</u></div><div style="text-align: right;">- SAPTADEEP BASU (2011)</div><div class="MsoNormal">Once in a while......</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZANkMaQHvbs/Tg91v46BUhI/AAAAAAAAAC0/EaEhbe63Dko/s1600/2556beautiful_eyes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="142" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZANkMaQHvbs/Tg91v46BUhI/AAAAAAAAAC0/EaEhbe63Dko/s200/2556beautiful_eyes.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">I try to see the world through the prism of your eyes,</div><div class="MsoNormal">Fancy my life with you sometimes....</div><div class="MsoNormal">Seeing the world with your coloured sight.</div><div class="MsoNormal">The lovely brows curls down with a smile,</div><div class="MsoNormal">Flirts with you in their animated style;</div><div class="MsoNormal">Sometimes complaining.....Sometimes questioning;</div><div class="MsoNormal">Pleading you not to stare in those eyes.</div><div class="MsoNormal">As she gazes at the bright blue sky,</div><div class="MsoNormal">Closes her eyes to capture a sight;</div><div class="MsoNormal">Her big eye lashes flutter with the breeze,</div><div class="MsoNormal">It kisses her soul with its sly reach.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Her lids blink with a motion of its own,</div><div class="MsoNormal">Precisely dancing to the tunes forgone;</div><div class="MsoNormal">Mocking at my effort of expressing the song,</div><div class="MsoNormal">That hummed in her eyes & only she had known.</div><div class="MsoNormal">The colour of her eyes held a mystery in it.....</div><div class="MsoNormal">Of a naughty girl or a wise priest;</div><div class="MsoNormal">I hoped I had an answer to it,</div><div class="MsoNormal">For it shattered my dreams & my deep sleep.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Yes, Once in a while..... </div><div class="MsoNormal">I want to see the world through the prism of your eyes;</div><div class="MsoNormal">To know the colour of those eyes that I have described,</div><div class="MsoNormal">For the only colour I know is darkness in my life.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div></div><div class="fb-like" data-send="true" data-show-faces="true" data-width="450"></div>Saptadeephttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02032692479022301237noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3961224343233408561.post-184346301940164812011-06-26T01:22:00.001+05:302012-08-29T16:11:21.612+05:30EMPLOYING THE FUTURE OF INDIA<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <br />
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Friends this was an article that I had written long back in the summers of 2008........Infact it was for "The International Essay Competion-2008" by the World Bank.....Hope it would be a nice read for all.....Cheers from the pied piper till then<br />
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<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><u><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">EMPLOYING THE FUTURE OF INDIA</span></u></b></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><u><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></u></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b><u>INTRODUCTION:</u></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">“Youth Unemployment”, a word often encountered in all the leading Indian newspapers along with poverty, social injustice, petty thefts and crimes, political upheaval, terrorism and all those words which a person doesn’t want to read with his morning tea. Words that are placed so far apart even in a dictionary. Then why does some of these words always comes in a package when a person reads an article about any one of them. Is that just an act of randomness or are they some pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that comes together to show us a bigger picture. Well, I never cared being an undergraduate student and still far away from the struggle of survival; but then a story about an 18 year old named Talib Khan run by a magazine made me stop and take notice. Twisting and turning in pain on the hospital bed with his bullet ridden body in bandages, he makes a heroic declaration, 'It'll take more than guns- and much more than this suffering- to scare me away! I'll fight it out again next time....' Talib is no Kargil hero but an aspiring Indian Army candidate, who became martyr to unemployment on 17<sup>th</sup> July, 1999. On that day, poverty more than patriotism lead to the unfortunate death of 23 young men aspiring to join the army.<span class="MsoFootnoteReference"> <a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=3961224343233408561#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">[1]</span></span></a></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Talib is no exception. In 2003, when Indian Railways advertised about 20,000 jobs promising just US$136 per month, 600,000 people applied leading to chaos, violence and death in some parts of the country<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">.</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=3961224343233408561#_ftn2" name="_ftnref2" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">[2]</span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span>Yes, in the second largest populated country in the world, with more than 75% of its population below poverty line (as per World Bank, i.e. people earning less than US$ 1/day/person), life counts less, and every new year adds up new names to this ever increasing list of martyrs while the killer “Unemployment” lives scot free among us.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b><u>INDIA UNDER THE SHACKLES OF UNEMPLOYMENT:</u></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">How many times have we listened or read this, “Young India rising like a phoenix with more than half of its population below 25 years”. It sounds great for the Indian intelligentsia, but ask those youths who have more immediate concerns of hunger, poverty and terrorism to take care of, struggling everyday for the basic necessities, fighting only for survival; well not to say, they remain as mythical as the phoenix, only rising to the jingoist talks of the politicians. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">But all said, with Indian economy rising at the rate of 7.2%, when the developed world is still in the grip of the global crisis, the moot question still remains, “How much does youth unemployment actually affects India?” Well, the answer doesn’t lies in President Obama’s “Buffalo to Bangalore” analogy or the speechless figures published by our government, that last counted the number of people living in its geographical boundaries 9 years ago<a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=3961224343233408561#_ftn3" name="_ftnref3" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">[3]</span></span></span></a>, but it exists among the “common man” who celebrates the governments job guarantee scheme (NREGA) that provides a legal guarantee for 100 days of employment in every financial year to one adult member of any rural household at the statutory <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Minimum_wage" title="Minimum wage"><span style="color: black; text-decoration: none;">minimum wage</span></a> of Rs.60 (US$1.2) per day! </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">But <a href="http://en.thinkexist.com/quotation/the_hardship_and_suffering_caused_by_unemployment/150710.html"><span style="color: black; text-decoration: none;">before measuring the implications of unemployment we should first realize why employment is actually so important for an adult. As a child moves into adulthood, certain psychological changes take place in him. Being known by his parental lineage for all these years, the crave for identity becomes of utmost importance. Parental pressure, peer pressure all adds up to this desire. It is this vacant arena that a job fulfils. It defines who we are and allows a gradual transition from childhood to adulthood. It also provides the economic freedom that enables him to think about his future. In the absence of a job, almost all of the norms that allow this transition are unavailable. Without a shape to the future, without hope, the human condition usually follows one of the two courses, either it descends into despair or it is consumed with a level of rage that drives it to take uncalculated and devastating risks.<span title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">[4]</span></span></span></span> Thus, while the government economist is busy tallying up the economic costs of unemployment, they tend to ignore the social and moral implications which are unparalleled in many nat</span></a>ure.<a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=3961224343233408561#_ftn5" name="_ftnref5" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">[5]</span></span></span></a> In fact, youth unemployment has actually partitioned India one more time after 1947, this time into million pieces with lines drawn of economics. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Our country, made of 28 states, more than a 1000 languages and a billion faces has always been wound together by a unified idea called “India/Bharat”. But today, unemployment has created a rat race where Bharat has lagged far behind to India which has challenged the very foundation of this nation. Result is a cocktail of disasters. Mumbai is kicking out its fellow Indians from poorer states who they feel is stealing their jobs. Youths from neglected northeast India, who come to the mainland in search of better prospects, are being harassed and exploited everywhere. Kashmir is burning because its youth have guns in their hands and not jobs. Naxalism has struck the root in 220 districts with children without education and grownups without jobs. Farmers, considered self employed, still embrace death out of hunger. And let’s not forget the bright minds who flock other nations shores to earn a dime because their motherland can’t provide it, are being abused and brutally killed in some foreign land. Unfortunately, our government still feels we should believe in their incomplete slogan of “India Shining”!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">As I write this essay, the geographical boundaries of the states of India may never be the same again. Students are immolating themselves in Andhra Pradesh to carve out a separate state of Telengana. Uttar Pradesh wants to be divided into four parts and Maharashtra into two. Assam is fighting for its sovereignty and Kashmir for its rights. Every corner of the country is being bombed, ironically this time by homebred terrorists. And in all these states, the foot warrior remains the same - “Youth”. Does the Indian youth savour martyrdom or are they inspired by Bhagat Singh’s efforts to drive the tyrants away? Possibly, one answer to that subjective question is a simple mathematical equation. Last year 2,15,000 students sat for CAT examinations, a gateway to the prestigious IIM’s and a probable lifelong passport to hefty pay packages. Unfortunately, it will be only 1000 students that would make the cut, a conversion rate of 0.46%! For how long are we going to bask in the glory of creating one of the toughest exam in this world and start thinking about the careers of the remaining 2,14,000? How many “Slumdog Millionaire” needs to be created by Danny Boyle for us to accept the naked truth of how every second the Indian youth is being pulled into the black hole of crime, prostitution and begging? For these youth stung by unemployment, the choice becomes pretty simple; you need to stab your motherland to feed your mother. After all, isn’t that what Charles Darwin’s “Survival of the fittest” theory tries to teach? </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Thus even with the 7.2% growth rate, India is actually entering a phase of “Jobless growth” where the pace of creation of work opportunities has not kept pace with the growing requirement.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b><u>INDIA VISION 2020 STUNG BY UNEMPLOYMENT</u></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">“Vision 2020”, a decorated term coined by our legendary ex-president Dr.A.P.J.Abdul Kalam, speaks about India becoming a developed nation by 2020. However, every step to achieve that dream has to face numerous hurdles, the prime among them being poverty, illiteracy, terrorism, capital dearth, etc. with unemployment touching the core of each one of them. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">As our finance minister in yet another budget session promises a growth of 9%, Kashmir is slowly limping back to “Stone Age”. Inspite of infusion of funds and providing quality education, the lack of security has created a job crunch. For these young Kashmiris, who have lost their childhood to fear and their youth to unemployment, stones have become a weapon of choice to vent both their anger and despair<a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=3961224343233408561#_ftn6" name="_ftnref6" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">[6]</span></span></span></a>. They become easy prey to radicalization. It’s these victims of unemployment that keep Kashmir burning. Result, the millions of rupees that could have been spent on social security measures, creating jobs, schools, hospitals and powering the growth of this nation, is being spent to quell internal strife’s.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The story is no different for the seven north eastern states, UP, Bihar, Orissa and all the other poorer states. Banned outfits like Indian Mujahideen, Naxalites, ULFA, etc. are inducting educated but ignored young cadres to their wings, creating a war like situation inside the nation. Traditional wars have given way to sophisticated use of technology to wage a reign of terror starving the national economy. Inspite of a huge consumer base, it is this fear that is preventing the infusion of private funds and destroying the huge tourism industry that provides employment to millions, besides tarnishing the image of India.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Lack of employment opportunities and underemployment in the country is strengthening the traditional steady brain drain to all developed economies. The extent to which the desis have actually bolstered the US economy can be gauged by simple statistics. 12% scientists and 38% doctors in the US are Indians, 36% of the scientists at NASA, 34% employees at Microsoft, 28% at IBM, 17% at Intel and 13% at Xerox are Indians.<a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=3961224343233408561#_ftn7" name="_ftnref7" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">[7]</span></span></span></a> With the country reeling with diseases every doctor out of that pool would have made a major impact in the health scenario. Even within the nation, interstate labour migration is a common trend creating overcrowding, low productivity, exploitation of labour and high level of discontent in these desired regions. This is reflected in the fact that some of the most drought prone districts such as Amreli, Kachchh, Surendranagar and Rajkot, have relatively higher labour productivity vis-à-vis the agriculturally prosperous districts like Junagadh, Kheda and Mehsana. The excess supply of labour contributes to reducing the wage rate as the migrant labour is willing to accept any distress wages that are offered as long as they have access to employment. This undercuts the employment prospects of local labour resulting in violence on ethnic lines. This creates a situation where sectarian political parties gain ground and disrupt the peace of the nation. States start fighting among each other, their decibels proportional to their contribution to the national GDP. India merely remains as a collage of independent states sharing common boundaries. Besides, the growing phenomenon of rural-rural migration also has important implications for future generations who would also suffer from the same debilitating lack of opportunities and low quality of life. For example, whole families of tribal’s from the Dang district of South Gujarat migrate for six to eight months to work in the sugar factories in the plains, resulting in their children being unable to enrol in schools.<a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=3961224343233408561#_ftn8" name="_ftnref8" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">[8]</span></span></span></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="articlefulldescription">On the key education front, critical to the creation of employable youth, India's report card is abysmal. </span>Literacy level in the country stands at a poor 65.2% while that even in Kenya stands at a respectable 85.1%. <span class="articlefulldescription">The education system is mired in corruption with test papers for sale and a teacher absenteeism rate of 25% that is the second highest in the world, behind only Uganda, according to a UNESCO report.</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=3961224343233408561#_ftn9" name="_ftnref9" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">[9]</span></span></span></a><span class="articlefulldescription"> Even, </span>higher education today is no longer a guarantee for a job in India, leave alone a good one. Thus while the literacy rate of the country is slowly increasing, the unemployment rate too is increasing with it. In Kerala, where 90.92% of its population is literate, the rate of unemployment is the highest. For a population of a little over 3 crore, it has nearly 40 lakh unemployed educated youth, almost equal that of Maharashtra, which has treble its population at 9.6 crore.<a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=3961224343233408561#_ftn10" name="_ftnref10" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">[10]</span></span></span></a> All this figures threaten the Government’s “Education for All” movement which makes free and compulsory education to children of ages 6-14 a fundamental right, as the uneducated parents find it profitable to send the kids to plough farms rather than idling at school. </div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="margin-left: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;">Thus all these problems that stand between a “developing India” and a “developed India” actually come in a vicious circle wherein each one is a cause and each one is an effect.<a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=3961224343233408561#_ftn11" name="_ftnref11" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">[11]</span></span></span></a> With a staggering 51% of its population of 1.7 billion people under 25 and two-thirds under 35, the future of the nation hinges on how effectively we utilise this youth power. If we succeed, “Vision 2020” will no longer be a dream and if we fail, this unskilled, under-utilised, frustrated young population will derail economic growth, undermine harmony and breed violence.</span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="margin-left: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b><u>SCHOOLS OF ENTREPRENEUL EMPLOYMENT (SEE): A YOUTHFUL SOLUTION </u></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b><u>THE IDEOLOGY</u></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b><u><br />
</u></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">In India, while millions remain unemployed, millions more suffer from poverty. While the basic needs of people are yet to be fulfilled and many are eager to work and contribute, the national economy cannot absorb them. This shows that something is seriously wrong with our economic system. NASSCOM and CII have estimated that if India wants to be a developed country by 2020, it needs to create 10 million jobs.<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span>Neither the Army nor the police force can absorb such a large amount, nor can the Railways or the government<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">.</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=3961224343233408561#_ftn12" name="_ftnref12" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">[12]</span></span></span></a><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span>The private sector though expanding, the rate is not equivalent to the unemployment rate. Besides, unemployment is a critical issue more in rural India as compared to urban India due to lack of opportunities, lower penetration of knowledge and impoverished background. Then the question arises is “How to employ the rural unemployed?” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Fortunately the answer exists in a tried and tested technique, “Entrepreneurship”. According to TiE (The IndUS Entrepreneurs), each entrepreneur creates 30 jobs besides wealth creation setting the stage for a flourishing economy, unlike a job seeker who is a burden to the economy. For example the U.S economy generates 600,000 new small businesses every year. But nearly an equal number of small businesses are also closing down every year there due to losses. Figures show that only 75% of new firms survive for 2 years or more and only 50% of them hold on for five years or more. Many such firms are started by people with no formal management training.<a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=3961224343233408561#_ftn13" name="_ftnref13" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">[13]</span></span></span></a> Thus to create employment we need to first increase employability and develop entrepreneurship skill so that the individuals besides attracting capital can also create wealth themselves. This is the driving force behind my proposed solution “SEE”.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b><u>THE HINDRANCES</u></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b><u><br />
</u></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Firstly, a common denominator for all budding rural entrepreneurs is the challenge of starting a business, be it through inventing something, looking for a new idea within a business, seeing beyond the contours of his rural boundaries or finding the right opportunity to break into a business.<a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=3961224343233408561#_ftn14" name="_ftnref14" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">[14]</span></span></span></a> Inspite of their zeal, their knowledge about various taxation policies, governmental clearances, intellectual property rights, etc. are pretty limited. All these require intense knowhow of the market mechanism which generally the 20 something’s fresh from college particularly those in rural India lack leaving them at the mercy of the fluctuating market and vulnerable to touts.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Secondly, every startup faces the problem of attracting capital. Even though with globalisation and the internet boom, many people have actually started to recognise youth entrepreneurship, it is the relative lack of experience and market knowledge and their impoverished background that makes them non bankable, that prevents banks and angel investors to bet on these young horses. As such most of these young guns either rely on family and friends or on credit cards to fund their dreams. In the Indian context, where generally these budding entrepreneurs come from modest background, even attracting family finances becomes a tough ask while credit cards are always a risky proposition. As such either most of them are forced to abandon their dream or plunge themselves neck deep into high interest lending from day one. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Thirdly, every business requires excellent networking be it with clients/customers or like minded people. Many brilliant ideas remain stillborn as they cannot connect with their prospective buyers while a many more cannot expand in the absence of people supporting them. Moreover, any idea however good it may be, needs a proper packaging to make it saleable. Understanding market needs is of prime importance. Thus any idea before being flouted in the market needs to be floor tested to gauge its impact and market viability. For a rural youth with just enough to start his business, market research by any independent agency remains a far cry. Besides, with the cut throat competition the margin of error is pretty low as any idea takes very less time to be replicated and reproduced in a more grandiose way with majority of young entrepreneurs losing out to the quick scaling up of competitors. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Lastly, rural entrepreneurship being generally a labour oriented business, understanding the sensibilities and meeting the expectations of the people working in a startup has traditionally been the toughest ask for an entrepreneur. With the lack of any formal management training, retaining talent and utilising the human capital efficiently are major grey areas for an entrepreneur.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b><u>“SEE”ing THE ENTREPRENEUR </u></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b><u><br />
</u></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">It is this gap between a “nobody” and a “somebody” that the “SEE” plans to bridge. Its motto is to see through the journey of a person from an insightful youth to a successful entrepreneur. At SEE, we would groom the individuals with bright ideas, not only with entrepreneurship skills but also with hands on experience of handling a business. Unlike other management institutions that merely teach management concepts for better paying job, at SEE, the focus would be purely on creating one’s own venture. We also intend to fill the vacuum between angel investors and venture capitalists and young entrepreneurs. As larger funds are usually not interested in investing small amounts of money, say under $1M, because the general partners are legally required to monitor the investment, and it takes as much effort to monitor a large investment as it does a small investment<a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=3961224343233408561#_ftn15" name="_ftnref15" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">[15]</span></span></span></a>, so at SEE, the capital will be raised by SEE on behalf of its would be partners, which would thereafter will be redistributed among the budding entrepreneurs as per requirement. The seed capital would be proportioned in a mutually agreed ratio between the entrepreneur and SEE and for a period marginally lesser than the repayment period of the SEE. This would make the SEE a legal partner of the startup and hence besides monitoring the progress of the business, it would use its experience and contacts to generate profits. This involvement of SEE with the core of the business is where it differs from other microfinance institutes which only lend money at higher interest rates considering the risks involved (Grameen Bank's interest rate (reducing balance basis) on its main credit product is about 20%)<a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=3961224343233408561#_ftn16" name="_ftnref16" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">[16]</span></span></span></a> distancing itself both from the risks as well as from the profits generated. Moreover, being a part of the entire business cycle, SEE doesn’t land up the poor borrowers in a perpetual ever ballooning debt trap unlike any microfinance instrument which merely acts as a modern version of age old money lenders who take advantage of the poor credibility of the rural populace. This constant monitoring of SEE would further reduce the defaulting ratio of lenders and proportionately also increase the chances of creation of a successful venture. Thus this would provide a win-win situation for both, as the entrepreneur would not only receive the seed capital for his dream venture, but would also get the expertise of SEE, while for the SEE, it gets to generate profits diversifying into different businesses with minimum human capital and resources. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Inspite of aiming to be a self sustaining business venture in itself, the term “SCHOOL” in SEE reiterates its social objective to empower the rural population with the market knowledge to create a sustainable difference in their lives, rather than making them dependent on other organizations to fund their living.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">However, one question that remains unanswered is the composition of SEE that makes it a credible enough organization to pool resources from the market. SEE plans to bring together the efforts of various NGO’s and microfinancing institutes working for the development of rural India. Besides, as the requisite capital for rural entrepreneurship is comparatively less, people from urban background with a better credit history can take the loan on behalf of his rural counterpart at lower interest rates. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b><u>SEE THE IMPACT </u></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b><u><br />
</u></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Every single entrepreneur churned out by the SEE, would create more jobs for the rural Indian population. Considering entrepreneurs generally create ventures in their homeland as they know the local economics better than anywhere else’s, this would create jobs all around the nation partially resolving the migration issue. SEE idealises to reverse the age-old vicious circle of "low income, low saving & low investment", into virtuous circle of "low income, injection of credit, investment, more income, more savings and more investment".<a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=3961224343233408561#_ftn17" name="_ftnref17" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">[17]</span></span></span></a> More youths empowered with jobs and financial security will not go down the path of extremism and self destruction, addressing marginally the internal security issue. The entrepreneurs creating own ventures, will no more look towards the government for jobs, slackening the enormous pressure on the government exchequers. More returns for the entrepreneurs will pressurize the government to create laws to foster entrepreneurship. In a more stable environment, traditional employment creators like tourism and manufacturing will get a big boost, improving the overall national economy. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Thus, the SEE in its own humble way, intends to protect the fundamental right to live of numerous young Talib Khan’s and instil a small change that inturn leads to a chain of reactions, leading us to our destined “Vision 2020”. </div><div><br />
<hr align="left" size="1" width="33%" /><div id="ftn1"><div class="MsoFootnoteText"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=3961224343233408561#_ftnref1" name="_ftn1" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">[1]</span></span></span></a> “The Outlook” magazine, August 2<sup>nd</sup> 1999 issue, “Martyrs To Unemployment”<span lang="EN-US"></span></div></div><div id="ftn2"><div class="MsoFootnoteText"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=3961224343233408561#_ftnref2" name="_ftn2" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">[2]</span></span></span></a> http://www.expressindia.com/news/fullstory.php?newsid=30543<span lang="EN-US"></span></div></div><div id="ftn3"><div class="MsoFootnoteText"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=3961224343233408561#_ftnref3" name="_ftn3" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">[3]</span></span></span></a> “Businessworld” magazine, Dec 08-05 Jan 09 issue, “Figures That Don’t Talk”<b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"> </span></b><span lang="EN-US"></span></div></div><div id="ftn4"><div class="MsoFootnoteText"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=3961224343233408561#_ftnref4" name="_ftn4" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">[4]</span></span></span></a> <span lang="EN-US">“The Times of India”, 28<sup>th</sup> Feb, 2010 issue, “Children of a violent past see no future”</span></div></div><div id="ftn5"><div class="MsoFootnoteText"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=3961224343233408561#_ftnref5" name="_ftn5" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">[5]</span></span></span></a> <span lang="EN-US">Eva Burrow quotes, www.thinkexist.com</span></div></div><div id="ftn6"><div class="MsoFootnoteText"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=3961224343233408561#_ftnref6" name="_ftn6" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">[6]</span></span></span></a> <span lang="EN-US">“The Times of India”, 28<sup>th</sup> Feb, 2010 issue, “Kashmir’s Stone Age”</span></div></div><div id="ftn7"><div class="MsoFootnoteText"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=3961224343233408561#_ftnref7" name="_ftn7" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">[7]</span></span></span></a> <span lang="EN-US">“The Times of India”, 11<sup>th</sup> Mar, 2008 issue, “</span>36% of scientists at NASA are Indians: Govt survey<span lang="EN-US">”</span></div></div><div id="ftn8"><div class="MsoFootnoteText"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=3961224343233408561#_ftnref8" name="_ftn8" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">[8]</span></span></span></a> “Unemployment and migration” - Swati Narayan – www.indiatogether.com<span lang="EN-US"></span></div></div><div id="ftn9"><div class="MsoFootnoteText"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=3961224343233408561#_ftnref9" name="_ftn9" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">[9]</span></span></span></a> <span lang="EN-US">“India’s Youth Power” – Rahul Singh’s blog</span></div></div><div id="ftn10"><div class="MsoFootnoteText"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=3961224343233408561#_ftnref10" name="_ftn10" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">[10]</span></span></span></a> “The Outlook” magazine, May 7<sup>th</sup> 2001 issue, “Work: A Generation Gap”<span lang="EN-US"></span></div></div><div id="ftn11"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=3961224343233408561#_ftnref11" name="_ftn11" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">[11]</span></span></span></a><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “Youth Unemployment :Social Balance Sheet-Entrepreneurship Strategy towards job creation” by Dr. Nagendra P. Singh</span></div></div><div id="ftn12"><div class="MsoFootnoteText"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=3961224343233408561#_ftnref12" name="_ftn12" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">[12]</span></span></span></a> “India needs more entrepreneurs than managers” - Dhawal Shah, www. zeromillion.com<span lang="EN-US"></span></div></div><div id="ftn13"><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=3961224343233408561#_ftnref13" name="_ftn13" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">[13]</span></span></span></a> <span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;">“Fully Utilizing Social Resources can Eliminate Unemployment” - Ashok Natarajan</span></div></div><div id="ftn14"><h1 style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=3961224343233408561#_ftnref14" name="_ftn14" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">[14]</span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; font-weight: normal;"> “The Challenges for Entrepreneurship Today” – www.smallbusinessnotes.com</span></h1><div class="MsoFootnoteText"><br />
</div></div><div id="ftn15"><h1 style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=3961224343233408561#_ftnref15" name="_ftn15" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">[15]</span></span></span></span></a> <span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; font-weight: normal;">"All Financing Sources Are Not Equal" – MIT Enterprise forum</span> </h1><div class="MsoFootnoteText"><br />
</div></div><div id="ftn16"><div class="MsoFootnoteText"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=3961224343233408561#_ftnref16" name="_ftn16" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">[16]</span></span></span></span></a> <span style="font-size: 11pt;">“Grameen Bank” - Wikepedia</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div></div><div id="ftn17"><div class="MsoFootnoteText"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=3961224343233408561#_ftnref17" name="_ftn17" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">[17]</span></span></span></span></a> <span style="font-size: 11pt;">“A short history of Grameen Bank” – www. grameen-info.org</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div></div></div></div>
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<!-- AddThis Button END -->Saptadeephttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02032692479022301237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3961224343233408561.post-58291282205755933942011-06-19T16:34:00.008+05:302011-06-28T00:25:25.168+05:30The literary vagabond<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ddzhGkXATFU/Tf3cSZUAY9I/AAAAAAAABLM/8FDIbTpCeY0/s1600/DSC03328.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5619890118618801106" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ddzhGkXATFU/Tf3cSZUAY9I/AAAAAAAABLM/8FDIbTpCeY0/s320/DSC03328.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; float: right; height: 164px; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
Far from the madding crowd<br />
Once again I set out,<br />
with some penny to spare<br />
and plenty of time to stand and stare.<br />
<br />
Summer it is I say<br />
on the AC as my hands I lay<br />
CDs, camera, pen and notepad<br />
Carried them all, I'm glad.<br />
<br />
The music goes ta ra rum pum<br />
and along I hum;<br />
A sparrow I spot<br />
and a lady in topknot.<br />
<br />
I take a turn and go bump<br />
Yeah, I missed noticing a hump.<br />
Silly of me, I think<br />
As my mind's eye I blink.<br />
<br />
Now I am away from the jungle concrete<br />
with none to run a rat race with;<br />
I race against myself with glee<br />
To all, do the same I plea.<br />
<br />
It’s about time I reached the lake<br />
To myself I thus spake.<br />
Though I haven't, I wonder why<br />
and simply drove by.<br />
<br />
I drove for long but came along none<br />
Confused I looked around,<br />
to catch hold of and ask a passer-by<br />
can you tell me the way to the lake, mere bhai?<br />
<br />
Lost my way, I was told.<br />
Ahha! on my hands as a kerchief I unfold.<br />
To wipe vigorously my face<br />
of sweat, leaving no trace.<br />
<br />
Again I go, back to the wheel<br />
for some more driving drill.<br />
I steer steady and fast<br />
while hoping my energy would last.<br />
<br />
Of sunshine and rain<br />
and growing up again;<br />
the singer sang full-throated<br />
as I honked full and in my driving skills, I gloated.<br />
<br />
Soon enough I noticed water, all blue<br />
Caught my fancy, its hue.<br />
I stopped the engine and stared<br />
'til from behind someone's horn he blared.<br />
<br />
Sorry, I said and parked at the lot<br />
and took to my heels with the hamper I brought<br />
Eat I must now, chicken and bone<br />
over my shoulder, very brightly as the sun shone.<br />
<br />
With none to disturb my melancholy mood<br />
over nature, Him and life I brood.<br />
Who am I? Why am I here?<br />
Questions such as these in my mind I bear.<br />
<br />
I ate my fill<br />
and with plenty of time to kill;<br />
let me eyes drift afar<br />
leaving the doors of my imagination, ajar.<br />
<br />
Clouds like white puffy, smoke travelled wide and far<br />
Country, state, region for them's no bar<br />
They are free and know no boundary<br />
Why, but these are for humans to worry!<br />
<br />
What have we come to, naught?<br />
In a pensive mood, I thought.<br />
Wish we can be more human and alive<br />
To be compassionate to one and all, can we strive?<br />
<br />
Thus I left the lake and was home bound<br />
To a survival amidst pollution of air and sound.<br />
But to my thoughts can we pay some heed?<br />
Beings of all race, community and creed!</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3961224343233408561.post-25593646645662537772011-06-14T01:35:00.005+05:302011-06-28T00:26:55.501+05:30IROM WHO?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Heard about Anna Hazare, didn’t you? The household name of sacrifice and the toast of Indian media. Yes man, he is the famous Gandhian who has taken up our cause to fight against corruption. It took him a mammoth 97 hour long fast to make himself heard. Even though the government is yet to accede to his demand he still stands tall to fight. 15<sup>th</sup> August is his final deadline to the thick skinned, utterly corrupted Indian government and then he moves for a fast unto death. Dude, he is a hero. The discussion continued for another 5 minutes or so.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Heard about Baba Ramdev? Man, are you kidding me! Who doesn’t know about the famous yogi? He has cure for everything from anorexia to baldness to heart disease. He was undemocratically evicted from Delhi and air lifted to Haridwar but that guy didn’t lose his faith. He fasted there too. He is an icon man. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Well, but didn’t he ended his fast without any results? </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">What else you expect.....You want him to die for this corrupted bunch of bureaucrats. See a living man can fight his battle another day. The debate rolled on for another half an hour.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Hey by the way, you are really quite an activist with your level of awareness. You have then definitely heard about Irom Chanu Sharmila?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> Irom who?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Yes that’s the question million of Indians must ask themselves today. Irom who? </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Without wasting any time on hero worshipping which we Indians are really fond of let me get straight into the statistics then. While Anna Hazare’s fast lasted for a mere 97 hours, Baba Ramdev’s ordeal stood for 9 days, in contrast Irom’s struggle is continuing for the past 10 years, 7 months and 10 days and is still counting. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Did anyone said Irom who? </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Well then, while we made such a hue and cry over the Ramlila maidan incident, now coined as the Ravanlila incident, a spit on our democratic ideals; Irom Sharmila has been in and out of prison for the past 10 years.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">What was she convicted for? </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">She was convicted under Section 309 of the IPC, “attempt to commit suicide” and that too for the first time on the third day of her fast. But then some are pretty lucky to be let off the hook for the same crime committed. After all, India is a country of diversity isn’t it?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Well but seriously, that fasting period seems fabricated. I mean 10 years is not a joke!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Yeah it isn’t. Police has forcibly used nasogastric intubation to keep her alive.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">What’s that?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Insertion of a plastic tube through the nose, past the throat and down into the stomach.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Bloody hell, dats inhumane, what’s she fighting for by the way?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">To repeal the Armed Forces Special Power Act (1958).</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Never heard of that buddy?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Cause you don’t face it in your everyday life. AFSPA has been imposed in Manipur and most of the Northeast since 1980. It allows the army to use force, shoot or arrest anyone without warrant on the mere suspicion that someone has committed or was about to commit a cognisable offence. The Act also prohibits any legal or judicial proceeding against army personnel without the previous sanction of the Central Government. On 2<sup>nd</sup> November 2000, 10 civilians were brutally murdered in Imphal by the Assam rifles that triggered her fast which continues till this day.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">But then who cares. It doesn’t affect India, isn’t it? No candle light marches, no slogan shouting in Jantar Mantar, no sms or e-mails to ignite passions, no celebrity endorsements, no red carpet welcome at the airport, no Guru to feed. And where are our 24x7 media centres? After all, it’s an obscure martial law in the jungles of north east right, not good enough to raise TRP’s in Indian mainland? And our politicians? Well, Manipur seats are too trivial to shift electoral balance in our massive nation.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Silence prevailed.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">We departed but then a question lingered in our minds, how many more years will be wasted before we at least recognise,</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b> IROM WHO?</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-B8lEZhc7BDw/TfZsiJLXcaI/AAAAAAAAACE/FaWxBg3Petk/s1600/irom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><img border="0" height="220" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-B8lEZhc7BDw/TfZsiJLXcaI/AAAAAAAAACE/FaWxBg3Petk/s320/irom.jpg" width="320" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div></div>Saptadeephttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02032692479022301237noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3961224343233408561.post-19571058303779569852011-06-08T01:19:00.002+05:302011-06-28T00:30:07.365+05:30Why should we support Anna hazare<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">There are very few moments in life when one can be an inseparable part of history. The variety of history that appeals to each one however may vary considerably. For some, it was Indias’s recent cricket world cup victory when throngs of youth devoured the streets for a victory march across every corner of the nation. For some it might be Babri masjid demolition or Godhra incident that divided our nation in two halves. For others it might be our Kargil victory over Pakistan. The incidents might cause a huge debate among the masses about the defining moments of our history which we were a part of. However, among all the events we were sometimes the silent, sometimes the elated or sometimes the saddened spectator. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The moment that dawn on us today, calls us to play the role. The role of a historian, the role of a fighter, the role of a model citizen, the role of a human being. For once, we will determine the course of history. When Ambedkar drafted the Indian Constitution, never did he think that the protectors of it will be the people to make it naked to the bones. When Netaji, Bhagat Singh and others accepted death for our liberation, never did they think that the common Indians will again be ruled barbarically by their own. When the Mahatma fought for an independent idealistic India, never did he think that it would be papers with his image that would divide the country once again between India and Bharat.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">All these years, we too were a creator of this cancerous state, sometimes giving bribes or sometimes taking it. But the moment for redemption is “NOW”. The arrogance of the numerous corrupt governments lies infront of us. Our very constitutional right of expression lies in shambles today. Every penny that our blood and sweat earns is someone’s entertainment property. Otherwise who can explain the ballooned property of all the ministers? For once we should take a stand and not be the cheerleaders of a mega opera of our future. Let’s stand tall and united. Let’s support Anna Hazare and his group of fighters. Let us all be a part of history written by us.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-X4jkJFGmzR8/Te6Ao3hnn8I/AAAAAAAAACA/E0FRHJ2_J_k/s1600/anna-hazare.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-X4jkJFGmzR8/Te6Ao3hnn8I/AAAAAAAAACA/E0FRHJ2_J_k/s1600/anna-hazare.jpg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> Pl log on to <a href="http://www.indiaagainstcorruption.org/">http://www.indiaagainstcorruption.org/</a> & join the fight against corruption</div></div>Saptadeephttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02032692479022301237noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3961224343233408561.post-54437939878008956772011-05-26T21:21:00.002+05:302011-06-28T00:27:49.066+05:30The Obituary Of Death<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Guys for once let this b the moment where the silence prevails.....and I quienten down for the Cold pangs of death to dawn closer to us......If u love it....pl leave a comment as to what u feel these words of mine are all about......I would love to hear it from u all.....aftr all..........Death is the cruel reality for which we all live & for once the pied piper wants u 2 croon the dirge with him....<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><u><b>THE OBITUARY OF DEATH</b></u></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"> - SAPTADEEP BASU (2011)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">How many times will you stab me with it?</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">How many times will I bleed for it?</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">For how many days will my dried up blood quench your thirst?</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">For how many years will I get punished so hard?</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Once again I walk towards my freedom......</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Like a profane traveller for a holy land in search;</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Fouling the Ganges with my dirty soul,</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">But the elusive salvation never caught my hold.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Bartered away my conscience for my right to live,</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Defiled my soul for a promise to keep,</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Butchered my love for I had only hatred to give,</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">But held back a tear for a memory to relive.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">The moment for redemption came once again to me.....</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Clamouring for blood for me to bleed;</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">But mine was darker than the ones I bled,</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">And life tricked again and refused to rest.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">No “Rest In Peace” was what I prayed,</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">A brutal death would have sufficed my corpse,</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Searching for the bullet that engraved my name,</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Stopping the heart that beat too long.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">But Time dragged me into the abyss of life.......</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Fighting for my death where I survived,</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Holding on to the last words of mine.......</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">“The Obituary of Death” is where I resign.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">**************** </div><div style="text-align: center;"></div></div>Saptadeephttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02032692479022301237noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3961224343233408561.post-60314368071174749252011-05-11T00:14:00.003+05:302012-01-19T11:54:14.822+05:30A Day when time stopped....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Well to begin with....today is when sumthing stopped beating for a while.....a moment took a nap somewhere.....& I was left alone to savour feelings that I had lost long back in my life...a drop of tear dried down in my dreamy eyes & d puzzled smile questioned me its existence......huh! someone had left me forever...leaving behind d few pieces of memories to collect......hope d tide of fate had washed them away too.....but then that's too much being me with the pied piper getting irritated with my sudden swings of mood....so here he arrives with a song of a little bird that deserves this poem.....its for her<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><u>SEARCH OF A VALLEY UNTOUCHED</u></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"> - SAPTADEEP BASU (2006)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Rang the bell of the morning church, </div><div style="text-align: center;">Resounding its sound across the valleys afar;</div><div style="text-align: center;">Reached the ears of a traveller in search,</div><div style="text-align: center;">Of a unknown land & a valley far.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">A dreamland of peace he had in his eyes,</div><div style="text-align: center;">A virgin land, a valley untouched.....</div><div style="text-align: center;">The waves of happiness washed whose shores,</div><div style="text-align: center;">To leave behind the bliss of God.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">But stopped the man in his holy search,</div><div style="text-align: center;">Not beleiving what he has heard;</div><div style="text-align: center;">And a shrill cry filled the air,</div><div style="text-align: center;">The pain of which pierced his heart.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Looked around for the helpless mate,</div><div style="text-align: center;">The flutter of whose wings was quieted down;</div><div style="text-align: center;">O! The ruthless nature called,</div><div style="text-align: center;">Has the tears too have dried down.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Bathed the world in the pool of blood,</div><div style="text-align: center;">The demon rose & the cries arose;</div><div style="text-align: center;">And lay the bird with its body apart,</div><div style="text-align: center;">And its rotten heart as the valley untouched.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Neither waves of happiness, Nor any dreamland of peace;</div><div style="text-align: center;">No unknown land or a valley far,</div><div style="text-align: center;">The virgin land he called.....</div><div style="text-align: center;">Was only a decaying heart.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">The Gods above & the men below,</div><div style="text-align: center;">All hailed praises for our Mother Earth;</div><div style="text-align: center;">But something that made it richer was.....</div><div style="text-align: center;">The wounded birds stinking heart.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">*****************<br />
<br />
</div><div class="fb-like" data-send="true" data-show-faces="true" data-width="450"></div></div>Saptadeephttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02032692479022301237noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3961224343233408561.post-1000064156845694572011-02-26T00:56:00.003+05:302011-12-16T17:55:12.964+05:30The fresh lease of life<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Its been ages when I had been so much in my thoughts.......& today after about 3 years when I was atlast successful in scribbling sumthing...I felt life has come back to me once again.....a second chance to pour my heart out......so without much ado......I want to begin with d latest tune of the pied piper.....titled "The Last Night"..<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><b><u>The Last Night</u></b></div><div></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt 126pt; text-align: right; text-indent: -18pt;">-<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span><b>Saptadeep Basu (2011)</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">With a bottle of whisky</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">& a half finished glass in my hand;</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">Accompanied by the setting sun on my window,</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">I sat down to scribble my life again.</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">As my eyes gazed past the dimming twilight,</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">I saw a child playing with his friends;</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">No colour, no creed, no religion he knew,</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">But the memories were jaded and a bit too few.</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">Lit up the cigar in my dim lit room,</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">Consumed with smoke I remembered the youth.</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">His lovers galore & his beautiful wife,</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">All melted away like my whisky ice.</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">Danced the golden water in my glass,</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">Perspiring in my hand like a virgin wife,</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">Brought her towards my parched lips once again,</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">She entered me with her wild delight.</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">The moon rose high in the sky,</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">The empty bottle wanted to say good night,</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">But my tired soul still gazed towards the horizon,</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">Dreaming to sleep with its open eyes.</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">The never-ending night had cast its shadow,</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">The only hope being my cigar light,</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">But lost its fight with the darkness within,</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">And merged itself with the dark night.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">******************* <br />
<br />
</div><div class="fb-like" data-send="true" data-show-faces="true" data-width="450"></div></div>Saptadeephttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02032692479022301237noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3961224343233408561.post-43759527233562032772010-11-18T00:55:00.003+05:302011-06-28T00:32:20.840+05:30lonely yet again<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">well it was quite a break from life.......from words...............from me...........but den hw far can d loner stay away from his loneliness......so here i'm back writing to myself yet again.......<br />
Wen lyf turns old, tomorrow seems yesterday & u search ur past for a moment to bring a smile in ur face......yes my friend u are lonely........a thirst that my last two vodka shots can't quench........d tears dry up with the smoke of my half lit cigarette....my vision gets fuzzy.......n yet I scribble down my scrambled thoughts just to c if it really makes some sense. Money, Love , friendship, fame......I had got dem all n I hv lost them all & with 25 years of my lyf washed away lyk d sand dunes in a beach well I donno what I really want out o this dingy lyf......n yet again d line goes..."I'M CONFUSED". But this isn't d place where the ME vents out his drunken frustation.....this is d place where d pied piper sings.....so I leave ME with him to c what he has for me tonyt....<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><u><b>"UNFOLDING PAGES OF MY LIFE"</b></u></div><br />
<div style="text-align: right;">- SAPTADEEP BASU (2002)</div><div style="text-align: right;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">SITTING BESIDE THE WINDOW PANE,</div><div style="text-align: center;">AS I SAW THE RAIN FALL AGAIN;</div><div style="text-align: center;">MADE ME REMEMBER SOMETHING,</div><div style="text-align: center;">THAT IN MY MIND IS STILL LINGERING.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">THOSE DAYS OF MY CHILDHOOD,</div><div style="text-align: center;">WHEN I USED TO HAVE MILK AS MY FOOD;</div><div style="text-align: center;">ENJOYING MYSELF AS I WISHED,</div><div style="text-align: center;">WITH NO SERIOUS THOUGHTS TO TROUBLE ME.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">THEN CAME MY YOUTH,</div><div style="text-align: center;">WITH COLOURS AS BEAUTIFUL AS TUNES FROM A FLUTE;</div><div style="text-align: center;">JUST LIKE THE SPRING OF ONES LIFE,</div><div style="text-align: center;">IT SHOWED ME WHAT LIBERTY IS LIKE.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">BUT SOON MY DREAMS WERE SHATTERED WITH THE GLIMPSE OF REALITY,</div><div style="text-align: center;">WHERE MONEY COUNTS MORE THAN MAN'S HONESTY;</div><div style="text-align: center;">AND I TOO LOST MYSELF IN THIS RUN FOR MONEY,</div><div style="text-align: center;">BUT GOT UNHAPPY EVEN WITH THIS HONEY.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">YEARS ROLLED BY,</div><div style="text-align: center;">AND SO ROLLED BY MY VICES & CRIMES;</div><div style="text-align: center;">AND WHEN I LOOKED BACK,</div><div style="text-align: center;">THERE WAS NO WAY TO RETREAT.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I WAS JUST LIKE A VICTORIOUS SOLDIER IN A BATTLEFIELD,</div><div style="text-align: center;">WHO WON EVERYTHING YET LOST SOMETHING;</div><div style="text-align: center;">THAT WERE HIS DREAMS & ASPIRATIONS,</div><div style="text-align: center;">WHICH HE KILLED IN THE BRUTAL FIRING OF HIS GUN.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">SUDDENLY THE RAIN STOPPED,</div><div style="text-align: center;">AND SO STOPPED MY DREAM;</div><div style="text-align: center;">LEAVING THE LAST PAGES OF MY LIFE BLANK,</div><div style="text-align: center;">FOR GOD TO WRITE THE FINAL THING. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div></div>Saptadeephttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02032692479022301237noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3961224343233408561.post-84025610974778342532010-08-21T11:40:00.004+05:302011-12-11T13:13:38.314+05:30the tired eyes of a frustated blogger<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">its 2:30 in the morning and m still trying to solve this mystery of a goddamn blog.............wat d hell should my first blog me......burning kashmir, raped northeast, brutalized naxals or wonderful undercover commonwealth games played by politicians................well m not hopelessly pessimist. I do want to write somethin that makes me proud of this nation on the eve of the 63rd independence day........bt den r we really one???<br />
dreary eyes kidnapped by the spirit of insomnia can c nothing far away than the wonderfully laid bed infront of him.....bt gosh....its my first blog day.......want to call myself a blogger tomorrow......got to write <span style="background-color: #ead1dc;"></span>somethin.....<br />
<br />
So thus the pied piper begins with his lil message of love......a song dedicated to all the beating hearts.......a song written by me way back in the spring of 2002........"for someone"<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>The Love Song </u></i></b></span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;">Waiting for you in the mist of blue,</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;">Shrouded in the veil of dew;</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;">Hoping that you would come to me,</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;">With your soul bathed in the love of sea.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;">But as I stood stranded there,</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;">In the hope of your coming here;</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;">Found none, but your image afar;</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;">Entering my soul with your touch of warmth.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;">Closed my eyes in search of a dream,</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;">A fleeting dream which caught my hold;</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;">Soothed me as her hands did,</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;">Taking me to a land where we planted our love seed.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;">As the morning rays touched my heart,</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;">Radiantly shining in the heat of your love;</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;">Kissing me as if she was here,</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;">Making me impatient in the wait of her love.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;">As the evening crept in with its silence,</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;">Making me remember our moments behind the fence;</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;">And smiling away at how time went,</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;">And asking myself, if this was how our love began.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;">The silence of the valley was now captivated by the chilly night,</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;">Where the moon above smiled at my impatient fight;</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;">A fight against the truth of destiny,</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;">To bring you back from the world beyond the horizon of life.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;">At last my wait ended,</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;">With the twinkle of yours high above the sky;</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;">Merging among the cluster of stars,</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;">But yet twinkling with an essence of love.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;">As I strolled back to my home,</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;">With a picture of yours in the corner of my mind;</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;">To start a new wait for you again,</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;">Shrouded in the veil of tears and in the mist of sorrow.</div><div style="text-align: center;">**********************************************</div><br />
Well I presume the tales of the pied piper had just begun...........<br />
<br />
</div><div class="fb-like" data-send="true" data-show-faces="true" data-width="450"></div>Saptadeephttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02032692479022301237noreply@blogger.com4