Wabi-Sabi

                                                                     Spin spin spin I spin my web.. Snip snip snip I snip every old thread.. You spin I spin that is all we do. I am hanging where you once hung, This patch is mine now, now I sew. You snipped my mesh one day and craft your own wall. I am a spinner and you are one No sins, we merely cushion our fall. Why shall I remain trapped in my world and you in yours. Let us spin a web together  and trap everyone in ours. Why not bring all under one roof neither yours, nor mine, ally. Under one sky, as the earth continues to spin Let us spin for everyone, a whole new sky.

Why is there a need to name a relationship or to confirm to a particular school of thought of a society, which is defined by distinctive culture and institutions? There is no society in the absence of variety in terms of culture, caste, professions and thought processes. Why is a nomenclature required to gain acceptability in the so-called society? Why is something that is unnamed, illegal or unacceptable? Why is one's husband one's lord even if he might be the only one who inflicts pain in the form of domestic violence, on his wife? Why is it wrong if two people, honest and sincere towards each other, decide to spend a life of togetherness without bearing the stamp of a married couple? Why can't a relationship be looked upon as one of care, respect and love? Unless a woman gives birth to a child, what is it that would stop her from embracing another child with love, unless she adopts the child? Why does one need a contract to express one's love? Where has

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http://thebluestates.wordpress.com The thought of being inside a glasshouse is shattering, literally. What if the house falls apart with the impact of a single pebble? What is it about luxury that we crave for? Does being inside a palace make life beyond our lifestyle more beautiful? Does life come running behind us with a perennial insurance policy with no expiry date? Outside the palace reside many homeless starving beings either freezing to death in the cold or getting charred, clad in the blanket of nothing else but heat or feeling their tears falling down their sallow face on a rainy day.  They are also human beings who do not dare to imagine of a life of luxury, but rather pray that their family survives for a day more on the cost of his or her life. A human being can sustain and survive by giving their best efforts even if there are a few breaths to be asked in return of hard work and determination. It is true that one might not have been born with a silver spoon

"What can I do for you mam?" or "May I help you sir?". We get to hear such phrases everyday in shops, service centers, restaurants, salons. But, the question is, if we shall get pleased and consider ourselves above all the people who work for us or under us. When we flaunt our newly acquired hairstyle, we do not give any credit to the hairdresser, do we? When we buy a sassy dress out of a high end boutique, do we care enough to think twice about the employee who was on her heels to help us choose the best possible garment to show off on an evening with friends? How many of us take some time out of our valuable routines to ponder over the fact that everyone who goes all out to help us, even if it is because of the nature of his or her job, must be addressed as Mam and Sir.  What is the use of our incessant prattle about everyone being equal and important? If everyone is truly equal then why not be polite enough to respect them for their kindness and a

thedelhiwalla.blogspot.com Shiva and intoxication are almost synonymous – and nowhere is this truer than at the Shri Kilkari Baba Bhairon Nath Ji Pandavokalin Mandir next to Purana Qila (its pujaris claim it was built by the Pandavas), a place of worship for the big god’s avatar, Bhairava. For it is at this, and other Bhairon temples around the city, that priests pour libations of Black Dog, Bagpiper or Royal Stag, offered up by a long queue of devotees as prasad. Bhairava is a fairly awe-inspiring statue, carved out of black marble, holding a demon’s head in one hand and a bottle of liquor in another. On either side of the god is a black dog carved out of the same stone, one with its tongue sticking out playfully, and the other sitting in silent submission. Amusingly, these were joined by a street dog, sleeping snugly on the cold marble floor, next to the foot of the statue. A priest told us that black dogs are considered to be the animal-form of Bhairava, and bel