What Kinesiology is?
Posted On Saturday, August 23, 2008 at at 10:23 by rk rishikesh sinhaBy Kusum Yadav, New Delhi
The article 'Kinesiology' was about the Human Body's Natural Healing Process. According to it, Kinesiology deals in the study of Human Body's movements including body's structural, emotional status and mainly the human body's energy. It specifically defined the flow of energy in the body which generates from muscles and tissues and that energy is used for the therapeutic purpose. By the flow of energy the evaluation can be done by testing muscular functions which maintains the Chemical and Emotional balance in the body. This energy balancing process helps in achieving their goal in any field like in relationships, sports etc etc…
In the whole concept of Kinesiology, which attracted me most is the term "Stress Removing Therapy" . It deals in the removal of negative thoughts, negative feelings etc etc. It also includes the physiological process, exercise physiologic process and many more. The great thing is the widen scope of this therapy, Kinesiology, which helps in the treatment of various diseases in a specific manner. NICE Na!!!!!!!!!
Then I finished my article and had a look at the office environment. But nothing new was there - same condition and same gossiping season. But, I was very happy and content, you know Why????????? Yesss! Because I got time for reading such a nice article and that was my Learning for The Day!!!!!!!!
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Shades of a Woman
Posted On Monday, March 24, 2008 at at 01:10 by PRANATIY SAIKIA
She comes hurriedly leaving aside all her work as you give a shrill cry. She leans over your cradle, clasp your tiny hands and smiles at your innocent prank. You cry, strike your hands and bash your feet. She takes you in her cosy arms and cuddles you to her chest. Sitting on the cot nearby, she jig you on her knees and makes you giggle. She sings a lullaby in her sweet magical voice and caress you with all her warmth. You feel relax and gaze her ecstatic face. She gently feed you and kisses your forehead. You are blissful baby now, close your eyes slowly and lost in deep lull. How secure you are in her lap! She is your mother who gives you the birth.
Woman a life partner
You behold her as she passes by. She arrests your attention with her gleaming eyes. You feel longing whenever you see her again. She is pretty in her own unique ways and catches your fancy by her beauty and grace. Your heart yearns for her presence, crave for her touch and seek chances to make her a friend. You couldn't help but open your heart; confess your love and give her word. She puts her trust on your word; make you elated and submits herself. She gives you strength in your hardships and paves the path for your lead. Yet she smiles when you wreck her inside and make her cry; shetter her being and devastate her life. For she doesn't break vows of her love. She is your lover; she is your wife; the comrade of your life.
She loves 'love'
Woman makes man's life; help him to survive. Yet she is trampled underfoot by man; her purity is abused many times. Yes, it is true. Woman plays her roles beautifully in man's life. But things go wrong when her jealous self subdue her virtuous self and make her wayward and perverse in vanity and pride. Woman is a power inside, yet she should know the truth, she is powerful only when she is woman in her real essence lest she will be man's fellow egotist.
It is well said, " Man loves little and often; woman much and rarely".
Woman in love looks to feed her heart. She loves 'love' and for that she surpasses all barriers, transcends every obstacle. Sex for her is just a means to get love. Woman, in true sense, is a love 'maniac'. She tends to stray for emotional need. She loves to being romanced; wants to feel 'desirable'; wishes to be treated as 'special', as it goes, 'woman was taken out of man, not out of his head to top him, nor out of his feet to be trampled upon, but out of his side to be equal to him, and near his heart to be loved'.
Interested! Read more: What is Life? by Pranati Saikia
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"Fuck Off" Defined
Posted On Tuesday, March 18, 2008 at at 20:53 by rk rishikesh sinha
"Fuck off" is among one of the words, I suppose, has been pollinated by English movies, and of course by the English education. Well, attributing to its mass usage the English education couldn't be held responsible since this word, so far I haven't found in any of the curriculum textbook.
Fuck Off was a notorious art exhibition which ran in opposition to the Shanghai Biennial Festival in 2000. Its name was a loose and questionable translation
of the exhibition's corresponding Chinese title: The Uncooperative Attitude.
Fuck Off is the first solo EP by Shaggy 2 Dope (Joseph Utsler), one half of the duo Insane Clown Posse, released in 1994 on his self owned label, Psychopathic Records.
Delhi Transport Corporation (DTC) Bus Conductors are James Bonds
Posted On Saturday, February 23, 2008 at at 00:02 by rk rishikesh sinhaHello friends. If you belong to Delhi and daily commute for your job or for some 
other reason – then the fear of Delhi Transport Corporation’s (DTC) bus conductor is obvious. As soon as you board the bus, a sort of strange fear grips you. A bizarre energy throws you towards the old, angry bus conductor. You are not alone in this exercise. There are, indeed, many commuters like you, who frantically extend money (bus fare) to this remorseless, ghost in the human form – the bus conductor.
The whole affair is agonizing. Since you are stretched at two points, one giving the bus fare, second you have to confirm and compete for your seat in midst of hullabaloo and abracadabra affair.
Well, being in Delhi and not having an affair with the army of bus conductors, it is not possible - absolutely not possible. One day or the other day, you have to get entangled with these bus conductors. Every person has their own story, and I suppose these stories are indeed, agonizing, distressful, and painful.
Few days back I had the same one-to-one session with this DTC bus conductor. The bus was plying between Rohini and Gurgaon. I boarded the bus from Naraina and following the same procedure as I have mentioned I was capable to do both the things together – taking the ticket and occupying a seat.
The story unfolded in Iffco Chowk, Gurgaon. The climax of my story starts from here. Two old persons, the ticket checkers boarded the bus and they were in their mission, early morning mission: to catch passengers who don’t buy tickets. They were just like James Bond (this time only two) secretly assassinating those caught red-handed without ticket.
This time in their mission I was caught red-handed, in their eyes I was a foe, to be killed in cold-blooded manner. It is not that I didn’t take fare. Actually the same old bus conductor gave me a ticket that was validated till Shankar Chowk, Gurgaon. At that moment my experience whispered me - there is no point to have a lovely one-to-one talk with the bus conductor and ask: why my dear bus conductor you have given me this ticket. 
Within minutes I became a cynosure in front of all commuters. Frankly speaking, I was extremely unaware of the fact that I was getting so much of peoples’ attention. My first concern was to free myself from the entanglement. Good news is that I was not carrying the amount of fine Rs 100.
And after few minutes of lovely chit chat with these two old Bonds, at last I freed myself when I showed them that I am from PRESS and showed my identity card. I am bigger James Bond than you two people combined. I am a James Bond!
The scene ends there, there in Iffco Chowk, Gurgaon. I set for another mission that is to get to my office and tell the nightmare story to my colleagues. And of course, these two old Bonds were again in their undertaken mission preying on ticketless commuters.
At the end, beware of this DTC bus Bonds who are cruel and inhuman characters. They are ghost and must not be entertained at any cost.
“I am proud, I am a Bihari!”
Posted On Sunday, February 10, 2008 at at 19:55 by rk rishikesh sinha
You name it, and you will find people who utter this sentence.
Unfortunately, this sentence comes out as a reaction to defend oneself from ignominy that usually builds up when two elements adds: first there is a Bihari and, second there is in air - a topic on
Uhhhh!!! No body on earth utters this sentence than Bihari people do. Interestingly, we all love our soil we belong to. But, the momentum they build on by saying “I am proud, I am a Bihari!” seem childish. It is something like a child caught red handed while stealing stuff and defensively blurts out: I told you, I haven’t done it. That’s it.
It is ironical that wherever in any part of
It shouldn’t happen since we are all brethren of the great country
Again, on an average we all pay respect to other persons’ genetic and political make-up. We are inquisitive to other person’s caste, religion and the state he belongs to. And there are many myths, proverb and funny stuff lingering in and around any state and caste.
The word “Bihari” means a lot. Anyone being called a Bihari is being taken with disdainful, scornful, inhuman note. It is still a mystery why Biharis doesn’t like being called a Bihari.
There is no point reacting to any such comments if it is made. It must be taken with a bit of humour. And if possible, maintain the golden rule: Silence.
It will give a very positive response. Biharis must learn. If not, it solidifies another myth: Ek Bihari so bimari.What is LIfe?
Posted On Monday, October 01, 2007 at at 00:08 by rk rishikesh sinhaBy Pranati Saikia, NEW DELHI,INDIA
Life starts with a cry; it ends with a sigh; we go on striving until we die.
It all started when I stepped into this world from my mother’s womb. Oblivious of my prenatal existence, I sought to memorise my mother’s face, my father’s voice and whoever came near me to take me in their arms to cuddle me and to make me smile. Gradually, I toddled behind my mother’s walk. Holding things with my tiny hands, my
steps firmed with steadiness and affirmation of my individual existence, having separate being and a strife to survive. With the passage of time, I strived to be something and often in those heavy moments, my heart asks self with a silent heave “What is life”?It embraces us ever since we took birth and made us holding it tight as if it loves us. It captivates us and we move to its times, dancing, singing, crying, passing through trials and tribulation to accomplish it. Its magical illusions cast spell on our wisdom and made us addicted and intoxicated. Soon we forget our real self rather we forget life also in its real sense.
Nevertheless we all love it, for life makes us alive. Despite of its dreary courses and enervating strife, life is precious with all its raw beauty and profound mystery. One cannot deny, however, human life today witnessing plight of being standing at the verge of existence. Materialism has given birth to commercialization which has made man a commodity and human life a market. Consequently, competition and professionalism has given rise to market value and utility. All these together devaluate the divine essence of humanity. Modern human society is the blending of complexities and amenities. Man is bewitched with ever-increasing allures of materialism. Though he has made immense progress by means of science and technology, his life has become mechanical. His constant pursuit of material comforts has made somewhere his life suffocated.
It is time that man has two entities humanity and animality Gathering both entities, he leaves no stone unturned to be the survivor. Often, in his strife, he makes random and blind moves, diabolism over-possessed his humanity and he inflicts pains upon his fellowmen. Yet he feels pride to be the killer of humanism just for his own benefits and motives.
Heinous crimes, blood shedding, rampant corruption, hypocrisy, inhuman manifestations, and deceptions have made human life bleeding to death. Nature has made everyone unique and no one can take the position of other. But, we human beings are prejudiced and biased. We favour differentiation and disparities on the base of caste, creed, religion and even region too.
Life is God’s gift. It is all-pervasive and never-ceasing. Ideas and philosophies mould life. Actions and deeds interpret life. We live it with desires, passions, dreams and aspirations. We work hard and make efforts to materialize our dreams but we ought to understand, life is wayward, flows in its own course. Ultimately it leaves us alone to seek it all again. It is short but we have to make it large by compassion and love, cause love makes life colurful, beautiful and blissful, not the materials for which we kill ourselves and our humanity.
Yes!! I Missed My Last "Love" Bus
Posted On Friday, August 17, 2007 at at 00:29 by rk rishikesh sinhaHow the gift that I presented her came to the “market” where only the price tag counts? Has she forgotten the promises that we both made to each other?
A love-gift of mine would be visible in the murky, visually overcrowded, dusty lanes 
of Daryaganz, I never ever in my wild dreams I thought. But the love-gift that I gave to my first love was visible to my eyes, its true. It was in front of my eyes. Yes, the love-gift resurrected coincidently likes a bolt from the blue, from nowhere, absolutely from nowhere. The gift tumbled out every thing deep inside me.
The gift oozed out everything, absolutely everything from the deep core of my memory that had been covered by the layer of the time. The memory that had almost forgotten from the period that we spent together, to the promises that we made, to the lively chitchat we used to make,… and what not. I would say I virtually went to my early days; from the first day I befriended her to the last meeting we parted from each other.
I was in the buying spree at the Daryaganz’s world-renowned second hand book market to buy some books for my sister. All around the market mountain of books were visible, some books diligently placed while there were others heaped one over another. 
In my attempt to buy some good books from renowned publishers and looking out for the latest edition book, I had made recce of the area and the interlinked shops many times. I was befriending as possible books, touching it, flipping the pages, sometimes of my choice and sometimes books of my sister. So, in this process of flipping the pages one book after another; I don’t know how many times I have fallen in love, fortunately without carrying an emotional scar.
I found out there were books that I had revered, and some books that were in my bookshelves, few years back. The Sunday book market was busy in the selling and buying of the books. People were thronging the market like a fish market. Some buying books in bulk, and there were many like me who were there to buy handful of books.
I landed at the market very early, so I had the opportunity to see and witness things happenings. And in no time I also don’t know when the market got overcrowded with the sellers and the buyers. Sellers were shouting with the prices and the buyers were whispering, murmuring, and negotiating on the prices.
I found in the midst of cacophony and confusion, all seemed happy and joyful; buyers finding books of their choice and the sellers of finding good customers who are willing to burn their fingers with the price.
I was so much absorbed looking at the covers of the books, and in the flipping of the dog-eared pages of the books; I didn’t know when did I took a book in my hand. I looked at the cover; it was a book that once I had. I said to myself, “OK, one more book that I had”.
My fingers flipped the cover and as soon as I was about to turn the first page I saw my name encrypted in the blotting ink, it was written “from Your Love” followed by my name; and presented to “My Love” followed by her name at the top of the page. And within a splits of second I come to know this is my book I once bought to present her on her birthday.
Not to mention, her always-ebullient face and the golden moments we used to share 
together appeared and resurrected in front of my eyes. Her deep eyes, her flowing hair appeared in front of me. For a moment I felt her presence, trying to peep into the book that I was holding. Looking at my name and her name. Ooooooooooo!!!!!!!!! I can’t express the pain that was stirring up in my heart and in my whole body.
It paralyzed me for a moment; it seems for me that the whole market has been brought into a grinding halt. The always-ticking time has stopped ticking. An array of questions aroused in my brain, the questioning brain, the critical brain.
How the gift that I presented her came to the “market” where only the price tag counts? Has she forgotten the promises that we both made to each other? What led her to sell the book that I gave it to her? Is she carrying the same beauty in her eyes or still carrying the same eyes to tell a different story for the next time we meet? Has she got married? Oh!!I suppose she might be having lovely children and a caring husband.
My brain instructed me not to buy the book since it is unwise to carry the weight of past, the dead past which was near to my heart. Past is past it will never come- the brain instructed. I kept the book where it was hiding my surging emotions.
Soon I was in the Delhi bus coming home. I get down from the bus listening my heart, which instructed me to buy the book – the book that carried my golden moments of my love. But as soon as I came to the same shop and demanded the book. The shopkeepers said – it has been sold. I miss the bus; the second time I miss the bus.
Yes, I miss the bus.
LOVE STORIES
How will you express your LOVE?
Posted On Tuesday, August 14, 2007 at at 17:41 by rk rishikesh sinhaHow will you express your LOVE? In Assamese, Punjabi, Bengali, Malyalam, Manipuri OR in Hindi..?
NEW DELHI,INDIA
Can't help falling in love? The strings of your heart strum every 
time you see her. You pay as possible attention to her as it could be possible from your part. Her every subtle movements – the way she talks, the way she smiles and the way she walks on the pavements fascinates you, literally makes you go mad, go berserk, go crazy.
Your imagination is as fast as the speed of the light; as imaginative as of a child. You think of her, you feel of her. Parting of one day from her make you feel centuries has flied down silently without letting you know. You constantly miss her. A feeling of voidness, incompleteness, strikes you.
Her companionship is enough to make you feel on the top of the world. You forget everything thorny in this world. If there is something that fascinates you, that enchants you, is her camaraderie. You love walking with her on a wet ground in a greeny lonely garden. In her eyes you see your dream. Yes, in her eyes your's world lives.
When she comes near to you; you get tongue-tied, speechless. You find the words are not sufficient to express the whirlwind of emotions tiding high in your heart. Everytime you wanted to say someting special to her, there was something that stopped you. You get entangled with words, the opportune time and with unforeseen, unexplained reasons.
Once you tried to tell her the surging emotions of your heart, that you love her; but you got perplexed when it came to express your love to her. It was an attempt you rehearsed many times, innumerable times; but you never thought this attempt would go to vain, an fruitless attempt.
At last, bridging many gaps within inside and churning whole of your body at one point; you uttered the words that expresses your love. Once it was uttered from your mouth and it went to your dreamgirl's ears; you don't feel the reverberation, and the echoing sound of your expression. It was stale like anything, as insipid as two or three days kept food. It was lacking the soul of your unfettered love for her.
You said the golden phrase of the English “I love you”. It came out of your 
mouth like a parrot chirps. It lacks the very soul since you are not the English, and not carrying an English heart and brain. You uttered since it has been bombarded in your consciousness, thanks for the book you fetched on, the media you watched, and the movies you vociferously watched for the steamy scenes.
Finding it unsuccessful, you tried saying in French. You said, “je t'aime”. Oh!! She doesn't understand French. So your word felled flat without creating the bubbles of love.
Next you tried with the German language. You said “ich liebe dich”. Oh!! She can only speaks German with broken accent. She is not German, but she is an Italian. 
My feelings of love has worn many languages from Portugese (eu te amo), to Spanish (te quiero), to known and umknown, official and unofficial, dialects.
So, friends! Thanks for reading this lengthy post. The objective of writing this long article like beating the bush was to – How will your put LOVE in words? Will you go by the international language English to express your love while you heart is NOT English? Or in Bengali - aami tumanke balo bashi/ aami tumake prem kori; Manipuri - eina nungbu nungshi/ eina nungbu pami; Assamese - moi tumak bhal pau; Malyalam - njan ninne premikkunnu and in Punjabi - honu pyar kar diya.
I will stand by him till the end
Posted On Sunday, July 22, 2007 at at 10:24 by rk rishikesh sinhaLove knows no law
NEW DELHI,INDIA
It was like another morning for me. Two newspapers bundled with a rubber band were thrown into the 2nd floor of my building and it fell near to my window. As usual to catch my cab I hurriedly picked up the newspaper and ran towards my pick-up destination. Before I leave, I checked whether I am carrying my purse, mobile and the official ID. I found everything was in its proper place.
And after waiting for few minutes I got a miss call. I didn’t care to see who has remembered me and has given me a miss call. In my figment of my imagination I was not expecting something is waiting for me, which will catch my eyes and will make me write on that incident.
The cab arrived and I took my front seat, and with no time we were driving towards the destination. I was not concerned which road the cab had taken and what is the status of traffic. Whenever I looked outside the imposing big buildings of Delhi were visible. I remember the cab had taken roads from the market to citadel of power of the whole India. 
I unbundled the newspapers and started reading it. I gave a cursory glance to the first page, 2nd page and got involved flipping the pages after reading minutely the headlines and one or two paragraphs.
The first page of the July 20, 2007, the Delhi edition of the Hindustan Times read “TV news to be shackled” and in the anchor article it was “Last Potter book is in the leaky cauldron”. Both these news item did not struck me hard capable to make inroads into my heart and brain.
There was a news item in the inside page of the newspaper that froze my heart and made me read again and again. It has the opening sentence "I will stand by him till the end” and headline: “Love knows no law”.
The news item was related to the sentences passed by the Special TADA Judge to the key alleged culprits who have masterminded 1993 Mumbai bomb blasts. But what relation it had with the ‘love’? How the pristine entity like ‘love’ could be used or have the relation with the heinous crime. This thought really befuddled me.
The whole report read:
“I will stand by him till the end” said Mubina Parkar outside the Tada court on Thursday after Special Judge P.D. Kode awarded capital punishment to Shoeibh Ghansar for planting the bomb at Zaveri Bazaar bomb, which killed 17 people. "We shall fight it out in the Supreme Court. God willing he will be a free man," said Mubina. A burga-clad Mubina was inconsolable after Judge Kode announced the sentence saying: "He (Ghansar) came into the conspiracy late but played a major role by planting a bomb." All the while, Ghansar just sat with his head bowed, prayer beads in hand. The 36-year-old Mubina fell in love with the 44-year-old Ghansar at the Arthur Road jail where she would visit her father, Dada Sharif Parkar, one of the main landing agents also sentenced in the 1993 serial bomb blasts case. The 82-year-old Parkar was sentenced to 14 years' in prison and fined Rs 5 lakh. Mubina, who studied law, has turned down several marriage proposals. She has been waiting for Ghansar's release so they can marry "I have waited for 14 long years and will wait further to marry him. I have a strong belief in the judiciary and I hope the Apex Court will let him off," she said.
Courtesy: The Hindustan Times
What did you feel reading the whole news report? Tide of love sails against the tide of peoples’ perception; love sees no boundary; love is natural and it has no effect of the tear and wear of time. Loves blooms with time.
And this is what Mubina Parkar did for Shoeibh Ghansar, an accomplice of the Mumbai bomb blasts?
When did our cab arrive at the office I didn’t come to know? I get down from the cab and found the day was not at all different from the other day. The day has same work to slog upon.
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Related article
Yes, Success comes with a price tag
My first encounter with ghost - Part III
Posted On Friday, July 20, 2007 at at 20:33 by rk rishikesh sinha
NEW DELHI,INDIA
Assam,Silchar
Location in small village
Jotting down from my diary which I wrote decades ago............
Near about 50 years ago the shape of our society is out of imagination of present day generation; and they may only strangely assessed the tale stories of happenings at that period of time. The change of the society is attributed to the development of infrastructure in every spheres of our life, education, mass communication, well connectivity of villages with nearby towns or cities.
Though the glimpse of modernity knocked every doors of our life yet I never forget one of the incident related of devils.
In the early 60s it was a ritual of our society, boys and girls of the village playing various types of games at afternoon after taking lunch and dinner. While at night it gets limited to adjacent neighbors only. The neighbours had a common courtyard where we all used to play day in and out.
It was our routine when elders went on to sleep after dinner we all boys and girls assembled together in the courtyard and start playing games of our choice, all happening in the absence of now ubiquitous looking electricity. At that time electricity was unheard thing. If there was any foreign thing that was visible, it was transistor. There were three or four transistors if one adds five or six adjoining villages.
One day, after playing so many games we noticed that some tiny boys with maximum 2ft height came from every directions of nearby bushes assembled in the courtyard. On seeing the incoming flux of tiny devils the inmates rushed inside the house with fear by leaving me in the opposite side of the courtyard alone.
Being kept alone I noticed that the courtyard was fully packed by tiny necked devils of having same height and every one possessed small brass cymbals in their hands. They began dancing by beating cymbals and generated a whispering mild noise through their mouth. The magnitude of their noise and the sound of cymbals were so mild that one could not heard the same from a distance of 10 ft.
After dancing three or four minutes in the courtyard the gatherings of devils disappeared themselves by entering nearby bushes. And when the courtyard was fully evacuated I entered the house and narrated the whole story to my inmates.
From where did they come? And where did they go? What were they doing? Even after decades I don’t find any answer. But it was something, which I believe those reading it cannot digest. But it is true to the salt.
Other stories
A fairy lady in night
My first encounter with ghost - Part I
My first encounter with ghost - Part II
Childhood musing…
Posted On Thursday, July 19, 2007 at at 00:00 by rk rishikesh sinhaNEW DELHI,INDIA
It was a teatime break and we all five or six content writers friends were sipping coffee in our usual speed, and from nowhere a topic, what we all wished to become in our later life when we were child, found its root. And very soon we all were pouncing one over another to tell our story.
It was not a usual “what you wanted to become in our life” type of rapid question fire round that were asked in the school. It turned out be a full of out-of-the-box childhood wishes that had remained unfulfilled and which didn’t get the wings to fly; may be the wings were defective or not practically possible in the real world.
A friend wearing spectacle sitting beside me after clearing his throat said he had wanted to become a mechanic, again clearing his throat said “not a mechanical engineer exactly”. He narrated his fascination over the attract-repel property of the magnets. Magnets of round shape, cubical shape and of any shape had the magical effect on him.
And I found all friends had the same intensity of fascination over magnets. We all had the same story – putting a coin onto the railway track and running it over by a train turned it into a magnet. We all laughed on this believable ‘true’ story. 
Something that fascinated me at this grand magnet story was that we all were born and brought up in different place, different locality, in different culture and in different time fame, but we all present there at the coffee table had the same tone and substance of the story. How come it can be possible?
Another friend sitting in the right side of me like a obedient good boy said he always wanted to become a “doctor”. I remembered I even had the momentary urge to become a doctor after completing my class 12th. It was not my dream that exuded from my inner-self but it was some sort of a temporary shift or ‘transit’ to become a doctor.
The two friends sitting opposite of me said they had never gave a thought on this topic in their childhood premium age. May be they don’t want to express their well-kept secret. But we all carried childhood dream of different shades and hue.
Before our childhood jottings stretch, the end of tea break persuaded all of us to head towards the place of our work. I didn’t tell that one of my childhood hobbies was collecting packets of incense stick. More the variety of packets from various brands, more happy I used to get. My favourite was Onam agarbatti. Hiiiiihihhhiiihi….hahahhaha……….
Childhood dreams are indeed childhood dreams, which never fade from our mind and from our consciousness. It always remains with us; just we all have to go down the memory lane to relive it.
My first encounter with ghost - Part II
Posted On Saturday, June 30, 2007 at at 17:38 by Anonymous
As I was returning from the pond, I saw a person of my age resembling one of my villager heading towards the canal. And we were at the same time had to cross the canal. Seeing him in hurry I called him by name and requested to allow me first to cross the small canal; as I was getting wet and just had come from the pond.
My request had no effect on him and subsequently closed to each other with merely distance. I noticed the person thoroughly and found as follows -
After thoroughly observing him in all respect I repeatedly requested to give way for crossing the canal but all fall in vain. In the next moment I was terrified to see the changing face of the man. Finding no other way of my rescue I started praying GOD two or three times. The next moment, so to veil my fear I started rebuking hardly in rough language in order to catch the attention of the people. My all efforts came out with no results. He was constantly gazing at my face, and his face was rapidly changing becoming more dangerous and frightening.
I started scolding again but this time more vigorously and loud in nature. I began pouring punches to his face and breast. In the meantime I noticed that the size of his eye becoming bigger and bigger and almost reddish in colour. His constant gaze remained steady towards me without any twinkling. Though I did everything for survival of my life I never touched his body.
God knows from where I got enough courage to reciprocate the spirit who was looking like my neighbour. The next very moment the spirit gave me passage by shifting right leg in hanging position and the left leg taking the place of the right leg position, and his body tilted towards the canal by freeing his hand grips from the bamboo. For a normal person he would have fallen. But.........he was balanced. Presuming the opportunity I advanced my leg and kept his leg in between my legs and bitterly scolded making eye-to-eye sharp contact with him. When I crossed my leg the spirit came to his original position. Then I move backward keeping eye on him and constantly scolding him.
On sudden disappearance of the devil I got so nervous and awestruck that I hardly reached my house and I fell down on the ground in senseless condition and I remained through out the night. And in early morning I regained sense.
My first encounter with ghost - Part I
Posted On Friday, June 29, 2007 at at 23:25 by AnonymousWell, if one ponders hard and ask oneself from where do they get all these trembling black images sort of stories in daily basis, it is definitely to feed the hungry television time and raise their TRPs.
But if I narrate my encounters that took place decades ago in the early 1960s I have never seen or encountered since then. Don’t feel cheated since all you people or netizens supposedly were not born then.
The world we are presently living was far different from the world that I grew up. The rural/ urban India was not as it is today. To cover a distance of mere 20 km took a whole day. That was Assam, district Cachar, village Mohanpur virtually cut-off from the other world. It was a quite sleepy Bishnupriya Manipuri village covered with evergreen trees.
The news of ghost/ devil encounters was listened and discussed vociferously than the news flying around the world. And my encounter with this spirits took place within a year when I was in class eighth.
It was an eerie moonlit mid night and at the dead hours I got up from the bed to urinate. I came outside my home, I saw shades of trees casting their shadows on the ground and silence perpetuating the whole universe.
And the silence was broken, interrupted when I saw a shady man coming from the funeral site, which was near to my house. My muddy house was at the periphery of our village.
At first I could not recognize him but as he approached near about 400 metre from me. Then I was able to make out who the shady figure is.
He was our neighbour who was severely suffering from the blood dysentery and confined to bed. At once it crossed my mind that he cannot be the one whom I thought at first. He cannot loiter at this dead hour.
And under this circumstances it was vividly clear to me that the person coming towards me is no more my neighbour but a spirit (read ghost) replicating him wearing a white full baniyan and gamocha and carrying a burning hukka in hand.
The distance between him and me was so near and close that I could clearly hard the bubbling sound of hukka and see the smoke continuously coming out from his mouth.
I noticed inquisitively all his activities while hiding myself behind a big mango tree and a little beetal nut tree, assuaging my desire to know more about these creatures which was unfolding first time in front of my eyes. I was just 15 years old then.
The living ghost was then approximately 15 meter away and he suddenly changed his direction, he turned back and ambled again towards the cremation site from where he came.
I watched it till the replica became invisible from my eyes. Later I quietly came back to my bed. Early morning it was widely circulated news in my village.
My Visit to Punjab
Posted On Sunday, June 03, 2007 at at 16:39 by rk rishikesh sinha
My journey started on Sunday evening from the Inter State Bus Terminus, Kashmere Gate, New Delhi. Though it was not my first visit to Punjab, earlier I had been to Ludhiana for my personal purpose. But this time the story was different my pocket was bulging with money that the company gave me, so this time I was not spending it miserly. I was freely spending it on eateries, just making it sure I take appropriate bill against it.
I must confess the bus was not as luxurious as I thought it gave me an impression of a regular bus plying in the Delhi roads. The bus was on its way at around 10.30 pm, I made my sitting comfortable beside a window.
With the inquisitiveness of my visit lurking in my head, though I was physically inside the bus, I was constantly gazing outside noticing the changes taking place in the geography of the places.
If there was something occupying my mind it was the feeling that I had grown up, now I am no more with my father in this travel. All the journeys from the painstaking to the luxurious, that we had made with my father started popping out in my mind. The five-day journey from the interior place Silchar (Assam) to the troubled torn city of Kashmir, was running in my mind.
Being a reporter covering real estate sector my eyesight was constantly falling on real estate developments frantically taking place in the state. In the eerie night of my travel, the under-construction building was giving a monstrous look. I started imagining these building which looks gigantic now, what would be its structure in the daytime when it will be clear.
In the whole journey, many people get down and many boarded in each station coming in its route.
With all these running in my mind, when did I fall asleep, I do not know? But when I got up I was in the Jalandhar bus stand. The Jalandhar bus stand in its first impression was giving the usual looking other bus stand of the state. I ordered tea to break tiredness. After sipping hot tea made of pure milk of Punjab, I started searching for a lodge or hotel.
But without much effort I was able to find a lodge just beside the bus stand. It was so-so with bare necessity. After check-in into the hotel, and spending few hours in and around the hotel I headed towards the Radisson hotel, which was fortunately was at a walking distance from my hotel.
After meeting with my owner my boring hours started ticking, as there was nothing I could dissolve myself. I, along with another cameraperson waited till 6 pm and it ended when at last I took an interview of a local politician. With this my whole day work was over. I was left with an instruction that I will be called in if they need me.
Following next day, I spent my time surfing net just beside the Radisson hotel. At evening I was instructed to head towards Chandigarh, after completing the interview of DC, Jalandhar. The journey from Jalandhar to Chandigarh I find was more breathtaking, and nearer to the nature.
Through out the journey from Jalandhar to Chandigarh, the road was running parallel with a canal. The landscape was plain with beautiful houses doting the fields showing people’s prosperity of the state. It was not crowded; everything seems to in proper place and space.
I was getting impatient of travel and asking constantly fellow travelers when the planned city arrives. At last harbingers of being in this city was visible with round shaped gardens, controlled buildings and market places. Moreover, with the vehicles carrying “CHD” tag in the number plates.
Spending a night in the hotel, which was quite far away from the Bus stand, in morning I headed towards the residence of Commerce and Industry Minister of the state. Though I was unable to find his residence, I positioned myself into the residence of the State co-operative minister. While waiting for an hour, where many elderly people were also sitting, I was told by the tongue-tied minister to meet him in Civil Secretariat.
In the midst of turban wearing Punjabis, I was looking as an alien who is without the turban and well-built physique.
After getting out from his residence, I went straight to the Civil Secretariat. Getting into the Civil Secretariat was not so easy as I thought. After lot of call and verification at last I was into the citadel of power. Security was tight, for a moment I found myself in Kashmir.
In my stay in Chandigarh I got awed by the ultra-rich people and the pompous lifestyle they lead. I find whomever I chat all were proud of Chandigarh. Some were saying it is the city with highest per capita income, lowest crime level and the cleanest city in India. And I find all these were absolutely correct.
At last the day came when I had to head towards Delhi. Knowing this visit would be my last visit, I with heavy heart so to remember everything, started gazing the buildings of the Sector 17 and the beautiful lanes and the ebullient people.
An Idea from the Idea
Posted On Sunday, April 29, 2007 at at 21:53 by rk rishikesh sinhaWhat would you do to make an urgent call of the fact there is no outgoing facilities in your mobile? And it is very urgent. It is dead night at Delhi and you are outside your home and the door is closed. Will you bang incessantly on the door or call in high pitch to awaken your parents? It is sure you will try both, but after trying hard you don’t get any positive response. Again, what would you do? Imagine! TRY hard.
Of his profession in the hotel industry, my brother had to come at dead night. Usually, someone from our family, task taken by my sister, awakes whole night to receive him. A call from him alerts her that he has come and her work is over by opening the gate. This followed by watching television and browsing the net by him.
But on this very day or say un-fateful night, he came at his usual time; he banged the door and screamed aloud. But he didn’t get any respite from his maiden effort. After waiting for an hour, someone came to help him out. Imagine who would be the one, who appeared in the tiny lanes of Delhi and in the midst of unscrupulous neighbour, and who took him out from the slough of depression of not able to enter at night, so devoid of sleep. The sleep that can log out anyone’s active thinking booting process.
His all attempts failed miserably which was always armed with teeth with a mobile phone and all possible gadgets. But on that day, he was not having the outgoing facility subscribed to Idea mobile service. He called the customer service of the Idea cellular service and narrated his agonized state.
And the sentient customer service personnel responded maturely, emotively with a human touch. Someone receiving your call at 2.00 a.m and in a sweet tone and showing empathy to your concern is really a matter to write and publicized. This only happens in the Mughal kingdom, Delhi and in the customer service of the Idea cellular service personnel who are not refusenik in nature. Quite opposite to the merciless cacophony projected about the Delhi and the pesky, unresponsive so-so customer service.
The customer service personnel called at first to my brother’s mobile and it went unattended. Again he called my brother who was waiting for his call to take another number. This time he gave my sister’s mobile number. My sister who was sleeping dead like a log picked up the phone, so this way the night that seemed to be long and dreary ended this way.
So, next time you wanted to buy any mobile service available in the market, bet on Idea service so that you remain connected every time, everywhere.
Yes, Success comes with a price tag
Posted On Sunday, April 08, 2007 at at 22:48 by rk rishikesh sinhaTheir story started as usual like we all witness in our lives. But rarely it happens in a usual looking chit-chat in chatrooms and later to incessant phone calls taking the colour of love.
The girl Anamika whom I knew from my graduation days was a shy, wearing heart in her sleeves type of girl. She was smart and intelligent in every aspect. She hardly had any body in her immediate friends circle. She used to shy away specially from boys, may be because of her inherent choosy nature or social/family objections to mingle with the opposite sex. She hardly comes to terms with human creatures, living quietly in her own world with her own thoughts. She always dreamt of becoming a journalist, a reputed journalist. She was inspired by the thoughts of her idol Swami Vivekananda . But... her wings of dreams were tried to cut in every possible manner by her parents and by her immediate relatives. The cruelty and the barbarism she suffered, frankly speaking, I heard only in the films and in the books. She was tortured mentally, physically and her wishes were trampled mercilessly in her own home, by her own people.
The saddest part of the story is that all this was happening when I was her major part of life. Call it greatness of womanhood; she was sailing in the turbulent water of life but she was caring me by calling me, instructing me about my career and in every possible way a friend could expect to do. On the other hand, she was just another 'friend' for me, a caring and devoted friend. I like her, as she was different from other pesky girls those who were around me in my college days. Boys are really emotionless fools, a buffoon in reading feelings. Their eyes are veiled by maya. And I am the one in the list of fools......Though Anamika doesn't believe so.
Swayam, a virtual anonymous called her, enchanted her, at least for a moment made her forget her 'then present' tumultuous time. His call appeared as a musical note in her life, he was an unseen angel. His voice was lively, compassionate and full of life, creating a magic that would wash away all the sorrows from her life during the period of their conversation. Series of calls amounted to thousands. She enjoyed his jovial disposition. Dreams were shared between them. He offered his helping hand as a good friend to Anamika. He promised never to part ways from her. Mumbai, the city of dreams, like many others was Anamika's dream destination too. Say it the coincidence - Swayam was from Mumbai. He arranged lodging and a job for her in the big city. A friend doing so much for a girl in an unknown city is really praiseworthy, hardly ever seen especially in metros where relatives want to get rid of their relatives at the earliest possible way. He became an anchor in her life. He was her friend, a guardian and her soul mate. Not a single day left in their lives in Mumbai when they weren't in touch with each other. Reliance-to-Reliance free call - came as a big prize. They were in touch 24 X 7. In a big city like Mumbai, brimming with all walks of people, Swayam and Anamika were the two people who were always together. Their love took confirmation even from Anamika's parents. Her parents liked Swayam very much.
Anamika started working in a newspaper. Though she was lowly salaried, she enjoyed each and every moment of her life as Swayam was always there with her. With passing time, their love blossomed acquiring new colour and fragrance.
The nice part of the story is that the dream both have seen in terms of professional achievements took root from Anamika's fetching a job in a reputed television channel. By the time, their association in Mumbai had already elapsed one and a half year. And the bitter part of the story is that Swayam, who was certain to get the job of a graphic designer in a television channel, lost his dream on the way due to great 26/7 floods of Mumbai. His recruitment got cancelled for a institutional mess in the company.
Someone had rightly said "success is sweetest for those who never succeed". No doubt, for Anamika, getting into the citadel of journalism was success and she was on cloud nine, coming as a medium to answer back those who had doubts in her capabilities. But she had to bite the bullet of success when she didn't receive any positive response from Swayam even a small gesture of offering congratulation for getting the dream job.
His blurred, low, unenthusiastic comments on her new venture was killing. The long association of two souls, two-success came to abrupt halt. There were no phone calls concerning about each other. And some, which were made, were dead like stone, carrying stony look and tempo.
Anamika, never in her dreams ever thought that dreams comes with a price tag. Now, friends what will you choose – success, which gives recognition, sense of belongingness, or love, the eternal love. Ponder………..
About me, well friends………..
SPARE TIME FOR WOMEN
Posted On Friday, March 09, 2007 at at 03:23 by rk rishikesh sinha
The International Women’s Day on March 8 passed as usual, without much hype and hoopla, and fanfare as we all witness in and around us on ‘V’ (Valentines) Day. For million of women, urban or rural, besides being the basis of a family, strength of the community and the essence of the future, must have been grappling for a secured sphere in the men’s world of hegemonic tendencies and machismo.
What we all have seen on this very day – a full page advertisement with close – up photographs of political leaders coming in the last page basking schemes, laws and legislation for the protection of women and major policy initiatives undertaken by the government.
Can’t the concerned ministry could carry out a front full page advertisement as we all see in the consecutive days in our so called national dailies. The truth is: government could do, perhaps much better execute, but sorry it is again the XY chromosomes factor dominating the XX chromosomes.
If there have been a genuine concern, the X, Y, Z ministries, companies, forum or organization could have for a sake run a hour- long programme in television and on print. But we all end up seeing full page advertisement of companies in print and in the television.
The open secret is that like V Day craze with potential market orientation, the women’s day doesn’t come even near to it. A particular day’s success and failure is coherently directly related to market. And the thumb rule is that forces of market always rule, so are the media. Something that we all must accept or acquiesce. As we all know, governments are synonymous to problem; if there is no problem, there would be no government, they are intertwined and interchangeable.
Coming to media which is considered as the fourth pillar of democracy, as far as my experience goes is not much better place for them. In television, where the pace of work is staggeringly fast, it is a common feature people falling over their colleagues. But the question is ‘how’ people fall over other, say to a lady colleague.
The whole nation awakes and sleep with the chubby angel faced news anchor. But how many of us know while being smilingly delivering the news, the mental agony the news anchor is undergoing. She is being rebuked, insulted by her immediate senior, and it goes uninterruptedly when we all are glued to the live news. That’s the beauty and strength of women, despite juggling between the two worlds – visible and invisible as in tv, she excels.
Here is an incident which really jerked and jolted me, and I still feel pity of myself. It was my first stint in my professional career in tv. I was struggling hard coming in terms with the tv scriptwriting and with the related peripherals involved. With the responsibility of putting live news on air, virtually on a single day I was made a man from a novice, greenhorn student, who has just taken birth from the mass communication classes of the university.
Hardly one month had elapsed from the day of my joining, what I saw, I still fail to forget. The senior video editor was callously rebuking, threatening and insulting the lady librarian, who was in responsibility of the thousand of cassettes, in front of all junior and senior people, as he has found out a soft target to show his male machismo of power and ‘tv’ ego. For a moment, I thought, someone will come forward. But no body stepped in. From haywire a thought crossed my mind that was surely in the capacity of myself being a man, I can request him to lower down his loud and shriek voice. But, the very thought remained a mere thought, devoid of action. The very next day, she left the job and nobody cared to inquire about her. She lost in the pace of work schedule.
Just ponder on this real story. How many of such similar incidents takes place in our working environment, they are hardly reported. Just think for an moment the mental agony she would have suffered. Think, but also act.
Holi Hai!
Posted On Monday, March 05, 2007 at at 00:13 by rk rishikesh sinha
In this festival, one comes out from his or her imposed shell. One starts smiling on strangers and on neighbours, to whom you have hardly cared due to scarcity of time or with your indomitable ego.
The mere feeling – how it is played and how it starts rolling, gives us a true and sweet aspect of the festival, Holi. The festival makes one person to take a step and the collective steps of many, colours everyone’s life. It is not the simple colour you smear on others that excites us, but the ‘collectiveness’ in one purpose that accelerate us.
Holi is also the only day to impose yourself on others. You use every ruse; use every weapon available in your armoury to attack on others. It may be your bare hand, basket full of water, pichkaris or balloons filled with water, which comes as a weapon of mass destruction.
This weapon keeps on changing with the place, the locality and the lane where it is played. Places where space is abundant and surface is plain, pichkaris and bare hands are the best options. Participation in such virtual war zone reminds me of my days in Guwahati (Assam) and Srinagar (Jammu and Kashmir). Whereas other weapons like pichkaris and balloon filled with water, first time I experienced it in Delhi.
In the space starved city like Delhi where buildings are glued to each another, attacking with balloons is very easy and efficient war technique. The zone appears as a theatre of guerilla warfare, you don’t know the position of the attackers. At the end of the day, it is full of full of fun and excitement. It seems, the opposite building starts talking in the language of colours, otherwise the same building give us the stubborn impression.
So, haven’t you ever felt while playing Holi the whole day, you have transpired your feelings and give them an open invitation that you are human and not an alien living in a far place that is light years away. Happy Holi! Just you think over it.
The ultimate respite - maps
Posted On Wednesday, February 28, 2007 at at 02:02 by rk rishikesh sinha
Usually, we have seen domestic and international tourist carrying maps in their hand. But, there is another breed of people, presently, which in the search of jobs, attending an interview, visiting their friends or relatives lands in a new place.
With the kismat (fate) written somewhere else, many youngsters head towards the metros like Delhi, Mumbai, Kolkata, Bangalore and Chennai for studies or jobs. You might have noticed, generally these travelers flocking towards cities do not carry map of the destined city and even do not bother paying attention to the trouble-free tools.
The reason not carrying city maps could be cited from the fact that people were earlier more localized in their respective area. They had a limited area. They end-up their life at the most in a 50 kilometer radius.
And now with the supply (tier II cities) and demand (in metros) factor burgeoning with the distance and with easily accessible transport system, getting into a city has become more or less trouble-free affair. But, trouble starts popping up when you physically lands in the area. You start asking array of questions despite knowing the fact that the person to whom you are asking may, possibly, be a naïve like you.
As India being an advice-free country, fortunately asking a question is generously welcomed. And somehow, ultimately without any trouble you get to your place or house of accommodation safely and securely.
Another daunting task starts when the very next day you have to go to another place within the city say for attending an interview. You come to a bus stop and you find most of the co-passengers are like you and perhaps uncooperative. You start accusing your fate and become perplexed with the mere thought to attend the interview on time.
At this moment, a city map comes handy and it leases a new life to your shattered confidence. The city map can reprieve you from such confusing and tumultuous time. Just looking at the map, you could come to know the next possible place which is nearer to your venue of interview. Moreover, after running a cursory glance on the map the question you will be asking would be knowledgeable and not vague. You will start seeing your travel three dimensionally.
In addition to it, by doing so – reading the map, you will not only be clear about those places whose names are repetitive and confusing like Ambedkar Nagar in Delhi, but you will be saving yourself from falling prey to these names. In Delhi, there are three names by the name Ambedkar Nagar.
Having a map becomes more enriching and exciting when after you wind up your interview, you come out and see on the map; Shiddhi Vinayak temple is nearer from the venue of the interview say in Worli Seaface. You pay your obeisance and you succeed, definitely the credit goes to the map from where you referred and located the temple.
A case in point, if one finds himself at Maligaon in Assam, visit Kamakhaya Temple, it is nearer; at Cannaught Place in Delhi, visit the tourist places like India Gate, Palika Bazaar and Jantar Mantar. You will never regret.
So, next time you travel, don’t forget to carry a map neatly mentioning about hotels, hospitals, cinema halls, roads, police station and information centre.
