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Category Archives: Love

Tonight he woos melancholia
In all its finery.
There are lines of worry,
There is a silent fury
That rages on inside
And gnaws at his head.

The whiskey is half-done,
The cigarette stubs are golden brown.
Anger and angst are knocking close,
His body and soul scream: helpless.

Tonight she courts memories
And looks for some ease.
In their familiarity
She seeks refuge and solace.
Memories, a crutch, is what she has
To remind her of the one she was.

Some old mails that she now knows by heart
Some love poems that dance in her head
Some names he called as he twirled her tresses
Some trinkets, lots of silver and a few dresses.

It’s a full-moon night outside.
Two pairs of starry eyes,
Stare at the skies.
And in between lies
Two cities and the vast seas.

It’s a night of love and longing,
Somewhere it’s also a night of belonging
Of half-truths, white lies and yearning
Of tempting Fate and worshipping the Circle of Life.

Somewhere, out there…
Two lovers wonder
If they shall ever again
Meet and not come undone.


Twenty-two is no age to die. Not when you are young, vivacious and ready to take on the world as you follow your dreams, which before you can even blink, go on to assume monstrous hues.

And twenty-two is certainly no age to die when you are in love. When you see the world through rose-tinted glasses and know you can change it. When you are content holding hands and staring endlessly into each other’s eyes, thinking that the power of your (combined) love can put God’s best-laid plans to rest. When having the object of your affection by your side is strength enough to take on all adversities in your stride.

For Nirupama Pathak that was not to be.

Love turned fatal for this young journalist, found hanging in her Koderma home on April 29. Her family alleged that she’d committed suicide, their claim substantiated by a suicide note.

However, police investigations revealed that her family was upset over her relationship with Priyabhanshu Ranjan, a batchmate from Delhi’s prestigious Indian Institute of Mass Communication. They had apparently expressed their displeasure on numerous occasions as Ranjan happened to be from a different caste.

The post-mortem report further confirmed that her death was caused by “asphyxia as a result of smothering”. It also revealed that she was three months pregnant. While her family maintained a studious silence on her pregnancy, Ranjan in a CNN-IBN show said that “he was not aware” of any such fact.

Disturbing. Sad. Horrific. Just some of the things that have been going on in my head ever since the story broke.

Disturbing to know that love still doesn’t transcend intra-state borders, forget inter-state borders in modern-day India. Disturbing (but true) that Bharat vs India conflict is not just about cosmetic changes and consumerist behaviour and has started affecting the social and mental make-up. Inside India, the struggle between tradition and modernity is only getting serious as people grapple with English education, economic migration to bigger cities, smaller family units and changing social mores and value system.

Sad that a fellow journalist and an alumnus of my alma mater had to meet a tragic end in love. Sad but true that the power of love couldn’t give her strength to overcome this. Sad that a young person with dreams in her eyes couldn’t have the life she wanted. Tragic too that most choices in life that one makes is often about what others want, and hardly what you yourself want.

And horrific to know that in your hour of need, it’s often your own who can turn against you. History has seen this across the world in various societies. Twenty-first century Bharat still sees it.

RIP Nirupama.

Cause love is a lonely song

And you had to sing it alone.

Ok. Takeaway for the week going by: All’s well that ends well. In love. In impending marriages. In televised romance-turned-betrayal-dramas which transcend borders. And otherwise.

If you happen to have been watching the idiot-box during the past week, you will know what I am referring to. For the uninitiated, it’s of course the

"Hyderabadi biryani"

After high drama, India's Anna Kournikova has found her Enrique Iglesias across the border in cricketer Shoaib Malik

– more like the pati, patni and woe – that had captured popular imagination.

One man’s ecstasy is often another man’s agony. In this case, both men are the same – Pakistani cricketer Shoaib Malik. The former Pakistani skipper vascillated from outright denial to prove-me-I’m-lying to finally admitting that yes he’d married Ayesha Siddiqui, confined to popular imagination only through photographs, in 2005.

While millions of heart-broken men wondered what the Indian version of Anna Kournikova saw in Malik, whose credentials came under question after the match-fixing scandal broke out, our Hyderabadi lass sent the message loud and clear: she stood by her man.

Monday blues dissipated as Mirza articulated at a press conference in Hyderabad how the media needed to treat the story with a little more ‘sensitivity’. And how, instead of pre-wedding jitters, she was having to deal with the paparazzi and their prying eyes! Malik, awed by his soon-to-be-better-half, stood in the sidelines, communicating in his broken English of how the truth will come out and how he would be vindicated.

Well, in X-Files style, the truth emerged. In two days time, precisely. Unable to handle the pressure and the diplomatic proportions that this saga threatened to assume (Malik’s passport was impounded and he was called for questioning by the cops), the wedding itself looked it was headed for anything but a fairytale finish!

Come Wednesday, and all such claims of Malik’s innocent-until-guilty, along with mid-week blues, vanished into thin air as the Siddiquis, chaperoned by Abid Rasool Khan, the General Secretary of Andhra Pradesh Congress, came out in the open and said that Malik had divorced their daughter and a relieved Ayesha could now go back to living a normal life. Providence intervened as mutual family friends of the Mirzas and the Siddiquis negotiated to unite the lovers. Your guess is as good as mine as to what actually transpired between the two sides and which side made the first move.

By now you know that the power of love transcends all. And while the lovebirds get ahead in life, dreaming of a life of togetherness in Dubai (where there’s more love, warmth and sunshine and low rentals, presumably!), one can only say that Malik gets to gain more than any one else.

Cause either way, Shoaib Malik still gets to taste Hyderabadi biryani!

(P.S.: I have forgiven Ekta Kapoor for the decade-long torture that she’d unleashed in the form of ‘saas-bahu’ serials. Hope this saga doesn’t lend her any inspiration!)