— goldenboy

When I was a kid, one of my school teachers would often extol the benefits of childhood, how fortunate we were to be children, (and how dreadful it was to be an adult) – how lucky we were not to have to worry about adult responsibilities, about work and a thousand other things!

As a kid, the very idea of disagreeing with a teacher was a totally alien concept to me, something quite unimaginable, and something that only bad boys did. However even in my silence, I remember how my body would squirm in disagreement. There was no way to control that.

At that time I never asked myself why I was so eager to leave my childhood behind. (It was only later in life, I figured out what a terrible one mine was.)

All I knew was that I just couldn’t wait to grow up.


I am 36 now, and I am no longer the young adult I once was. I have lived a very unconventional life.

At times I look around me and discover how much of an odd-man-out I have turned out to be.

I look at kids who are in school, how hard they are working, how career-oriented they are. I watch young people in love, getting married. I meet ex-colleagues who have come back from a vacation abroad.

All the people I find around are working hard at their jobs, are paying the monthly installments on their housing loan and have invested in some old age pension plan. And they are taking care of their children. They are the “achievers”, the go-getters.

Often I regret not being one of them.

When I stumble across some school friend on FaceBook, he/she is somewhere abroad – in Europe, the USA, in some Gulf country, or Dublin. Or he/she is managing his/her own Call Center in India, is the Proprietor of some firm that deals in stocks and bonds, is married, has children!

They all ask me what I do, why I have remained unmarried, why I don’t have a house of my own!

At such times, I have no answers.

Perhaps it happens to most of us. Before we know it, we are past teenage, in our thirties or forties, or well in old age.

And then we begin to feel older. Worse, we regret that we were or were not much ambitious, not very health-conscious, too arrogant, too childish, too emotional, too frail, too reckless, the list is endless. I am no exception.


And then there are times when I meet a few friends and we talk about Politics, about the state of affairs, about how the country is in a complete mess. They ask me which party I hold responsible for all that is wrong in the country, which political party I support… They ask me if I support Narendra Modi, or the Gandhi Family, or Arvind Kejriwal.

I tell them that I would like to know a political Party which is less communal, less corrupt, less inexperienced. I tell them that, as I see it, this is all the choice we are left with. I tell them that I don’t see any such a party on a national level.

Then there are a few friends who try to convince me on how some Party A is better than Party B.

Finally, when they fail to convince me, a few of them wink, as they point out how irresponsible I have myself been with my own life. How do I suppose that the leaders of the country would be any less irresponsible?

So I tell them that I don’t expect any Political Party to be different.


When I think about it, I wonder how can any Government be any different, when they try to find the answers to the same old problems in the same old mess?

How can anyone expect any major Changes to happen, if one Political party were to be elected over the other?

And I won’t blame any Political Party at the Center for failing. It would be totally childish of me, if I did.


At times I wonder, is there any hope, anyway?

And I find asking myself:

What if, and I am only speculating here, what if there were more people who were bold enough to question and were ready to be a part of the Solution?

What if there were more people who were more sensitive, to follow their hearts, even if it meant leading an unconventional life? What if there were more people interested in finding out more about what genuine Love is?

What if there were more people, trying to live genuinely, looking at all the evil that in our perpetual ignorance, we are programmed to perpetuate on each other, in all our relationships? What if there were more people who could then work towards healing, towards building healthier relationships?

What if there were more people trying to figure out what genuine love is, what is life all about?

What if there were more people, who refused to believe in following the old ways of society, but were ready to offer their life, willing to experiment? Not out of some worn-out concept of self-sacrifice, but out of curiosity, and an urge to know.

What if there were more people who could stand up against unjust, unhealthy societal norms, bold enough to live in face of all the fear that such a lifestyle brings up? What if there were more people ready to make difficult decisions that started with difficult questions about their own selves and the world in which we live?

What if there were more people willing to live a life, no matter how unconventional, in the light of self-reflection and awareness.

Wouldn’t that bring a radical change in society, on its own?

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I look at you, My Sleeping Angel
And wonder
How could someone be So Adorable!
Only to freeze at the thought-
My heart is so infertile!

On cold cold winter nights
I crave for the warmth
Of your touch
Only to go numb
When you arrive.

There is nothing in the World
As the pain of a heart
That is not open
To Love

And I know that pain.
When the Senses freeze,
And Darkness draws its curtains
Before my eyes
Putting me to sleep,
Protecting me
From Demons of the Past…

I can’t contain your love
I am too barren, too infertile
For that,
Too burnt…

- Golden Boy

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It was just another usual day. I had woken up in the early hours of quite a chilly winter morning. The Sun was still an hour away from rising in the sky, though the birds were already up – half a dozen sparrows chirped away busily, a couple of crows cawed at a faraway distance.

I turned on the electric motor for the water-supply, and settled down in my arm-chair for the routine cup of morning tea, going through the day’s newspaper. I read the editor’s column first, a habit that has remained with me since the time I was in high school. The sound of water churning in the overhead tank was as much reassuring as the birds’.

Later I sat down to write, waiting for inspiration, to sketch out some soul-stirring piece of poem or short-story. But in vain! So I got undressed to get into the shower.

Settling down to a challenging job as a Language Trainer in a private coaching Institute, living in a well-furnished rental apartment in the suburbs of Bombay, and having a routine which kept myself busy, had been my idea of a perfect life so far. But recently there had been something amiss, something lacking…

The maid had by then  sneaked into the house, and as quietly as she had entered, washed the utensils in the sink which lay there from the previous night’s cooking.

When I stepped out of the shower and started to shave, I heard a sudden thud in the house. I rushed out to check, a towel wrapped around my waist.

After finishing her daily chore of sweeping the floor and mopping around the house, the maid had gone to the balcony to put the washed laundry on the clothesline. While at her chore, she had accidentally slipped and fallen down, also bring down a precious vase with her.

I found her trying to get up, embarrassed, but feeling guiltier about the broken vase. Spotting me at the balcony door, she leaped onto her feet, and rushed to the broken pieces of porcelain, wanting to clear the mess.

Watching her picking up the pieces was a painful sight, for there were tears in her eyes.

I approached her, and tried to console her, telling her that the broken vase was no big matter. I also enquired if she had hurt herself, sprained an ankle. Then, when she had started weeping softly, I tried to engage her in small talk, just to distract her from the accident, doing the cleaning up myself. I enquired generally about where she stayed, if she was still a student.

This unusual shower of attention by a normally distant me encouraged her after some time, to casually shoot some real pertinent questions at me, which I realized had been seething within her for some time now, wanting to burst out at an opportune moment like this.

She asked me why I was still single, why I hadn’t found a suitable match, and wondered how difficult it must be for me to live by myself without a partner to confide things in, somebody whom I could come home to after a long day at work, to be refreshed for the next day with delicious supper and lot of affection and interesting chats (and some good sex, I thought, which she was too shy to mention).

Caught off-guard, and uncomfortable, I tried my best to dodge her questions with the by-now well-rehearsed answers like “never met the right person”, “my relatives are looking for the right match”, and suddenly felt a pang of regret for having gone out of my way to make her feel comfortable. I didn’t like being caught in awkward conversations like this, in which people barged their way into the bubble I lived in, trespassing into my personal life, of which I didn’t like much to divulge.
I excused myself and got back to the bedroom, getting ready for work. A quick glance at the wall clock brought the realization that I was late, and was going to miss my usual 9:15 Churchgate local.


I waited patiently for the next local, clutching my office bag close to my body. The lady on the railway loudspeaker announced that the local would be late by a few minutes. What happened then, in those few minutes and later, is now embedded in my memory, in detail…

I decide to take a seat on the nearby bench, listening to the noise of endless human chatter, the chucking of approaching and departing trains. I watch keenly, as other people hurry to catch the trains on different platforms, anxious to reach their respective destinations on time. A woman putting on a glum face tugs at my shirt, carrying a baby drugged to sleep in her arms, for money. Then a shirtless boy with a deformed body and a skullcap on his head, limps his way through the crowd, approaches me asking for some coins that I could possibly spare, for him to have a vadapav.

I notice at a faraway corner of the platform, an old well-dressed lady with gray plaited hair, with a pink sweater on, standing serenely, bending down on her walkers for support. I notice a stream of urine running down the neat folds of her sari.

A story starts forming in my mind: she is standing there, waiting for her son who has gone to fetch the “forgotten” ticket, abandoning her there forever. It makes me feel miserable. I know how the sick, mentally unwell, and the elderly are left on the streets and parks of this city, by their very own families and relatives, only to go mad finally within a few days, living off food from the garbage bins, or begging for spare coins that would buy them their next meal – the inexpensive Vadapav, and a “cutting chai”.

My heart sinks in despair as I suddenly start missing my old mom;  I promise myself that I would spend more time with her next time I visit her at her place in the faraway suburb where she lives with my elder brother.

I take out the i-pod from my bag, plug its microphones into my ears, and turn up the music. I close my eyes and rest my back against the seat. It is a mad mad world out there, and it is good to shut it out.


I feel the sadness from the outside world arouse the personal sadness that lingers within my own heart. I open my eyes to check for the train, but find the tracks empty as far as I can see.

I prepare to close my eyes again and go back to my music, when I sense somebody staring at me. I turn my head in the direction, and find a  handsome guy in his late thirties, dressed in blue jeans and a black shirt. I manage to study his face- it is writhe in some inner turmoil, there are dark circles under his eyes. He is well-dressed and well-groomed, but there is something very disheveled about him which I can’t exactly pinpoint.

He looks away. I look away too; however feel a surge of pain rising within me. My eyes become moist and I have to look at him again. I know this person, I tell myself, though I can’t quite recollect where or when we have met before. I feel a lot of affinity and affection towards him, as if he were somebody I knew more than anybody else, as if he were closer to me than anybody else, as if we have been related, and it feels strange that I have forgotten him.

The train arrives on the platform, and there is a small scuffle among the waiting passengers to get on the train. I follow him as he boards into bogie. I feel drawn to him by some invisible chord.

I elbow throw the crowd inside, to keep up with his pace, as he walks to a seat being vacated by another passenger. I find an empty seat on the opposite side of the aisle, but choose to stand amidst the standing passengers, from where I can watch him. I try my best to keep a low profile, be inconspicuous.

And then something of a bubble rises in the air, and I am ensconced in it with him in front of me, and nobody else around. He looks at me, and I wonder if he feels the same, that we knew each other a long long time ago, perhaps in some other lifetime.

It is then that the music on my ipod stops, breaking the bubble, and I come crashing down, back to reality. I look away. The noise of the city suddenly hurts my ears.

The loudspeaker on the train announces the next station, and I get ready to alight. Before I leave, I close my eyes and say a silent prayer for the fellow traveller.

Some part of my heart wishes that he would follow me, but then I know this is not some Hollywood movie.

I look back to catch a last glimpse of him. He has gone back into his own inner world of turmoil.

I get down at the next stop, and walk away not looking back.

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I walk among men
Who I see are ghosts
Walking in human garb

Most are mad
Or plain waylaid

They drag their tethers
Silently angry
With hatred in veins
Preaching like Priests

They kill and rummage
In all non-violent ways

They read
They talk like scribes of Greece
Yet their soul
Is buried deep under their iron hearts

They condemn
They forsake the innocent
They roam in hoardes
Like Zombies.

A million Jesus’
Can’t revive them.
They only worship
Torture and Insanity.

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When amidst the noise of thoughts
You would hear the sound of my heartbeats.

When your tears would find refuge
In the sighs of my breathing.

When your craving for love would meet
The flowering of my innocence.

When the warmth of my touch
Would melt your frozen dreams.

Call me by your name.

When you would discover me enough
To be able to strip your soul completely.

When in my embrace you would find
The peace of surrender.

When I would be able to heal with a kiss
Your lifelong wounds.

When you would need no more words
Just my silent company.

Call me by your name
And I will call you by mine.

The above poem written by me, is inspired by the title of the book “Call me by your Name” by André Aciman

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To be honest, I quite enjoy the impulse I get from time to time of running away, escaping the life of a son, a brother, a language trainer.

The only image that pops up in my mind then, is I washing utensils in the backyard of some restaurant or hotel. I feel excited. And then a sense of craving creeps in.

Then next image that comes is that of night, and the streets of the red-light area I visited once in my early twenties. In contrast to the sleepy and deserted roads of our civilized streets and “colonies”, those streets become alive, bustling with noise like the marketplace, bright lights, women in colourful attires standing at the doorstep of their tiny rooms, caked with make-up on their faces, their lurid glances always looking for a customer, the pimps beeing around male visitors on the pavements, the whole area- street after streets reverberates with energy, a primitive fair that has both its denizens and visitors delighted to raise their nocturnal heads, come out and be, while the grip of Civilization full of civilised zealots and religious fanatics, delusional philosophers, arrogant rulers and suffering masses, greedy corporations and their perpetually programmed slaves, go to sleep.

But then when I come to think about it, total freedom does not exist in the nooks and corners of these streets either. Imagine if a man would want to undress, strip completely, and walk naked on the streets! Or for that matter, even if a woman wants to do that! The man would be beaten up badly, and the woman gangraped.

Somewhere deep within my soul, I want to be totally free, I feel chained, enslaved, and the image that comes to arouse the feeling of craving in me then is that of the dark and craggy hill-slope of Haji Malang which I had braved after sunset, before I left home at 22. It was a sense of thrill, of adventure, wild excitement even if in the face of death. I sought this same excitement when I recently went deep into the bushes of the dark and secluded part of a beach, then walking on the sharp sea rocks on which I tread with just my sandals on, at times losing my balance, cutting my feet and fingers. Even in the face of a feeling of danger and fear, there was a sexual tint to the thrill I felt.

When I came back to the city lights, I felt hugely upset, knowing well that there was no way I could ever live in the primitive secret garden of my own heart.

The rites of Civilization, kill me. I am overcome with a strong sense of boredom and feel disinterested in taking up a 9 to 6 job.

Even as I say so, I do admit that after a long trek on some hugely solitary beach or land, I would be highly delighted to find a provision shop were I would see electricity, a tube light, where I can buy a laddu for 4 rupees and a chakli for 1.

At nights, I go out on long walks in the dimly lit streets of the city. Last Sunday night I hooked up with a total stranger on the road and ended up in his house just for the adventure of it, to enjoy what I think is the next basic need besides food, water and shelter – touch. I did disappoint him with my insufficient libido, which caused him to lose all interest in me the next morning. However just being in somebody’s arms, cuddling him, exploring each other’s body, was a sufficient enough an incentive to go to work the next day, even when I had not slept properly for a night.

Sometimes I wonder if it is I who am sick. Or am I trying to retain my human sanity in a very sick world.

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Winter has come, many believe, to Mumbai. But actually what we feel now is not extreme cold that would warrant us to go under woolen or thermal clothing. It is cold, but of a pleasant kind.

The sultriness of weather is gone. We are not sweating. The days are bright, as there is breeze that keeps us refreshingly cool. The sun rises late but sets early.

So it is Hemant, not Shishir (Winter), in Mumbai.
I wonder when our students at school, and in turn we the general populace would wean off the colonial hang-over, to understand that unlike the Westerners we don’t need to have our streets to be full of dry autumn foliage for comparison, so that we can call this period, when our plants like Priyangu, Lodhra, and Lavly are flowering, a distinct season unique to only India, Hemant i.e. Pre-winter.

In fact, our local system of medicine, Ayurveda says that during this season our digestive capacity increases and the body needs heavy food. That is why during Diwali (which falls in this season), a lot of sugar, jaggery, and coconut items are consumed for health.
So we in India, as opposed to our western conditioning, have 6 ritus or Seasons.

They are
Vasant – February 18 to April 20 (Indian Spring)
Grishma – April 21 to June 21 (Indian Summer)
Varsha – June 22 to August 23 (Monsoon)
Sharad – August 23 to October 23 (Indian Autumn)
Hemant – October 23 to December 21 (Indian Pre-Winter)
Shishir – December 21 to February 18 (Indian Winter)
To understand the Seasons and what kind of diet to eat, health measures to follow go to

In our quest for Secularism, we have sacrificed the wisdom of our ancestors, the wisdom necessary for a healthy mind and body to thrive in this land, our country.
I too want us to be Secular, for religion to stay separate from Administration. But we need to re-think about what Secularism in daily life and schools ought to be. Why our students are not taught the basics of our Seasons like the above? Is it because the Hindu calendar is the only way of keeping track of the seasons? Aren’t we throwing away the baby with the bath water? Do most of us even know that we have a national calendar which is not the Gregorian Calendar?
But more on Secularism, and Pseudo- Secularism, and Votebank Secularism, BJP brand Nationalist Secularism later, in another article.

Meanwhile, stay warm, and enjoy the sweets.

Happy Hemant! :-)

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Somebody in the colony has passed away, and swarms of people: men- young and old with skull-caps, women in burkhas and little tots with naked feet, gather at the threshold. When I pass the door, I can make out that there is some kind of a nativity scene going on inside- only that the new-born child & savior is replaced with a corpse. The relatives of the deceased have gathered solemnly around the dead person.

“Such a young age to die!” I find someone saying, others nodding their head, in disbelief, from side to side. The old men now past their age of retirement, philosophize about the imminent and uncertain nature of death. Others recall instances and circumstances when their dear ones passed.
I sense a lack of hurry in the air, which would have been obvious if today had not been a Sunday. Nobody is cursing within their hearts that they had to drag themselves out here on a weekday. Of course it is a lovely weather outside, but that is beside the point. It is a weekend. The old are happy that they are still alive, the young look are either stuck in awe or are totally puzzled, and the children are just plain cheerful as always.

Somehow, it is only the women who seem to stand around with a sense of ease and seriousness, which to me seem to be the perfect response to an event like Death. Perhaps the women know something instinctively which neither they nor we men know. Something about their role as the progenitor of mankind, nourisher and nurturer of life, that makes them look neither lost nor foolish.

The door of the Cyber café opens, and for a moment I wonder if it is the noise of some storm outside. But the ear discerns it as the voice of wailing. They are taking away the dead body for burial.


I don’t know what happens after death. My best guess is that life is like a TV set, goes blank at death. Life ceases, consciousness goes blank, signs off forever. What we call After-life, heaven, hell, are all hogwash which we create for our own comfort of the heart.


People of all age and genders, have been lecturing me on how I have lost on success- material and spiritual, how I should have heeded to their advises, or imbibed their work or spiritual values. I look at the halo around their heads, and resign to my fate. I have nothing to argue anymore. Neither to accept nor dispute! It would be a waste of everybody’s time!

Nobody knows I am also caught in a dying process. I feel tired of all the thoughts, the same old patterns, and have been aware of all the hatred, anger, fears, jealousies, hurt, fantasies and the way things are. And Thoughts! Been seeing how foolish and self-deluding thoughts can make us. Self-image for the present, a story for the past, and a fantasy for the future – all these falsities make our life which I wish no longer to cling to. But they just don’t go away. Somebody told me that all I can do is, accept them.

But the stench of this old corpse is too much. I don’ just seem to be capable of just tossing it off, for it is sewn to my shoulders. Perhaps when the stench would get too suffocating, it will just tear off.

Death must truly be a freeing experience, after all.

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A piece of poetry I found from 18 July 2012 22:01. Strange that I had lost it. Sharing with you all.

Why does the spirit seem capable of sacrificing your gift of Life,

Ready to die a thousand deaths in my love for him,

Yearning for a glance of my beloved?

Moksha has lost its meaning for me: i have so fallen in love with this sweet pain, am ready to reincarnate a 1000 times in his arms!

His simplicity is my religion now,

His honest eyes the ultimate Truth,

The longing in my heart for him is my bhakti,

And his arms hold the promise of Paradise.

Gone are the fear of death and deprivation

As I’ve lost my center – he is my center now,

The arrogance of the ego has been shed

As his simplicity has coloured my spirit.

He won’t kill an ant,yet he’s d bravest;

His simplicity disarms the cunniest of my ambitions.

There’s nothing to resist in his presence

Wherein am totally myself: Free!

He is neither You, God;

Nor d guru; not d scripture; nor meditation.

Yet he is all these.

He evokes d greatest “surrender” in me.

I am crazy in his love,

But i m also the sanest among men.

I am totally disarmed in his presence

yet i am the most unconquerable.

He knows not his effect on me,

Yet my spirit identifies him as my prophet.

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For almost a year after my last heartbreak, I remained evasive from the world, wrapped up in my own world, not having any contact with any friend. I worked, carried out my duties towards my family, and was constantly in self-reflection. It was a very important phase of life.

I used to update my FaceBook then through my mobile phone. Technology is not to be totally trusted. All the messages I wrote during a part of that phase were somehow sent to my Sister as Facebook messages. I reproduce here the state of my mind at that one time. I found it only today, as history of FB messages to my sister. I am embarrassed for the technical glitch. But Golden Boy is not ashamed to share his innermost reflections with you, my readers.

The human world,is constantly changing. But our mind is always looking for rigidity to hold onto. It can’t be fresh,free of old.So we defend n argue without seeing what IS leaving aside “our” theories,beliefs and fears

Put in a variety of music together that U feel wil be d right mix, and we can meditate together. then a brief dialogue.

5 July 2012 06:13

It’s 6:15am. Still waiting for d 5:36am train.

I think that we mumbaikars r d most patient people.Trains r late today by almost 1hr. Yet people chat and laugh their worries away. Anger is maturely handled.

5 July 2012 16:30

I m addicted to Bengali  writer Sri Rabindranath Tagore’s short stories…!

7 July 2012 04:44

Nothing is lost. The Springs when i wanted to walk through d valley of tall trees with d sound of d happy stream in d background,d fairs,d unmet horizons.

I need only to walk my current path steadily with calm- the path leads to gardens where flowers blossom under d expanse of silent blue sun-lit sky, where

brooks flow and everything is energizing. I need to be steady on my path, steady on my path.

8 July 2012 07:31

Is my daily visit to temple, just out of Fear? What lies beneath this fear- shame, guilt, self-hatred?

What is this general feeling of strong Discontent dat pervades my whole being & my life?I sensed today dat it is lack of love within me,blocking me nourishment.

Why do i have to feed all my energy into keeping up my image of d strong male, a stone to my own inner feelings of lack of self-love, shame, inadequacy?

When did I become so proud and egoist that i started looking down at others, closed to learning and unlearning?

Has the self-repression of my feelings reached to the extent of being so powerful that d electric bulbs at my place r now affected by it, d moment d repre ssed feelings r brought to the surface?

Why does my heart feel discontent, & my body feel low on energy? Becoz d nourishing spring of LOVE is dry within me. It is shrouded by fear of rejection,shame.

I do care for people, but i suppress my love for them. I am afraid of love in everyday life.

I m starting 2 believe that our body is intelligent enough,to send us signals of what it wants thru cravings & intuitive guidance to overcome & prevent illness.

8 July 2012 10:29

Chechi, I miss you much. Have always missed you so much.

8 July 2012 18:00

It Feels Weird Wen A Persn

Who Was Regular In Ur Call LOG,

Bcoms Jst A Contact In Ur Cell..

”Time Changes So Do People”


Adjusting Widout Dem Is Lyf..

8 July 2012 19:40

Even a smile given by  somebody can make my day

8 July 2012 23:38

Who says Possession of a human is by ghosts or celestial beings only? Mostly it is by other human being. D human can even die to keep d possessed in his grasp.

Lord Shiva, d bird that is soul, can’t fly in ur vast day-lit sky.It lies encaged in d ties of its attachment..Like a lamb with his butcher shepherd.Intervene!

When d inner turmoil and helplessness of a self or collective people reaches its peak, there is bound to be an outer catastrophe, that’ll herald change.Waiting.

10 July 2012 19:56

The battle is between survival and guilt, between self-love and non-existence.

It is time to become ruthlessly compassionate towards my own self. I have to say NO to survive 4self-love.

It’s time to set Suresh free. Not by running away from dear captors n feeling guilty but giving myself my own share of love n energy.

Even to love my own self, i need to stand against my own fears- fear that they wil die if i don’t sacrifice my whole life for them.

Time to start spending on myself too, buy a shirt, go for a movie, instead of giving all away at home.

And yes, spending my share of money responsibly on myself, not splurging it

I just can’t believe that d collective bigger & Outer Self does not step-in when d individual self cannot help itself. It has to,will. Is that my “Faith”?

10 July 2012 22:06

I burnt like a candle,burning myself for them.Now i want no more to be a candle but be a light myself.

11 July 2012 11:19

Had to take a leave from work today. Very low on energy. Is it just worry-do i worry?

11 July 2012 15:21

God, stab my Spirit broad awake!

13 July 2012 21:00

Life itself is tapas. It is a grind-mill and each of us has to bow down and take it.

14 July 2012 16:20

There is only a hollowness, an emptiness within. D body covers it. D body is d reason 4pain,hurt,confusion,fear. D body is d seat of Mind. My existense blocks pain, fear, confusion, by covering it with d Mind tht possesses d body. D existent nothing is covered by fear. Letting fear drop, freeing body from mind, wil put dis body open to annihilation. D blooming happens when d season is ripe. Till then d flower hides within d plant. And the plant-the body-withstands seasons.

There doesn’t exist even a thin dry stream of love within me. Only ‘mamatva’-this is mine and that is,exists.

14 July 2012 17:56

I’ve suppressed all sexual thoughts n feelings.I think Love has a sexual base to it,every love.Isn’t sexual energy d source of Love,d source of Life itself?

No wonder d stream of Love within has dried up.Fear of falling in love and d resultant boiling passions dat destablizes my life,suppresses all sexual energy.Now I  know why people r scared of love, scared of d sexual life force inherent in us.

Too much outside discipline has stabilized my linear Life, but suppressed my life force.

The freedom to allow sexual feelings within, to fall in love without restrictions,is d beginning of Love and of Compassion.

And where there is Love, there is no fear. I allow myself to be attracted to God’s Beauty dat manifests in people,to worship it,fall in love,die.

14 July 2012 21:33

What do i want?

14 July 2012 23:33

Yesterday,after years,i felt hunger pangs,a pain in d tummy when i didn’t have dinner post 9.My body is being strengthened by Ayurvedic medicines of Ramdev Baba

At d lake. Years of layers of running body, thought and heart. I see that i have lost d capacity to appreciate nature.

15 July 2012 10:45

The energy we turn into money is important, yet d feeling that is Love within is precious.

My false ego thought mantras and ritualist puja is my way to d Gods! I m of Shudra caste, only capable of worshipping and loving God thru Bhajans. Leave d rituals to d upper castes. My Madan Gopala loves me, when d truth is i m not even capable of having Bhakti in my heart for Him. At present i can only reach Ganesha and Hanuman, d two gods closest to d physical realm. Hanuman, grace me with some of ur param Bhakti for Hari. Ganesha help me to be steady on my journey. Love U.

15 July 2012 23:47

It was his charisma that made me yearn to be like him. I never wanted to inherit his unpopularity.

16 July 2012 11:43

With mom at d doctor’s clinic.

16 July 2012 20:16

What if in your life full of fear and anxiety, you come to know that there has never been any reason for u to fear or worry?

17 July 2012 19:08

Even as i allow my heart 2 open up 2 Love;i find a feeling of moist tenderness 4Lohit.I’ve been shying away frm love to escape pain. My heart still yearns 4him.

If i have to surrender to life and reality, i cannot ignore d love and pain within me. I need to be with these feelings,without acting out of it.

In d past few yrs i believed i don’t knw how 2 love truly.But today i knw tht my heart is capable of deep and intense love.I just need 2b able 2 hold it within.

My immaturity-lack of patience,fear of d intensity of my feelings of love,and my extreme reactions-make me suffer,dread love.

I love you Lohit. I neither wanted to possess u, nor take away ur freedom. I just wanted ur love. I know that now I’ve 2b content with d abundant love u evoked in me.You’ve made me richer in heart, knowledge and spirit.

Running away from all my unbearable feelings in d last one year, has been i running away frm myself.

Now i knw 4 real why heart-broken lovers jump off cliffs,drink.D pain of unrequited love is too much.I want to surrender to it, not exhaust myself resisting it.

18 July 2012 05:48

Out of d blue, after years, i had a stomach ache at night. Perhaps d Ayurved mediciner r strengthening my body.

Today is Karkadam kava as per the Malayalam Calendar-a day to offer food to ancestors in d temple complex.

18 July 2012 17:43

What’d you do when u’ve been stricken badly twice before and Love knocks again a 3rd time? Wil u open d door, or hide?

18 July 2012 19:43

How can my mind stay constantly fixated on his face,his face that is imprinted on my mind now;when i cud never meditate on U,oh God?Why do i find all ur divinity in my beloved’s face?

Why has d learning of all scripture failed to enlighten me, when a glance from him can set my spirit aflame?

What divinity is missing in You, oh Lord; that my spirit,mind and heart stays in constant communion with my beloved’s being,when i keep Ur name on my lips?

Why does d spirit seem capable of sacrificing your gift of Life,ready to die a thousand deaths in my love for him,yearning for a glance of my beloved?

Moksha has lost its meaning for me: i have so fallen in love with this sweet pain, am ready to reincarnate a 1000 times in his arms!

His simplicity is my religion now, his honest eyes d ultimate Truth, d longing in my heart for him is my bhakti, and his arms hold d promise of Paradise.

Gone r d fear of death and depravation as i’ve lost my centre-he is my centre now, d arrogance of the ego has been shed as his simplicity has coloured my spirit.

He won’t kill an ant,yet he’s d bravest;his simplicity disarms the cunniest of my ambitions.There’s nothing to resist in his presence wherein m totally myself,free!

He is neither You, God; nor d guru; not d scripture; nor meditation. Yet he is each of these. He evokes d greatest “surrender” in me.

I am crazy in his love, but i m also the sanest among men. I am totally disarmed in his presence yet i am the most inconquerable. He knows not his effect on me, my spirit identifies him as my prophet.

18 July 2012 22:01

No neighbourhood community guys or girls to chat with,in d late evenings at d end of a day-Such a pity!I wish it wasn’t so lonely,so isolated.

Most of us human-beings are possessed. A man frm a few centuries ago wud have categorized d possession as by higher beings like gods,confused/emotional ghosts,w

icked spirits. It is only when we wud be able to purge our minds frm these possessions,can d human in us-our real self- be born.

When will d land beneath my feet become steady and stable, stop being shaky? When will my gypsy life find someplace which i can call “home”?

20 July 2012 20:30

There is no home outside there. The promised land, is within. Yet still my own house somewhere wud b great.

21 July 2012 20:12

POWER: I have had a hunger for it. There is so much to know about oneself.Attention helps.

Even before i started trusting and following my heart, b4 i cud follow d call within,i had dug deep into books.I started wid d inner call first,it’s only now im following d outer call of financial stability-though my initial journey influences this 2nd journey and i still feel little is enough,i wud have it,can manage

22 July 2012 08:41

Friends, and even close relatives cannot be available at one’s beck and call. I should take care of myself.

22 July 2012 17:08

Why r my feelings- of love, anger, pain – so intense that i fall in bed after i feel it?

23 July 2012 04:51

“HAPPINESS in your life  depends upon the QUALITY of ur THOUGHTS,

but D quality of ur thoughts depends on D PEOPLE whom you meet in ur life EVERYDAY.” So True!

23 July 2012 05:56

Yesterday my elder sister, came over for a brief visit with my nieces.Unlike me,she’s strong,positive and lucky.

Every year when she comes, i feel an elder has arrived. I feel light in d entire responsibility i take of mom and bro.

An elderly colleague to whom i had made a prayer petition,said “God” had indicated that i m in bondage.

I know everybody has some or the other problem.I m not d only one. But..

“I need respite,frm life”

23 July 2012 18:52

Someone to love,  to hug, to sleep arms in arms wid-  such a basic need: unfulfilled

23 July 2012 20:50

It feels better to take up reality, the bondage. “I can’t be who i m not”. I can’t resist what is, i better surrender to it. That puts me to ease.

24 July 2012 22:38

“The Happiest People don’t have everything in their life,

They just keep Creating the Situations that bring Happiness in life everyday…”

25 July 2012 05:46

The way i fell in love, has never been been love- it was madness, some kind of possession.Anything disturbing physical/mental health/life cannot be love.

Once occupation/work is sacrosanct. It should have nothing to do with “personal”life situations. Changing oneself as per d place/situation is d key.

25 July 2012 20:17

Now-a-days, what i write here in d mornings is in a state of sleepiness, since i wake up at 4am every morning for work.

I’ve seen and had lakhs of rupees at 24. I m not going to lose my sleep over a thousand rupees now.

In all d hardness of life, where’s the sweetness on my face gone?

The temple bells ring, for whom? To themselves, in their own joy!

Worshipped mentally at the Naag devata mandir -temple of god Serpent- a tuning in to d divine inherent in myself.

It is not d object of “worship” or d ritual that is important in Hindu culture, i think. What matters is what evokes d divine and d sacred in U.

26 July 2012 20:34

Certain unholy lands where d natural is still possible. Yet i live in a holy one, where d natural is unholy. Why do they term d natural as unholy?


The outcasts live beyond d city limits,near d free ocean.I m one of them.I knw pain.  know pleasure.I knw happiness is a farce.Surrender 2 pain n pleasure-life.

My rituals,meditation on a divine image,chanting of mantra-all r to smoothen mind,not for pleasure or happiness but for kneading d spirit into being loose.

26 July 2012 22:22

Why do we have to seek refuge in a person whom we are frightened by? Is there no end to Fear?

May i by touched by grace

Chat conversation end

Seen 7 August

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