I hope you understand… Mom!

She got the dinner table ready and called twice for her son. He did not respond. She smiled and thought he might have slept. He had spend his whole day in his room doing nothing. He could not clear his medical entrance test by just 23 marks. He was upset and depressed. With care and affection in heart she  climbed up the stairs and knocked the door. There was dead silence. She called out his name loving with a smile only to recieve reticence in return. She was growing anxious. She called out to him again. This time, worried and aloud. Loud enough to wake him up if he was sleeping. There was still silence all around, except for the sound of her heart; thumping loudly, rhythmically.Two more knockings on the door followed by no response, now brought tears to her eyes. She rushed towards the key stand. She selected an old rusted key from among the bunch of keys and ran towards the locked back door; way to the corridor, opening to the windows of that room. She was filled with worry, anxiety and solicitousness. Multiple thoughts hijacked her mind while she worked with the keys. With eyes brimming with tears, she could not manage the keys inside the hole. Keys fell from her shaking hands, which she picked up immediately. She wiped away her ‘about to fall’ tears and somehow managed to open the lock. Her heart was thumping aloud. She somewhere didn’t want the lock to open. She wanted to hide herself. She wanted to escape. But she also wanted to see her son. She wanted to know how was he? And why he wasn’t responding? She kicked the door open, which was jammed because it had never been in use. With heavy legs, and equally heavy heart she walked towards the windows of the room. She breathed uneasily and opened the window of the room. She drew the curtains away. Her eyes could not believe what it saw. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t move. She wanted to slap herself out of the dream. But to her misfortune, it was real. She saw her son sitting on a chair placed next to the closet, with his back towards her. Head weirdly resting on the shoulders. A red pool of blood covered the white marbelled floor near his legs.

Siddhant didn’t look the kind of teenager who would succumb to depression. Tall and well-built with hair that was always gelled, the 18-year-old was known to his friends as a cheerful, happy-go-lucky sort of guy. A student who just completed his twelfth, aspired to become a doctor. He worked very hard for the paper for two years. But if he was bothered he didn’t show it to his friend. “I give up mom. I could not be a good son. After dad, I thought I could take his place. I thought I could give you the life you deserve. But I failed. It feels difficult to bear the load of failure. I QUIT. I hope you understand… Mom. Take care of yourself.” A neighbor read out the letter scribbled on a piece of paper kept on the table. Overleaf the note were scribbled random lines which threw light on his last moments. “This is my first cigarette after a long time and I’m not addicted to it. I have heard that it makes death easy. I am sorry mom.”

Her mother was stoned. Seeing the slit on the wrist of her only son, or let’s say her only family, she turned into a respiring corpse. Every breathe weighed his son’s dead body. It was not difficult. Rather it was impossible for her to accept this fact that her son has left her alone. Thoughts took form of clouds in her brain. She took her son’s head and let it rest on her lap. She patted his shoulder softly and kept staring at a point in space. She was smudged in his son’s blood and her own tears. There was no way to console her.

Today, even after four years nothing has changed. She is still a respiring corpse. She still reads that last letter of her son. She still sits in his room, on the same chair her son had killed himself, and take tutions for 23 unprivileged children, so that no mother has to understand her children’s suicide. So that no mother has to see her child die due to exam failure. Something that has changed, are her eyes. Eyes, that are now dry. That have now more pain stored in it. It was so easy for her son to say sorry. “How can you be sorry after shoving my whole life? How easily you hoped me to understand. How can you expect a mother to understand the death of her only family. Really?”-she asks her son. Her son completed suicide and died once. But her mother who is left behind alone, die a thousand deaths, trying to relive those terrible moments and understand … Why?

But, she is brave. She is not a coward like her son. She compromised her life as a living corpse. But she didn’t choose to die. She decided to live. She decided to live for other children. She decided to respect the life God has given her. And she is determined in her work.

Siddhant is not the only student to take the tragically misguided step of snuffing out his life to get away from the pressure of examinations.
Competition to be the first, pressure of getting good grades and reservation systems are the main keys to the many suicide locks.

  • Why suicide you may ask! The answer to this problem lies in most of the households as well as the educational institutes in India. The immense pressure that is put upon children by their parents to pursue a career that guarantees their financial future has turned into a mode of mental torture of the modern century. The constant and consistent pressure on the students to take up courses and career choices, without taking into consideration the inherent capacity as well as the ability of the child itself, is causing students to feel completely out of place with their own needs and aspirations in life.
  • A career choice is a make or break situation for a student’s life. In this type of decision and scenario, it is important to understand that instead of giving in to societal pressure, peer pressure and personal motivation of status, parents have to consider the choices, capacity, and the overall aspirations of their children first and foremost. By empowering a child to take his or her own decisions as far as career choice is concerned; parents are enabling them to take control of their own lives and thereby, helping them secure a future for themselves. By enabling students to take this choice, parents and schools are increasing the sense of self-confidence and independence of the children themselves, which makes them much better adults than being driven around like cattle.
  • And we can also not neglect the various reservations aspect. Reservations and quota are again a major issue. I agree that it has many advantages like it helps the backward castes people to show themselves. But I find reservation systems hollow from the base. Instead of putting reservations on the basis of castes, why don’t we put reservations based on financial conditions of the student. Is it not possible that a SC’s could be a millionaire and can study in whichever college he/ she wants. A general category student can be poor and is in more need for the reservation, than the rich SC category student.

    To all the students reading this:-

    Place your hand over your heart, can you feel it? That is called purpose. You’re alive for a reason so don’t ever give up. Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem. Think before acting.
    I hope this will help some among us. Spread the word. 

    A letter.

    Dear maa,

    My best friend says that you have never left me. You are here in front of us. You get happy with me, and cry with me. My brain never allows me to believe her. But since I trust her, I am writing this, in a hope that you will read it.

    How are you mother? It has been four years now. Four years of craving, crying and missing. I miss you mumma. I miss you alot. Nothing can take away that pain. Nothing can stop that craving for you. 

    Initially it was very difficult. It was difficult to stop the tears from finding it’s way out of the eyes. It was difficult to look at paa, because his eyes made me cry. It was difficult to accept that you have left. And that I can never touch you again and never listen to your voice. It is hard to realise that the person whom you need the most is gone. No one can take your place mom. I love you alot.

    Don’t worry mumma. I know dad misses you alot. And he cries in solitude. But he is being very strong. He is playing the roles, yours and his, both very well. I promise you that I will take care of him. Your son misses you too. He never shows it, but I know how much he needs you.

    And for me, you don’t have to worry at all. Dad takes care of me. And now I have the angel you sent for me as my best friend. She is looking after me. She says you are in a better place. And I am sure you are.

    We all are coping, managing and living, mumma. I just want you to bless us all.

    Trying to become like you.



    Who are we?

    ​See the nature is being insane,

    By seeing it’s children in pain.

    Palliating it’s anger and strain.

    Choosing to subdue through rain.

    See, my Lord is crying again.

    It is else’s ail that he is feelin’.

    Maybe we killed a child in the womb.

    Or pulled down a life, let us assume.

    Probably saw a crime in the neighbor.

    Girl being undressed in front of the abuser.

    Somewhere death overcame hunger.

    Somewhere life gave up in anger.

    Someone found life in death.

    Someone fell short of breath.

    We parted the lovers, killed an innocent or cut down the trees.

    God is weeping for mercy. Please!

    Don’t provoke him to show his rage.

    He will not suffer for our mistakes.

    Stop today and conclude it now.

    It is not yours. It’s his anyhow.

    Dear humans,

    I hope that we deserve to be called by that name. But are we still human?

    We have turned insanely wild, monstrously destructive and pathetically inhuman. We were supposed to live a human life. God named us human because he made us one. Human- who is kind, lawful, apparently different from an animal.

    It is high time now. All of the nature is pleading us to be what we are meant to be. God has given us enough chances. Let us change before he decides to change.


    A human.

    Can it be this way?#06

    ​​India- the word filled with respect, pride, honour, vivacity, secularism, beauty, incredibility and most important, equality. India is not just a country. It is not just a word. It is a feeling, that I have been experiencing from the day I was born and would love to experience for the rest of my life. 

    I have grown twenty seeing the various colours of India. I have seen India of saffron colour, whenever I see the strength and courage of my soldier brothers. I have also seen India white, when I see peace and prosperity among people. I have seen India green, when I look at the green stretches of fertility and growth smiling at me. I have seen India blue, when I look at the sky over my head. These colours make me proud. These colours give me goosebumps. These colours make me salute.

    But, despite these colours, I have also seen India red, when the uncle from within a car brings his head out to spit tobacco. Yes I have seen India red. But this colour doesn’t calms me. Rather it makes me angry. It makes me sad. It makes me very sad. 

    Uncleanliness is the major problem of my country India. People of my country eat something that they are eventually going to spit. So why do they eat? Why did you put it in mouth, if you ultimately wanted to spit it? Isn’t it completely insane?

    I am continuously saying ‘my’ country and ‘my’ people because I somewhere hold myself responsible for the uncleanliness. I could have been the one who could have raised her voice against it. But, I didn’t. It could have been me. But I didn’t stop any uncle from doing that. It is me who led my country down. I take up that responsibility. 

    Why can’t we just say no to throwing garbage in open? Why can’t we take some trouble and help our government in making India clean? Why can’t we teach rural area people, the importance of cleanliness? Why can’t we walk some more to throw the garbage in dustbin? Why can’t we quit spitting anywhere in the open? Why can’t we use toilets for eliminating our dirt? 

    By standing together as one we can bring a change. Let us be the beginning. Let the world follow us. I promise that I will, no more be a dumb viewer of these things. I will speak against it. Yes I will bring a change. Will you?

    Because I know, my India was great and will always be great. 

    Can it be this way?

    Please share your views.

    जहाँ हर चीज़ है प्यारी।

    सारे चाहत के पुजारी।

    प्यारी सबकी ज़ुबान है।

    वही मेरा हिन्दुस्तां है।।

    जहाँ मिलकर रहते है सभी।

    कुछ गलत ना कहते है कभी।

    जहाँ गंगा है, यमुना है और नील आसमाँ है।

    वही मेरा हिन्दुस्तां है।।

    यूँ तो है सबसे निराला।

    पर हो जाती है कभी-कभी भूल।

    कर देते है धरती माँ को गन्दा।

    अपने संस्कार जाते है हम भूल।

    हमने की है गलतियां तो हम ही सुधारेंगे।

    माफ़ी मांगने में नहीं हम कतराएंगे।

    आज से गन्दगी के खिलाफ हम आवाज़ उठाएंगे।

    और अपनी भारत माँ को फिर से सजाएंगे।।

    कही पे नदियांं बलखाएंगी।

    तो कही पंछी इत्राएंगे।

    सवच्छता की ओर कदम हम बढ़ाएंगे।

    क्योंकि यही हमारी दिवाली, ईद और यही हमारा र्रमज़ान है।

    वही मेरा हिन्दुस्तां है।।

    जय हिंद।


    A Promise.

    Gone are the days,
    When tears were my mates.

    When darkness was my place.

    Gone are the days,

    When silent was my mouth,

    While heart wanted to shout.

    Gone are the days,

    When life was a curse.

    When lonely was universe.

    Now it’s a new morning.

    A bright new day.

    Breaking the gloomy night.

    The sun showed it’s way.

    Life is dancing,

    On my smiling tunes.

    Happy is every flower.

    And every colour balloons.

    I will live, love and be happy.

    This is what I promised to a loving lady.

    *Thankyou for being my smiley*

    What was her mistake?

    ​It was late evening when she woke up to an empty room. She hadn’t slept well with all the horrific thoughts in her mind distracting her, scaring the shit out of her. It was not the first time in the last two years, since the incidence, that Jiya was left all alone in the room. 

    Jiya, frightened by the sight of being alone, also felt a strange comfort in the silence that surrounded her. She got up and sat, taking support from the wall. Her eyes stuck at one place, like that of a corpse, she sat stunned. Jiya would sit hours and hours like this, hopeless and clueless. Her brain flashed the slideshow of memories from that night. Tears would flow unstoppably. “What was my mistake?” her brain would question to God, again and again. Fortunately, after what had happened, she had support from her parents. This was the only fact which was keeping her sane; her parents support and strength. Otherwise, she would have been shattered after her rape.


    It was two at night when her car stopped suddenly, while she was returning home. A medical intern by profession, her job demanded early morning waking and late night shifts. Her house was fifteen minutes driving from the hospital. Usually the roads were deserted by the time she got home. That night was no different. She was tired, both mentally and physically after a long day of tests, machines and complaining patients. 

    She got down from the car, and opened the bonnet. Just like any other normal person, and specially being a medical student, she could understand nothing in there. All she could see in front of her were wires, metals and greece. She brought her face up, turned and looked for some help. Finding none, she closed the bonnet and walked towards the driving seat looking for her mobile phone. But, before she could reach for her phone, a rough, overpowering hand pressed her mouth from behind, and another hand pulled her from across her waist. Her eyes popped out in shock and fear. She tried shouting but no voice could be heard. But still she continued shouting, only making herself more weak. Tears started rolling down her cheek. The ‘human’ who was holding her, dragged her towards a shade nearby. She saw two men with demonic expressions on their faces. Faces-as old as her father-staring down at her, between her legs, like a predator looks at its prey. They pounced at her, hungrily, scratching her bare body, grunting and moaning as they inflicted pain on her. They took turns on her for about half an hour. She still remembered the pain, she still remembered the curse words and she still remembered passing from one old man to another, urging each other to violate her even harder. She still remembered lying in her own sweat, urine and blood. Screaming hollow screams. Her shouts were soundless. No one came. 

    Next, she remembers waking up in a hospital, to a sobbing mother and two police officers besides her. The doctors confirmed rape and the whole family got surrounded by devastation. But Jiya sat numb. She was shell shocked, motionless, as if her brain has stopped working. Police tried interrogating with Jiya. But Jiya would not speak. Her time has stopped moving. Her life was shattered. She felt filthy. 

    For about one week after that incidence, Jiya locked herself in a room. She would bath five times a day and would eat soap, to clean herself from within. She felt filthy. She hated her body. She hated herself. After a lot of medical and psychological help, Jiya has completely overcome OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) and depression. 

    Medicine can treat diseases and symptoms. But no medicine can erase the memory. Today, after two years also, she is unable to cope from that disgusting incidence completely. She is afraid of men and somewhere hates them. She never allows any men close to her. Neither does she go out for parties and social gatherings. She still wakes up in mid night, sweating and panting due to the nightmares she has. She had to leave her medical practice, due to her long term leave. She could have joined later, but she saw hope for herself in something else. Now she works for an organisation, who helps needy, lonely and unassisted women.  And she tries to lead a normal life. 

    But the scar in her brain, of that incidence, will never allow her to get back to the same Jiya again. She fakes thousands of smiles to the world, but she dies everytime she remembers that day. Being brave, she tries to cure herself. She decides to shut her minds off to all her memories and tries to create new ones. 

    But, a lonely, crying and traumatized Jiya still asks to God- “What was my mistake?”

    Must read:- A powerful message for all the rape survivors

    Is it that difficult for you men to keep your little tool, in there, under control?

    Rapes will stop when our society will start asking their sons to behave rather than their daughters.

    Forget respect. Women deserve safety atleast.

    “*** STOP RAPE***”


    A chemical reaction!

    ​She brought potassium permanganate in a beaker and kept it angrily on the marbled platform in front of her, making enough noise to drag anybody’s attention. According to her name she had to stand on the sixth place from start; away from her best friend, who was stuck three rows away from her. Some professors are a little more concerned about the place where their students should stand. 
    She frowned everytime, she saw the teacher sitting on one corner of the room, narrating the experiment. The lab was more or less filled with live bodies in white coats working with various glasswares containing chemicals of different colours. Titration was easier for her when her friend used to fill the burette. Practicals seamed much more interesting when her friend used to pipette the solution out.
    Three rows away, her friend also felt the same emotions. Despite of being in the same room, making faces when their eyes would collide, they missed each other. They missed the touch of each others hands. They missed the laughter that was exchanged when  orange liquid would spill. They missed the little jealously when one would talk to somebody else.
    Among so much of work, rattling of glasses, noises of running water, breaking glasswares and chatting people, there was silence among them. But in that silence also their eyes spoke; it exchanged smiles, tension, anger and love. 
    And in a practical class of two hours their friendship grew stronger. 

    Dedicated: Heart to soul ❤😍

    Practicals would not have been the way it is with you. I love you B.😘

    Bones of steel and a heart of stone…

    ​He fell from his bed, coughing and screaming in pain. He held his stomach and was howling, moving all over the marble floor. Bouts of cough and these restless nights were not new for him. But that day he felt extreme of everything. Coughs were not dry; he puked blood. His stomach ache was unbearable as if someone had tore it apart, ripped it out and had hung it to dry. His brain was a little more adamant that day. It imprudently forced him for the same thing again and again. 
    He somehow managed to get up, soaked in blood, and rang the bell twice. Nobody came. He was seldom left alone, lonely in that room. He would cough, scream and also cry. His body would shiver. Convulsions, vomiting and then drowsiness- these were the basic symptoms of what he was going through. He also tried running once. But unfortunately got caught in the lobby. Nobody attended him; not because the hospital authority didn’t want him to live or not because they were careless. But, entering his room meant, going through alot; pleadings, cries, shouts, anger and sometimes blood and fightings also- like that night. 
    After all who wishes to mess with a patient suffering from withdrawal symptoms?
    His pleadings and cries made the doctors more affirmed. They lowered his level of sedatives also. But somewhere or the other his doctors also gave up on him. His craving were impeccably unwanted by everybody. Doctors felt bad but they were helpless. He was taken for battery of tests daily, all saying the same thing. DEATH. Medications and therapies had severely failed. All his nerves wanted were marijuana, weed or correct proportions of alcohol. His brain always desired for a line of cocaine. 
    Everybody knew that it was impossible for any doctor to bring him back to normal. After all everything has a limit. And his liver’s limit was crossed. Hepatic encephalopathy – this is what his reports file read. This is what he was suffering from. Four years of continuous smoking, drinking and weeds was enough for his liver and lungs to give up. 
    Four years of engineering gave him enough opportunities to become an experienced druger from an intelligent child. A child who once searched for shops of books, now knew every market and drug dealer. From filling the papers with notes to filling the papers with weeds, son of a clerk grew. 
    Getting fucked up, accidents, waking up in hospitals, bandages, broken bones put together with rods, healing and then getting fucked up- this became a daily routine for him and his friends. 
    Friends who didn’t even know where he was. Friends who didnt care about him. Friends who joined him in his drinking sessions. Friends who creased cocaines for him. Friends who wrote their death sentences together. But, also friends who did not join in his death time.
    But now everything is okay. The pain is gone. The room is now silent. No screams and cries are now heard. Nobody pleads the doctor. But now everything is okay. He is dead now. His hepatic encephalopathy killed him. He doesn’t feel now. 
    The time his pains ended, his parents suffering started. His mother, a housewife, cried alot.  She could not control herself. His father, beating his forehead, sat on the bench. They could not believe it. After all he was his only son. No matter how much of a disgrace he was to them, he was his only child. He was now dead. All their aspirations were dead. Their love, care, late night wakings for their children, their hope, their only child was dead now. The world lost a druger. The parent lost their life. He died.

    “What kind of a life is this?

    Family’s respect and grace burns with cigarette. Dreams, aspirations and hopes are blown up with smoke. Lives are taken away with ash.

    Is it so difficult to accept the reality that some choose to escape from it? People who do drugs think that cocaine takes away pain. But not only that, dear friends. Cocaine takes away joy, hopes, dreams, brains and finally your soul.

    Each crease of cocaine draws a line between you and your life. Don’t make your own life difficult. It is always our choice to say NO. Be the change. Say no to it. Today and from now. Choose life over drugs. Choose life over death. Life can take you higher than drugs. Trust yourself.”

    Make yourself better than bones of steel and a heart of stone.

    “***You don’t need heroine to look a hero***”

    “***I SAY NO TO DRUGS. TODAY***”

    “*** I have 100 problems. But drugs isn’t one***”

    Can it be this way?#05


    ​There are enough articles, blogs, sayings, quotations and books portraying various thoughts on life.  Greatest writers have shared their views on the meaning of life. So it can sometimes be daunting to know where to start. After loading my mind with variety of questions and after getting very confused I got to the conclusion that I am really underqualified to even mess with that thing. So I will better stay away.

    But, is it enough to only know what life is? Sometimes it is more important to deal with the ‘How’ type questions in life, rather than ‘what’ types. It is more important to know ‘how to live your life?’ rather than knowing ‘what life really means?’. 

    This blog is about the how’s and not the what’s.

    Just travel back in time for about 24 hours and recall everything you did. Is there anything that you did different from yesterday? Is there any new feeling you developed from yesterday? Search for the things that have changed. That you have started doing, things that you have left, habits you have acquired.

    Now comeback and think- has your life changed a bit from yesterday? Anything new that has happened to you?Your answer will be ‘NO’. 

    When you trace your past one day, you feel that nothing has changed. Everything is the same. Every thing happened according to the daily routine. But is it so really? If it is so, then why does your life seams changed over a period of one year? Why do you celebrate your 31st december as the New year, when everything happens to be the same?

    It is probably because we are wrong when we think that we lived our day exactly the same as yesterday. If god has graced us with a ‘new’ day, there has to be something new in it.

    For us changes means the big things happening with us. A new car bought is the change because it is the big thing. Your new haircut is a change. We consider things as changing when they are visible. The new colour of your house is a change because it is visible, while the various new feelings that developed during the day is not a change because it is not visible. When we hear the word ‘change’ we spontaneously try to visualize things around us. But it is not like that. Each day is different from the previous one. Each morning, we are touched by different rays coming from the sun. Everyday their is a new situation we deal with. We may encounter thousand new faces daily whom we leave unnoticed. A feeling develop everytime we deal with a situation, to which we don’t even pay attention. You might cross the same street daily, but you must have ignored the new sapling that transpired for the first time, there besides the road. We are often busy working for the big changes in life that we miss those little things happening around us. 

    Is it necessary to run when we can reach the same spot by walking? And guess what we also enjoyed the walk!!! I know it would be late if we walk, instead of running, but it would be worth walking. I know the goal is beautiful, but the journey is more glorious. Can we stop for a minute? Can we distract ourselves from those files and slow down a bit? Can we stop our cars and count the number of trees that we cross daily? Can we switch off our robotic modes and try to balance that switch between onn and off again? Can we just hault and play with our fingers; twisting and adjusting the inzy winzy bones on each other. 


    I know I am sounding really crazy. But it is exactly how we all started our lives. CRAZY. Right?😃 
    This is all I could understand about life.
    Happy reading.

    “Someone once told me to always live for the little things in life.

    Live for 5am sunrises and 5pm sunsets.
    Where you’ll see colours in the sky that don’t usually belong.

    Live for road trips and bike rides
    with music in your ears 
    and the wind in your hair.

    Live for the days when you are surrounded by your favourite people
    who make you realise that 
    the world is not a 
    cold, harsh place.

    Live for the little things because 
    they will make you realise that
    this is what life is about,
    this is what it is meant to be 



    Sitting alone in an evening.

    Over a mountain top.

    Admiring the lost canopy.

    In the cloudy fog.
    Eyes staring among the scenes

    Searching for something lost.

    Confused in predicament,

    Brimming with water, eyes became soft.
    Wiping away all the thoughts,

    With the falling tears.

    I closed my eyes, and hoped,

    To shut all my fears.
    A wave of life came from somewhere far.

    Touched my soul, and filled my brain.

    Frowning, I opened my eyes,

    And could see my whole life again.
    There I was, seeing myself small.

    Struggling to walk and crying when fall.
    How immaturely I used to cry?

    How shamelessly I used to smile?

    How frankly I used to speak?

    Woww, my emotions were versatile.
    The face which hides everything now.

    Was then a reflecting mirror.

    Hands that are now only mine,

    Were once a helping admirer.
    I want to be careless again.

    Shamelessly want to swing like then.

    Proudly want to be selfish.

    Enjoy without drugs in vein.
    Where did I lost you, O little me?

    Why did you disappear with that innocence?

    You cannot vanish so easily.

    Please give me back that ambiance.
    Give my childhood back to me.

    I didn’t value it enough.

    So successful now; still begging.

    For life which was not tough.