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The journey from a neophyte to a maestro is one from having no control to choosing to not control.
Allow me to tell you a short story. It has to be short because it was inspired by a small set of squiggles on an ancient artifact, and my Holmes-ian attempt to deduce their origin. Here’s the piece. A man sat outside his hut, fashioning pots out of the riverside clay. He might be using … Continue reading
ब-ईं सैले ग़मो सैले हवादिस मेरा सर है कि अब भी ख़म नहीं है। मजाज़ Ba-een saeley ghamo saeley hawadis Mera sir hai ki ab bhi khum nahin hai Majaaz Despite the pain and hurt bestowed My head yet remains firm, unbowed.
अब तू ही मुझे समझा कि तेरी रज़ा क्या है ऐ दिल तुझे समझाते हुए थक गया हूँ मैं Ab tu hi mujhe samjha ki teri raza kya hai Ae dil tujhe samjhate hue thak gaya hun main I’m tired of trying to make you see Old fool, what do you want of me?
I separated from my wife due to creative differences: she kept dreaming up new reasons to fight.
Love is the journey from idealisation to dehumanisation.
Borrowed joy, Words that soar, Smiles aplenty, Grins galore. Temporary, Not my own. When will you, Recall your loan?
Metaphorically, he was quite the man.
No two emotions are mutually exclusive
He’s in love with her love…
hbhatnagar 