April 3, 2015

“Hello my dear, what is that,

Radio station, I love it!”

‘It is happy listening.’

O not only me, but my father;

And his father, all loved it.

Used to awake in the dark of dawn,

Like a spirit of information.

Father, mother, brother, sister,

Neighbors, villagers, all used to rush,

To listen the world event.

Not even knowing what the voice was,

But, “You inform my Life, unknown voice.”

Same rituals go- would go on day by day.

Heart and mind were used to it,

And still startled to listen,

Perfect metaphor for news and knowledge,

Vibrator of consciousness.

–“Honey what is new…?”

–“If you give us few minutes,

We will give you the world.”

Listen to Aakaskwani,

Over and over again,

We will know the world,

–One would ever know,

To know many times over,

And open this sky-blue world,

To eyes-heart and mind.

It is Aakashwani—one and all;

Voice of the nation.
N.B.: AAKASHWANI—It is the official broadcasting radio station/system of Government of India, famous for un-biased and wide coverage of news.


April 3, 2015

While all of Delhi was on blaze,

Our University of  Delhi yearns–

“I’ve come here with my best gems!’

Cadets from the one corner of Delhi,

Marching out with,

Girl cadets of another corner.

While students acted with moral sense,

Arguing  with serious issues of life.

Coming out the best of all these years,

And exemplify “A self-made best,

Got into exhibiting around .”

Parade, flower show, dramas,

Project exhibition, Gyanodaya,

Music, songs, competitions;

All under one sky.

Spirit like a soldier,

Rejecting, fatigue and fear;

Like a true sports man,

Like a team and in love with

The great show ‘Anterdhwani’.

It keeps young souls going,

Rock’n roll by the grateful bolds.

Idea taken from our eventful past,

I hear the wild-exotic guitar solo,

Inspiring themes chiming in,

Get all high and took us to cloud-‘9.’

Even if I close my eyes,

Senses like I can get high,

After enjoying that fine sweet.

“Goddess Saraswati will bless again,

In the Temple of Knowledge again–.”

N.B:  ANTERDHWANI—is the cultural festival , organized by the University of Delhi, every year.

–नर हो न निराश करो मन को

March 25, 2015

नर हो न निराश करो मन को

कुछ काम करो कुछ काम करो
जग में रहके निज नाम करो
यह जन्म हुआ किस अर्थ अहो
समझो जिसमें यह व्यर्थ न हो

कुछ तो उपयुक्त करो तन को

नर हो न निराश करो मन को ।

संभलो कि सुयोग न जाए चला
कब व्यर्थ हुआ सदुपाय भला
समझो जग को न निरा सपना

पथ आप प्रशस्त करो अपना
अखिलेश्वर है अवलम्बन को

नर हो न निराश करो मन को ।

जब प्राप्त तुम्हें सब तत्त्व यहाँ
फिर जा सकता वह सत्त्व कहाँ

तुम स्वत्त्व सुधा रस पान करो

उठके अमरत्व विधान करो
दवरूप रहो भव कानन को

नर हो न निराश करो मन को ।

निज गौरव का नित ज्ञान रहे
हम भी कुछ हैं यह ध्यान रहे
सब जाय अभी पर मान रहे
मरणोत्तर गुंजित गान रहे
कुछ हो न तजो निज साधन को

नर हो न निराश करो मन को ।

– मैथिलीशरण गुप्त (Maithili Sharan Gupt)

You are Man; Don’t Upset your Heart


You are man; don’s upset your mind,

Do some work, do some work;

Living in this world, get some name,
Understand the value of this birth,
Ensure, that this is not wasted;
At least made suitable this body as,
You are man; don’s upset your mind.

Mind, that positive moment is not gone,

When the good act is wasted,
Don’t think this world a mere dream,
Lighten your own path yourself,
Divine powers respect self honour,
You are man; don’s upset your mind.

While you are getting all elements,

Then where can that truth go,

You taste the nectar of self respect,
Get up to legislate immortality,
Let your existence live long,

You are man; don’s upset your mind.

Always care for your self pride,

Keep this in mind, you are something;
Can loose every thing now but not the honor,
Echo the song after death
You are something , don’t see personal means;
You are man; don’s upset your mind,
Translated by : Dr.Yogesh Sharma


March 25, 2015

I am the muse of this Barren Forest,

I am the voice of its spirit, solitary Bard !

I see its past, present and future ;

I carry the name beyond, till eternity.

Meeting the globe and stars,

Even the days when the days were worst,

Past drew on thee my dearest regard,

In the voyage and pen the course of history.

For I felt wondrously musing,

Of glory, grace and forlorn antiquity ;

Scenes, making and un-making suffusing ;

Who am I ? Where am I ? I muttered.

My mother, sister and beloved never,

Seem to miss much either.

Used to my bizarre writings,

Still my grave waits a rose, never to drop.

I see myself in some nameless grave,

The epitaph faded and invisible.

And in non-descript lingo,

Is written about the bard died, Ages ago.

Here lies one who penned man and God,

Waste not your tears on him, he was a rock;

Writing fierce things for his pleasure,

Thank the God, he is no more, this son of fire.


March 25, 2015

I am a native of Holy Land

But cast out now from my holy dust ;

Separated from my parents, aged ;

And from my sister, I love just.

With my shipment sordid,

I set sailing, but sinking spirit ;

Like a mariner, robbed by bandits,

But steered my voyage but no light.

Back home brother moans for kidney pain,

Dear sister shedding tears of blood,

But love for dreams fake, paramount but vain :

And talking marching only symbol of bonds.

New Haven was my destination—

But there was I like withered roses ;

The distance drew near minus fascination,

Glimpses of brooks and a image of mosses.

I was like a prisoner at Port New Haven,

Here, started working as if in chains,

Even all the beauties were like damned passion,

For excessive tyranny each day prevails.


March 25, 2015

Cow, Mother Cow, Holy Cow!

Thou spirit of Bharat Mata,

That rescue from utter darkness,

And ushers the new creation

On this Holy land of the earth,

Which seem a divine land,

Conceived for Holy souls,

( For God blessed His creation,

And thrilled to see it blooming. )

But pained at the worst sinning,

When the Holy Land was reddened ;

And hence all the woes and sorrows !

Ill – fated nation ! from each drop shed,

The bliss and joy perhaps forever fled.


March 19, 2015

Again Taj Mahal is in the news. Some un-known environment-lists warriors have done some study to protect the stones and their colours. In this nation stones are more important than the lives and livelihood of citizens. They have given many suggestions for the protection of stones but are least concerned about the lively-hood and employment of the citizens of the country.

Earlier secular historians made it a monument of love. But if life of Mumtaz Mahal is studied carefully and impartially, she could not get any love from her husband, emperor Shahjahan. She was like one of the many wives, the king had, apart from thousands in his heram( private brothel).

A close study of the birth of feminism—woman’s voice against injustice and inequality—tends to divulge the reality that feminism is the result of the culture or society formed and ruled by men to suit their demands, interests, whims and fancies regardless of women’s need and happiness. Shahjahan did the same.

I decided to visit to the Taj Mahal. There I tried to see that building from all the angles, standing at the gate of the so called seventh wonder of the world  — the Taj Mahal. It was dawn and the visitors and tourists were started arriving the place. It appeared akin to an odd time to meet a celebrity here, but nothing about this jaunt had been anticipated…all views of the past and the future were being brushed away as I stood at the Taj Mahal gazing up at the tomb made in memory of a woman.

Unfortunately, this was not the only and will not be surely the last case of sub-human and maltreatment of a woman but glorified nation wide.

I reached there a little early, thinking I might get  inside and look around on my own will before the great mazar  but the Taj Mahal authorities wasted precious time in opening the monument.. But once I reached there, I realized how imprudent I was to believe I could rightly see anything about such a  so fabulous a mazar  in such a short period of time. I was eager to reach there and there would be enough time to come back to travel around this so called amazing architectural work of brilliance, more fully. In the meantime I roamed around the outside of the gravestone, my head back and my mouth amazed as I could not see any thing amazing.

As a nation, Indians choose to not only ignore but also glorified and connived in the perpetration of crime against woman.


I was simply surprised to see the size of the compound. Nothing in any of the photo or book I had never seen this information about the sheer size of the structure, the huge dome, the typical Islamic style symmetry and the surprising big area. The setting sun made the colour of these white shining walls of white stones and granite appear swing and dance.

As I moved nearer, I could observe that the exterior surface were covered in obscure stone carvings and subtle calligraphy that was touching almost a 100 feet skyward. Expensive gems and stones embellished the white stone: I could glimpse bits of turquoise, lapis lazuli, emerald, red coral etc. I walked all round of the building, moving nearer to scan the much talked wonderful niceties and then stepping back to take in the hard to believe splendor.

I walked around the Taj Mahal and observed it from all the angles but could not see any thing or beauty which could astonish me at that moment, I was almost frustrated and almost cried, why I was there? I came there to see those talismans which I listened about the Taj Mahal. This was perhaps the so called most beautiful building  in the country, I nodded, still in a fog of shock, bewilderment and dis-belief.

In this case we do not care to challenge the stereotype of ‘love’ or ‘devoted good woman’ propaganda by eminent historians, scholars and fringe groups. Led by ‘biased and fixed’ and apparently immunized in favour of pervasive social malpractices, our political class also rave and rant it as a ‘love symbol’.

Mascot of Beauty and Love

While visiting the Taj, there is the long flower-and-tree-decked and lined paths which were almost on the banks of small, reflecting small pools. Entrance has high and big archways and connected down the stone steps. The water in the pools was almost dirty or polluted.

Outside shopkeepers can be seen selling the  tiny marble replica of the Taj Mahal on exorbitant rates. There was no message, price tag or note of any sort. One side of Taj Mahal is encroached by slum type un-systematic colonies.

This last mascot is all about legacy of a stylish and debase. The scriptures say that the best way to assess someone’s greatness is to glance at the power of that person’s sway on the generation that will follow. So if we are truly engrossed in expanding into rare air as honest, impartial human beings, instead of ‘what’s in it for me or any fixed or biased historians?’ we should be probing ‘what’s in it for the world or nation or people?’ Is it a perfect symbol of legacy, or a false mascot created by biased and fixed historians?.”

The answer is that biased and fixed historians made it a monument of love but fake. Actually it was not love but repression of a woman in worst manner.

Monument Of Love

I looked back at the peculiar construction. It was gleaming white turned light yellow, shining as if it were itself a glittering star. “Any body can see that and  it is said that this edifice has stirred and influenced so many romantics from so many places, for hundreds of years. It is almost unbelievable. This monument is not the work of one man. That it was built in one lifetime and thousands of artisans were involved in it, those almost sacrificed their lives for this mausoleum.”

There is no doubt about the attraction of Taj. This is amazing work of art and structural design specially in size. It was built by Shah Jahan, the Moghul emperor in the early 1600. His wife, he called Mumtaz Mahal, or Jewel of the Palace. He adored her, and she him, although the emperor has many other wives and thousands in his private Harem.

Mumtaz Mahal died while given birth to her fourteenth child, during their sixteen years of married life. Amazing love !

Here woman is viewed as ‘Man’s Other’ rather than as free human being with her own human rights and wishes, animates the so called love of Shahjahan. This is not love but repression and abuse.

It is described by the historians that Shah Jahan was devastated by her death. After a year of bereavement in reclusion and refusing worldly pleasures, he firmly spend his life honoring his words given to his dead wife’s by constructing her mazar or resting place that would be known as a monument of love on earth.

Almost for a year her body remained buried in south India. After a year her body was again exhumed and brought to Agra and again in Agra it remained buried for six moth at another place and after that she was buried in this place called the Taj Mahal. And every year, millions of people come to see what Shah Jahan constructed for the love of his life. But even in death Mumtaz Mahal was disgraced for the whims of her husband.

A Monument of Trouble

It is more than enough to see the Taj Mahal once. Actually it has only graves and revered now,  as mazar or dargaha. Basically the area was graveyard on which Mugual king Shahjahan and his wife Begum Mumtaz Mahal are buried. He killed large number of people, including his own four brothers and kept their wives in his Heram (private brothel).

Taj Mahal is an irritation and source of tension to the industries of central and western Utter Pradesh. Large number of factories and industries were forced to shut down in these areas, specially in Agra, Mathura, Hathras, Kasganj, Etawaha, Firozabad, Aligarh, Khurja, etc., places, to protect the stone and the shining of the stones. As a result of this act lakhs of workers became jobless and workless. This act snatched the livelihood of lakhs of families. Thousand of people committed suicide due to unemployment poverty and hunger and thousands plunged in the dark lanes of crime.

Their fear and pain, “Being crushed, ” they were never became normal and strong again. As a real feminist and humanist, their love for life, mankind could never blossom.

Due to these forced closer of industries of factories large number of family had to suffer very badly and in this mass suffering, women were the worst sufferer.

Due to this burden of Taj Mahal, now West UP is known as Wild West UP. This is the great love act for this love monument by environmentalists and civil society people.

History repeats itself. During and after the construction of Taj Mahal thousands of construction workers and artisans were brutally oppressed and tortured. Some historians say that the hands of workers and artisans were even cut off.  Suffering of the women of their families must have beyond all imagination.

These acts, fierce both in hatred and oppression, expresses the depth, complexity and multiplicity of feminism.

Noted historian P.L.Oak has different research. He found out that Shahjahan razed a grand Shiva Temple, Tojo Mahal for the construction of Taj Mahal.

Now different Muslim sects are claiming over the right of the building of Taj Mahal and its land due to exorbitant income, it earns.

The moment of Mumtaz Mahal ‘s death becomes just like any other moment of her life and her last words of so called love clinch her feminist appeal. Love and acceptance of both life and death is a way produces pathos, pain and suppression at the fate of Mumtaz Mahal which could not rebel against masculine tyranny.

Nation needs a big reform agenda to be taken to be taken up if we want to clean our society of abuses against women.


March 19, 2015

Hospitals are frightened  home,

Where all loath to step in,

But all go, with high hopes.

Here people come to wish,

A few more weeks or months or years;

For themselves or for dear ones.

Blessed one succeed but ill-fated fail.

But this is life and destiny,

No body can erase,

The command of Lord Brahma.

Waiting in the attendant box,

With breath in suspension,

But doctor asks for a cup of coffee,

To revitalize himself  on the knife.

Waiting for my love,

To regain consciousness,

Recuperating after operation.

Alas! Instead in my arms;

Or on my bosom,

She is on the command of a surgeon,

For lucky ones, an angel, for unlucky—Yam raj.

This is life or fate,

One is in hospital,

Others with beloved on long drive.

Life is beautiful who love it,

Love is more beautiful,  who have it.

Everyone needs life and love,

The Sweetie in right place.

N.B.: Lord Brahma , is a Hindu God and one god of the Hindu trinity of gods: namely, Lord Brahma, the creator, Lord Vishnu, the preserver and Lord Shiva, the destroyer.   According to Hindus Lord Brahama is the creator of this world and writes the destiny of every creature.

My Father & Me

March 6, 2015

Father, when I look in the mirror,

I see you there,

I am at the same Age now,

When you departed for your heavenly abode.

I remember and cry for you in unvoiced pain,

See my agonizing eyes,

Gazing back to at me,

I feel your emotions and blessings with me.

Answering my own feelings just,

As you might have felt,

When you left your dear son Father,

I wish I could hug you.

I wish to feel your love of your bosom,

Your warm breath on my face,

To put the dust beneath your feet,

On my head,  to get the highest bliss.

I still miss you at this age,

When all are with me,

Comfort me in your absence,

By your selflessness, your patience.

Blessed by father,

Needs no blessings,

Protected by father,

Needs no protection.


March 6, 2015

Old age is a divine virus,

Dim old eyes, sore  with tears;

Hanging ears but hard of hearing,

Once a appealing face turned wrinkled.

Head once abode of long curly black hair,

Alas! Now turned silver or vanished;

Toothless mouth cum dumping ground,

Skin hanging with once stunning body.

Aching bones making nights sleepless,

Once a marathon winner,

Needs a support to move a step,

Once manager of world can’t manage self.

All gone !! All gone !! Life spent !!

Now longing to memories days gone,

Right or wrong, good or bad, loved or lost;

Now alone, lonely, fragile, wrinkled.

Night and day, all unfilled and void,

Pining to hear loving voices,

Heart in pain !! Tears !!

Rolling down on wrinkled face.

Imagined ?? Oh old age!! Ah old age !!

So cruel ! Took away all beauty, ability;

Snatched all my near and dear ones,

Left me with you-Unbearably painful.

Cut me in pieces of pain and frustration;

Family has left for the life of their own,

Modern, liberal, free, democratic, secular;

Remembering my mother and father.

Now left with all regrets, no love no joys;

Oh Life!! Alone just Longing !! Longing !!

For love, care !! Or praying to Creator!!

To lift me like vapors and hide me in clouds.




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