Thursday, December 19, 2013
How time flies, right? It’s funny how some people view the intensity of a relationship with the number of years you have spent with your beloved. I ask, what has number of days or months to do with it? Perhaps, they don’t know, and rightly so, of every single hour we would take out from our schedules to simply see each other, talk or share that happiness that enwrapped us when we were together; of the longing of meeting after one month or two weeks even as we stayed in the same city; of the despair that left the heart morose for it could not reach out to the other, when they needed us the most; of the drive that smothered us alive and burnt us into ashes, even as we breathed our empty breaths, to meet, not to talk, but simply be, in space, in love and in that moment. Perhaps, they also don’t know of the weight of the wait, a phrase which became a usual rhyme, only to fill the heart till the brim, till it rained at the other shore. And what of the words that were exchanged and the letters that were written, they know not how preciously we have edged them like jewels found in this lifetime, till death do us apart. And they know not that no matter how many times the same words are spoken and said to the beloved, every single time, they bring a smile, and soothe this heart, which yearns for more and more and more……….
Words, at times, forget how precious they can be, how truly greatful can someone be as s/he reads them at the other end. I still find myself wondering upon the definition of love or the fact if it’s an emotion at all for it is felt like lungs breathing air, it’s just there!
Today, as this another wonderful year comes to a close, I shall not thank you, knowing that you don’t particularly like it, yet I shall repeat myself, for I know how blessed am I to have befriended you, known you every single day and fallen more in love with, even as we had our share of disagreements. Isn’t it enchanting, how love can teach us to continue to love each other even as the other acts in ways which we would completely detest? Most importantly, I’m blessed to have you for all the optimism you have always showered at this shore, on days, when arid winter winds would break the bones; for being a believer of discussions and talks, and for you simply being that super awesome ‘you’….
For all that and more
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Sometimes you want to be called by someone else. That someone who has been an acquaintance, whom you met as an acquaintance, but they looked out for you, at you, perhaps upto you for something you were totally unaware of.
Sometimes you having written as many words filled with emotions and thoughts want that someone else to let you know whether you have grown with age or withered with time.
Sometimes you want the whistling of leaves to go a little further ahead and form a swirl only to enwrap you into a warm hug so as to evade the winter breeze that burns till your bones.
Sometimes you yearn to go back home, that home where you have always lived, not because you only miss your room and that room misses your presence but because there are your loved ones whom you miss seeing every single day of your life away from them.
Sometimes you let the tears flow even as they,in their watery texture,speak a million stories of the pain that lies deep inside your heart, that which makes you human, at the same time a sensitive being.
Sometimes you wish an angel to appear from nowhere and save you from all that you are going through only to make life simpler and better.
Sometimes you want a dear friend to hear your sorrow with not a spoken word exchanged and call you just because she was missing you.
Sometimes you wish to scream out loud into the valley and tell Mother Nature how hard life is, even as you cry silent tears in your bed.
Sometimes you wish you are punished for the wrong you did for your conscience has got tired of looking after your ‘rights’ and ‘wrongs’.
Sometimes, more than often, all you want is to be wrapped into a hug where everything is taken care of itself.period.
Friday, November 22, 2013
We don’t watch sad movies to taste salty tears. We don’t watch romances that are subtle to know how intensely that lamp of oil can ignite. We watch sad romantic movies because somewhere we want to know how grave a pain it shall be if we lose our loved ones.
These tears that still are alive in this heart that beats of love, a melancholic music of the violin I heard.
This sadness that aches the soul, speaks of the love that was, has been and that wishes itself to last.
You see if two people were meant to meet, there was a reason, either to come into each other’s lives, teach them more about life and living or to be and to love the other so passionately that the world would not matter. We would be and not be in that world at the same time. Talking, interacting, smiling to familiar faces and perhaps wanting to be with those who abandoned us, for the sake of love. A noman’s land, not barren by people, yet barren in its own ways. And if at all it would rain in that land, the drops of pain would taste salty. May be tears, though watery have always carried in themselves a weight; that which some felt like wait, and that which others went through in moments of catastrophe or dilemma.
And who believes in past life, they ask. We know not where we were, you and me. We hear stories of many lives. We know not of the life that shall be as our souls shall depart the bodies, the mass which we live in, in all our living days. And so I ask, unaware of the past that was and the future that shall be, damn world! Can we not think of me and thee? ,
The gentleness I see in the feather, is that which is felt in that touch
The tears that burst through heavens, evaporate in moments quick
For the sun that burns the earth, also nourishes her
And they wonder what kind of love is that
For it loves, only to burn………….
And there in the noman’s land
Now exists a world
Where those who love and not care reside
Forever and until eternity…………………
P.S: The above words were inspired after watching the movie ‘Never Let Me Go’
Thursday, November 14, 2013
The work at this side of the fence is never ending and the irony of this land is that people, after a point of time, can do nothing but toil to pass the 50 percent mark. Threads of different colours entangle her, making things a blur occasionally that the very coloured threads seem to enmesh together to a ball of wool that is colourless, odourless and directionless.
And while the mouth did its chatter amidst the game of ease and tension that the clouds played with the erratic warmth of the sun, something bewildering happened. The waves of the shore began to recede in a way unlike its nature. The sand of the beach became dense and heavy. Even the wind questioned its nature, for it would fly with the breeze and make different shapes that which the dunes would love. And on this beach, in a corner lay a book questioning its existence. Someone threw it in despair and disgust for the essence of words had lost its meaning. And while the tornado came by and left, the dead silence of that very moment lingered on, for someone far away lost her life to words. Speechless.Wordless. A barren land.
That autumn where the leaves were crumpled and crushed under the weight of existence came by and went. As each leaf slowly left its haven for the burial, it wondered of all the days that went by, swaying and gliding with the cool breeze, with its pals. Some of them breathed their last breath months ago, and some were days away from the earth. In its last breath it thanked the sun, the rain and the tree, for the stay was warm and nourishing.
She took that clearing into the forest to find a way out, only to find that it would take her back in-to a world that always belonged to her. As she walked on the leaves that cried listening to her tears, that shared timing with their death, she saw a few trees which bloomed with all their youth.
Now she sits on that favourite spot which faces the forest. The sun, in all its glory promised it’s presence even on wintery days. It comes by to say a hi for it knows she feels cold. And there she holds the very book, which was abandoned for the betrayal of words. Today, the words cry, not because they were aimless or cruel, but because the tornado ensured that no order remains in its presence.
And it is with words as with sunbeams, the more they are condensed, the deeper they are. The security of the sun makes her rise each day. Sweet words exchanged. The promises give rise to budding leaves on the branches that were left barren and lifeless. Life continues to evolve. She knows not of what shall entail but with the sun there the smile surely stays. She goes back to reading and owning that which was bereft of her.
1. The title is a line by Rilke
2. The line in Italics has been written by Robert Southey.
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
There’s so much chaos out there. Just one step across the line and you here the noises drown you. They pull you, entrap you in a trench where there shall be two worlds, one that goes inside you, and the other where the body shall reside inside that trench. Two world at one space, what shall you do when you get trapped? Shout out for help, scream for only rescuing you was an option?
She cried day after day until her tear glands could be at peace. The agony felt like a million blades pierce through her conscience that which they called the ‘Super’ Ego. What about the pleasures? An image of licking that ice lolly as a kid came across her mind. That very ice lolly which was now looked down upon for it was not ‘branded’! But it caused her no harm and only offered a pinkish tongue and a hundred giggles every time she would buy and lick it. The taste of happiness, oh so transient, yet the images of these memories stay. Why , you ask? For in there lay a purity and truth so profound that no riches could buy it!
The noise in the trench was silenced. She wondered if the world would ever realize her absence, for she was just one freckle amidst the innumerable ones that came and went by from this planet called earth. Did her existence made any difference in the lives of others? Existence- ia-lism. Its surprising how distance doesn’t matters when you love the person who is miles away from you, that someone special whom you haven’t met , yet the soul feels as if you have, in that one era, which remains felt but not seen.
This trail of thought is often termed ‘derailed’ thinking style in the realm of the psychiatry world. Yet its funny how the thoughts have a zillion threads, they may seem distinct, but a chain is what weaves them together. Perhaps trenches are a good place to be in. In a world where people are running, pacing, cracking their heads to earn riches, not knowing the value of their “being” morphing their life into a futile, hollow story, perhaps it’s a trench which puts the perspectives back into life, just like how a drip gets injected when something sucks the life out of you, only to offer a live back to the life.
That trench stays empty now; remote in that part of the world that has been accepted. The soil there continues to be wet for the downpour of the heart left a few greens to blossom. The hole in there is where the sparkling rays play hide and seek with those buds waiting to grow and reach out. The buds miss her but only for good. The trench is not an enclosure. Not a trap. Away from the world, some spaces seek acknowledgment, in pain, in confusion because the quieter we are, the more patient and open we are in our sadnesses, the more deeply and serenely the new presence can enter us, and the more we can make it our own, the more it becomes fate.
P.S: The words in colour are by Rainer Maria Rilke.
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
Crooked are the roads
Seemingly smooth closer; Far
Away and here I
Find the chaos that was
The noisy clutter forced
Me to escape that
Which forever felt
Nearest than the nearer; Like
A storm it came by
Expect no smoothness
For uncertainty is rocky
Smile on this ride dear
Monday, September 9, 2013
Sunday, September 8, 2013
Considering its an all new chapter of my life I have started here the count of lessons too shall begin from that very first number we were taught to write as ‘one standing line’.
#1. Distance hurts but we got to do what we like best with that distance
As you grow into a mature butterfly with every single day that passes by, you also realise that even as you try to keep that pain and tears away from your dear ones, wanting not to see them dissolve in that pain, they are doing the same at the other end, protecting you as always. Pro- tec-tion. Se-cure. Its fab-u-lous how words form a melody and a meaning in themselves. How se-cure makes us cure and how pro life is pro-tec-tion? Did you ever share this with these words, for they know not the meaning they hold?
Yes, they’ve been loved ever since their re-cog-ni-tion and val-ue added some more val-ue to the already eventful life. There is this sol-ace ( sole-ace) that they give, perhaps darling as you find a fondness in that reading, I find mine in writing. The words bind us the way they always have.
If extroverts had an option to find solace then maybe they would want to have one special gift from their loved introverts. It would be being at peace with that fabulous book and a comfy corner. To think of, it’s not hard, right? In fact nothing is hard until it is tried and tested. As a writer writes, a comfort and that special solace comes by, not coz words have always been loved but because words as they come by, they leave soft kisses on a heart that longs for love every single day, on a heart that has been full of life every single day.
Once a teacher told her student, who was annoyed by the fact that she was not a good reader. He said “Just that there is a need for readers there is also a need for writers, for if there are no writers whom shall one read?” These words brought a smile to her face, for she was a writer and still continues to be. There may not be many people who read what she writes, there may not be that appreciation for her words, at a large scale, but knowing that she always writes because it pleases her is a beauty in itself. Why, you ask? The pleasure that small things give is at times magnified by the big things, to the extent that one forgets the sole of happiness in big events. She writes coz she loves. She also writes because some day she would like to gift these words, little bundle of joys to her children when they grow up, hoping that they would nurture these little curly letters in their own ways.
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
I know I cried like a mad girl in those two months, it’s really surprising but it feels as if that was long time ago. As they say “time is a great healer”. Indeed. Perspectives change and with time we bloom too. You remember, I would often tell you what I would tell myself in troubled times “That which doesn’t kills us makes us stronger” and so goes the truth. We have all come a long way. So have I. To know that many a laurels were achieved not for the sake of extrinsic motivation but for the self is indeed satisfying. While it now feels like that a magic happened in those times, truth is it was all hard work that went behind. True work always pays. It has and will. It somehow feels like a letter to my self even as I write to you. Well, every word I say to you gets softly reflected back. You know you are a bestie and my therapist!
Life is a blessing, why crib, cry and waste precious tears over mundane moments which shall eventually pass by and then after a few weeks it shall feel all silly. Ah! Like my Master’s dissertation days! Gosh! Tell me something, are some courses meant to give us jolts like that?
I’ve always been a believer of true insights. These insights come along way too…It’s like a butterfly which eventually comes to life when it’s fully developed. Today, it feels as if I have been both inside and outside the cocoon at the same time, waiting to be set free by the invisible walls at the same time see myself fly with those gorgeous fragile wings.
This life here was meant to be. Yes I chose it under pressure but yeah destiny is also something I believe in.
Que sara sara
What will be will be….
The future’s not ours to see….
Que sera sera….
What will be will be…..
And no matter where we are….
Twogether we shall be…shall be….
|I'm a brook, on my way to the sea....|
Yeah I know I gotta be patient
For the lock to open, it's often the last key.....
The softness, the music and the melodies....
If rocks shall come my way
So will many a beauties......:)
Thursday, August 22, 2013
A choke in my throat
Perhaps a little tear stuck by
For the words would often be read
Sometimes by friends, more so by passers by
Time went by hopping to blogs
Words here and there, but never a lie
Some friendships were formed
Few for a while
Others faded, like a cloud passing by
And there were phases
Of posts after posts
And then a silence, a blankness for a while
And there was this one avid reader
The one I love
My posts would be viewed
Sweetly, from those miles
And I would often share this feeling
A vacuum of sorts
And he would simply say
“You write from heart, as others for the piles”
Yet this heart would wonder
Feel that ache and pinch
Words, my first love knew
Would offer sweet smiles and winks
And as this yarn keeps spinning
The yard stays vacant all day
And a few beautiful souls drop by
And appreciate the existence of this place
The dreams then flutter its wings
For well, some true ones say ‘worry why?’
Some hearts still get touched and feel
And relate to the words written by………….
And I wonder how hard it was for you to pen down those lovely words I read from you after all these months. I truly believe that you always had them there, in your heart and mind and all you needed was a little push, like the one I received when I was on my way to ride the bicycle carefree and forgetful of the fact if someone was there behind me, looked back, bam! I hit the fruit seller! Guess that is why they say “There is no need to look back at life in times when all is going well, for you never know you might fall upon a thought that takes makes a bam!”
I’ve been hearing some people say “you look darker” and honestly I didn’t really realize until I was told. The tan from the trip is there to last. I wish it to go away. However, on a second thought if it’s a symbol of our lovely trip, then I don’t mind if it’s here to stay, and slowly fade away……
Ending that trip with you dear was heart aching. All that begins does come to an end. In our case there are many places that still need two hearts to sigh, for the breath taking views, for the soul to feel at peace and for moments to redefine time in its own ways. That’s what long trips do, right? You drift so far off that you forget you actually have any responsibilities at the other end.
That invisible weight gets lifted by the cool breezes and the lightness fills your lungs.
The sun shines brighter in those days, the moon secretly kisses the sun.
The stars applaud the love affair, not vividly seen
Mature love is not that mature, it too has glitters of a teen
The waters of the river chime their way, a music to our ears
On the rocks embraced in your hug, life magically seems clear
The waves leap the rock, glide and flow, a graceful dance on display
If life has all these wonders to offer, I wonder why I often feel dismay.
|taken from here|
Friday, August 16, 2013
Thank you for the gorgeous mugs you bought for me which have ‘chai’ written all over. They simply add to the thousand little reasons that can bring a smile on my face. Special chai, station wali chai, udhaar wali chai,dhabe wali chai, pahadon wali chai. I’d like to add one more ‘Meri pyaar wali chai!’
There is a certain magic that happens every time we add tea leaves to boiling water. The tea leaves end up blending slowly with water. It’s like the water was in wait for them to come by. In sheer delight the water boils with elation; the tea leaves, in their silent presence exude that yellow, then red, then black colour letting the water know that they have solely come by to meet her.
I would often tease you on taking so many ‘ghante’ to make tea. And you would say ‘Achi cheezon ko banana mein time lagta hai’. A smile comes by on this face of mine. No wonder it took good number of years before we could find each other. Guess, we were ‘in making’!
Now, I’m sure you agree that one cannot have the same tea day after day especially when it is boring, but what to do when you got to be awake. These are the kind of teas I get to drink here:
Mitthi math chai, zyada ubli hui chai, Taj dip wali chai ( which in no way makes me say ‘Waj Tah!’ ), hari kadvi wali chai ( one way to keep oneself in shape:P)
What I miss the most is meri adrak wali superawesome pyaar wali chai! Now, even as I write this, it feels so cheesy. But hey, what love is that if it doesn’t ends up getting choco-latey or cheesy at times!;)
Aisi chai banai apne
Ki dil khush hua
Aisi chai banai apne
Ki dil khush hua
Ki jab jab koi aur chai pi
Tab is dil ko dard hua.
Looking forward to that great cuppa’ tea which simply adds value to: tea, to lips, to taste, to heart and of course to the long day……..
Waiting to Boil…..
|Chai Mugs by Happily Unmarried:)|
Thursday, August 15, 2013
Monday, July 15, 2013
The following words were a reply to a beautiful quote shared by my sweet friend and blogger Saumya on FB. The quote is :
“Love is a temporary madness, it erupts like volcanoes and then subsides. And when it subsides, you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion, it is not the desire to mate every second minute of the day, it is not lying awake at night imagining that he is kissing every cranny of your body. No, don't blush, I am telling you some truths. That is just being "in love", which any fool can do. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident.” ― Louis de Bernières, Captain Corelli's Mandoli
Remember that day when I yearned for you,
Yearned, any clue what it means?
I cried for the distance,
Wept for the confusion,
Screamed noiselessly for the dilemma,
Tore invisible sheets in anguish,
Slept with tears as my companion,
Felt the spring turn winter,
The snow didn’t melt,
The colors burnt into ashes,
The emptiness of air……..
May be you do,
May be not,
That aching yearning
That missed completeness
That dead air
Is all that I recall………..
|pic taken from here|
Sunday, July 14, 2013
Yeh joh shabd yahan hum bunte hain
Wahan door kahin kisi kone mein
Inhe lapet kar koi hasta toh koi rota hai
Gustakhi nai kijiyega huzoor, yeh shabd nahi jaan hain
Ink ek ek daane mein hai base kain lamhe
Kuch sehme, kuch darre
Kuch ankahe, kuch kareeb aur kuch gambhir
Yeh joh andikhe dhage hain
Woh dhage nahi kisse hain
Apke, mere, unke,
Zahir hue, chupe kisi kone mein
Zahir hue, tode kaeen rishte
Aj jab beete dinon ki yaad mein
Hum sang baithe hain, inke, apke aur apne sath
Kaeen kisse yaad karte hain
Jab shabdon ki pehchaan na thi
Kuch tohfe samay ke sath diye jate hain
Umar ka kya kahein
Apne mein hi ek paheli hai……
Sunday, July 7, 2013
|pic taken from here|
If books were to be written on life, there would be never ending volumes and many a revised editions. You know why, so don’t ask. I remember this quote ‘Travel is the only thing you buy that makes you richer’. Indeed. You remember she had a piggy bank she would add money to every time? That piggy bank got transformed all of a sudden. It morphed its boundaries, contours, shape, form and most importantly the content. There are value- able assets and lessons added to it every single moment of her life. Seconds at times seem like eternity, like getting dissociated from your body in that split second which gives you a high. And as you come back in your body with the same soul that always belonged to you, you still stay in that dis- associated moment of thrill, awe and magnanimity.
‘ I’m magnanimous, I’m Agni, I’m Hermes’ said a voice to him. That ball of fire resides in all of us. Many a voices try to extinguish it. If you have never felt that extinguisher blast out on you ever before then the voices can really bog you down. Imagine splitting yourself in to two pieces, where one hears voices he believes in and the other part just smirks and feels pity, for he knows that all you hear is medically termed as ‘auditory hallucinations’.
Split Personality Disorder it was once called. Is it a disorder really? Don’t we all experience splits of different kinds? ‘Reality’, now that is one fantastic word, I say. Who decides what reality is? Is it static or dynamic? Your reality, your world is
any way in all the possible ways
different from mine, so who gives the authority to Clinicians to decide
what is real and unreal. Philosophical, isn’t it? Are ‘unrealistic’
or so called ‘ab- normal’ minds always crippled? Are geniuses always the ones
who are fantastically brilliant? NO! The phenomena of splitting oneself from
the reality narrate many a stories. The family, the people, the environment, in
short the psycho- social dynamics speak through it. The unspoken pain, tears,
the harassment, subjugation, whipping, throwing. It’s like a dream within a
dream. You peel one layer; other emerges, until you reach deep down only to
find there is nothing, yet every thing!
The tryst with that journey has begun. A million travels beckon every single moment of the day……
Saturday, July 6, 2013
Sunday, June 23, 2013
As I look back now, growing up in the toddler years meant forgetting a thing called separation anxiety and being brave to go out with your head held high to the school where our rest of the years would be spent. I still remember crying like a small baby when my younger brother went to ‘the big school’. He didn’t cry but I did.
Growing up in school meant socialising, making friends and telling them that my mommy and daddy are nah! Not best but the best! It meant walking in a line for assembly, getting enamoured with eyes and voices and inanimate objects and thinking together how fascinating the adult worlds were. It meant punishments and rewards and a world where lots of ‘no’s’ and ‘yes’s’ existed. It was almost like Yes and No had become invisible people who were extremely important.
Then came the teen years, where growing up was of a different kind. One wondered how some boys were smaller than girls in class eight and suddenly got stretched in class nine?!! One saw bodies changing, pimples on faces that were clean and clear a year back. One heard ‘hush hush’ whispers. Rumours would be spread of someone having said ‘I love you’ to a girl and what not. Suddenly cute looking boys became more interesting, how come that never happened before? Yet the Chicken Soup for the Teen Soul series seemed more apt for the West than ‘our culture’. Growing up then also meant coming back home with the house key and giving food to your younger bro.
Then came the High School where ‘We were the Senior most’. The world, even as it revolved around studies, had a lot happening. Boys and girls would be called to the Princy’s office for God knows what. Every boy and girl that roamed around together would be tagged to be in a relationship. This heart kept the crushes for fear of rumours. The mind worked well for who was interested in some lame relationships? Yet this heart accepted and soothed pained tears of friend’s broken relationships. For years long this heart never understood the complexity of the phase called ‘being in love’; was it that complex? May be, just like 11th Grade Trigo was!
Bachelors was another stepping stone. There I was imagining pursuing my subject in a co-ed college, sigh, they were none. It’s indeed surprise how life moves/runs/stops. When it does, it takes a while to get in sync with the pace, for you know you were walking as she was sailing. Studying in a hot girl’s college meant posh chauffeur driven cars and girls entering college with clutches and hot pants. The mind wondered if the girls were here for clubbing?! The level of studies increased. Looking back, the basic skills for life were gained then. This was also the time of leaving behind school buddies and looking forward to make new pals. Groups got formed, that of nerds, chilled out people, elite people and well rest I don’t remember.
The Masters called for an entrance exam. This mind only wonders the courage it took to leave a clichéd good university to get into a newly born university. Wow!!pat on the back! That was one Masters Program! The mind’s level increased. It studied Philosophy and got enamoured this time by the way those Great men thought. Growing up meant looking into your unconscious and realising the vast depth that lay in the mind and not only in the Sea. These years saw best buds getting into relationships and heart feeling immensely glad for them. It also meant waiting for dreams to get fulfilled of lovely blossomed roses and career that was yet in waiting.
Masters finished and the lil tiny foots then which had grown with years finally took some steps out in the world. Times went chasing, howling, cribbing, with moments of monotony of life that only felt dull and lifeless than anything. The life had come to a halt. The depressive halt moved gradually. When life stops, the air stops. The earth moves yet we are at halt. Not a single thing seems exciting for why would it, as others move your clock doesn’t tick tock!
And as the wind of the years long gone
Blows by my face today
I wonder, Oh Lord
How delightful has been life’s ways
Here am I, spending time with Life
She is beautiful to the core
Her magnanimous and magical rays
Now life is not about people
For the special loved ones are intact
It’s about leading oneself ahead
Loving the self I have
Growing up evolves
Tears and laughs change
For reasons then seem petty now
Yet not so petty to forget……
Friday, June 14, 2013
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
It’s interesting how life plays magic with seconds that pass, or even days and months all together.
Kal tak hum baithe te Dilli ki galiyon mein
Darte the akele ghoome ya baithein
Toh yeh zamane ke log sochenge kya
Gazab hai yeh zindagi
Aur lamhon ki chan chan
Jo ek pal ko dooje se aise jode
Ki taar bane, bune, gaye, sharmaye se
Aj hum khud mein hain
Ek khushi si hai
Khud se pyaar karne mein
Khud ko kareeb se samajhne mein…..
Aj akele reh kar bhi akele nahin hain hum
Bharosa, dosti…ek ishq sa ho chala hai….
Unke saath…sochenge aap…Arre janaab…khud se ishq karne ki baat hi kuch aur hai…..