The Journey.

The traveller. Uprooted and rolling. For whom the journey was the only fascination. He strived for no destination in particular. Because destinations are conclusive. They become finite and make you conform. And thus, he never chose to pinpoint on a specific destination, when he spread out his map made of old handmade paper every weekend. He chose the route, the one which was most enticing, the one that caught his fancy. That would make him go around every geographical embodiment Nature has ever created. Sometimes, he would also digress from what he had initially planned. Who cares. The final destination was never binding on him anyway.

It's always interesting to write about travels and travellers. They is a certain nomadic air about them. A sense of uncertainty, of not finding them the next morning when you wake up. And a carefree countenance, indifference almost, to the worldly routines that draws you to them. It's like a cinematic sight that you see dreaming to play the lead role instead.

So, each Monday, when the larger part of civilisation gathered themselves to hit their chores, he embarked upon a new journey. A week full of new experiences, new people. A new life almost. As if he was chosen by God to only foray into untraveled lands and explore. A divine mission as it were. An old rustic bike,  a camera dangling round his neck, some beer cans and some food that he frequently gathered along the way.

He was no loner. He made several acquaintances through his journey. Countryside folks often looked up to him with an amusing fascination. Young village girls found his rugged bike and dusty appearance a fresh change from the conventionally clad village boys. Wherever he went, he mingled and celebrated with the local residents who often fed him and sometimes offered shelter. In return, he would click their photographs. Lots of them. Those photographs were his means to tell the tale of the place he visited. The joys and sorrows he witnessed. Every place was so distinct that he was but compelled to capture it. Through the week he would click incessantly, from the countryside to cities. And over the weekend, reminisce a part of his life spent on exploration.

Travel brings power and love back into your life 
- Rumi. 

Love's a thousand desires.

Love like the olden golden days. There is no state of being in-between. It's pure and wanting of corrupted egos. Say it'll work, to see it working.

Each passing day, he saw her down the street. Such a typical sight. To watch an ordinary girl trail through the ordinary street. Love of the ordinary. It was simple and straightforward. He liked it that way. He made no effort to glorify its existence. To push it to the superlative. Because the superlative is unnatural. He liked himself that way. To watch her, write about her, think about her. That state of happiness gave him the power to conduct himself. It brought him no complexity. He knew she is his. She knew he is hers. They did not have to necessarily discuss it. This blinding faith was intimate to each of them. Faith, drunken to his countenance.

That's how I'd want it to be. Simple. Agreeable. It should have the power to settle the turbulence on other fronts. The power of fulfil desires, whatever form they choose to take. It should bring endless joy, each passing day. Should be divine. 

Hand stains. Mug shots. Winter is soon gone.
Rebirth.
Encore. 

To those we loved, and never lost. 

What They Understood of Feminism.

I often refrain from offering critiques on philosophical and literary theories. The reason is simple, everybody can have a point of explanation about what they understand of an Existentialism or a Surrealism or a Cubism. We all can draw numerous interpretations about how we connect to these or vice versa.

However, today I just feel like talking about Feminism. And largely, not in its favor. For one, I'm the least of a feminist. Yes, I promote gender parity at most platforms; but I refuse to discount another person's importance as an individual only because he belongs to the opposite gender. This warrants for a lot of reaction, mostly. And I like it. Because mostly women, largely identifying themselves as feminists do the following -

1. Write extensively about exploitation of women - sexually, mentally or physically. About women being victorious over men. About women rights and legal status that prevailed in ages far beyond their own birth date.

2. Write the above mentioned on visible social media platform, provoking other women and sometimes, men who are probably not that articulate. So that the latter join hands with them and acknowledge (read like or retweet) the same.

3. Share facebook pages created for the woman's cause. And they do so far more rapidly than you can blink. Ask them what and when was the First Wave Feminist Movement and ...

4. Discuss harassment incidents that flashed on news channels last night. It is the intellectual subject matter to quibble about at social gatherings.

5. Fight about the state of security in the city and seek out to claim the city by its streets. This, they do on news channels and everywhere else.

I know this is probably the most generic and as the purists might put it, nonsensical explanation for feminism. But this is perhaps how the concept is understood by the masses.

So basically, it is an arm chair philosophy. You sit, talk over coffee and move on to shop at a fancy mall. And then you critisize men for not vacating seats in general compartments of the Metro after gobbling a whole god damn coach. It might even seem blasphemous to call it a dysfunctional idea, feminism. In the wake of rising incidents of rapes and sexual harassments, even more. That does not mean I don't feel for those victims. But merely talking and preaching is highly hypocritical.

Case rested. 

Seven Reasons Why Winters are Wondrous.

Winter is the best time of the year. The best. Needless to say it is my favourite season of the year. I won't even try and sound like the English and say how much I appreciate the Fall, because come on, there is no such thing as Fall in the Indian seasons. It's a good thing to accept your indigenous happenings. So yes, winters. It is that time of the year when mornings are chilly and evenings are chillier. And afternoons are sun-soaked. But that would be like stating the obvious, wouldn't it. That's not why winters are kickass.

Some say these cold months are so romantic. Perfect for an evening date and so on. Well, probably. I cannot picture myself wearing something glamorous in the teeth-clattering night just for a date. I'd rather layer-up to enjoy. Some have even criticised the season for causing them discomfort - they have to wake up in the morning and go for work in the cold. Yeah, as if the rest of the year, your files and projects were shipped at your doorstep by a valet. Come on, work is work. Summer is too hot, monsoon is too wet and winter is too cold. Excusitis might be the cause, rather than the season.

Anyhow, winters are awesome. I got my reasons in place.
One, it's the best time to gorge maximum. Food gives energy and keeps you warm. I'm giving you scientific backing for it. What else can you ask for.
Two, you don't gain as much weight by eating extra. I read this somewhere that the body uses those calories to beat the chill. Science, eh.
Three, Christmas and New Year's fall in winter. Peak time for celebration and more food.
Four, there is so much to shop for. Mufflers, sneakers, jackets, pullovers and accessories to match. Girls, be happy !
Five, winter is equated to wedding times in India. Every day, every week there is somebody getting married. More food, more shopping, more celebration.
Six, It's Old Monk time for alcohol lovers. They swear by it.
Seven, nights are longer during winter. That means, MORE SLEEP. This ones the best, is it not?

In literature, winter is equated to death and endings. Where life withers and things come to an end. But it seems like a carnival time here, man ! Everybody is drunk with joy and celebration; there never is a dull moment. That's how it is for me.

Word.

"Karma is a cutie."

I read this somewhere, and I couldn't help but smile. And smile more.

There is so much to share and smile about
So much to rejoice about. Happenings that are beyond the politics of the politik. Beyond the grim hustle that consumes us, rather hypocritically. We critisize only because we are at a comfortable spot.

Appreciate and be grateful. No life-science preaching, this. When you will go around happy, it will come around to you !