From the pen of an occasional-hopeless-philosopher

When I was little, I was spellbound by a story by the name of "Phoolkumari" that, first my mom and later some story-book taught me. Ever since then, I have carried it in some corner of my heart — well preserved, untouched, unforgettable. I say I don't know why, but actually I do.
Come to think of it, anything that touches us, affects us, makes us feel nostalgic, somewhere carries something that we can truly and deeply relate to. It is, but, human, to feel ecstatic at the fact that someone else too feels about something exactly the way we do. Having said that, Phoolkumari's story that mom'd often narrate to me at bedtime, is what it is for me, because I have seen it come into action, too many times to ignore. For the uninitiated, the story goes something like this:

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Jagjit Singh (8.2.1941–10.10.2011)

Another demise. Of another man of brilliance extraordinaire. Isn't it strange, how people who don't even know of your existence, can cast such an inexplicable influence on your life, that their loss is shocking enough to wring your soul to tears.
 I was little, very little, when I first heard dad singing the ghazal Garaj Baras. Young, however I was, I so loved it. Heard it on several occasions from dad, and playing on one of his many cassette tapes often enough to be affected. What was strange was that, even when dad stopped listening to those cassettes after some time, the ghazal, the voice and the words, remained with me. So much so that, when I grew up and had internet access—which I didn't, till 12th standard— I looked it up one day and was just too happy to have finally found it. It's there in my phone still and I play it whenever the mood is a bit low and I feel like reflecting a little bit. I started listening to ghazals only because of the legend who is no more.

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On death, Steve Jobs and Steve Jobs' death.

On this day that the whole world mourns in unison, I can't help but contemplate over the two opposite facets of death — ironically the most inseparable part of life — as they flash in front of my eyes.
The last time so much was said and heard about someone's demise was when Osama Bin Laden — the most intimidating terrorist of all times, one whose very mention was enough to send shivers down the spine — was shot dead in what went on to be, one of the most talked-about missions ever undertaken in the history of mankind. At that time, the philosopher in me had prophesied:-Forget the basics of humanity and be staunchly 'religious' all your life. You too might die the most celebrated death ever.

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10 best things about girls' schools

Here are 10 things that, I suppose, make life in a girls' school rocking:
Life is pretty much free from double-not-so-innocent-meanings. Be it the Geography teacher's mention of a certain "rapeseed" or those Biology lessons on Reproduction, everything is what it really is. Simple humor, simple life, simple smiles.  Girly talks uninhibited. For the lovelies who can't resist discussing about their nail-paints, hairstyles, latest trends and stuff, an all-girls environment works better. 'Coz when they do so in front of guys, it's the other girls who end up looking elsewhere sheepishly. #askMEaboutIT No bickering, bitching and message-passing for those helpless love birds; no going to school to "see someone special"; no friendships going bad due to stupid crushes; no making friends just to be friends with some-one; no fighting for a seat near that, it's getting cliched but, some-one again. With boys and their desperate acts not around, none of this to hamper the smooth-running of regular school-life.

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