Sid-O-Scope

Over the last decade every year that went by had its fair share of troubles. The entire decade of 2001 to 2010 was one bad news over another. The year 2010 was the pressure building up in the masses and for the better of humanity, 2012 blew up the lid. Was it because of the end of world scare or the hardship of the masses, 2011 was the year of revolt . 2012 was a celebrity year to begin with, having featured in many hollywood films and religious dogmas . When 2013 began, it had heavy expectations from everyone having followed the footsteps of celebrity and powerful predecessors. 2013 had a slow start to begin with. Of all the things, 2013 started on a Tuesday, which was the most confusing start a new year could ever have. The french military began intervention of the Northern Mali conflict in the month of Jan. The month also saw the beginning of a prolong India-Pakistan border conflicts. Nothing major happened in the month of January, except for the big part of my first birthday

Its been a while since it happened, and whatever happened was not good, yet the spirit on Mumbai is not shaken and Mumbai still stands foiling all the plans of terrorist. Salute to thee the city of lights, still standing erect amidst all plight. Poem written as a tribute to the mumbai city on 26/11/2009 and to that every individual who dropped a shed of tear for the wounded and shaheed Indians. Their day begins before the sun rise, The young, the old, the strong and the wise, Their feet bound to the clock’s tick, They start each day with a strong kick. They are the mumbaikars, the busy bee, Why I salute them you will see. They always climb the local trains, In the sun or even in the rains, They race against time, And with the clock their feet rhyme. They are the mumbaikars, the worthy lot, Living in the city humid and hot. Every one has his own life, With arrogant son or over smart wife, They bear mean bosses or bad teach

In a small hut located in a little distance from Kurushetra, a great tension was brimming. The greatest warriors on earth were holed up in the small hut at the edge of Kurushetra. Bhima was quietly eating his rice with Krishna, their advisor. Next to them, the giant mace that would soon slay more than hundred people in a single day was resting peacefully waiting for the opportunity to attack. Krishna had no weapons next to him, he simply kept his flute and the conch on the dining table and enjoying the rice. Arjuna was pacing across the room nervous the bow and arrow that infamously had pierced every target his eyes had set out for was resting on the floor, calm and peaceful. "What are we fighting for? And who are we fighting against?"Arjuna spoke nervously, "Our own Pitahma? our grand-father? Our own teacher, who taught us warfare and our own cousins?" "Should we be excited, should we be worried, should we be happy?" Krishna quietly gulped anoth

Part 2 of 3 of Landing in Thailand. Read the Part 1, Getting Stamped about preparing for the journey from India. There is one thing you should do when you travel to Pattaya (Thailand) if you are a hardcore vegetarian (who cannot bear the smell of meat and prefer separate utensils for food), don't travel to Pattaya. Although I do not know why vegetarians leave their own house if they have so much food problems, if you still do wish to travel to Pattaya this article gives few tips on how to survive. I should tell you at times like these, the fact that you are an Indian acts like a thing of pride. Doesn't matter that the passport you had visa stamped few minutes ago was made by paying something extra to an agent or the fact that your driving license is responsible for the most corruption in your homeland, the fact that these documents are there in your pocket gives you a warm comforting feeling of your belonging. Last time when I left I had stepped outside the Bangkok a

India is my country. All Indians are my brothers and sisters. The vague memory I have from my school days is singing the national pledge without giving a thought about its words or what it actually meant. When the boys hit puberty, a most common running joke was about all Indians becoming sisters (not sure if the same joke ran on the girls side). The school got over and we moved on to college, people forgot the national anthem, let alone the pledge. Life hit hard and fast, it was survival of the fittest in the wild. The rosy picture got over and we realized by the time we will complete our education, there are absolutely no jobs available for those anything less than an engineer or a doctor. It was dog vs dog world out there and survival was imperative. Entering corporate world was not a big relief since 3000 of other people were fighting for the same thing. So all in all, surviving in India was a big fight and if all Indians are my brothers and sisters, it was Cain and Abel all ove

"Normal people don't have enemies," proclaimed my Wife as I sat down to my monthly revisit of the enemies list, "But then again," she concluded, "You are not normal, are you?" she went back to her daily routine of sleeping, one of the most normal things that I ignored. As I sat there revisiting the list, I realized an important thing, the list comprised of people that could be classified into generic categories and groups. Every person has a set of enemies in their life, if you believe in daily soap, the lists starts from your relatives. However, I have some arch enemies that pop out from the corner where they hide and irritate me beyond imagination like those who poke me on Facebook every night, now there is no harm done in poking anyone but then it sends a mixed message or those who stop me in the middle of the road to tell about their babies, I mean, I get it, you made a live human being, awesome, clap, clap, clap but then do I have to know

Few things happened this friday, as I write this blog post the verdict on the horrific rape that happened in Delhi was out. Now, everyone who is anyone knows about the verdict, the names of the four rapist and the crime they committed, so I won't go into all that. I am no lawyer neither am I to judge any judges decisions. However, I did follow the news debate that went on after that. The debate was same old one and continued the blame game on what exactly caused the rape. I am not going into that debate either, a lot of things have been said about it already. One comment however caught my attention, to make a point, the lawyer mentioned 'People who live in together' and in the same breath talked about 'Keeping the men and women separate, like it was done in olden days'. To be very honest, he was not entirely wrong. He is simply followed the old school of thought that is being hammered into the brain of every Indian mind since childhood. Stay in your limits,

He walked the old dusty road again after so many years. He remembered the place very well, so many memories etched into his mind. The old forgotten dusty lane, which was never urbanized by any political agenda. The same old little house which stood the test of time for so many years. He remembered his last walk on this road. He was trying to prevent the flood flowing from his nose and running his sore bumps with his free hand. He knew this return was uncalled for, unexpected but it was the one he had to make. He did not know how she would react, would she still be happy on seeing him or will she even recognize him? The crumbled paper clutched in his hand was his identity for so many years. It was a his ticket to existence, his own. The bell was in his reach now, he was a few seconds away in uncovering the truth. If he wanted to turn back, this was the last threshold. Funny thing was, even after so many days, his hand shivered at this stage. Would he face her? Face

Note: This story is written for Storizen magazine. I was watching the independence day parade when a little girl waved at the old man sitting in the audience. What was the man thinking? Who was he? Her grandfather? Did he have any role in our independence? My grandfather always used to talk about how he contributed for freedom struggle. An imaginary story was formed about what happened between the power walk and that you will be reading below. Do give your feedback and comment. The independence day parade was going on in full swing in the local school. Parents did not fail to notice a four year old waving at the audience. Couple of the parents turned their head to notice an 70-80 year old man sitting at the back of the stadium waving at the girl back. Music continued playing as the toddler's sang national anthem and gave a salute to the national flag. The old man looked at the flag and smiled, 67 years of freedom, ah freedom. He took a deep breath of the fresh air and g

It was over, truly over. Everything that was anything was gone. His life was gone. There was no hope at all. Aditya Singhal had given up on his life. As his legs walked towards the infamous suicide point, he kept murmuring to himself, 'It is over.' Aditya Singhal led a very fulfilling life. Born to the politically powerful Singhal family with a silver spoon in his mouth. The Singhals were very close to a very famous family ruling the country more than 20 years. Aditya enjoyed a very good, lazy and egoistic life. His tables turned when his powerful father died of an heart attack leaving him a butt load of wealth but very less knowledge of how to use it. The decline of Aditya Singhal was followed religiously in daily news paper. Right from his scandalous marriage to his deadly narcotics addiction. It took three years for Aditya leg to drag him to the suicide point hitting a new low in his life. "It will be over soon," Aditya reminded yourself, "Everyth