Tid Bit from My Diary

Growing up in a small town in 1970s India, I, like many other boys, harbored dreams of a bit of fame. Not excelling in studies, sports, or the arts meant the odds were heavily stacked against me. If I were to hear my name on the radio, it would likely be through a "request-a-song" program. As for seeing my name in print, it would only happen if an editor appreciated my contributions. Reader's Digest was our popular window to the outside world. Each edition brought us inspirational stories of perseverance, fascinating information, and humor from the Western Hemisphere. It introduced us to the world of subtle humor. I remember one particular story where someone was advised to apply grease on his car bonnet when their town faced a sudden onslaught of flies. The next time he took the car for service, the mechanic asked if he had a tight garage. This type of humor was fresh and delightful to us. We were particularly captivated by the letters from readers, sharing life experien...

An ode to the desert trees of Bahrain.  In the parched realms, it seldom rains, Life is sparse,  yet the hardiest reins, In those barren lands to nature’s dare, Trees stand resolute but few and rare. Adversities turn to occasion for brilliance,  Not soil sweet, strong winds built resilience, In the arid silence, their roots entwine,  With each storm, their strengths redefine. Twisted but resolved,  the sentinels of hope, Throughout time, they persist, they cope, Silhouetted, against the expanse of sand, testament to the enduring spirit of this land.

When I looked at the boat, I got a bit emotional and reflected on the life in general..... The Old Boat Towering waves, I twirled with grace,  Each fierce storm, a fleeting embrace, Sang melody to the gulls, carefree,  Flirted along fishes silver and glee. To wind’s might, my sails aligned, Salt and Sun in  journey intertwined, Forces then I braved, as a child’s play, Those memories now softly sway. Old and abandoned is today’s reality, Time is relentless in its truth or cruelty,  To kings and paupers, its march unkind,  In its silent hands, all destinies entwined.

  At the piano “I have never been in a haunted house,” said Anita to her friends. The girls were having a sleepover at her place, and the theme for the night was paranormal experiences. “But my aunt was in one such situation in her teens.” “Sean had lived there with his parents since childhood. When the siblings grew up, they moved out of their parents' home to start their families but never left the locality. He moved to a house down the street from my aunt’s home and as he was married to her uncle’s sister, she used to call him uncle Sean.”  “One night, their daughter, who was 7 at the time, complained about a terrible headache and the doctors failed to save her from a rare cardiovascular ailment”. “I am keeping my fingers crossed that it won't be another of those creepypasta,' one of the girls quipped. These young horror story enthusiasts were not prepared to settle for just any story. Hannah’s yawning was a signal that they could get bored rather fast. “My...

  Many million years ago, when humanity as we know it had yet to evolve, the world was a vastly different place. A place of primal beauty, where creatures roamed the Earth with no knowledge of language or civilization. Amidst this ancient world, there lived two lovers named Ron and Ana, their names unspoken but their bond unbreakable. Ron and Ana were inseparable, their connection transcending the primitive boundaries of their time. Their love was wordless, expressed through their actions, their eyes, and the warmth of their touch. They shared a unique connection, a deep and unspoken understanding of each other. One fateful day, a natural disaster struck their land. The earth trembled, and the skies rained fire and ash. Ron and Ana, like many others, perished in the cataclysmic event. Ron's body was reduced to dust, mingling with the winds, and becoming one with the elements. But Ana's fate was different. As the disaster unfolded, Ana's body was thrust deep beneath the Eart...

  There is one thing in common among young hostel boarders and particularly those from engineering colleges. All have spent hours debating, arguing and fighting on topics ranging from anything to everything on their tryst to establish a point or two. Walls of our hostel rooms have been exposed to countless ideas, arguments and logical interpretations fueled by gallons of coloured liquids be it tea, coffee or any other fermented variety. There were some who built their arguments on a solid foundation of references and statistics while others relied on the strength of their vocal cords.  My way of life was more like Winnie, finding more fun to talk with someone who doesn't use long, difficult words but rather short, easy words like "What about lunch?” ( A.A. Milne , Winnie-the-Pooh ). One live issue had been India’s post independence growth and development alibi our successive government’s inability to alleviate the conditions of the poor. My point of view has always been that ...

 Today, I remembered that I do have an active blog but the reality is that I am a bit lazy to write.   Here is a picture of a fishing port in Arad, Bahrain from last weekend