Yet another sleepless night!

- When the world seemed too hard to conquer and there was nothing left for me.
- When I knew that I am my own enemy and yet I did not have the will power and motivation to fight it.
- When I realised the enormity of my mind and its capitulations and yet looked helplessly at the time that passed by.
- When I had an awestruck expression on my face at life’s endless questions and challenges: simple yet ambiguous, small yet compound.
- When I felt like I am my own and the whole world, seen and unseen, was conspiring to see my back.
- When some of the dark, unwelcome clouds refuse to cease shrouding me and pass by me leaving me clothed in cold despair.
- When my actions mocked at my dreams and the rest of the world only cared to enjoy this humiliation and disgrace.
- When I did not remember my self, I lost my mind including the talents associated therewith and the whole world accepted my distorted self as my self.
- When mediocre mortals had to stoop down to decide the way I was and I had learnt to accept them as life’s lessons.
- When I knew that I could trust God yet had self doubt and overpowering fear.
- When I harboured the pain of hosting the Big fight between God and Satan within my body and mind.
- When I felt helpless although I knew that my duty at that situation was to take God’s wonderful side, remember his promise and rest in peace.

PS: This will pass too.

Kargil and India.

Chetan was watching NDTV and was angry. The images on TV disturbed him terribly.

Chetan Batra had just arrived home after an emotional trip to the Kargil district of Kashmir. He accompanied Barkha Dutt, the famous journalist of NDTV to shoot a program that will be aired to commemorate the 10 years anniversary of the Kargil war. The reason for Chetan’s participation was to involve in NDTV’s endeavours to honour the many martyrs of this war, one of which is Capt. Vikram Batra, his brother.

The cause of the Kargil war was the infiltration of Pakistani soldiers and Kashmiri militants into positions on the Indian side of the Line of Control (LOC) which serves as the de facto border between the two states. During and directly after the war, Pakistan blamed the fighting entirely on independent Kashmiri insurgents, but documents left behind by casualties and later statements by Pakistan's Prime Minister and Chief of Army Staff showed involvement of Pakistani paramilitary forces. The Indian Army, later on supported by the Indian Air Force, attacked the Pakistani positions and, with international diplomatic support, eventually forced withdrawal of the Pakistani forces across the LOC.

Vikram Batra was a fine young man who was the second of the two sons of Mr and Mrs. Batra in Dehradun. Young Vikram was brilliant, smart, diligent and attractive personality in school. He scooped away most of the awards in his school during the prize distribution ceremony. He was an all rounder, good in academics as well as sports and extracurricular activities. His drive to achieve his dreams took him to the Indian military academy in Dehradun in 1995 where he was trained to be an officer in the Indian army.

Capt Vikram Batra of 13 JAK rifles was nicknamed Sher Shah by his colleagues for his raw bravery and energy. He was leading a team that was entrusted with recapturing a strategically key post 5140 that was taken over by the infiltrators. Braving extreme weather conditions and an unfriendly terrain, his successful exercise at 5140 on 20th June 1999 set off a chain of more successful captures by other Indian troops and himself.

However, in the early morning hours of 7 July 1999, Capt. Vikram Batra was killed when he tried to rescue an injured officer Lt. Naveen during an enemy counterattack against Point 4875. While dragging Lt. Naveen back under cover, Naveen pleaded to Captain Batra to let him continue the fight in spite the injuries to which Captain Batra replied "Tu baal bachedaar hai!! Hatt jaa peeche," ("You have kids and wife to look after! Get back!"). His last words before succumbing to his injuries were, "Jai Mata Di." ('Hail the Divine Mother').

For his sustained display of the most conspicuous personal bravery and leadership of the highest order in the face of the enemy, Captain Vikram Batra was awarded the Param Vir Chakra the highest military honour posthumously. The award was collected by Mr. G.L. Batra, Vikram’s father from the then president Dr. K.R. Narayanan.

The loss of Vikram Batra has left an uncomfortable void in the Batra household. The silence of the pain caused by loss still reverberates in their residence in Dehradun where the family currently resides. They had lost their most precious jewel as a price for the security of this country.

Vikram was a patriotic young man who successfully chased his dream of guarding his nation, India. He took pride in his abilities and his zest for living a meaningful life. Vikram’s favourite line “Yeh dil maange more!” (My heart asks for more!) which he used during the military operations to motivate his team has now become an iconic battle cry that sweeps across the country and still remains popular with millions of Indians.

On the TV screen, a woman was being molested and forcefully stripped by a group of men in Patna. Tens of men and women were watching the spectacle in the street, muted and not coming forward to help the woman. Police arrived 30 minutes after the incident was reported to them by the media and watched the shameful incident for another 30 minutes before intervening to rescue the woman. The whole fiasco was telecast live on national television with utmost shock and much interest.

Chetan was angered by this disgraceful incident and the apathy of the spectator men folk in the vicinity. He didn’t have words to explain this mishap of civilization in this country under broad daylight and national media coverage.

He painfully remembered his brother and his supreme sacrifice for this country. He reminisced the difficulties that the armed forces have to go through for the security of this country. He felt cheated by his country, his motherland. He burst out crying.

He cried for his brother. He cried for India.

The voice, The questions.

Picture: Neda Agha-Soltan

“If the earth were a single state, Constantinople would be its capital”- Napoleon Bonaparte.

“If I were to depict all the earth’s womanhood, Nazia would be my model”- Ahmed Rahman.

Ahmed Rahman wrote this in his diary before he went to bed that night.

It had been a great day for this 37 year old photojournalist from Tehran who was in Istanbul on work compiling a project that compares the architectural similarities between Tehran and Istanbul in a historical perspective. He had previously worked on more adventurous projects for Lemar TV in Iran covering the war in Afghanistan and travelling to other countries in conflict including Iraq, Israel and Palestine. The Istanbul project was like a paid holiday for him as architecture had always been his second love after journalism. He was also thanking his stars that day for bringing him to meet Nazia.

His priorities in life and his order of commitment fell like a pack of cards when he first laid his eyes on her. He had met many girls in his life over different phases and with different tastes, but none had captivated him the way Nazia did. Nazia Sajjid was touring Istanbul with a contingent of Iranian tourists. Most of them were fellow students of Islamic philosophy with her at Azad University in Tehran.

After the initial introduction at the lounge of hotel Larespank, they chatted on common interests. The well travelled man that Ahmed was, he managed to capture the imagination of a well read, dreamy and forward thinking Nazia. Her every unanswered hypothesis in Islamic philosophy had a definite explanation supported with real life examples from around the world from Ahmed who was a devout Muslim following the same school of belief as Nazia’s. It was sheer coincidence that they both went to the Community High School on Kucheh Marizkhaneh near Jaleh Street but with a 10 year gap between them. This brought them closer and they opened up with each other in individually unprecedented ways.

Nazia’s imbecility in expressing her mind was somehow seemingly fulfilled by Ahmed’s expertise with his camera. His photojournalism had dazzled Nazia off her feet and his widespread experience in war zones kept her glued to his speeches. His narrations of real life stories from the war zone moved Nazia and brought out her well ruminated questions on life and human existence.

Nazia's good heart brought her a tendency for protection, care and creation. She filled the void that Ahmed thought was ubiquitous in the world: the apathy, the difference to respect for humanity, greed and selfishness. She was empathetic and perspicacious with Ahmed and amidst the rugged desert that this world was for Ahmed, he felt like having found an oasis.

Before they had realised, the magic of the Byzantium made them to fall in love. The musically trained serene voice of Nazia had tied Ahmed in a million knots as they walked the streets of Istanbul. She was singing and he was showing off his Motrebi style dancing.

Nazia had many questions for Ahmed which she repeatedly put forward to Ahmed.

- Why does man have to thrive by not letting another one thrive?

- Why does man have to live by not letting another one to live?

Two months later: Tehran:

She telephoned him before going out to protest against a suspicious national election result. She was largely apolitical, but realised her responsibility with a few million other Iranians who also suspected foul play. She told Ahmed one more time how she cannot wait to get married to him.

After sharing romantic vibrations and feeling the love over the phone, Nazia told Ahmed, “Good Bye, I am leaving now, I love you.”

Later in the day a Basij sniper shot Nazia on her chest with a sole aim of sensationalising the protest rally and gathering International attention. As she lay down in a pool of blood, a doctor who was a passerby calmed others down and tried emergency life support procedures. She died within three minutes. Her last words were “I am burning, I am burning”.

Little does anyone know what she meant with those final words: Was it just an expression of the physical pain that she underwent or was it a summation of her quest in life and her surprise at the discovery of her own life’s end?

PS: The death of another young girl called Neda Agha-Soltan on the streets of Tehran in a similar set up has been captured in video and is available on youtube.

PPS: Why does man have to thrive by not letting another one to thrive?

PPS : Why does a man have to live by not letting another one to live?

What is ?

What is

In the praising of the Lord?In the green of the summer breeze?
In the cracking of the autumn leaves?
In the people who acknowledge the purity of the moon?
In the man who stops to see the sunset?
In the woman who rises to see the sunrise?
In the unspoken words with your beloved?
In the unconditional presence of your family?
In the telephonic voices that moves you to tears?

In the magical smell that motherly love adds to cooking?

In the encouragement from your father?In the strength of your mother?
In the wisdom of your grandfather?
In the chiding from your grandmother?
In the maturity of your sister?
In the pat on the back from your brother?
In the happiness when you think about family?
In the gloom that you are in when a friend is sad?
In the tears that roll down when your dreams are realized?
In the miracles of belief, determination and strength?
In the unexplained acts of magnanimity?
In the glorification of creation?
In the fullness of life, the way God wanted it to be?

Yes. It is LOVE. To every single human being..

Love is

• In the praising of the Gifts of the Lord,
• In the green of the spring breeze,
• In the cracking of the autumn leaves,
• In the people acknowledging the purity of the moon,
• In the man that tops to see the sunset,
• In the woman that rises to see the sunrise,
• In the unspoken words with beloved,
• In the unconditional presence of a family,
• In the telephonic voices that moves you to tears,
• In the magical smell that motherly love adds to cooking,
• In the encouragement of a father and strength of a mother,
• In the wisdom of a grandfather, chiding from a grandmother,
• In the maturity of a sister, the support from a brother
• In the happiness when you think about your family,
• In the hope that when the gloom that grips you when a friend is sad,
• In the tears that roll down during the national anthem,
• In the miracles of belief, determination and strength,
• In the unexplained acts of magnanimity,
• In the glorification of creation,
• In the fullness of life, the way God wanted it to be.

Lets pray and strive for Global peace.

Jayant Judilson.

Ruminations: Sometime, Somewhere.

Do not mess with the righteous!

Do not harass the helpless!

They are guarded by God,

The ultimate guard.

Ruminations: Sometime, Somewhere.

Is Violence Justified?

If sparing the rod means spoiling the son..

where do we draw the line?

How much is enough?

Flying away!

The angel flew away into the clouds,

The pain in my heart seeps,

abundant emptiness shrouds,earth leaps

I close my eyes and float in the ocean,

An ocean of memories , of a life, moments unlived, unseen

dreamt in heaven, sincerety, emotional elan.


Did I hear that time flies?

My time has been maimed with lies.

I didnt ask you to adorn my life,

Nor could I promise to adorn yours,

My thoughts cramped self,

T'was a request for an expression to praise and marvel,

One that fixed me, taxing in emotional upheaval.


Lost in clouds, are you?

I see you , each moment, rich and anew,

Shant I open my eyes, leave one bit of you nice,

Dreading to let go the pain of you,

curbing strength's rise, seeing darkness as your disguise.