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Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Dear Better Half

Dear Better Half,
Hitting the quarter life crisis, I was sitting in a lounge with couple of friends thinking which girl to hit for better half of the night. I was sailing in ocean of my fantasies with a dazzling dusky beauty, tall and ecstatic with perfect curves, you know what I mean …...she was my better half.
One of my friends suddenly bumped into me and told me to get my better half on dance floor.
Why in hell, people say “my better half”?  
When it comes to boys the answer is well conceived, as half of the world with opposite gender think... Men are crazy animals who just want to get laid. They have single dimension thought process and IQ of zero when it comes thinking anything but girls; because no men can be sure 100% if he has either understood the girl or if he is 100% assure that the girl will not leave with all those potential other beasts out there, hungry for that lust. They so often feel the tranquil scent of first love even when it is the Nth time, the freshness of flowers feel the same when received by that unmatchable smile even when they have tried this with all of their "better halves" gone wrong so far; the dance, the rain , the ride all leave them in a love fling with her ….their "better half". No doubt it is better than the last one, is only feeling they have. 
 What about those feminine betterhalves? Wearing their rose tinted glasses, they dream of prince charming while dating a rookie or should I say their better half and vice versa, they always find other guy more handsome than who they are with. Why they are entitled under this phrase of “better half” ? There cannot be smoke if there is no fire, and I almost already answered the question above in tits and bits. According to me with no offence to all the ladies, how many of you have found a guy hot even when you are with your better half and talked about it, how many of you have bitched about the Guy with your lady counterparts. Those Taylor Lautner body types, do give you goose bumps or those Robert Pattinson’s deep blue eyes seduce you to death. Last but not the least you can't stop cursing "better halves" of your roommates for no good reason but envy.  I guess we are built with this animal instinct within, to be always on the move to find a better half. How many of you being in a rebound phase and found the better half almost next door.
We love it when they hit a break up, we just say “one enemy down” and when someone walks up to introduce her/his better half we say “positive I.D on enemy, project breakup initiate”.
I guess the only reason which make some sense in using this metaphorical and ubiquitously perceived phrase of “better half” is you can’t find happiness unless you meet him/her, no wonder sometimes it take more than once chance to fit in the puzzle correctly. Don’t make judgment about me when you read this, I am loyal to being single for another better half of my life patiently waiting for better half, to knock my door.  
Your Better half

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Constructive Dementia!

Constructive Dementia

Growing up from toddlers to teens, we have heard and seen Heroes. Heroes embracing powers like inherited jewels; explaining us about responsibilities, choices we made and how to face the fear within. But how many of us actually come out of this Pandora of marvel studios oozing with morals ? I executive editor of Constructive Dementia, wrote this obituary of a man, common and pale, yet with implicit quasi of a legend unborn. A Hero who thought beyond morals. 

He was a man with normal ideas for most life time but in those little facets of imaginations where he expanded his hidden wings of self-discovery, he discovered something unusual in him. The word “Revenge” meant to him the motivation to live life. He said to me once, revenge in any form is good for us. Exuberant in his ways, he kept on explaining, the other side of revenge. He said revenge is a catalyst which makes you strong within, it keeps you going. According to him we take revenge because we want to prove our might to others and doing so we evolve. More than anything else we prove it to self. He also said revenge is not always negative as portrayed by most philosophers and historians around the world. Animals if cornered many times would not only resist even more, he would gain resistance against the action of being cornered. The process of resistance is a form of revenge which eventually brings in motivation of survival.

He died of a heart attack a day before, not because he was a drunkard or a fat chap but because he was in an endless pursuit to evolve as a mountaineer, he exhausted his body to new levels each time he climbed. Autopsy reports showed his body was evolved like animals and they never saw anything like that. The catharsis of his death although lied in his own childhood of a bullied kid and teenage of several broken relationships. He wanted to take revenge, a revenge to show world he reaches heights where no one else has reached. His revenge was not against the people who left him in tears and tatters; it was against his own psyche to evolve into a perfectionist. All I can say he may have died young, but he would definitely live in hearts of people like me who endorse constructive dementia. The little less talked soul within.

Saturday, July 16, 2011

Perhaps! I say I am a Bad Writer

I am A bad Writer !

Self Praise kept me going so far 
I don't think, I ever raised the bar
Failed in all the attempts I made 
In all those clumsy, lousy words I said.
 Replications of a merely lost and confused brain
I interpreted everything wrong, be it love or rain. 
To be Just another blogger, was my fault 
Dream To be the ace, I could never open that vault.
Writing so far was nothing but a blunder 
Perhaps, I say I am a bad writer. 

My success stories were short and ethereal 
I wonder now, they were dream or for real
I wrote for my girlfriend and spilled my heart
She left me mid way and punctured it by dart.
I wrote another poem, to show my agony 
People said, I am an overdose and too phony.
Life kept me going, so did my female attractions
First in the row was a beauty queen
I wrote a love story, thinking it was never heard or seen
Frankly it was same old story on the screen.
I lost her too on the road to heaven,
I pitched another vodka shot, and lay raven 
A guy and a gal, can never be friends 
Over the years, all I can say this is the trend. 
Perhaps, to drive love, I am a hasty biker 
Or shall I say I am a bad writer. 

Leave the girls; I was never good with them
I tried my luck on other branches on the stem
Then came a phase, I splattered my words in all possible directions
Making a mockery of literature, I think I finally got some perfection
My array of work ranged from politics to sex
I formed my stories, like candles out of wax. 
A few of them went quite a mile 
I am glad they brought a few to smile.
My writings are driven by happenings around me
Intend to judge things different amidst what I see.
Soon to realize, it’s the most common psyche
Perhaps, to rule the sky was just a dream, 
Alas! I was called just another cynical flyer
Or shall I say I am a bad writer.

And now is the time, when the love is gone 
Gone with the wind, and I sung my fav song 
I lie in my bed, with a bottle of wine
With guilt of a writer who could never shine
They say to me, u tried too hard, with limited social art
My writings are the ones which never quit me 
Or perhaps time has come quit as a brave fighter 
Unlikely to quit ,Perhaps I say I am a bad writer.......

I Say I am a Bad Writer : S.D

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

K!d: An Or!g!nal Bluepr!nt….

All u elders’ just sit and relax
Don’t take tension as u won’t pay any tax.           
Jus telling u story of kid’s mind sprint
No copies required as it’s the original blueprint.

                        Childs so young like seedling in sand
                        They dream so high and think so grand.
                        The purest of souls on the planet earth
                        Nobody can estimate how much is there worth.

It’s a lot to learn from these little saints.
Spend your time and their theories will wash all pain.
As we grow, we forget, lessons of morals & values we read
Money has now become our jam and bread.
Responsibilities are important but don’t become half dead.

                        They give there full even in the smallest works.
                        Weather its just sand castles or mud wars.
                        They have spirit of wining the game.
                        To try harder every time even when the efforts go vain.

There giggling faces and naughty drama.
To make things right they follow the karma.
Their magnetic charisma and positive vibes
Just relaxes the aura and makes u smile.
Keeps you going mile after mile.

                         Their fantasy world may seem so implicit
                        Super heroes and magic, doing the trick
                        But give a thought to this little dream
                        Keep your calm and jus don’t scream
                        Gravity from Apple was also a dream.

There emotions so intense and intellectual
You need a few, even when the worlds grow more practical
Simple thoughts and curious eyes
They ride on clouds as their kites fly
To know everything is what they want
Learn so fast and lead from front.

                        So much they want to do, they always say
                        Pilots & doctors, they all are in play.
                        They have this vision of ancient mariner
                        Sailing on dream n cruising Bon-voyage.
                        These little captains can challenge any age.

These free will souls are so very smart
Voyagers of tomorrow, they jus keep the tension apart
Jus give time and wings to fly.
These blueprints are awesome, just give a try
Faith and trust is all what they want
Love for them is just what count.
These lill champs will paint the world
With rainbow colours and make u proud.

                                                                        A Kid at heart: SD

P.S Wrote this one when I was in class 12th. :) 

Friday, May 27, 2011

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Inside Out


The great wall built in your heart,
Tough and strong, no one can dart.
But Let me say, there will be a crack,
To sneak through it & find the track.
The other side where darkness resides,
Buried truths, But reality Smiles.
What we are is just a show on stage,
Inside we are, just jokers in the cage.
To know the truth, juts take a walk,
I am sure there would be lot to talk.

The fog gets clear and all the doubts,
We get answers to all, as we look Inside Out.
The sodden life and the pompous style,
Is jus bull shit, pile on pile.
When someone shows the path to take,
Nook the thought, you just get vexed.

The Gucci shoes and designer boots,
Are just too fake, Can’t fix your roots.
You carry that mask across 24X7,
The night life and materialistic pleasures,
Make you slave of your own naïve desires.
Running after, what others do,
Loosing the soul aim, you just play fool’s game.

The blaming game you always play.
Life isn't a pack of cards, let me say.
It’s much more then a rolling bid,
If you not think so, you are just an immature kid.
Your vicious mind and malice deeds,
Unhappiness and vagrancy are what it leads.

To desolate you in cellar, isn’t the way,
Look inside out and you’ll find there hope’s ray.
All your answers lie inside you,
Only thing is, you should know where to look.
There are miles to go on this diverse road,
Battles to be won and treasures to explore.
To reach the pinnacle of peace of mind,
Raise yourself and sail through tides.
So look in you and you’ll find your way,
Don’t loose your heart ever, that’s what I always say.

Still trying: to find the Crack: S.D.

Sunday, March 27, 2011


Sleep :

Sleep is defined as a natural and periodic state of rest during which consciousness of the world is suspended; it’s a state of infinity , a state where the brain takes over body. There is no end to what extent you can go in sound sleep. Had there been no sleep there would not be any innovation in this world; sleep give rise to dreams and dreams realises into innovations. The biggest of theories were discovered in state of suspension i.e. sleep. 

Have you ever thought what gender of sleep is? : I think sleep is a girl, beauty of which is immeasurable and every girl on the world can’t defy the benevolence of sleep. It caresses and titillates every cell in body to reach state of euphoria.  The eternal charm, the endless eloquence, the pulchritude of her calmness cannot be painted or described in limited words. Another reason why i conclude the gender of sleep is the power she poses to control the world, no being can exist without sleep. She governs the mere existence of all living mortals. She is the goddess of existence. But on other hand sleep is also the face of morbidity, of death, of grief and pain. No emotion can replace the emotion of death, it’s a sleep no mortal wants, but cannot avert. It’s a sleep where the soul takes over the body, and breaks the bodily foundation. 

Moving forward, the radiance of sleeping child is the one even the god envy, it is a souvenir of peace, placid mind and subtleties of calm soul. Yet a corpse depicts the cacophony of wrath and anguish. I believe even the god had a sound sleep before discovering it and allotting it for living beings. Shakespeare described the seven stages of life in the most explicit ways, I believe sleep is the beginning and the end of mortality and to some extent even the immortals if any cannot evade the tranquillity of its existence.

Sleep is a blasphemy for indolent mind and blessing for dynamic mind. Saying this I believe we live in two worlds or may be many, because sleep is just a bridge to the other side of existence. Sleep is the ceaseless; it’s a state of suspension where you are standing in an aisle with infinite possible worlds. Here the aisle is the sleep and gateways are transcendental possibilities, you can choose from modest to secret unspoken ones. Once an old noble told me “Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep” I deny, for mere reason of inundate odds.

 “It’s a spell of a great illusionist who walk around the earth when everything stops”-self.

Another great man once said: Sleep is like the unicorn – it is rumoured to exist, but I doubt I will see any. Another great man said a ruffled mind makes a restless pillow. I think even sages and saints spend entire lifetime to attain an eternal sunshine within them. Meditation is a cousin of sleep, both has same roots and functions.

Saturday, March 19, 2011

Happy Birthday Dad

Wish you a very happy birthday Dad, 
I believe no day for your life is Sad. 
25 years you who have cared , 
those wisdom words you always shared.
To fit in your shoes, is my dream
for next 25 years and beyond.
I believe you look up to me in Pride
Thanks for being on my side. 
Giving me wings for fire & freedom
to find my own stardom.
I wish all have a Dad like you
Words of gratitude are so few.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Good guys-VENUS-Bad guys!

Good guys-VENUS-Bad guys!

The classic case of being “Just friends” is kind of new scripted mantra to keep distance from demises of being commited to something which is most likely against your free bird nature. But if you look around you almost run to a conclusion, if you are a guy, and deny till death if you are a girl, that : Good guys end up being " just friends" and potentially Bad guys ends up as "Boyfriends". Well I blame it on theory of evolution - The "Potentially" aggressive man can come over the cuddly sweet chap most often, if not by hook then by crook. The adrenalin rush just gets it for them.

Don't you think so that’s called the manly attitude in most cover speeches, any girl effectively make to highlight her new crush? For our cuddly guys - the max you get is – “He is so cute”! There is no shortage of exemplars around if you see from all sects of living beings. The story remains the same, either you like it, accept the ugly truth and become a dark knight or be a soft toy.

Well there is another page to the theory which says that guys pretend to be dumb to get into girls, you show your cuddly, cute chin face with honey coated smile on it and there you go! You got the jack- potJ. You just have to pretend truthfully that you are dumb on it, rest is automated. Be an ally and you will get your timely perks. 

Girls have an advantage on it any way, I blame it on the male/female ratio since the time the eve wanted to have apple and Adam wanted her. Females have a choice. It’s designed that way in their genes by god. No pun intended all species have a plan B on card most lifetimes they live. Be it a guy, a Teddy bear, or a G.I Joe with biceps of size of a log or a girl who choose the progression of genes.

Well both types are amidst contrasting war from the time it all begun. It depend on the Venus, which Mars she wants to land upon. There are all type of choices around.
For people who are on plan B or in transition phase between plans here are few common coffee beans you would love to smell and you are free to imagine

 “We are just good friends, media always created hype, we still talk to each other”
 “Yea I have been living next door to her…… no!! We are just friends”

Friday, March 4, 2011


This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton Season 2 edition 18; the eighteenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

P.S : the following story , epitomes a classic exemplar of “change”, a change which can change your life , a change which can change your thought process for lifetime, a change which can manipulate your psyche to attain a divine intervention. Change can make you plead to crave for another change and it never ends, change is a chain reaction.  
I expect all of you to read between the lines to connect on a deeper level!
Looking Back!

With all what happened in India, in that small filthy, yet most auspicious town of India, S.D was back in office after a transcendental experience in the land of Gods. He works for a strategy consulting firm, has a beautiful girl friend and drives a Porsche; why in world he had to meet that sage ?, well some things are just fate, to which, Greeks referred as fatem. The west was blazed by monk’s pictures and the story written by S.D, everybody wanted a bit of his ethereal life. It’s an annoying fact that, how Christ loving social workers react to vagrants, who make it to Times and Readers Digest covers, Monk was none other fella. First it was Time’s Afghan girl cover story, which proved to be a blessing in disguise, but took her away from her home, never to return because she would be killed as soon as she comes back to land where men believed in war, in name of God and violence in name of religion.
        S.D was sure monk would never want all of this attention from all sects of life from politicians to social workers to media because S.D knew him if not in person but at ephemeral yet subtle level at soul, a relation above words and a love amidst the souls, the purest form of life. The self-guilt and agony of writing about such a being made it worse for S.D to pursue his normal life, it was eating him from within like a termite nibbling on woods making it hollow within. He wished he would have never written all about him and left him in peace and grief, which were quantum solace for the monk and not the bizarre spot lights. But sadly life waits for none and soon you hop on its moving train.
2 years 4 months and 8 days have passed, the story and monk became history for rest of the world but he, S.D still saw him in his dreams time to time, and pleading eyes still haunted him often. Rumbling under the grief within, he still kept the diary, the broken watch and the bag . The first time, he couldn’t find any answers, he decide to read it again, once again from start page by page, word by word, to find some answers to what is the real reason for such kind of penance to confess for his sins and doings similar to monks of medieval period who used cilice as repentance and atonement for their sins. It was beautiful afternoon on a summer Sunday yet the heat within the heart of S.D was sufficient enough to give me jitters and take him back to the land of gods , the scenes , unedited , unforgotten came to his conscience as if it was yesterday’s happenings and not a yore incident.
It all begin 2 years back with a supposedly relaxing vacation to India , but it turned out to be a journey never to be forgotten about because it was the fable of ………………..The Dancing Monk …………….
The Dancing Monk
“The dawn tears the cloud bladder
On orange tray, the Ash scatters.
The mystic aura, the enigmatic chants,
Feel like Heaven on this holy land.
On the banks of river lied an aged monk,
Draped in saffron cloak, long has he lost his folks.
Grey eyebrows and white bear showed age
Wrinkled face and eyes with dried tears……

The Tea-Bar Riddle
The grey sky bladder splinted apart by dawn rays, it looks as if ash sprayed on saffron tray. The Mystic aura and the enigmatic silence on the banks, where the only possible vibes are those on river Ganga which speaks, the pain of thousands dead bodies submerged in it and on other hand rejoice of millions who take their first bath to purify themselves off all the malice they did. Each day starts, with this twin feeling on the two opposite banks of the river which are like two ends of life, one the birth and death. There are Saints, Kids, Flower vendors, and many homeless souls, for them this is the last piece of land they possess. The steps of the pedestal, which lead them to the gate of heaven, a dream a belief that’s what, keep them alive. Its hermit’s home, their peace, and their sanity from anguish they faced.
On the corner of the platform, there sat a Monk in grey and saffron; they call him the “The Dancing Monk” as his day starts with his dance & it carries on till the time only spirits are left on the banks, way past midnight. He looked like devils from dungeon; his tattooed body makes him a masterpiece of east. I tried speaking to him, trying to ask him why he lived like a monk. ? What is his inspiration, the driving force? , The only language he knows is dance. He danced for everything he wanted to convey. When I wished him “Good Morning” he replied by nodding his head, like they do it in “Kathak”, an ancient Hindu dance form.
I decided to observe him, all day long and tried to converse if possible with him, to go to the deep roots of this. I sat at the tea-bar comfortably, people around told me he came some 15 year ago. He was a professor in an arts school in Banaras. He came here for the cremation of his 25 year old son who passed with a sudden heart attack, the real reason behind death is still unknown although. After that day he never spoke and from last many years he has seldom spoke to anyone. The only way he communicates is by signs and signalling for his daily routine needs, for others he danced.
People, tourist mainly, found it entertaining; donated him with a few pennies each day. People say, the locals here call him to dance on the birth celebration or the “Ganeu* ritual” in Brahmans*, at the Vishnu ghat, two blocks from here. Although he is mostly seen on the kaal ghat which is right opposite Vishnu ghat dancing endlessly, engrossed in the music of the chants from temple, the drums of thunderstorms in monsoon as percussionist, the bells of temple being the keyboard.
Time for me stopped, as if, it’s asking questions to me, why is he like this? What made him stop speaking? Taking all these riddles in my mind I ordered for a rusk and masala tea while I saw him cleaning self in the river and tying his long serpentine hairs.
The Dancing Monk
With his folks long gone
He is left soul torn,
Mystery for all is what he is,
He deserves some peace and god’s eternal bliss!
The Kaal Ghat
It was 7:00 O’ Clock in morning and I saw the first cremation ceremony at the Kaal Ghat. Few bald men got the body of a young girl who committed suicide in the village, a few miles from here. The monk saw them coming and started his dance, it seemed he danced in a pattern which signifies the pain he felt for each person who leave this earth. He cried, screamed and danced opening his hair, it looked as if lord Shiva in his “Natraja” form dancing in pain and antagonism to end this mortal earth. His eyes could speak a million emotions, his hands moved as if asking for help he needed from so many years, a shoulder where he could lie down and cry for the loss he had. Each note of his dance depicted, as if he is praying to lord requesting peace for the soul. It seemed he can connect directly to the souls and convey them to reside in peace and not wander around this mortal land.
As the time passed by, it started raining and the men left cremation throwing few pennies at him but he didn’t stopped dancing. He came close to the ash of the burning body, which was still hot, he cried like a mother who has lost his child. He touched the ashes, as he would caress his own son; the memories of cremation were still burning in his heart. He danced in the rain like asking god, why he takes those who are loved so much? Each note, was so clear and specific that even the proficient dancers would fail to attain such emotional backbone of expressions to the movements which are meaning less if there are no sentiments attached to them.
I could see the red eyes blowing like burnt charcoal, the agony on the forehead, the tattoos which describe the seven stages of human life and mythical quotes; from Bhagwad Geeta*, The Hindu bible. The quotes meant: - “whatever happens, happens for a reason and one must not repent or be joyful over it” and “what is important is the karma you do”. The dance was “Abhinaya” (mime acting), drenched me in sweat and cold feats. I have never seen someone dancing with such vigour over a funeral ceremony.
I finished my tea and ordered for a water. I was almost in tears and wanted badly to talk to him. I asked the vendor why anyone hasn’t talked to him or helped him? He said in local dialect: - everyone in this earth is a materialistic fool and no one is emotional enough to help such pleading souls. The municipality corporation people take them as beggars and thrash them, for them beggars are  burden on this earth.

The Dancing Monk
He pays penance for self, penance for others
I can’t find one who care or bothers
When I lay him hand, and showed some care
He ran away from me in agony and fear!

  The Vishnu Avatar
Paying the vendor, I followed the Monk closely, he knew someone is following but didn’t stop. He danced as if showing me I am a fool to follow and there is no use. He made faces like they do it in “Kolam dance” (devil dance: performed by masked men). I was bit frightened, he had beaten a man to death when he tried to mimic him a few years ago. I followed quietly; he stopped, looked at me, & suddenly came close to me and offered me a hand shake. I was terrified for a second but somehow felt good. When I touched his palm, the warmth was blissful. I started a conversation, but to no good, doesn’t lasted for a second as he again started dancing this time in “Odissi” (Odissi features the “Tribhang” or “Three bended” body position, accentuating the natural female curvature - and is considered to be a softer style). I couldn’t interfere and following him was the only option left for me to know him.
Over the Vishnu ghat as always there was a ceremony going on where the infant baby is brought to the bank for his first bath, Hindu ritual, which expresses that river Ganga will bless the child and would always keep him safe from hazards and problems in life. The monk offered a prayer to the goddess and started performing another dance this time it was different and there were a lot of happy notations, his actions clearly defining the joy. There was one thing which I didn’t notice before, he carries a bag with him and keeps it very close, and within seconds I thought this would give me all the answers to my questions. He danced for nearly five continuous hours without a drop of water or food and then as the people left he collapsed in a corner of the platform. I rushed towards him but he was subconscious. I could see the tear drops over his eyes and the wrinkled face showing the marks of pains clearly, as he regained, he was shocked and frightened, I told him I offer no harm and gave him water to drink. He refused and ran so fast that I couldn’t follow him. I was surprised as why he didn’t accept my offerings.
I left for the hotel with a sad mood after a holy dip in the river hoping to meet him next morning.
The Dancing Monk
He offers his prayers,
The new born child
Yet destiny has defied, it took his only child.
He still shows his love to all human beings.
No sage can offer the same, after what he has seen.
His world tumbled like a cards castle
Left him loner like an empty vessel.

The Bag with Answers
I followed him for six days up-to that platform on Vishnu ghat , I saw him dance till midnight a few time, saw him laughing with tears in his eyes, watched him washing his body in the river, people pelting stones at him, in return he just smiled and danced in the most illustrious way I have ever seen. Each day I offered him water but he did not accept.
On the last day of my journey I offered him the water bottle again and turned back to move on, to my utter revelation I heard the crackling of the bottle seal. I turned back, he saw me with emotionless eyes but I could still make out he want to cry, cry for what has happened to him, cry for his salvation. I sat nearby, after gulping a few sips, He just leaned over my shoulder silently but yet not spoken a single word. He slept over my shoulder for 1 hour and then realizing that I may be getting late, stood up and offered his bag, I couldn’t say anything; He forced me to take it. When I tried opening it he stopped me, as if telling me not to open it now. I just nodded my headed in assurance.
I started leaving the Ghats as I had a train to catch, but I was stopped by him, he screamed looking towards sky as if pleading god to take him on his lap, and then started dancing. I couldn’t move a feet as It was something I have never seen before, I was confused, is it a dance? Or a prayer? Or a plea to someone for help?. His emotions were so myriad to count, one couldn’t make which mood he is in; there was joy, anger, mercy, sympathy, love, care. But I need to move, his eyes were telling me he wants to meet me next morning but truth was bitter as its always is, slowing the hymns in my ears died out, I went to my hotel. While in my taxi, I thought he’ll speak something, but he just thanked me by “Namaskara Mudras”. It’s a notation in Hindu rituals to express Good will.
I took my train to New Delhi, & I opened his bag, Inside were a diary, a pen, a broken watch, a photograph and a blood stained scarf. The diary was tattered, the pen wasn’t working, the watch was broken as if time has finished for him and he is being left here out of mercy to live his life with no colours or  joy. The only thing which kept him going was DANCE: the eternal way to connect to the one who made this world.
He was a Professor of Arts and Dramatics. The only way I could describe how I knew all the dance forms was because he had mentioned each one in his diary. He also talked about those happy days when he used to come to the Ghats with his family and kid; but there were few pages where the writings didn’t made sense, it was in some sort of hieroglyphics with a lot of scribbling, cuttings. Nothing one can understood at one glimpse , something he wanted to hide from rest of the world , something he didn’t want to share at all even after his death. I tried reading it but failed.
After few months I called a local friend, back in Kashi: to ask what happened to him? they said its being months they haven’t seen him. I hope he rested in peace, he deserved so badly. Life is like that, it makes you really plead for what you deserve most, for few who are born with the silver spoon it may be a cake walk but for rest of us it’s a daily workout to maintain the fit body.
The visit to that place and meeting the Dancing Monk was one of the most agonising eclipses of my life.
Diary spoke a lot about his glorious life and awards he won and how a sudden change in the life can devastate one’s complete mortal life but it didn’t say anything about those tattered pages with scrawling and symbols, nothing! No key to questions, as if it was intentionally taken out of diary.
I hoped I meet him over some juncture of my life, talk to him about all what he lived through. But for that moment, I just wanted amity for The Dancing Monk, The clandestine Sage, the legend.
The saga continues.

The Dancing Monk
He was great men in his hay days
A lot about him did the bag say.
Yet there were few pages tattered and charred
He wanted the secrets to be always behind the bars
They say he became a legend in the Wild West,
His story just ends here, or did it just start,
He left his scar on my heart, reminding me to come back for him
With this promise within, S.D left the place with a heavy heart.

An apologue of a living Legend
Saket Dhanraj Dabi

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