Curious Tourist

Animals have feelings.....

THE FACTORY D eepak suddenly woke up in the middle of the night, shivering and sweating profusely. Cold sweat ran down his temples onto his pyjamas as he frightfully rose up from his bed and moved towards the nearest window.  It was not something unusual for him. He couldn’t really remember a night that passed without nightmares. Sometimes he wondered whether he even sleeps at all. Each night, he would open the window and feel the cold wind rush through his hair. Then he would stand in the dark balcony for the remainder of the night. He felt that his fear was unwarranted and there was no pragmatic reason for him to be scared, yet he would never cease tormenting himself every night. He had been living this way ever since he got separated from his mother which was a long time back. He just remembered her blue eyes and nothing else. He had never known his father. His life revolved around a group of friends and co-workers whose lives and personalities were strikingly s

A group of Great Cormorants Coots and Cormorants A Striped Tiger A Peacock A Black Cormorant Water Lilies

She wants Freedom She is our mother, our holy land How free she is, I don’t understand I don’t understand the rules of our land, So poor, so depraved, crafted with a shaking hand Just like our mother cries when we are hurt She too mourns: when someone is hurt, when someone is raped and thrown into a drain, when a farmer kills self in paucity of grain, when poor gets poorer and disparity becomes steep, when a homeless man is killed while asleep, when a soldier is beheaded at the border, when relations with neighbors go out of order Our mother wails, she cries sadly Tears of helplessness flow incessantly Seldom do we see or feel her cry We neither feel the need, nor do we try She looks stunning though, a thing of incredible beauty A countenance full of grace, peace and serenity Eyes like saline seas, mysterious and misty Swelling with heavy tears but holding them tightly just managing to keep her face pure and pretty Sh

Where is life? Life is in the wind that carries with it a smell of hope It is in the water that loves to fall freely from a mountain slope It is in the soil that encourages much more of it to flourish and grow It is the most beautiful gift with no place for sorrow Life is in the smile of an expecting mother It is in the worry and concern of a would-be father It is in the sweet singing of a new born baby It is the most amazing celebration where all are lost in reverie Life is in the damp and delicate petals of a lotus                                     It is also in the thorny needle like leaves of a cactus One lives in water while the other thrives on dry land, yet, both have life and both are the art of the same eternal hand Life is in the love of a caring mother It is in the rebuke of a didactic father It is in the scheduled fights between a sister and her brother It is the most precious gift the beauty of which should be shared togeth

Of Rafts and holy waters... The Ganges is the holiest of all the rivers in India. It is said to be so pure and blessed that even Gods can’t resist the temptation of having a dip in its waters. God’s grace and benedictions make the waters ever more pious and sacred. People from all over the world come to the river for ablution of their souls and to sanctify their lives. The holy water is said to possess a surreal and magical healing quality that can wash away all sins committed in the past. This drives the pilgrims and hordes of other travelers to the highly revered lands of Haridwar and Rishikesh. The Ganges here is flanked by numerous temples and Ghats on both sides.   Tourism is thriving not just as a result of pilgrimage per se, river side camping on river beaches and white water rafting also play a hefty role in the flourishing tourism industry. Not to forget, it is the humility of the great river-which provokes the travelers to step out of their sedentary and prosaic

                                       No more music in the pond Once upon a time around a pristine pond, surrounded a band of frogs in a friendly bond. They embellished the pond like colourful rubies on a royal throne, as they melodiously sang in a pleasantly rich baritone. As if jealous of their joy and success, men defiled their habitat indifferently. Life at the pond was no longer peaceful and easy and happy. Frogs, fish and others began to feel very sick and queasy. Hopeless, hapless and homeless, life had changed drastically. Musical concerts were no longer heard, colourful rubies were nowhere to be seen. Prosaic sounds from sporadic chirping of a bird were the only ones to break the prolonged silence. Mercenary men had polluted the land and the water, to murder as many terrestrial and aquatic lives as they could but could not poison the air to a level, that could harm the innocent flier. The bird finally flew to a place much saf