being emotional

I am Malala

Reading the novel " I am Malala"; really a marvelous piece of writing.  

" जिंदगी एक एहसास"

जिंदगी बड़ी अजीब चीज हैं, रोज नए एहसासों से भरती रहती हैं, इसे समझे भी तो कैसे समझे, जब हर एक मौज नए अंदाज से उझलती हैं, मैं तो बस जीता हूँ, देखने के लिए हर रोज़ एक नया तमाशा, और भरता हूँ रोज़ अपनी पुरानी डायरी का एक नया पन्ना. ऐसे हीं कुछ पन्नो से बनी हैं, मेरी आने वाली किताब

" जिंदगी एक एहसास"

A Woman's Way of life

“कुछ इस तरह मैंने ज़िन्दगी को आसां कर लिया,
किसी से मांग ली माफ़ी, किसी को माफ़ कर दिया”
                             -मिर्ज़ा ग़ालिब 

 

101 East - Afghanistan: No Country for Women

Emotion behind Hijab

Everything has an emotion whether a rose or a gun; a woman behind a burkha also have an emotion to raise her voice; she also has the sentiments of liberty; wants to feel life on the moving wheel of time.

Character of a woman

What is character; this is a most disputed question which also has been raised in this poetry book. A woman whose husband is not able to understand her only exploit her just because she is his wife and the woman who, in the moments of emotional weakness, fascinates to a guy who gives her the emotional strength but not dare to take the divorce to her husband and indulge into an extra marital affair. Is she characterless having all the attributes of feminine beauty but not fulfilling the norms of society. Plz share your views as it is the theme of my upcoming fiction.
visit my page- https://www.facebook.com/AuthorVasundhraAgg/

Life........On The Moving Wheel of Time

The cover photo of my Upcoming Book "Life......On The Moving Wheel of Time" which will released on new year.

My Art Works

Sometimes the silent lips convey the message what the words do not.

जिंदगी खुश्नावर हैं ,
अगर महसूस करो ,
साँसों का महकता साज़ हैं ,
अगर इसकी तान को सुनो,
जिंदगी तू भी हैं ,
जिंदगी मैं भी हूँ ,
लेकिन बहती सभी में
वाही एक सास हैं,

बस महसूस करो1"  Hi dear friends and family

Life is flowing

feel it internally

enjoy it with full bloom

don't think about any gloom."

   

 "Life A Music Of God

Sing It with mirth And Joy."

-Vasu

The flames Of funeral

I saw the funeral; dancing with fire,

I saw the burial; going into the dust;

Yeah, I saw the corpse of a living being,

Melting into the water; burning in the fire,

Vaporing in the sky; the shattered body,

Disintegrated into the five elements;

Going back into the sole self,

But the atoms, the form of eternity;

They traverse through the space,

To get their home place,

To rest into the eternal abode

Of light and purity.

Yeah I saw the last day of my

Earthly journey;

Leaving behind the near and dear ones,

Crying and gossiping

Going back to their monotonous work,

Tedious and dull but essential

To live the life;

The life which constantly keeping its

Step towards the death;

Death, O! Death, the sole truth

Of existence silently coming to us,

To pause the time.

The time; the eternal time

Which will never move for the emperor too;

It ceased to the royal queen Cleopatra,

To the wizard of poetry Shakespeare,

To Alexander, the great moving forward:

Even it swallowed the slaughterer of humanity,

The cruel dictator Hitler,

All of they perished,

And covered in the shrouds

This is the sole truth

Stick with life

Whether of regal or trivial.

I saw my pyre,

Covered with white sheet;

Decorated with flower,

Going on the shoulders

Of four men with a procession,

To the pile of wood, set on fire,

With the raising flames,

It will extinguish into the warm ashes;

Which will slowly chill down,

Like the emotions of loved ones,

To live their lives in this halt,

And then coming to the same place.

There is nothing to grieve

As it is the truth,

The beautiful truth,

A redemption of ceaseless breath,

Into the peace, from the hurry and burry

Of this world, the suffocated world:

Our timeless atoms will again gather,

To meet the jivatma,

To go one step more from the past life:

To accomplish the unfulfilled works,

To articulate the creation,

Of that unexpressed time and space.

REMINISCENES OF HER PAST

In the twilight of her life, she is sitting,

The recollection of her past is knitting;

When she carried the children with joy,

Gazing them playing with toy.

She adopt their lives as own,

Done the thousand works unknown;

She smiled in their hues,

And cried with them in blues.

She is the only woman ,

Who can’t be find again;

Full of love and affection,

Bearing the divine perfection.

This angel we know as mother,

But alas! Now her wings are shatter;

Lonely she is sitting,

Reminiscences of her past is spinning.

Everybody is busy,

As the life is so fussy;

Nobody come to lighten her home,

It has become the deserted dome.

Forlorn she prepared the honeyed cake,

For children she used to bake;

No one comes to take its fragrance,

She has lost in utter ignorance.

Father gone to his eternal voyage,

Leaving her deprived of lovage;

John and Mary departed to alien land,

There is no soft touch of personal hand.

Throughout the day she longs for night,

At night she counts the stars bright;

Desolated she is passing her life,

Taking her last breath in strife.

Singing the song of her age,

Gathering the yellow leaves of that phase;

She passed away in sheer darkness,

Weaving the dreams of her pastness.

‘Death' 

                                             

                         

“A white clothed woman

In the service of humanity,

Passing her life with great dignity.

Having the dreams of bright upcoming,

Knowing not what fate is approaching.

A white clothed woman

With beautiful eyes and serene smile,

Passing her life with great style.

Misfortune lead her into a wicked trap,

Returning way from that is only death.

A black devil attached on her

Savagely pinched her into the soul,

Tragically ruined her life the whole.

Like vegetable she is inhaling the breath,

With every moment yearning for death.

A fatal day of her life

Has snatched all her smile,

Mutable her life into a painful pile.

She was bind into her own cage,

Her suffering is beyond any age.

A pitiful plea for death

Can cure her deep wounds,

As her damage is beyond any bound.

Her soul need a new abode,

As here she has no up road.

A day came in her life

When God poured His grace,

Laying His mortal hands on her face.

Now she will fly beyond the cloud nine,

As there is none who can her confine.

An example she has set

As death is not always cruel,

It comes on everyone as a rule.

But for some it is caressing,

Spring over them the divine blessing.”

Chakradhara

A small village Chakradhara is situated on the bank of Ganga River; an ancient village having the history of glorious past of Rishis and beautiful maidens; the halt of great Himalayan Warriors; the Paradise of great valleys; once had the power to revive the soul from its slumber, to spring them with the nectar of eternal joy and bestow the tortured soul a repose and asylum; but now, itself, is in the need of its redeemer who can redeem it from the clutches of so called modernity; a vampire, who is suffocating the earth with its poisonous sniffs, making the earth a satanic place where the humanity has creeping on the materialistic ground leaving the       shedding of its inner consciousness.

The sound of ripples coming from the shore is ruffling the tranquility of the serene surroundings, a girl with the tangled and ruffled brownish hair is standing there with a basket of leaves and flowers; beseeching to the customers who throngs on the river side, to sell her beautiful garlands. She is an ignorable figure as the people are passing by her side without paying any attention to deep down in the stream of Ganga who is flowing silently on the foot of Himalaya; she is flowing as the Himalaya is shedding the tears to see his beloved, tied in the chains of religious rituals as the love and religious reverence has become the cause of her suffocation.  A yogi, in the state of austerity, has the vision of that girl and find that she is none other than Ganga herself who is shedding the tears and perceiving everything silently; Is this the love that people are not paying attention on me and rasping my throat; how long can I survive; I have to perish; is there any Shiva, who can revive me and sense my deplorable condition now I have become old and has lose the power to purify the humanity from their sins. When yogi saw all this, he went to her and what he saw; her eyes are wide open; face has been dried up and breathing rapidly and falling on the earth, yogi gave her support and said to her, “what happened Ma, you are the cause of my being and you yourself is dying, how does the human line will survive if you will leave us; have pity on us.” The Ganga replied, “ I have the pity on you, o man! When you came in the form of Bhagiratha and persuade me, I came from heaven by passing through the Jeta of shiva to the remission of humanity but you selfish man make me so deplorable that now I am on the verge of destruction while you people call me immortal Ganga, “what a ridiculous situation is this, that now I have to pray to you for my salvation; O yogi, you knows everything as in your yognidra you can wanders in the phases of time and have seen my glorious past when all the great sages used to come here for their salvation; how much they loved me; they touched me with divine inspiration and made me more pure but today people throws their waste in me and consider me a picnic spot to enjoy their unpurified drinks and food and do the adulterous activities on my banks: “you tell me yogi, How, I can tolerate all this, while I have seen the holy sages who were devoted to me and loved me more than their lives.” Hearing all this the yogi is stunned and in his heart take the oath to revive Ganga; he went to many places; first time, he is coming down with Ganga and is astonished to see Ganga; the scene is beyond his imagination; at the ghats of Banaras, where every year numerous people get their salvation; he sinks down in his heart and with tears mourns loudly; people gather there and ask him “what is your sorrow? Have you lost your near and dear ones and came here for the funeral.” He replied “yeah I am broken as I lost my mother.” One person asks him “where is the pyre?” The yogi pointed toward the flowing river, “this is the pyre of my mother.” People laughed at him and went away; he was lying on the earth as the face of ruined Ganga is in front of his eyes. Then he decided to go to the origin of Ganga; he climbs and climbs to the mountains of Uttarakhand and finally with palpations and tattered cloth reached there and sat at the foot of Alaknanda river who is coming down from the up mountains and flowing beside the Kedarnath Temple; he  apologied with the Gangajal in his Palm, “o! My immortal mother I am your culprit as I was sitting up the mountains in my meditation avoiding you and there people are destroying your dignity; what type of Yognidra is this that I can’t feel your pain while you came down from your heavenly place to redeem our forefathers. Damn on us: with these words there came a sound of thunder and blast; the horrible sound of cloudburst which can tear the heart and ear of people; with that sound, there came a firestorm of water; the flood which washed away that yogi with many other innocent lives;    as she is doing all this with revenge motif and thundering with the words:           

“Nature is not only soft and silky; she takes revenge to teach the lesson even to her child if they cross their limits. This is the law of nature to redeem herself.”

 

A Journey Of Self: The Key of Happiness

A Journey Of Self 

The Key of Happiness

What is life; ‘a chain of breaths’; ‘a process of continuous inhaling and exhaling; without knowing its rhythm as there are many other rhythms which also create their music to wander the human mind from divinity, which resides inside and outside, into the illusive well in which the humanity is croaking. With divine force the entire universe is created ; this material cosmos is the echo of that supreme being; the super consciousness of whom we share the energy but what we are just a materialistic rat trapping in the net and wandering with an unquenchable thirst; longing for what is not that eternal not which has covered the soul’s mirror into the gaudy dust; dust flowing all around, blinding the humanity with its with its blazing light. Power, name and wealth- these are the three components which create the hurdle to clear the vision of man towards his true self; he is trying to see himself but is buffering in the eyes of others; trying to seek his identity; the hollow identity which shrinks into the nothingness at last. 

To get the more happy life; life is losing its happiness; as life is not a big achievement it is the chain of breaths so the rhythm is important which create the harmony in life; clears the rust of mind; make the free flow of energy; the source of this miracle in which you and me are breathing together; but ignorable of this supreme power which is the source of every origin; the wonderful and vital life force is the key of every joy so keep it up.
  

The Way Of Life

what is life? From the very beginning of civilization, thoughtful minds are trying to get the answers. Everyone predicts it his or her own way but there is no fixed conclusion which can define a life. Life is life whether it is of a king or a beggar, an intellectual or an ignorant, a well-known person or an unknown figure. life is life nothing more than this journey towards death. The way may be different but the destination is one- the same; this make us to peep deep down in the mystery of life.

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