Dear 20 yr old me, I see you. I see you crying into your pillow at night to muffle your sobs that are wrenched out from your gut by the grief that you suffer, yet show no one, because you know what they will say. They’ll say it was your fault. Your situation is a … More A letter to my 20 yr old self:
Varanasi is India’s spiritual heart. The birth of the city in the lap of River Ganges, was no later than 11th century B.C, with around 2000 temples and a humongous crowd jostling, to make it to some of god’s homes. However, skimming the periphery of the golden city is, SHIVDASPUR , a red light area, with … More Varanasi : Spiritual Capital and Sex Hub
”What is the difference between a living thing and a dead thing? In the medical world, a clinical definition of death is a body that does not change. Change is life. Stagnation is death. If you don’t change, you die. It’s that simple. It’s that scary” – Leonard Sweet If given a few choice words … More Stagnance or Death?
‘Muslims live in fear that they will be attacked. Americans live in fear that Muslims will attack them.’ -Daniel Burke, CNN Religion Editor. A phobia, according to the Merriam-Webster dictionary, is an exaggerated, usually inexplicable and illogical fear of a particular object, class of objects, or situation. It may be hard for the afflicted to … More Islamophobia – Swimming in oceans of Bigotry
1/08/2016 10.53pm I open the door to my apartment, stepping carefully inside, I twist my hand to find the light switch, before I close the door. The exit must always be available. As the lights flicker on, I close the door behind me. Bolt it closed. Put on the latch. Check the bolt and … More Calm of Seven : An excerpt from anxiety
Devadasi (Sanskrit: servant of deva (god) or devi goddess) ) is a girl “dedicated” to worship and service of a deity or a temple for the rest of her life. If you live anywhere in Mumbai(India) , you know that we are under a severe drought. All of us have been affected in someway. But the brunt of … More Devdasi: desperation of drought
Weren’t windchimes supposed to be the harbingers of times, that would warm your rooms as the tendrils of moonlight drew shadows on you? But now the summer air plays with me, tangling my strings and ringing my bells, shrouding my body with weeks old dust, that, if nothing else, did keep me company. Coming to … More Windchimes