"A profound unmitigated loneliness is the only truth of life"
- R.K. Narayan

"Dude, see beyond"
"Dude, look beneath"
By Chance a Big Bang, 13.5 billion years ago, spewed material all over empty space
Credit: Song 'Tum Hi Ho..'  (trans. 'You are the one..') from Aashiqui 2 (2013).

I am an occasional listener of music. Like the social drinker who takes the sip only when compelled by company, I feel impelled towards music, really drawn, whenever loneliness strikes a chord. It was in one of those moments that I put on this song 'Tum Hi Ho.." (1), wore my headphones and lost myself in a world of percussive reverberations. But today something interesting happened..
They say the Big Bang started the entire universe and put all things on course. Or was it off-course?
"Sir! I am calling from the Nobel committee. The rumours in the press are true. The committee has indeed finalized your name for Literature prize this year. I confirm this only for you, as we would like you to be mentally prepared for the formal announcement in a fortnight."
"Please keep this only with you until it's officially out."
"Thanks for your time sir. We'll get back to you soon. Wish you a good day"
Phone hangs up. The beep in the line coincides with his aimlessly batting eyelids. All his life he had been running, but now it looked like he had reached a dead-end.
God hath made all humans using the same mould. He bakes the clay models in the same pot, some bake less, and some more; but finally he breathes the same life into them. Pray, tell me, can they all be any different from each other?
Omnipotent is He, diverse are his ways. Neither do we know how his ways work, nor do we know if and when he will work his way down to us. He knows not any limits. What is the limit he draws upon us, we know not. Yet we stand... with hollow feet, on hallowed ground!
"Such shall be your curse, ye human!
That you will say great things,
and they will be understood only after you are long gone."
The television played a new Bollywood song and it was loud enough for the kids to enjoy. The lady and her kids, their guts bloated with porridge slush, lay down on their beds with their ears tuned to the song. It was their daily lullaby. In a few moments, the door would open, a sloshed up male would walk in, and it would be time for the kids to force themselves to sleep. Ah! make no mistake, nobody forced it on the kids - they just learnt the trick in order to escape the uncomfortable scenes that followed.
DB:  Guruji! What the bloody hell is this independence day? I am sorry I can't celebrate a nonsensical concept. Humans draw up borders on the ground, break it into pieces, give it names, and then celebrate its independence. How can there be independence with walls all around us?
Guruji: Are you sure you really see beyond borders? Are you not bound anymore, by patriotism and community sentiments? Are you free from nationalistic passions?
DB:  Yes guruji. I certainly am free!
Guruji:  Well DB! You should celebrate independence day then...
The traffic moved at snail's pace. I murmured a curse on the city and its population, and grudgingly waited on. As I looked around, scanning people's faces and perusing the dirty compound wall beside me, a small huddle caught my eye. There was a bunch of them - winged Indian cockroaches - crouched in a dingy corner at the bottom of the stinking wall. A poet may well see them as Spartans forming a phalanx, but one could not deny the gut-wrenching awkwardness of the bony whiskers and spiny legs, bristling against each other. But right at that moment, something came over me; neither was I complaining about the traffic jam nor was I going katsaridophobically restless. Surprisingly there wasn't the trypophobic itch too!
Raghupati rāghava rāja rām,
Patit pāvana sīta rām.
Īśvar allāḥ tero nām,
In sabme sanmati tu rakh bhagavān

Rough Translation:

Oh Lord! king of the house,
you are our uplifter (savior).
Amongst the names of our Gods,
May your wisdom endure.

Disclaimer: Solely my views. Not intended to be derogatory upon the created beings.
It was a cold night - one of those where silence chills more than the weather. DB, as he was called by one and all, sat up on his bed, wet with sweat and constipating in his thoughts. He peered and glanced at his mother's bed, throwing a loving and helpless glance at her. He got up, picked the bottle of pesticide mixed water hidden under his bed and walked out towards the fields. His mother shivered and murmured as if she was having a bad dream. DB heard it, but did not turn back, because if he did, then a demon would stop him from going forward...
Somewhere in a corner of the vast and mighty desert, lost among the shrubs and brush, was the dung bettle, relentlessly pushing on the dung pellet, trying to get it atop the little sand mound. She was miniscule, silently apparent in the shifting desert winds, weighing not enough even to leave footprints in the sand she treaded. Queerly, the dung left more of a footprint than the beetle did. Like an avatar of the modern day Sisyphus, she forced herself upon the pellet.
A man does not esteem a woman who is easy to get, nor does he pursue endlessly one that he will fail at; what really interests him is the one who is difficult to obtain.
- Kamasutra, Part 5, Chapter 1
The Precedent
They were a  very talented tribe. Fashioned by the God himself. Each member unique and accomplished in his/her own way. There was none like them, literally! For all around them, stretched miles and miles of grasslands. No sight of any other humans at all. They were, in all probability, the only human tribe on the planet.
On the twenty-fourth day of an ancient calendar's summer solstice, when the sun,
n.b.: Written as an entry for the Modern Healthcare Indiblogger contest in association with Apollo Hospitals
Love! I know how it's spelt, I can look it up in the dictionary, but I never seem to get what it's meant. Is it because the word is so sophisticated or the concept so convoluted? My life, which is a dictionary of a different sort, gives more meanings to love than any book ever did. Guess that messes me up even more!
I search for that world,
I wonder if it even exists,
where my life is not so displeased with me.*
Strength and Courage seem like two sides of the same coin. They may be used interchangeably yet in their specific context. Courage stands in mental frame, for what strength stands in the physical realm. Yet experience teaches that strength and courage, though springing from the same seed, are fruits of very different trees.
Guruji closed his eyes, took a deep breath and let loose the sermon.. "Every sensation that happens in the fortress of your body has a karmic causality in it. If it's a pleasurable sensation, then it is a result of some good act from the past, and likewise any detestable sensation is a result of an intentional evil act. Every act leaves a residue in karma, and it finally comes back to burn out through sensations."

The case had left the police dumbfounded; never had they seen a kidnapping so perfect, so bereft of clues. Absolutely nothing on the kidnappers, only a ransom letter, and that too had come in the mail, neatly typed. There were no witnesses to be questioned nor any mobile calls to be traced...When the parents and police had reached the informed spot with the ransom money, all they found was a deserted shrub, some poisoned leftovers and the dead boy.
Wish life was like a buffet meal, where one need not stand in line, or rush for a seat; one could take what one wants and ignore the rest. Sadly though, it isn't. Turns out life's actually much closer to lunch served on the table. Not only do we need to fight for a place, we are served the stuff that we never asked for, stuff that we may not be able to digest, and we have to eat it all.. just because all the other's do!
Writing, for me, follows the pattern of a waterfall. First, the ideas float about in the mind, like wavelets playing with the beams of mind's inner light. Then the water reaches the 'eye of the fall' where it shines one last time, before beginning its descent onto restless fingers dancing on the stream of paper below. Words spring up, bringing color to the medley of thoughts, like a rainbow flashing across the cascade. 
As is the wont of most of my contemplations, the seeds are first sown by observations from daily life.  Seeds, that I guess, are normally sown in anybody for that matter.  The only 'extra' help, probably, that I lend is to hang on to the moment and let it linger until loneliness comes by and waters the seeds into growing roots.  Some roots consolidate your personality, while the others just serve to entangle you into a mesh.  Yet without roots, there can never be real convictions.
Today I watched a movie, and something lingered... 
Jack and Jill met up the hill,
with faces as pale as water...

Their eyes meet and hearts speak. Jill feels chill, Jack is a broken shack. In the muted tension of haphazard sighs, their heartbeats speak very similar stories -  of struggle, and hope against hope. Drawn against the same background of pain, their portraits seem to match well.
After a day full of shouting slogans, the crowds eagerly waited to 'pack up' for the day. Though the government never seemed to take drastic action, yet they loved making all the noise. 'What is India without its noise?' someone had encouragingly quipped and the crowd had mowed on. Shouting slogans against the Delhi rape case was especially gratifying, as it was such a sensational issue of the day. As the crowds made their way out of the park, each seemed to be making plans for the rest of the day.
The two college boys, in their Gap tees and sports watches, wore a wry smile on their face. They were heartily satisfied as there had never been a more apt reason to bunk classes. They had loved the jostling and shouting for a good cause, and they had particularly enjoyed the brushing up against the behinds of plump ladies. They decided to continue the 'fun' in the bus too.
The middle aged worker, in his Hilfiger casual wear, was greatly excited. Raising one's voice was a fundamental right in this country, and he had suddenly felt so much a part of it today. It was a day of celebration for him, and he decided to stop by his favourite strip club before heading home to 'convince' his wife for a night-long fellatio. He really was in the mood today.
The businessman, in his Raymond suit, was mighty glad. Not only had he made a few political friends today, but he had fought for a cause too. It was such a fruitful day and he wanted to end it on a good note. He rang his secretary and 'suggested' that she come to his home for the night, so that they could 'discuss' about her pay hike.
The young politician, in his Khadi, felt like a king. He had led the people into the rally like a true leader. He had also felt a kind of bizarre pleasure in trying to shake the government; it gave a feeling of being part of the government already. He would have a party with his friends tonight. They would binge on imported scotch and watch porn movies all night. He was particularly excited about the new website which 'made' movies with young virgins.
Their lives were so different, yet they all agreed on one point. It was totally unacceptable for a man to 'enforce' himself sexually on a woman, against her wishes.  Rape was an absolutely heinous crime, and they would oppose it vehemently, any time, any day.
In a lane nearby, a philosopher struggled with his article. "Rape is a double-headed monster. It wears two faces," he wrote, "One is the public face, with greatly dramatic features. It consists typically of a bad guy with bloodshot eyes filled with lust and a helpless damsel shivering, crying and begging for sympathy. The heavy breathing and muffled sulking acts like background music. It works on the element on shock and awe. Then there is the private face of rape. It is subtle and makes its way through apparently civilized actions. It is filled with lust too, but there is no drama and certainly no music. It works on elements of advantage, compulsion and sublimation. No law, no rule can arrest it, because consciously or inadvertently, all of us wear this face." He paused for a moment to look outside the window at the cheerful and gay crowd passing by. He was overcome with confusion, at trying to contradict a vivid society with his silly thoughts. And just like everytime, he tore the pages and threw them away.