Maybe, The World Needs To Allow Trump’s Jerusalem Plan

Trump’s decision on Jerusalem is disruptive. It breaks ranks from a status quo through decades that has done nothing except half installing a state afloat on donations and perpetuate religious wars of the direct and other kinds.

Every ME nation has found traction in this heavily funded status quo, fueling turf conflicts, experimental battles, conjuring state positions where there were none, and entrenching those lies and religious rabidity. Bigger powers have joined in the peculiarly fertile emotional trails to animosity because the consequences have been so ghastly and solutions have been made to seem impossibly complicated.

Maybe, the world needs to allow Trump’s plan. It has been opposed by almost every quarter because, it seems, they each suspect that it might just about succeed in putting the satanic genie back into nowhere, the never to be found again bottle.

Palestinians, as a people, have proved horribly inadequate at raising a state for themselves, setting themselves to work, and building up an economy that serves them and the world about. Maybe, they just need to vacate the area in favour of an enclave in Saudi Arabia and other “Muslim” and “Islamic” countries and get to living, being and doing what good humans everywhere do. They haven’t made the area any better, prosperous and peaceful, since they got their autonomy decades ago. As Trump says, peace in Palestine, and in Middle East overall, is as far from the horizon as it was when he was a kid.

The Palestine people, it seems to me, have simply gotten too used to conflicting constantly and are now totally addicted to easy aid and grants. In any family, such behaviour would be construed as irresponsible conduct and plain incompetence.

I hence believe that all diplomatic diarrheal ideation must stop and pen pushed faux liberal banners must be lowered for a long while, please.

Below : Night time Ben Yehuda Street in Jerusalem



Bengal Revolutionaries : Their Secret Oath

“In the name of the great leaders, the God-sent apostles, I do (hereby) swear.


  1. “That from to-day I take up the task of setting up Dharma Rajya in India by removing and doing away with all obstacle, I do (hereby) offer my life to achieve this end.
  2. “That I shall not care for those that are against this aim and Dharma (religion), be they swadeshi or foreigner.
  3. “That I shall not do anything that is opposed to the aims of our mandali(community).
  4. “That I shall bow down and carry out all orders of the leaders of the mandali.
  5. “That I shall never disclose the secret orders and resolutions of the mandali at the sacrifice of my life.
  6. “That I shall bear all difficulties without being moved and run at the sacrifice of whatever I have — wealth, life, honour, reputation. I shall do my duty in regard to you.
  7. “That if any way I dishonour or break this vow, let the curses of the great patriots, ancestors, and of God that knows the heart soon overtake and destroy me.”

16th May 1908.

via Bengal Revolutionaries : Their Secret Oath

Tuning Through The Humdrum Into The Wondrous Immensity Of Our Lifetime


I don’t know what does it, but I feel like the longer we are focused on our daily life, the less we are able to think some of those “big thoughts,” the ones that make us feel like we are learning about life. I have recently had a surprising amount of this tunnel vision, getting […]

via Monday Motivation: Thinking About the Past to Inspire Future Action — Messy Mapmaker

I’ve changed the title of this shared blogpost, which also states why I find it important enough to share it on mine. The fervour is obvious but the method goes beyond it.

Life ! Damned Life…

You have much, and far too much to leave me at peace. Your song and dance, cry and despair, effort, effort, effort, and that pirouette to chance turns…

You rise in my thought like a leaven bread that holds all manner of meanings of the moment, when I want none. I want none of the sounds you bring to me; none of the melodies and none of those harsh rhythms. No meaning, please, and not any of these these thoughts that hang and hover, waiting for me to move and leave a dark patch of its loaded impression when I do not. Damned if I do and damned if I don’t, aren’t I ?

Stupid life over the life filtering through the curtains in the morning : nice and imperceptible, quiet light of being just, and no more. Just. Just for the witness, still, witnessing its bloom and ingress within, illuminating ever so gradually, even more and further. Just the light, the light within, and no more. Just this presence filtering in, growing.


Aye, life ! There, I differentiate you from being, as it is, with me and without me. Unlike you, who must have me on a scale of more and less, here and there, this and that. Like a driver prying me up through the karmic preserve you have banked in me.

Life is, I admit, like a viscous, intermingled and sticky ooze that draws me in and immerses, perforce overtakes and overwhelms me. It is the lover that demands to be loved. There is no freedom for me until I do.

Being is as it is, I now know, as a sparkling effervescence passing over me ever so softly and unannounced, and unacknowledging until I choose to beseech it with an unburdened and unoccupied sense exclusively aware of its presence. It is the one I choose, want to be chosen and be loved by.

Wait for me, Being, till after I have dealt with Life, this damned life !

UPA Years Compare With Emergency Months In Their Repugnance

…by public despair and horror they caused and, looking back now, on account of sharing much of the same effects if not their causal reasons. They both spell tall why the two should never be allowed to happen again !

The anguished mind took to Twitter with a vengeance, to inform and connect with fellow twitterati. On Dec 06, 2011, I listed my tweets on this blog, and then again a few days later. That urgency about the quality of governance, as it then prevailed, spilled over to Quora, the newly launched social media platform for, excuse me, “intelligent and thinking” people.

Such was the constancy of my preoccupation with the governance quality dished out to public during UPA years that the same Quora post, brought to this blog in May 2012, was again put up here a year later. It was gather public attention to our grave common plight, the severe shortchanging then being bogged over us and the nation’s treasury literally being bypassed of its revenue, serruptitiously bagged away instead to vaults abroad and into personal coffers.

The blog pages linked in the write above may hold a dubious historical value but, I can confirm, they are authentic diary entries of a watchful common citizen who was anxiously eager — extremely, almost desperately — to see the country’s governance take a new turn for the better.

This blogpost would be of interest to the millennials among us, the strapping 17 — 20 year olds, who do not much appreciate the fervour behind our #CongressMuktBharat calls and are just well placed post May-2014 upon BJP’s resurgence, NDA’s governance and PM Modi’s leadership at the helm of nation’s affairs.

Remember. Never forgive. Never forget.


The Rebel Heart

O my days ! they pass in bits and parts

And nights availed in pieces and shreds.

Heaven’s cover on us accords

How we be, in life endowed.

I’ve wanted long to know this heart

And heard it snigger upon each shot

Like a freer loud to my failure again

Life’s rout, loss, out shut and tamed.

images (1)

What care I though, of these defeats

Their potshots and attacks oblique ?

Move I must, walk on and keep

The beau I have after my dream

And this unrest my way

Stalking ever since.

My story starts but goes nowhere

Without that name…my paramour

Who rests dissolved and is about spread

From within the folds of my dark mane.

Ill-repute ? Yes, I will embrace

I’m lost no more nor misplaced

Why must I not heed the call I hear

Of the youth in me, its lovely smear ?

Why hold back from its joyous yields

Its lay happy, permeated intimacy ?

Not all destinies are easy and straight

Life’s bliss some must snatch, then pay.

Flowing tears pause to remind the eye

It’s not the goblet that melts in wine !

Is the day over and evening’s silence set ?

Or groom’s party on the boat drenched ?

I hear no dirge from the river shore

Not a howl rips, no cries rend the air !

Vande Mataram : Its Roots

In 1771, 14 years after the Battle of Plassey, about 150 Hindu Sannyasi renunciates were put to death by the British Company troops, for no apparent reason. Was it because looked so different ? Was it because they cared little of these bloated colonial occupiers of the land ? We will never know. But the incident led to a violent retaliation, especially in Natore in Rangpur, now in present-day Bangladesh. Some historians argue that the particular reaction never gained popular support and hence could not be considered a major cause behind the very suggestive phrasing of it as “Sannyasi rebellion.”

The other two movements involved a sect of Hindu ascetics, the Dasnami Naga sannyasis. It was alleged that they engaged in lending out money on interest while passing through the region and collected it on their way back. The British looked upon this as an encroachment on their domain and declared the Dasnamis as brigands, liable for criminal offense.

Dasnami Naga sannyasis as brigands, criminals !? Imagine the furore such appelations would cause among lay population who held them in high regard and actually looked forward to their occasional coming and going, as welcome happenings in their otherwise bland calender. But the British Company establishment not only arranged for prevention of such money gathering, which right they felt belonged to them, but also fortify setups to entirely stop their entry into the province. The whole propaganda may have been a cover, since a large body of people on the move, with appeal and loyalty among locals everywhere, would always be a challenge to a suspecting newly installed “government” and seem a possible threat to law and order administrators anywhere.

Most such clashes are recorded during the years following the great famine; but they continued sporadically up until 1802. The rebellion actually spread all over the province during those last three decades of 18th Century. Attempts by Company’s forces to prevent the sannyasis and fakirs from entering the province, or from collecting their money, met with resistance and fierce clashes often ensued. In these instances, the regime’s troops were not always victorious, inviting cheers from the oppressed population of the day. The Company’s hold was poor over territories in far-flung and forested areas of Birbhum and Midnapore districts, as a result of which it often faced reverses in their clash with Naga ascetics and suffered humbling losses.

The Sannyasi rebellion was the first of a series of revolts that the British faced in western districts of Bengal province, which included practically the whole of present-day eastern states of Bihar, Odisha and Paschim Banga. The Chuar Rebellion of Midnapore and Bankura took place 1798 – 99; Laik Rebellion in Midnapore extended through 1806 – 16; and the Santhal Revolt posed a severe task in 1855 – 56. Then the armed Indian struggle against the British occured, in 1857.

The inspiration the Sannyasi Rebellion gave to these uprisings is without doubt. The popular feeling it raised among people was later instituted in vernacular literature by India’s first modern novelist, Bankim Chandra Chatterjee. His novel, Ananda Math (Monastery Of Bliss), inspired many a rebel in early 20thCentury and its song, Vande Mataram, is since regarded as the National Song of India.


Rig Veda : “Make Us Better Than We Are.”

RV : 09-004

Dedicated to Soma Pavamana.

1. O Soma ! Flowing on thy way, win thou and conquer high renown;

And make us better than we are.

2 Win thou the light, win heavenly light, and all felicities;

And make us better than we are.

3 Win skillful strength and mental power. O Soma, drive away our foes;

And make us better than we are.

4 Ye purifiers, purify Soma for Indra, for his drink :

Make thou us better than we are.

5 Give us our portion in the Sun through thine own mental power and aids;

And make us better than we are.


6 Through thine own mental power and aid long may we look upon the Sun;

Make thou us better than we are.

7 Well-weaponed Soma, pour to us a stream of riches doubly great;

And make us better than we are.

8 As one victorious unsubdued in battle, pour forth wealth to us;

And make us better than we are.

9 Men have strengthened thee by worship, Pavamana, to prop the Law ! 

Make thou us better than we are.

10 O Indu, bring us wealth in steeds, manifold. quickening all life;

And make us better than we are.

One Morning My Dreams Came True…


One morning my dreams come true

The spring sun sought and hid

Breeze blew gutsy and cool

Birds chirped and hopped

And flew low

Cheering children

In the street below

Playing as if extending

Their overnight score.


 I savour the turn rare

Oneness strange

Conspicuous, scarce

In that gray light

And blessed overcast air :

Watching which I felt

I was the ball, the palm on it

The lad ready to throw

And the woman

Across the way, hanging clothes

And the house, eyeing sharp

The peers in time

And the fields even

In the distance

Wave back and smile

All sway to the tune same

Beautiful without art

Emerged out of blue

Neat and stark

As palpable one, suffused within

Distinct beings, as others seeming

But the same, the same

One without another

As it was then in me.

I stood startled

Without my wits

Just a heart swelled

Next to the one beating

And I sank in a chair

To gather myself

Recalled my name

The identity in pair

And withdrew safe

From overwhelming surfeit.

For a while next

I curled up in bed

Chewing the feel

Of throwing myself

On the rocks below

Down the gorge deep

Where the river roared

In gurgling abyss…

*   *   *

It occurred in a flash

When I raised myself

That I was forever cured

Of this little consciousness

Which caused the heat

Woke the fevers in me

Of wants excruciating

Like a malaise

Of broken dna.

I glide out to a walk

 Bouncing on steps

Side step the cock

And catch the path

By the tail on its hind

To wherever it led.

I feel the feet rise and fall

And that I am wonderfully lost

In the wilderness there

When, just then, I sight

The bend up high, against the sky

Which, trudging up

Shows an old man squat

On a stone slightly warmed

Of the sun’s tilted rays

Adding to the grey

In the spectacled face

Radiating naïve charm.

He lit up in greeting

Chin on the stick

Eying the hilltops

Hairs waving in the breeze

In a union quiet

Of being converged

In the cold and the sun

Letting life be merged

Sensing in the space inner

The valley in space

For a moment too long

In communion, I wait…

Until he gave a heave

And stood up to leave

For the climb onward

On slow bounds steady

With a drive just right

Grace ample, poised fluid.

We talk some but just

Revealing our transparence

To sights pure

Without thought

Feeling the beauty and joy

In our minds open, accessed.

Being one, the same

Involved luminous

In forms different

And in each recess

The same, the same

In all creatures and things

With their features diverse.

*    *    *

I did then allow in

The banished hopes

Desperations true

And their real impress.

I let the body lead

Unbound the mind free

For empowered fullness complete

In health, light and spree.

*    *    *          *    *    *

Journal : Kalinjar Fort

The Kalinjar Fort in Bundelkhand is an entire history in itself, a story through over 6000 human generations in recorded past alone. You cannot think of it without the convergence it includes – of people and events from the wide, wide world within the sub-continent and from abroad – over a span of one and a half millenia, during which developments in East, South, West and North West of India, Asia Minor, Middle East and Central Asia, and in Europe, as far as British Isles, gravitated to this now rather nondescript place.

That is too much of history, we note in astonishment, and far too many people of all kinds to be converging on this quiet forested periphery of one the oldest mountain ranges on earth – the Vindhyas. What accentuates our wonder are the legendary architecture the Fort and other ruins from antiquity in the region present, the exquisite temples and irreplicable sculptures at Khajuraho mere 100 km away, the economic and political significance it acquired, and the culture it spawned over the centuries as the Indian civilisation itself evolved from the ” Golden ” Gupta era through the Hun, Saka and Muslim invasions, the Turk and Mughal reigns in medieval times, the spirited movements it saw in British period, the remarkably endowed persons it raised and the rich traditions it fostered, and the fabulous hearsays natives in its vicinity still talk about !

Though associated principally with the Chandels and that fantastically temple – dense “city” of Khajuraho, from 10th Century through the 13th, the ‘ Kalinjara ‘ connection goes back to the Kalachuris of Elephanta and Ellora caves, the Rashtrakuts of Deccan, and further on to the Gujarat Parmars, the Kannauj Pratihars and Chauhans, the Vijaynagar empire, the Mughals, Afghans, the English, the armed rebellions against British occupation and for Indian independence, and to Mahatma Gandhi.

It takes the wind out of me and leaves my heart brimming with humanity…

via Journal : Kalinjar Fort

Telling Ourself. Telling Pakistan

“That is what we need to tell ourself : the Pakistan problem, its unacceptibility, and our well-considered strategy and action plan to resolve it. That too is precisely what we should be telling the Govt in Pakistan : govern the army, the education system, the agreed social values, and the citizens who reside within it.

“It is not for this author to suggest the specifics of the way forward. The new Government of India is already seized of the matter. It is the inanity propagated in the media and blabbered by conditioned minds that must cease.”


via Telling Ourself. Telling Pakistan

Alternate History : The Great Indic Migration

“…Greek historians inform us that the Indians during the time of the Mauryas remembered more than 150 generations of kings spanning over 6,000 years. (We assume that these lists remember the prominent kings only.) The earliest calendar in India was centennial, with a cycle of 2,700 years. Called the Saptarsi calendar, it is still in use in several parts of India. Its current beginning is taken to be 3076 BC. Notices by the Greek historians Pliny and Arrian suggest that, during the Mauryan times, the calendar used in India began in 6676 BC. It is very likely that this was the Saptarsi calendar with a beginning of 6676 BC.”

Dr Subhas Kak delves deep into hoary ancient times on the Indian subcontinent and cites references to the Great Indic Migrations and textual evidence thereof. Read on at the link below.

via Alternate History : The Great Indic Migration

Heart’s Despair

Moon’s solitary, sky’s in itself

My heart’s lonely each time we met;

Hope’s dead

Even the stars have set

Just the reek shimmers

Of this self.


Is this life we call, really ?

This breathing mere 

Being alive just 

Body lonely, spirit in dumps ?


Even partners I met on way 

Vowing in togetherness

We trod alone, in parted worlds

 Each for own, to ourselves.

images (1)

Beyond these lights 

Now off and on

The house all alone

Empty, forlorn

In endless wait

With eyes glazed

Long past I am gone

Yet looks on

For absent steps

On overgrown lane.


Insist why, my dear

For my life’s tale ?

Its weaves are bland

Of joyless strands…


~ Meena Kumari, my paraphrased rendering…

How Am I A Realist ?

Seriously. Sincerely.

What do I tell younger members of the prevailing generation, why do I think and view matters differently ? How do I say to my kids that I am a realist, not necessarily aligned with pragmatists, though I am more likely to concur with the latter than with an ideologist, of whatever hue ?

Well, my dears… One, and foremost : the best among available options is good enough for me. Call it the least worst of the evils, I will not be swayed a millimeter towards anything radical, an ideal you might pitch for. For me, an ideology crafted in the mooning mind is not worth the wind I occasionally let out, which little pass at least leaves me so much the better.

Two : the word perfection, sounding so profound, means little to me. Which, may I add, does not make me in the least sloppy, careless or callous, or less mindful and conscientious. There is no perfection that cannot be futher perfected, no best that cannot be bettered. Doing one’s best or to the best of one’s ability, within the constraints, sounds about right to me. I still remember the salesman, at an electronics goods counter in Singapore, asking a boastful customer rather deflatingly : What is your best, sir ?

Three : promises and plans sound as good to my ears as any other’s. But I do not hold my breath for it to come true. Truthfully, my reaction would soon turn sceptical, even into disbelief, and I am sure to consign the entire matter to the forgotten bin until it becomes worthy of resurrection upon evidence of effective effort. So, professional talkers, the glibbers, PR and advertising industry people, and politicians… Beware. This is one nut that will not be cracked by your words and beautiful presentations.

Four : when people use words like always, never, or any absolutes, they just arouse my suspicion of everything in the offering…

But you get drift, my dear. Which is how I am a realist, not why. As to why, well, let’s just say that I like walking the earth. What the astronauts do is not even interesting to me. So, what choice do I have ?

Except, that I will accept all of what I will otherwise refuse and refute, if you pre introduce yourself and declare yourself to be a romantic; or, if all of it were to relate to your person and concerns no one else in effect; or, if you do not expect or solicit belief at the very start… We both can have a laugh.