Leaves of My Tree

Hello... Long time... I was away for a while. Was busy getting married... and this will be my first blog post after marriage. I am here to thank all my near and dear ones who carved out the event so beautifully. My humble gratitude to thee. In the midst of runnning around, finding things there were many light moments of laughter, heavy moments of parting, tense moments of arguments, anxious romance, exciting surrender and finally the best and the most commmonly found was natural and simple grandeur in everybody and in everything including dressing, thoughts, expressions and actions. Thank you all for making this event one of the most memorable events of my life.

Unity in Diversity… a phrase which I learnt from the Social Studies textbook, a phrase that makes special appearances on the 26th January and 15th august every year. This phrase intends to develop a sense of unity amongst the Indians though they speak different languages, follow different customs, dress differently, look differently, believe different Gods etc. However, what caught my attention today is the oxymoron created by the words used and their purpose. Though the central idea of its purpose is to unity, the central idea of the language is diversity! 63 years ago, this phrase sounded apposite. It was immensely necessary to find that unity amongst diverse cultures. That was a time when our leaders had to imbibe the fact that though we are Kanndigas, Tamilians , Punjabis, Bihari, Marathas etc, we are also Indians. Therefore it was right for our leaders to highlight our differences but also pinpoint our similarities. Since then, we have come a long way. I do not feel the necessity

I am not a poet, I cannot see something in nothing. I am not a lyricist, I cannot make you feel through my songs. I am not an author, I do not write pages about ages. I may not see beauty in the moon, But I can reflect her. I may not word my feelings soon, But I can hear yours. I am a stenographer Blessed with the art to scribble the feelings of your heart. ( A poem written when I was in school. I found it recently while cleaning my room!)

Its a lonely path, I tread alone To walk all the way all alone I don't know where to go, I can't stop going I don't know what to do, I can't stop doing No stones, no thorns, nothing to peirce not even horns, The path is free, and so I am bound. I wonder why I fear, no boulder is near. I have walked all the way And reached new places every day. I can trow, drag, walk even run But is it possible to reach the horizon? Freedom binds reasoned minds Path determined; distance reminds.

Sixteen thousand people... all dressed in Khaki uniform, to hear their leader, the 6th Sarsanghchalak Mananiya Shri Mohan ji Bhagvath. I must say it was a sight to see. A speech worth its time and energy! This is not the first time that I have heard such a speech or seen such a sight. But this time there was something more that was not so pleasing. The discipline that is exhibited by the swayamsevaks is usually blatantly in contrast to the disorganised behaviour of the general public, also present to hear the speech. but this time it was not so. A significant part of the younger swayamsevaks seemed to be on an excursion, happily roaming around the field, exhibiting complete disinterest in the speech which was meant to be the purpose of their visit. Busy eating icecreams, taking pictures and littering away the place... all this was agin by the younger swayamsevaks. All the swayamsevaks carry a danda (a bamboo stick five feet long) which is an integral part of their uniform. The age

"Oh my god... you have not changed at all.. how come?" " how come you still remember kannada? Oh goodness you still talk in our style!!" " You just came from Canada no? how come you are still wearing a bindi and saree? you dont do style????" ( !?!) " She is lying. She did not go to foreign. Look.. she does not wear western clothes." "She still sings in kannada songs. Why will a person from foreign sing in kannada.. that too before god?" " How come you dont have beads and different colour hair streaks?" " Thank God... you dint cut your hair." I am sure most of us would have been subjected to such conversations specially when we get the status of ' foreign-returned'. I have never been able to understand the reason behind such converstaions: whether they are conversations for the sake of starting a meaningful one or presumed to be meaningful perse. I would be apalled if it is meant to be the later. In eithe