ChirpyQuill

There is a certain intelligence that pervades the Universe, we all know. Some of it is coded through DNA, and some expresses itself through laws of physics.   That a seed from an Oak tree will not shape up to grow tomatoes is a given. We undertand that the mechanism through which it’s entire future is encoded is in the DNA of each cell of the seed. But we do not know why it is there. Similarly, that the Earth rotates around the Sun and not around Jupiter sometimes and around Mars another time is clearly observed. Underlying the behavior and characterstics are laws and forces such as Gravity. However we do not know why Gravitational pull is what it is and why those laws are as they are.  So this intelligence, which drives the Universe has been called by different names. Some call it God, some Nature and in the context of how it is expressed in living organisms, some call it life-force. A lack of life force causes the organism to die, and it’s constituent components are yielded back into

 We were a small family: Amma, Appa and I. However, we were surrounded by uncles, aunts, cousins, and grandparents within fifteen minutes of us. My parents weren’t religious folks but we still celebrated all the festivals with zeal, every year. Some were celebrated in an elaborate way and others in an intimate setting. Amma was always the driver of all things related to the celebrations and Appa was mostly interested in those mouth-watering dishes that accompanied the festivities.   Out of all those myriad Hindu festivals, the one that stands out in my mind is Gowri and Ganesha festival. Particularly Gowri festival which we refer to as Gowri Habba in Kannada. As I would learn later, this is celebrated by mostly people from Karnataka and is not as well known as its accompanying festival, Ganapathi Habba. On a typical day of the festival, Amma and I woke up early in the morning and got dressed in bright-colored Indian clothes. While I reluctantly woke up at the crack of dawn, Amma wo

शिकवा बहुत शिकवा है मुझे तेरे एक बाल से,  जो तेरे कानों के पीछे से हो के तेरे गालों को चूमता है,  बहुत शिकवा है मुझे तेरे उस झुमके से,  जो मदहोश हो के तेरे कानों में लटका झूमता है,  बहुत शिकवा है मुझे तेरे काजल से,  मेरी तो कोई जगह नहीं पर तेरी आँखों में वह जो रहता है,  बहुत शिकवा है मुझे तेरे कंगन से,  कलाई तो मैंने ही पकड़ी हुई है ना, मुझसे हमेशा कहता है,  बहुत शिकवा है मुझे तेरे गले के हार से,  तेरे सीने से लगा हुए मुझे कहता है के तुझे तेरे खाली बाजूओं का एहसास तो है ना,  बहुत शिकवा है तेरी उस एक पाजेब से,  तेरे पाऊँ में पड़ी हुई है पर तेरे पास तो है ना,  बहुत शिकवा है मुझे हर उस शै से ,  जो तेरे नज़दीक हो के मुझे मेरी दूरियों का एहसास दिलाती है,  बहुत शिकवा है मुझे तो उस हवा से भी,  जो तेरे खुली हुई ज़ुल्फ़ों को छु के महक सी जाती है,  हाँ, बहुत शिकवा है मुझे। 

There is value in challenging some basic precepts handed out to us in the name of common knowledge. There are innumerable examples of those with questionable credentials. The reason they survive is likely lazy thinking on our part. Often we make no effort of opening the nice-sounding package of words we have received, examining its contents, poking, prodding, and testing the substance of it. We hand them to the next person in the same pristine shape we received, and so the myths continue.    Granted that, at first blush, many of them seem to be accurate, just as much as the Earth is flat looks true. Only when one checks their veracity do cracks emerge and, in many cases, just with some simple hammer taps of sound logic, the precepts break down. "Women are more complicated than men" falls in the same category, in my opinion.  Now, if you have already revolted at the notion of me challenging this obvious truth or perhaps have even bolted by now, we don't have much to say to

Yesterday, I was a on a long drive and as always, it was Warris Shah's "Heer" keeping me company. And like always, listening to it, mind drifted to my birthplace; Punjab! A land that has been the forefront of the modern wars, ancient invasions, witnessed one of the worst massacres in its history and one of the largest exodus.So much blood spilled and yet, the most passionate of the love stories born in its soil. Heer-Ranjah, Shiri-Farhad, Sassi-Punnu , Mirza-Sahiba and Sohni-Mahiwal to name a few. The sufi renditions of these stories by sufi poets like Warris Shah, Bulle Shah, Farid take them to a plane which transcends from the romance in the heart to the love for the divine.  My mind, flooded with the memories of my growing up years and some scenes came alive vividly. A milkman taking big cauldrons of milk on a cycle on a cold winter morning and finally disappearing in the fog. You only hear his fading voice chanting Gurbani and ting-ting of the cycle bell. Winter eveni

                                                             “Nayana, I see an airplane flying really low, it is coming close to the towers, where are you? This doesn’t look normal!” My husband, screaming in utter disbelief, was on the phone with me from across the river in Jersey City; I had just stepped off the train at the World Trade Center. Two years before that terrible day, I had flown into New York City from Mumbai, bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, a blushing new bride. The first thing I saw as our airplane gradually descended to what was to be my new home were those gleaming towers. I remember staring at them in wide-eyed wonder, at their sheer size, at the vertical space they occupied as they rose majestically into the New York skyline on a beautiful, brilliant blue August afternoon! As luck would have it, my first job in my adoptive country was a few blocks from the Twin Towers. I was twenty-five years old, living my best life in New York. The best part of each day was when the tr

We experience the world through our five senses and the sensations within us. A mish-mash of “all that jazz” and accompanying feelings is what we call experience.  My experience of Chatora started several weeks before I ever got there, when I decided to visit London to celebrate my niece’s graduation. While there, I figured I will visit my classmate from school, at his Michelin Star rated restaurant called Chatora. Aside from being aware of the awards and accolades his restaurant had earned, I had seen the pictures of some of the sumptuous dishes he had shared with us in the past. They had always left me mesmerized at the quality of the presentation and attention to detail. It was a double edged sword though since it set my expectations really high.  The one hour ride from from central London to the restaurant, increased the anticipation of enjoying the delicacies as well as meeting my friend and team-mate from my school basketball team after close to 35 years. So we snaked our way thr

 Sometimes, It's hard to render emotions in any form. One is lost in translation between the emotional and rationale side of brain when one feels the throes of these emotions. The paroxysm of it all.. Oh it shakes the very foundation of you. It's so heavy and yet you feel so hollow. Then, you look at the person in the mirror; you  hear a sonorous voice inside you, not so loud yet but a faint whisper which says that you haven't come this far to come only this far. That's when you pull yourself back from the edge and you rise. That's when I put on my running shoes and run against the tides in mind. 

  A friend and I were discussing the reason certain societies get left behind, while others succeed. East and West Germany, South and North Korea, India and Pakistan; being some examples, where the same people bring forth vastly different outcomes over a period of fifty to seventy five years which is basically 2-3 generations, when left to marinate in the systems that they chose or were forced upon them.  The cases of Germany and Korea are rather straightforward. Democracies versus authoritarian regimes in the guise of communism in both cases. Also market driven economies versus top down planned economies. The case of India and Pakistan is a bit unique and more interesting. Both have by and large market driven economies. Pakistan has pretended to be a democracy multiple times with the army holding the reins of the “democratically” elected leaders. The “establishment” essentially a polite way to mention the one who shall not be named (The Army) primarily decided the fortunes of the coun

 एक बूँद में डूब जाऊँगा यूँ तो आँखें इंतज़ार में रहती हैं तेरा चेहरा देखने के लिए,  पर समझ नहीं आता के तुझे अलविदा कैसे कह पाऊंगा,  यूँ तो तेरे साथ चला एक कदम भी मंज़िल लगता है,  पर तेरी उम्मीद के सहारे यह सफर अकेले नहीं कर पाऊंगा,  यूँ तो तेरे पास होने से रूह ज़िंदा महसूस करती है,  पर तेरे पास न होने का एहसास इस दिल को कैसे समझाऊंगा,  यूँ तो एक समंदर लिए बैठा हूँ अपने दिल में, पर कभी लगता है की बस एक बूँद में डूब जाऊँगा,  यूँ तो मंज़िल नहीं इन राहों की जिस पे वक़्त ले आया है,  पर नहीं पता के इन राहों से क़दमों को कैसे मोड़ पाऊँगा