Die-hard dreamer

Check out the appended text ** at the end of the post. First things first, I never liked Ram. I had questions on every act of his ever since I learnt about Ramayan. First, the bits and pieces of the epic came as accompaniments with each morsel my mom so cleverly put into my mouth. Next came the TV serial. While people put agarbattis on their TV-sets for Arun Govil, I argued that Ram was no ways the Purushottam he was made out to be. The agni-pariksha was the biggest proof of it. As a kid, I guess I had more courage. I voiced my opinion on forums that considered it sacrilegious to talk ill of Ram or any other god. God is god, I was told. Of course, I didn't buy that argument. During numerous discussions with friends and some not-so-rigid family members, I found out that I was not the only one who thought the way I was thinking. And my mom seemed to be the biggest critic of gods. She is an ardent devotee, yet she has had her questions about the myriad mythological stories. In...

Someone I know called herself a nostalgia queen when she gave a caption to one of her old pics on Facebook. I loved the tag, and I thought it fit me well too. Many of my happy moments are when I have memories for company. And in most of such moments, I have another person for company – sometimes, the one who has been a part of the memory and at other times, someone who has absolutely no connection to my memory. I get so carried away when I talk about my memories that I expect my audience to enjoy it the way I do. Anyways, this post is not about my nostalgic side but about a part of my life I get nostalgic about frequently. My first few years were spent in Patna. Ma used to tell me about this special day in summer she had been experiencing since she was a child. She used to get extremely nostalgic on this day. Her nostalgia was very pleasant; it always succeeded in painting a beautiful picture for me. This picture had more than just colour; it was livid. It was clearly 3-D, well no, i...