Insight Stories

How strange is the plight of humans, Who spend years in self-confinement, Convincing their reasoning mind to wait for eternity, Before relishing the imagined moment, Where happiness awaits in abundance. Multitude of such moments, They live in, unaware, Are moments like the ordinary, Where happiness seeks no yearning to readily bloom. - The Last Nomad

In music, does the silence shape sound or sound shapes silence? In life, do the happenings shape us or we shape the happenings? Do questions seek answers or answers create questions? - The Last Nomad

Vibrant flowers, Fall on the ground, As their sweet fragrance escapes into thin air, And intricate being becomes earth again. Memories we caress by framing their pictures, And reminiscing their scent, While the tree is ecstatic, With a thousand blooming buds. - The Last Nomad

Year after year, Staring at hundreds of paintings hung in decorated frames, Basking in the glamour of handsome patronage, He wondered what made people buy art, And why his paintings never found their rightful collector. Devoid of their thick coat of affluence, The art buyers were everything but interesting. All he dreamt of that night were empty frames, Hung on trees and burning bright. Startled, he rushed onto the streets in search of flaming trees, And all he found was a woman at the traffic signal, With a basketful of unsold earthen toys. - The Last Nomad

No matter how concrete it all seems, You know every moment, When it nibbles into your being, That the act has always been empty. Then you wear the mask, And get onto the stage, To shine in the darkness, And sing the silent song. - The Last Nomad

Dragging his feet through the muck, He walked for miles, witnessing the maddening chaos. Noise, lights, blood and sweat, Toiling day and night, In search of the unknown elixir of joy. A drop of inner madness quenched his thirst, And the world seemed never better. - The Last Nomad

Under the garb of intelligence, deceit and greed peeked in a thousand different forms. So he chose to walk the path of ultimate ignorance, and wisdom followed him like a long lost friend. - The Last Nomad

In between heaps of chaos Crushed under the wheel of time Lie hidden Countless seeds of silence Plant a seed with care In the warmth of your being Let silence Bloom into music - The Last Nomad

In the light of the night They saw the fire In the eyes of the beast Staring through the dark bushes Gleaming with passion not fear Unbudged by spears and arrows In that moment, he spoke without a word And all they did was paint him on the wall - The Last Nomad

My new short story, When I have time, is now an official entry for the Pen to Publish 2019! Read it on Kindle for free (Kindle Unlimited):  http://bit.ly/whenihavetime Do share your review on Amazon! #kindleunlimited #pentopublish2019 #whenIhavetime - The Last Nomad

"Not all things experienced can be understood. Not all things understood can be expressed." A couple of years back when I started writing this story, there was no specific goal in view. The joy of writing was strong enough to keep one at the desk. But the day I finished it, I wanted to be done with publishing it and move on to the other stories lingering in my mind. I was too patient to approach traditional publishing houses and wait for years to be finally published (probably with a manuscript that didn't look like mine anymore!). Self-publishing was the way out. Amazon Kindle Digital Publishing (KDP), Pothi.com and local book printers helped me deliver The Last Nomad to its readers. With no intention of competing with the established distributors and marketers, I witnessed the book choose its readers, one by one. Relying on the online release and word of mouth, who had the faintest idea that a single story would take me on this journey? I humbly invite you

1.  A broken heart I know you have held me tight from the moment I needed the most But I shall crash if you take those hands off There is a hole in my heart which is filled by your love If you take it out then I may not survive How lucky I feel to have you in my life But a fear keeps haunting me that we may fall apart No reasons I shall have to continue this life And I may just give up if you walk away from me A depressing poem that pours its heart out Of maybe every one that I know around 2. Stronger for the world I know you are watching so I put a face on and pretend like nothing is wrong As I need to look stronger for all My eyes are swollen from the nights that I have cried but I pretend to be sleep deprived As I need to look stronger for all My words have deep sorrow but I pretend to not mean it at all As I need to look stronger for all When you see me lost, I pretend to be thinking As I need to look stronger for all No matter how hard you try, you

Missing days A roar in the jungle made Devika miss a beat. She looked around and took a step forward cautiously. "Not today God! Please don't let me die today." She moved ahead, looking around for something. After some hours of walking, she reached a small village. Still in search of something, her eyes looked sleep deprived. Villagers notice and ask her, "Are you lost?" She replies, with her eyes wandering around, "I am trying to find my happy days. I  lost them when I was busy making money. It was somewhere in this place I was with my family the last time I was happy." The villagers get scared of her strange story. Assuming that she shall harm them, they throw stones at her. Devika runs for her life as she doesn't want to die today, tomorrow, or till she finds back her happy days. A Rainy Day A familiar fragrance surrounds Sneha's home. She doesn't want to get up from her bed and go to school but a sudden thundering awakes her.

There was a time When you sought true questions Not the right answers As you do now There was a time When your feet kissed untamed grass Not the glazing tiles As they do now There was a time When we talked to each other Not through this intelligent sand As we do now There was a time When the words you are reading Were not just a poem As it is now - The Last Nomad

Poem: Clouds of compassion No one has time to look at the sky To dance in the rain Kiss the moon a good night 'More' is the word The hearts cry aloud Drop it and your world's gonna be alright All are plugged-in Web-drunk day and night When dreams and crops burn ever so bright It's not gonna rain Said the crying sky Clouds of compassion just passed by Listen to the poem - The Last Nomad

Clutter and chaos. Sounds synonymous with modern? Here's a journey about unwinding from the popular and ambitious in my new story, When I have time . Read on Instamojo: bit.ly/WhenIhavetime . Download for free or pay what you want. Don't forget to rate and review on Goodreads: bit.ly/goodreads_wiht - The Last Nomad

This very minute as you are reading the post, the petition is silently spreading across Mumbai and beyond, through Facebook, Instagram, WhatsApp, emails, SMSes and word of mouth. What began with a  single sign has 120+ supporters! How did it begin? It was an inspiring volunteering experience on 5 June 2019, World Environment Day organised by Nisarg Swasthya Sansthan (NSS) and Abhyuday, IIT Bombay. How can you make a difference? Powai Lake wouldn't have been a great promenade sans its amazing bio-diversity. There are more than 50 species of birds spotted (Source: https://ebird.org/view/checklist/S41024813). The Indian Marsh Crocodile, a highly endangered species, which is a schedule-I species under the Wildlife Protection Act, 1972, have made Powai lake their natural habitat for many decades. (Source: https://www.hindustantimes.com/mumbai-news/mumbai-s-powai-lake-is-dying-becoming-toxic-for-its-fish/story-2GlxTkjchN9XBwL3VJ2tCJ.html). According to the Maharashtra State Anglin

If you like to read books and grow fond of them, you can probably understand how tough it is to part with them. And fate doesn't spare you from the necessary evil of sorting and cleaning the book stock you painstakingly (of course carelessly) built. Around 4-5 years ago, I had bought a story book, 33 Stories by Tagore, from the hidden treasures of a second-hand book mart. Not quite impressed by the translation, which seemed quite literal back then, I wondered why I still had the book. The reason was probaby the label, Tagore. Inside this (disliked) book was a leaf of ficus religiosa (sacred fig or peepal tree) which I had kept to be transformed into a completely translucent one. The leaf looked so beautiful that I couldn't stop gazing. With all its delicate and tiny network of veins visible, another meaning of the word intricate was revealed in that moment. What made it so attractive? Was it those empty cells or the veins themselves? What gives meaning, purpose

MCGM: Ban Smoking and Drinking at the Powai Lake Promenade Sign and share the petition with your friends and family and make this a success! We deserve a cleaner Mumbai! http://chng.it/wTZgKztJnh Update: 8 June - The Last Nomad

Today is going to be one of the most memorable days for Indians: a day when we celebrate the peaceful festival of Ramzan Eid (Eid-ul-Fitr), a day when India plays South Africa in its first match in the ICC World Cup and last but not the least, today is World Environment Day. Although most hands will celebrate and contribute today to the environment by texting, tweeting and taking selfies, it has fortunately been a different experience for me. Thanks to the Mega Cleaning and Plantation Drive at the 120-year-old Powai Lake by Abhyuday, IIT Bombay ( http://www.abhyudayiitb.org/ ) and Nisarg Swasthya Sansthan ( http://nisargswasthya.org/ ), Powai, I could experience something which triggered a series of questions in my mind. After all the volunteers were divided into multiple teams by 7 a.m., we began our work with an oath to keep our surrounding clean, followed by the National Anthem. The presence of newly elected MP, Shri. Manoj Kotak was a welcome sight. Here's the treasu

Voice quivers and words shiver, as trembling hands come together Eyes grow moist staring at the loss and ears are deaf to the gloomy pathos The spectators speak in hushed tones, trying to enact compassion The moment when a beloved dies, escapes quicker than sand Mind wants them back in this moment from the distant land Their touch and laughter, their tears and tales All I’m left to wonder is why now the tragedy befell No matter how weary death seems, I must move on In death’s embrace, life says live on - The Last Nomad Dedicated to all the loving people who have left us, only with memories. Photo Courtesy: Photo by Craig Adderley from Pexels

Through your eyes, the moonlight gleams, Through your breath, the ocean heaves, In your embrace, lies the fragrance of the mist, In your being, the creator is unveiled. - The Last Nomad

युनेस्को आयोजित जागतिक पुस्तक दिन १९९५ पासून दरवर्षी २३ एप्रिल रोजी साजरा केला जातो. वाचन, प्रकाशन आणि कॉपीराईट अशा अनेक विषयांकडे लक्ष वेधण्याच्या दृष्टीने हा दिवस महत्वाचा ठरतो. १४५५ साली जरी जोहान्न गुटेनबर्गने पहिले पुस्तक छापले असले तरी त्यापूर्वीपासून अक्षरवेडाने झपाटलेला माणूस विविध माध्यमे वापरून आपली बौद्धिक आणि मानसिक भूक भागवत होता. पण खरा कहानी मे ट्विस्ट आला तो डिजीटल क्रांती झाल्यावर. या क्रांतीमुळे वाचक आणि लेखकांवर झालेल्या परिणामाचा आढावा घेण्याच्या प्रयत्नातून सदर लेख दिनांक २६ एप्रिल २०१९ च्या लोकप्रभा अंकात प्रसिद्ध झालाय. लेख वाचण्याकरिता या संकेतस्थळावर क्लिक करा आणि आपला प्रतिसाद खालील कॉमेंट बॉक्स मध्ये जरूर कळवा. - The Last Nomad

Kali Jogin - Marathi by Narayan Dharap My rating: 4 of 5 stars धारपांच्या कथांवर आजवर बऱ्याच दूरदर्शन मालिका, चित्रपट आणि नाटके बेतली आहेत. तरीही त्या कथा मूळ स्वरुपात वाचण्याचा आनंद वेगळाच आहे. मराठी साहित्यात भय कथा किंवा गूढ कथा लिहिणारे लेखक फार कमी आहेत. त्यात अशा साहित्याकडे पाहण्याचा इतर लेखकांचा, टीकाकारांचा आणि वाचकांचाही दृष्टीकोन वेगळा असतो. या साहित्याला पुष्कळदा सामान्य किंवा लोकप्रिय साहित्य समजून दुय्यम दर्जा दिला जातो. पण गूढ कथा लिहिण्याचा उद्देश केवळ वाचकाच्या मनात भीती निर्माण करणे हाच समजलो तर ते योग्य ठरणार नाही. धारपांच्या "काळी जोगीण" या कथेविषयी इतके नक्कीच सांगता येईल कि भीती च्या कक्षा ओलांडून, ही कथा तुम्हाला तुमच्या अवतीभवती घडणाऱ्या गोष्टींचा पुन्हा एकदा तर्काच्या आधारावर पडताळून पाडण्यास भाग पडेल. View all my reviews

१० ऑक्टोबर १९७८ ची संध्याकाळ मी कधीही विसरू शकणार नाही. माझी पत्नी सौ. शुभदा आणि मी, गंगाधर निवास, दादर च्या गॅलरी मध्ये उभे राहून पावसाची मजा पाहत होतो. हवेतला गारवा मनातील उत्कंठेला गुदगुल्या करत होता. मला शुभदा बऱ्याच दिवसापासून आवडायची पण तिला कसे विचारावे या तगमगितच १ वर्ष निघून गेले. पाऊस हा प्रेमवीरांचा आवडता ऋतू का असेल याचा प्रत्यय येत होता. एकमेकांबद्दल प्रकट न केलेल्या भावना या ऋतूत अंकुरित होत होत्या. त्या दिवशी मात्र मी धीर करून शुभदाला विचारले, 'माझ्याशी लग्न करशील का?'. तिनेही लगेच होकार दिला. आपल्या माणसाच्या फक्त समोर असण्यानेच चिंब पावसातही एक वेगळीच उब जाणवू लागते याचा अनुभव मी घेत होतो. संपूर्ण आभाळ ढगाळ असतानाहि शुभदाच्या चेहरा पाहून माझ्या मनात, छोटा गंधर्वांचं, 'चांद माझा हा हसरा' हे पद आपोआप वाजू लागलं होत. त्यावेळी तिचे वय होते १६ वर्षे आणि माझे २१ वर्षे. दोघांच्याही घरून होकार आला आणि ३० मार्च १९८० रोजी आमचा विवाह झाला.  पण लग्न म्हणजे नेमकी काय चीज असते हे समजावणारी खरी गम्मत पुढे घडणार होती. शुभमंगल सावधान! लग्नापासून आम्ही कायम माझ्या

किरवंत by Premanand Gajvi My rating: 0 of 5 stars जातीच्या नावाने वर्षानुवर्षे होणारे राजकारण वगळले तर, जातीबद्दल कुतूहल असणार्यापैकी मी आहे. नाही, जातीभेद वगैरे मानण्यासाठी नव्हे तर मुळात विशिष्ट जात म्हटली की एका वेगळ्या संस्कृतीचे दर्शन घडते म्हणून. आपण मराठीत क्लासिफिकेशन म्हणतो तेच काम जात करते. नंतर आपल्या करंटेपणामुळे ती नासली. आपल्यातल्या भेदांचा आनंद घेण्याची संधी जात देते. आता संगीत आणि खाद्यसंस्कृतीचंच उदाहरण घ्या ना. गायकाचा आवाज विशिष्ट जातीचाच असला की आपल्याला खूप भावतो. आज भाजी मिळून नाही आली, भाजीची जात वेगळी होती असं आधीच्या पिढीत सहज म्हटलं जायचं. रंगाची जात, कापडाची जात, मातीची जात अशा असंख्य ठिकाणी ही जात अवतरते. हा शब्दप्रयोग करताना मुळीच कोणतीही अस्पृश्यतेची पुसटशीही भावना नाहीये. तुमच्या माझ्यातल्या गुणांचे वेगळेपण स्वीकारण्याचा मोकळेपणा मात्र नक्कीच आहे. तुम्ही आम्ही सगळे समान असा बेगडी आविर्भाव मुळीच नाहीये. पण ह्याच भेदांचा आधार घेऊन जेव्हा एखाद्याचे अधिकार डावलले जातात तेव्हा रूप घेतं किरवंत सारखं वेगळ्याच धाटणीतलं नाटक.

पाहता पाहता ७०-७२ वर्षात, हळू हळू आपण ग्लोबल होताना आपलं लोकल असणं विसरत गेलो हे कळलंच नाही. संस्कृतीचं culture होऊन ती वास्तुसंग्रहलयात नटून बसली आहे. कचकड्याच्या वस्तू हाताळताना आपण विचारही तसाच करू लागलो. जुनं द्या फेकून, नवीन घ्या कर्ज काढून असा बराचसा प्रवास होताना दिसतोय. कोशिंमबीर म्हटलं की जुनाट आणि salad with honey dressing काय ते trending. असो. आता याला  Introspection म्हणावं की आत्मचिंतन? - The Last Nomad

" Not all things experienced can be understood... Not all things understood can be expressed" It's so true in the case of the latest book I read " The Last Nomad" and it's left me speechless.. The book has been wonderfully written by Heramb Sukhathankar and tells the interesting story of Rahul and Ryan whose lives are intertwined in a way that you need to read it to know the story. Goosebumps is what you shall get in certain situations... written in such a detailed way where you will be right there next to Ryan listening to what he says and seeing and feeling what he feels!!! Kudos and waiting for many more books to be released!! - Lakshimi Shenoy ( Goodreads ) What can be more wonderful a gift on the International Women's Day than this special appreciation from a woman. Thank you, Lakshimi! Here are some of readers' favourite excerpts and a poem from the novella. " Although every woman knew that the ruler was only exploiting h

"Imagine a room with 100 windows and a person peeping in through each window. Within the room is an object of which only one view/face is visible from a window. What should the observers do to view the object in its entirety?" Thus began the session, nudging the participants to ponder over the scenario, and wondering what has it got to do with creative writing. "Isn't trying to look at the process of creative writing like this scenario? You are trying to grasp the entire view of some thing you may or may not have even a glimpse of. How can this be done without shattering the windows? The easiest way to do this is to move from the window to within the room; from being an observer to a participant. This workshop is aimed at facilitating the shift!" The workshop held on 2nd February at D.G. Ruparel College, was organised by the multi-lingual student writers' group अkshaर. From exploring the concept of creativity to creative writing, the session progre

Nothing could have been more wonderful than visiting an international fountain pen show right within your city limits, where you can touch a boru (reed pen) and a Parker Limited Edition (worth a fortune!) at the same time. It was like swimming in a sea of colourful pens and inks with fellow fountain pen lovers. Organised as a tribute To Kaifi Azmi (on his Birth Centenary) at the Nehru Centre, the show was indeed delightful. Interspersed with workshops on calligraphy and poetry, there were stalls from the most amazing pen collectors and traders from the country, with the top most brands exhibiting their collections. The highlight for me was meeting Noopur Datye (Type Designer, Co-Founder) from Aksharaya and learning about Devanagari Calligraphy, a subject I have been curious about from quite some time post Girish Dalvi's (also a Co-Founder of Aksharaya) lecture in a LateX workshop. I should not miss telling you about meeting Mr. M Pandurangan, from the family that k