NavDharmyug

Silences have settled on the day like dew-drops of a receding winter night. The day stands at the cusp of weather where winter recedes and the summers descends. Fogs have lifted and the skies are cloudless and clear. I walk through the lane, on which shadows have spread themselves beautifully. Words come to my mind: "The patterns shadows make, these ZIg-zagging lines like some slithering snake; Sneak in surreptitiously l like some memory lost, A memory of warmth, surviving,  Undying winters and unyielding frost." The bright sun rays languorously lie on the Earth, with their long legs spread under the sketchy, shifting shadows of the trees. A perfect day to reclaim the me-time, basically, catching a corner bench in the park for myself, before it is appropriated for the day by some cozy couple. I mutter wordlessly, seeking forgiveness from the angel of Love for interrupting the just right of a young couple wh...

Winters are here. Not the devastating one which numbs one’s soul and drives deep into the body like the brutal edge of a knife piercing through a slab of ice, with wisps of smoke rising from it. Delhi, the city of extreme weathers, is not there yet. The evenings are cold, but bearable, the mornings are chilly, but welcoming. The war between the Sun and the winter continues. The Sun is brighter than the summer days, but not cruel. There is more brightness than the heat, like a strict disciplinarian father, observing his loveliest daughter, an Elizabeth Bennet to a Mr. Bennet. Winter, in Delhi, steps in slowly with unsure steps and once it finds the ground firm enough to bear its heavy steps, it stamps with the madness of a wild beast, as January brings in the New Year. The bright sunbeams of the initial days of splendid winter mornings dies, helpless in the face of a sudden vengeance of the grey winters descending from an unkind heaven- fog, mist, smog; its broken wings spread, de...

The Summer of 2014 is here.   I always had a fondness for winters and winters in Delhi, I have always found mystically beautiful and enchanting. But, those days of pink romance are gone and just as every fantastic dream ends with the stern realities of the day looking at us, the summers are here. Summer stares at us with same intent sternness and a captivating charm of an unpretentious and somewhat religious honest. Mornings are quick to happen and swift in the way they sway from the remnant coldness of the night to the bright warmth of the impending day. The Sun stands throwing fire over a loving earth with all its brutish innocence. It is easy to miss the run unless one is in the habit of getting out of the bed early enough. Runners in the park are rare and those that are there, run with the water bottles, wear cap on the head and a look of solemn, secret repentance on their face- as if they were sinners going through their internal penitentiary out of which they b...