tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-115482542011-05-07T15:25:53.494-07:00Snootylicious Moderatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09223348976437960780noreply@blogger.comBlogger301100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11548254.post-1121551585102709202005-07-16T15:05:00.000-07:002005-07-17T13:25:43.013-07:00

by Balaji Rajam Trudging along the highway of life Locked up in the coffin of routines The remains of the human spirit To be cast in the fires of mediocrity Free as a feather in the breeze Soaring like a shooting star No fetters to hold it down Childhood saw the best days Effervescence and ebullience kept it alive All through the journey of youth But weary and tired from the struggle To stay

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by Saurabh Datta Tere Bin "Ladies and Gentlemen, Presenting Rabbi Shergill" And then the singer started crooning a number amidst large applause. Tere Bin Sanu Sohnia Koi Hor Nahio Labna Somewhere in the crowd she heard the song. Thinking. Remembering. The song had a trance effect on her and she suddenly was in the back of a car, in a faraway town, sitting holding his hands, as the driver

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by Summiya Nizam Hands reaching out from furrows deep and nameless faces crying out loud Skies pouring fire with flaming ether filling lungs Skin dripping off bones as vultures feed The deafening silence, the roaring whispers and shrivelled hearts shrieking for mercy Blinding currents coming down as armed men Watching over, cloaking mummed thunders Minarets lonely stand over barren cemetries

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by Zahra Bodabhaiwala If only my heart was mine, I’d pin it on my hair, Or perhaps , Adorn my wet lashes with it. Alas ! If only my heart was mine Lonely heart of mine wonders, What I’d do with the Sun, with its lovely golden rays. I’d probably crush them To rub its gilt on my body. If my heart was mine, God would be reflected in my eyes Maybe shine through them on stymied world. Or perhaps, I

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by Pathik Ibrahim "Stop doing that!" "What?" "You know exactly what I am talking about." "As a matter of fact, I don't." "You are picking your nose again." "That is the most ridiculous allegation. On second thoughts, I don't understand why I should classify your statement as an allegation. That would imply that I feel alleged, that I have to admit a feeling of doing something wrong,

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by Raania Durrani Extracts from a larger body of work produced in Bennington, Vermont 2002/2003 October 7th 2002 — Metaphor and Meaning in landscape The landscape develops and is related to the movement of those who inhabit it. Landscape is a visual documentation of lives. Lives develop and are related to the formation of the land. The jelly in the bowl contracts and expands the way I ask

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by Rida Tariq The darkening firmament heralds the approaching night. Watching, I reflect and I see my life, besmirched by a dark loss... I look at the smoky sky and I wonder why, Surprised at the likeness of the dim welkins and my fogging life Once more I rub my cold feet as I soliloquise--- How cold can one be! And As the hurt of it all sinks deeper Warm fears threaten to erupt My eyes now

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by Saurabh Datta He was confused. Walking down the stairs of the town hall, hands tucked in his pockets, his face covered with woolen scarf, saving him from the winter chill. The scene had a definitive murkiness to itself. Was it his state of mind or was it for real? He tried to re-collect what had happened. It was so surreal. While sifting through the rubble in an archeological site located

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by Gurinder Singh Ek patjhar ja raha hai. Ek patjhar ja raha hai. Dard ke antim pahar mein Asha ki chandni taley ullas ka sagar jhilmila raha hai Ek patjhar ja raha hai. Subah ke dhundalke mein lupt koi Jeb me padi hansi khankhanaa raha hai. Ek patjhar ja raha hai. Raat ki hayat ka bujh chuka deepak, Nabh mein sarson ke phool sa sooraj lahlahaa raha hai Ek patjhar ja raha hai.

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by Zahra Bodabhaiwala Last night,I dreamt that, You were on your way to Heaven. Clad in sparkling gold, Your wild hair swept on your shoulders. Your big brown eyes Bright with excitement… …On your way to Heaven !! I tried to hold you in my arms, Not wanting you to go, Pulling away, You said; Heaven’s waiting for me ! So, I let go……. Tell me then, Did you dance crazy the way you wanted? On

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by Sumanya Anand Velamur This review may be downloaded as a Word document from here. The following review was written with a focus on the community and its development. The Hungry Tide is a novel set in the Sunderbans. Piyali Roy, an American of Indian origin, comes to the Sunderbans in search of the Orcaella brevirostri or the Irawaddy Dolphin. A cetologist by profession, she is

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by Balaji Rajam Her mis-timed giggles Her nonchalant hair toss Her pouts of fake anger Are just glimpses of the li'l girl within The tears on her cheek The compassion in her eyes The affection in her heart Are just shades of the mother within Her playful ruffling of my hair Her burst of laughter at my jokes Her reassuring grip on my hand Are just traits of the good friend within Her furrowed

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by Amena Farooq The moon and I, We come out at night — She with her pale light, I with my pale hopes — Feeble folk afraid to face The merciless illumination of the day. She comes out when Her anaemic glimmer Can outshine the rest; I take refuge where my brightness Is my orange bedclothes, The glare from my laptop screen And the naked kitchen bulb. My pride is plated with gold And wrapped in

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by Sumanya Anand Velamur Wearing my opinion on my sleeve — A little label 4" long , 3" wide — In a little place in the world Where I'll neither be seen nor heard The place has claims to injustice too I did not protest — with any label blue Against the riots so near. So why now and why here? Is it because it is someone else? A war somewhere else? Easier to blame than to be blamed? Stand up for

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by Saurabh Datta He lay there battered and bruised under scorching sun. Unable to move he was in terrible pain. He could not even raise his hands. Sweat mixed with blood from his wounds trickled all over him. He could not think of anything. Only what seemed to be comprehensible was the severe pain he felt all over. Apart from the pain, which he now felt a part of himself, he was at complete

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by Prabhu Rajagopal Like the early bird singing merry across the dark skies eagerly awaiting the caress of fresh warmth, I welcome the new week, rejoicing in the joy Of pervasive greyness vanishing in a hundred hues of crimson Like that chirpy one that lets its song glissade Into wind humming through empty vistas of sorrounding space, I welcome the new week, letting go bygones, Into the

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by Natasha Ali I wear not one, but many Masks that protect me and shelter me. Hide and disguise me, From this big, and I’ve been told--Bad World. My Mask is a necessary evil. It is a robe that allows me to be “proper” and “harmonious” with those in this world. And yet, it allows me moments to myself. And a chance to retain my individuality. There may be a smile on my lips, But an ache in my

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by Nidhi Khurana I close my eyes and open the door To a world of possibilities and allure We'll see what life has in store, Ah yes, we'll see for sure. From the castle's perch, I see a virgin road, winding up the country to my door, Through lush meadows and sun-kissed farms, Balmy air wafts in to soothe a sore. I hear in distance the sound of light steps, Anticipation shining in my eyes, I

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A Brief Discussion by Amna Afzal [This article can be downloaded as a Word document from here.] Criticizing Comedy In comparison with tragedy, the growth and criticism of comedy as a genre is a considerably more complex subject to tackle, as it has been explored in much lesser measure. There may be two reasons for this: a) The relatively greater profundity of the issues which tragedy

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by Rajat Dua My heart is but an ordinary heart And its pieces, no treasures they hold Pieces a million, like specks of dust Torn away by the wind apart Broken it lay, pieces blowing away Till moistened by tears, they stopped their sway. I asked you silent, I asked the world Why break my heart, why make it pay. The answers never came But the wind changed its way Brought the pieces back

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by Alakananda Sengupta (written during the Iraq war) A display of fireworks lighting up the sky night after night; Cherry bombs exploding in celebration of everything that's right; Everyday a holiday - no school to attend, no homework to complete; The entire world a playground, with toys, and packets of food to eat Falling from the sky. No parents to scold you, no aunts and uncles to complain

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by Zahra Bodabhaiwala Life is short... So minimally, pathetically Unjustifiably short... Before you know, ... The one you loved & fought, With consistency and accuracy, Of the latest torpedo. One who promised to share Your ups and downs Little, if not more! Has decided to be gone. Leaving you cold and numb, If not dead! Before you know, Your 'great idea', Is outdated by someone else's',

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by Amena Farooq If my life Is on my palms, Then my soul must be In my hands. And if I touch you With these hands, Will you feel my soul Or just my skin? For you can love suede But can you love the pig inside? And you can love my eyes But can you love The tears they hide? And if my soul Is dark and deep Then will you dive Or will you leave? Sometimes people Like me Cut their wrists To let

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by Biswanath Dutta Why does it beat? Why do I hear the rhythm? When I already know that I couldn't pass through the prism. Things looked rosy, and everything else was fine. Darn! those strings, lest I would have crossed the line. The strings were taut, and strong as steel. Oh! a perpetual hindrance, that I always feel. Those shiny white things, that tempted my eyes, now look pale, filled with

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by Gurinder Singh The shimmer of chrome, Ruddy translucence, Rumble of hollow vinyl And the muffled fragrance of the off-the-shelf novelty. Dangling rakishly from dad's hand. Suspended like animation. Eyes, wide like two full moons, Glued. Breath bottled up within the tiny breast. Love, at first sight. The small personal revolution; The voyages into the distant; Whirligigs of heady

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by Nidhi Khurana Watercolor memories, painting the canvas of my lovesick soul, Oh darn, why the heck I ask do you come back haunting, Driving me up the proverbial wall. Oh, I want to run, run (as) hard as I can, In an eternal race that I am choosing to lose, No, I don't give a damn, And I won't spare a thought, If this unsparing world calls me a loser, Or else a recluse. Another reverie breaks

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by Nidhi Khurana You drive me to tears so often, You cut my heart to pieces like none else; I writhe in the pain of unrequited love, courtesy you And yet, I am defiant I'll love you to my grave. I can't think of a person I've cursed more in the past year, Nor can I think of anyone I've prayed for with greater fervour, Lord help me..so drunk am I on you; That all the world excepting you has

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All is not as it seems in Reshma Ruia's tender farce Review by Richard Turner Kavi Naidu is an extraordinary young talent in poetry. At least, he and his mother think so. The Anglophile mother and son - she with her Nehru Appreciation Society, he with his imitation Shelley and Keats - keep a romanticised England alive in dusty, Seventies Delhi. Leaving college, the narcissistic Kavi

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from Sarah Ahmad to IPFC Snobs ... The place by the people, for the people, of the people. So, quite simply, it's the people then innit? I wandered into a world of strangers Each one a new face, a new style They took no notice I did not exist, yet But I was determined to make waves. Slowly I found my feet there Established a rapport, gained a repu They knew me And loved me, I think And finally

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by Sarah Ahmad In the midst of calamity, terror and vice He stands out, a beacon of hope and respite Soft-spoken, delightful, engaging and kind A bite of good humor, a beautiful mind. Tranquil and soothing an aura he has Knowledge is power that he will amass Debate and decide and define, that he must If you're taking sides, be sure he'll be just I thought he'd be boring, droning and stuffy

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