Skeptical Thoughts

(Pic credits: www.thequotes.in) Since everyone is riding on the Justin Beiber wave, selling their kidneys and souls, dying to get the tickets to that elusive concert, I thought why not take this opportunity and talk about depression and killing oneself. Because that's what most people are going to do after the concert. "He killed himself. He must be a coward." We've often heard this phrase being uttered by many. People who didn't even know the person, judging the heck out the them, after their death. Maybe. Perhaps he is a coward. Or perhaps he is a brave heart. It's all a matter of perspective. There's a general societal notion that one who kills himself is a coward. One who's timid and doesn't know how to fightback. But is it really so? Do folks who kill themselves consider themselves as cowards and losers? Is suicide really an act of faint-heartedness? There are no specific answers to this question. But I often ask myself, why is it t...

(Pic Credits: quotefancy.com) A chirping sparrow flew towards the old banyan tree and sat in his nest, cozying against the settling evening. The tree had stood in the farm since ages. It had withstood rain, storm, unimaginable natural calamities and atrocities of time as well. So primordial, that tree now formed the soul of the farm. It had witnessed everything. The warm gentle breeze flew southwards and the sunlight had toned itself down. The faintly visible crescent moon was now hanging desolately in the blue eastern sky while the sun was gently sinking towards nothingness. The farmer was now done with his day's toil and was packing off his belongings. He put the tiffin-box in his rag satchel with the insecticide container latched onto his back. Then he went to get the bullocks, who were busy grazing, munching on the soft green grass. He bought both of them near the cart and started to fasten them to it. The bullock-cart was now almost ready as he loaded the stack of hay ...

"Some people seem to fade away but then when they are truly gone, it's like they didn't fade away at all." ~ Bob Dylan. (Pic Credits: Rardul Shane) It was a Saturday evening and the sun was partly relished by the hungry mountains. The palm trees were swaying with the gently flowing wind which also tickled the wisps of my long gray hair. I got down from my motorbike and placed the helmet on the backseat.Walking languidly towards the wooden bench, I sat there and breathed in the aroma fresh autumn air hanging loosely in the air. I saw some distant folks dressed up in white overalls, tending the overgrown hedgerow. Some of them were gardening, watering the flowers, to keep their delicate freshness intact. The bliss and fragrance of aromatic lilies and tulips, I was soaking it all in! I opened my beige colored satchel. Accessories are not my thing but this one was a gift from Jane, so I couldn't be sardonic towards it. I took out the box of beans and started ...

A friend is nothing but a known enemy. (Pic Credits: izquotes.com) They all watched silently, as I lay down here. Soiled, wrecked and reeking of gasoline. They looked at me scornfully while the man took out the matchbox from his pocket. It shouldn't be happening. Am I dreaming? Maybe I am having a nightmare, the worst of its kind. That's what I hope. Suddenly, I heard a raspy click and saw the brightly lit flame wavering dolefully from the matchstick. I could see that man's face more clearly now, shimmering in its the burning flaxen glow. Those cold dead eyes. These ain't those loving and caring people I know. Something's definitely wrong and I'm pretty sure about it. But it's too late. I saw the the burning matchstick approaching towards me and the next moment, I was up in flames. But something's strange. I wasn't feeling any pain. Perhaps I was too shocked to react. Or perhaps, I was already dead. I lay engulfed in flames as my existence van...

No one could've put it better than the man who wrote our national anthem. (Pic credits: azquotes.com) Just the other day, I was having a conversation with my friend about how we contribute nothing towards our country, compared to our soldiers. And how we don't even show empathy towards the people who do it. He was sort of right. I've always wondered what I've done for my country. And the answer remains the same, every time. Nothing. I've done nothing worthwhile for my nation. But in an era of globalization, nationalism is a very vague term. In fact, I'll go a step ahead and put it more bluntly. Nationalism subtly induces hatred in our minds regarding people whom we've never met and interacted with. Before you jump to conclusions, calling me an anti-national, I'd like to tell you that I do love my country from the bottom of my heart. But keeping prejudices and personal biases aside, I'd like to express some ideas on this amorphous concept o...

Peace. Such a wonderful word. Webster's dictionary defines peace as, "a state in which there is no war or fighting" Humanity has been striving for eternal peace since eons! And yes, the struggle is real indeed. A few days back, a harrowing video surfaced on the internet. It was about this 5 year old little Syrian kid, Omran Daqneesh, who was rescued from the rubble, after an airstrike at Aleppo. This horrific video sent shivers down my spine and every time I look at that boy's shocked and innocent face, I struggle to fight that lump in my throat. The pathetic state of humanity right now. But does it even matter to us? Nope. It doesn't. Because we don't live in Syria. A few more months and everyone will soon forget about Omran. Just like we forgot Alan Kurdi. Yes, the iconic kid in the picture, whose corpse was swept ashore. I won't go about preaching how this is all fucking insane and how we should do something about it. Ranting won't chan...

[The following article is a work of fiction made from the fragments of author's weird and demented imagination. It does not bear any resemblance to reality. If so, it's purely accidental. Thank you!] I was sitting in the waiting room. There were four individuals besides me, waiting for their turn. I glanced over to see their faces. It reeked of nervousness, I could tell that easily. Adjusting their neck ties and regularly wiping off their faces with the handkerchief. I very well remember being in that position. A few months back, I guess. I had lost count after 47. The lady behind the counter called my name. This is it. I stood up and went inside. A man greeted me with a smug smile on his face. A smile that could even put Mona Lisa in a fix. I went ahead and greeted him. "Good morning, Sir!" "Oh good morning Mr. Harry! Please take a seat!" I pulled the chair and sat on it. All that expensive cushioning and still it didn't feel comfortable. I mad...