Don’t store your valuables in the earthen clay pots…

Being a capricorn and a deep thinker has made me realize that we are so fragile and tangible. All that we built throughout our lives is just a thing which is so fragile..and more so in our minds..

It’s unfortunate that we let everything affect us so much..especially the misfortunes. We give up so easily when the sun sets and end up forgetting the warmth that we have gained throughout the day..

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The unsaid..

I’ll never say how alive u make me..

I’ll never say how life was a chore until I met u,

I’ll never say how nature was boring..

And how I hated road trips..

But now I find happiness in simplicity..

I seek u everywhere..

In everything that I do..

It must be love.. Or its just my life..that’s being lived now..

Until now, this crusty existence was my identity and now this crisp living..

This enfuelled life has brought me back to the surface..

Jai Hind India!!

Rather than wishing Happy Independance Day in advance, I thought I’d fwd this for you to think over and contemplate:-
The average age of the Army Man is 23 years.  

He is a short haired, tight-muscled kid who, under normal circumstances is considered by society as half man, half boy.

Not yet dry behind the ears, not old enough to buy a beer in the capital of his country, but old enough to die for his country.

 

He’s a recent school or college graduate;

he was probably an average student from one of the Kendriya Vidyalayas,

pursued some form of sport activities, drives a rickety bicycle,

and had a girlfriend that either broke up with him when he left for IMA, or swears to be waiting when he returns from half a world away.

 

He listens to rock and roll or hip -hop or bhangra or gazals and a 155mm howitzer.

He is 5 or 7 kilos lighter now than when he was at home because he is working or fighting the insurgents or standing guard on the icy Himalayas from before dawn to well after dusk or he is at Mumbai engaging the terrorists.

He has trouble spelling, thus letter writing is a pain for him,

but he can field strip a rifle in 30 seconds and reassemble it in less time in the dark.

He can recite to you the nomenclature of a machine gun or grenade launcher and use either one effectively if he must.

He digs foxholes and latrines and can apply first aid like a professional. 

He can march until he is told to stop, or stop until he is told to march. 

He obeys orders instantly and without hesitation, but he is not without spirit or individual dignity.

His pride and self-respect, he does not lack.

 

He is self-sufficient. 

He has two sets of combat dress: he washes one and wears the other. 

He keeps his water bottle full and his feet dry. 

He sometimes forgets to brush his teeth, but never to clean his rifle.

He can cook his own meals, mend his own clothes, and fix his own wounds. 

 

If you’re thirsty, he’ll share his water with you; if you are hungry, his food.

He’ll even split his ammunition with you in the midst of battle when you run low.

 

He has learned to use his hands like weapons and weapons like they were his hands. 

He can save your life – or take it, because he’s been trained for both.

He will often do twice the work of a civilian, draw half the pay, and still find ironic humor in it all. 

He has seen more suffering and death than he should have in his short lifetime.

He has wept in public and in private, for friends who have fallen in combat and is unashamed to do so. 

He feels every note of the Jana Gana Mana vibrate through his body while at rigid attention, while tempering the burning desire to ‘square-away’ those around him who haven’t bothered to stand, remove their hands from their pockets, or even stop talking.

In an odd twist, day in and day out, far from home, he defends their right to be disrespectful.

Just as did his Father, Grandfather, and Great-grandfather, he is paying the price for our freedom. 

 

A tricolour, somewhere in his uniform,

A tricolour, he holds high,

A tricolour he unfurls with pride after every misson.

Sometimes he comes home wrapped in one.

Beardless or not, he is not a boy. 

He is your nation’s Fighting Man that has kept this country free and defended your right to Freedom.

He has experienced deprivation and adversity, and has seen his buddies falling to bullets and maimed and blown. 

 

And he smiles at the irony of the IAS babu and politician reducing his status year after year and the unkindest cut of all, even reducing his salary and asking why he should get 14 eggs a week free! And when he silently whispers in protest, the same politician and babu aghast, suggest he’s mutinying!

 

Wake up citizens of India! Let’s begin discriminating between the saviours of India and destroyers
Are you with the Faujis❓
If you are, then share this till it reaches every Patriotic Indian.
🇮🇳🇮🇳🇮🇳 JAI  HIND🇮🇳🇮🇳🇮🇳

Stupid me… 

When I was a child 

My thoughts were my escape into the terrains wild 

Dreaming with open eyes 

Wondering out the closed windows into the skies 

Had made up my mind to be only me and unapologetically me till the end

Little did I know I was stupid.. 

Was the writer of my own fiction novel…

But as the years passed by.. 

The characters changed.. I was no more the main character.. 

The windows are now wide open.. 

More open than ever before.. But it’s my feet which are tied.. 

Potholes dug by fate and destiny everywhere around me.. 

I end up choosing to not move in either direction.. 

Now it’s not flying out the window.. 

I barely walk on the grounds now.. 

But last few days.. I have been strengthening my weak wings.. 

Preparing them for flight.. 

With the windows now being cleaned and the cobwebs being wiped off.. 

On of these days, this Eagle is going to take her flight.. 

She will soar into the open skies.. 

And her wings will have the speed of blinking eyes.. 

She will not wait for a nod.. 

Potholes on land will not stop her.. She is meant to be on the land anyway.. 

The flight where she flies alone.. Where she is her own commander and her own captain.. 

Dusk and dawn

The break of dawn.. 

With the cold breeze in my hair.. 

Barely a soul visible in sight.

I am covered in the confines of my blanket 

Conveniently avoiding the morning blues.. 

Which I know will run after me once I escape these boundaries.. 

I know it’s just another day.. 

And I’m just another person.. 

Insecurities have crept inside which ask questions..  

Answers which are scaring me…

Will this day be the day I bring miracles to life? 

Will all bad things be replaced by good ones? 

Will I get to know myself better?  

More such questions cover me now as I have managed to get out of the warm confines..

Even with the blanket being put aside and left behind.. 

These questions are now covering me.. Following me closely throughout the day.. 

Promised land 

Beyond the comforts of their embrace 

She had started yearning for something more 

Didn’t care to tell them for fear of being 

Why do you need to share your mind with everyone anyway? 

They are just curious.. They really don’t care. 

So don’t worry. Its a transient phase.. The dry spell will come to an end. So will your fears.. 

Your tears will dry up and the sun will shine again.. Even the darkest nights last only for so long… 

So hang on little one.. You’re almost there. The rain is about to stop.. The sky is almost clear…