Lord you me help me fly to the distant skies
Leading me by your light,
Oh! Your shining bright light!
Aware of the countless blessings and boons

Lord I see your face and your bright aura
Seated by your side,
Lord I’m happy all the while
Basking in your precious presence

I know that it is a dream, yet a wonderful dream
Gently smiling inside
Lord I know that I am saved
For accepting you as my Saviour, My Lord

Lord you made me your child by my birth again
Helping me to believe
That you died for my sins
Crucified on Calvary’s Cross.

Regards,
Rosh

1> Carry loads of woolen if you are visiting in peak winter. A woolen skull cap is a must.

2> De-list Sims Park/Botanical Garden/Rose Garden from your itinerary. These places are best visited in Apr-May.

3> Carry a good lip balm.

4> Preferably book a hotel that provides room heating. If not, make sure that the hotel provides you with additional blankets if required.

5> Going to Mudumalai Forest Reserve, I found, is a waste of time. Unless you are really lucky you won’t find any wild animal apart from few monkeys, deers or a stray elephant.

6> Stay away from Blue Hill Hotel @ Charing Cross. The food is outright junk and the service pathetic.

7> Buy fresh carrots. They are cheap and a good snack during your long trips.

8> Buy woolen @ Tibetan Market. The prices are generally 1/3 rd of what you would pay for the same elsewhere.

Hope this helps.

Cheers,
Rosh

Last weekend, I went to Ooty with my lovely other half. My uncle and his family comprising of a wife and a young, lively daughter also joined us for the trip. It was a good experience to be away from the usual maddening rush of things at our workplaces and homes.

Things have changed a lot in Ooty from the last time I visited there. It has become a bigger tourist attraction than it already was. It has become more crowded. Hotels and Service apartments have mushroomed at an unbelievable rate. There’s an alarming ratio of pathetic food joints to the good ones. But, I guess we can pass all these as a common growth phenomenon across India.

Now coming to the thing that hurt most - The Tibetan market has had a facelift. Good or bad - you decide. The market now stocks everything at a fixed rate. ‘The art of bargaining’, once the key to survival in any town or city in India, has now been rendered useless. The ‘Save Tibet’ Initiative is here. No more haggling over prices. The quoted price is the fixed and final one.

For some of us, bargaining is meant to be fun and to revoke this opportunity of pleasure is a violation of the basic Indian right to bargain. Many shop keepers also enjoy it, as the interaction enlivens their day. But now, even their days have been forced into a droning rut.

I still remember those good old days when my dad use to bargain hard and purchase a shoe, quoted at 900 rupees, for a mere 150 bucks or a lemon for 25 paise less than quoted. It was a pleasure watching him haggling on the price. And his smile after winning his bargaining duel cannot be explained in writing.

Alas, If the fixed price mania grips the whole of Ooty, as it has done on the Tibetan markets, children in Ooty will never understand the true meaning of shopping.

Cheers,
Rosh

P.S> Bargain or No bargain - Shopkeeper always wins. Dad never believed that and that’s why he smiled.

Dear friends,

I got a bargain deal from Buy.com today in my mailbox - A USB Missile Launcher @ 75% off.

The name sounded fun so I read on and I was not let down. It seems like a wonderful tool to protect you home PC or your Work PC from intruders. Move over anti-spywares, and anti-viruses. You don’t protect me from intruding eyes. But this neat little fella does exactly that.

"With the USB Missle Launcher you can defend your cubicle from unwanted co-worker intrusions or defend your room for unwanted siblings! The USB Missile Launchers features 3 foam projectiles that can be fired up to 20 feet at an extremely fast rate. (at least twice the range of any other product on the market) Turn, swivel and move the USB Missile Launcher up and down from your PC to aim the missiles towards your target. The computer control panel can be controlled from your mouse or your keyboard. Realistic sound effects bring the rockets to life as they leave the launcher towards your foe."

If you wanna order this go to Buy.com.

Regards,
Rosh

A week after marriage:

Meena: "That butter is gonna kill you some day."
Raj ignored his wife’s remark and continued applying butter on his toast generously.

Butter had been the love of his life till he met Meena. For the first month after they met his butter intake and declined sharply.

When he was first introduced to Meena, he was a massive 110 kgs, but by the time they got married he actually managed to lose 15 of them. For her it was an arranged marriage but for Raj, the first sight of Meena has triggered his love for her. He was enchanted by her beauty.

Meena was uncontrollably emotional after the marriage. She wept a lot. They never went for their honeymoon. Raj tried hard to be the good husband by giving Meena her personal space. He had tried getting close to her during the initial few nights but she had rejected his advances.

Raj knew something was wrong and the only solution he could think of was Time.
Time wipes away all pain, all troubles, all issues.

He gave Meena time.

Two days later:

Raj woke up in his bed alone. Meena would be busy cooking breakfast - he thought to himself. He brushed, shaved and took a shower as he always did.

He called out for Meena. No response.

The breakfast was served on the dining table. Few toasts spread out on a plate before him. And, his favourite pack of butter resting on the table.

There was a note tucked under the weight of the butter. It was from Meena.

"Dear Raj.
I have never loved you. My parents had forced me to marry you. I am going away from your life. Living together pains you more than it pains me. I cannot stand to watch such a gentleman as you going though so much pain daily.Please do not look for me. I do not intend to be found.
Forgive me if you can.
Meena"

Tears trickled from his eyes as he crumpled the letter and threw it on the floor. He did not know what to do. He tried calling her parents. But what would he say to them? That their daughter had run away from home citing a loveless marriage.

He picked up a bread toast and applied generous amount of butter on it. He cried even as he tried to eat the toast. He was unable to swallow the piece that he had bitten off. It needs more butter he said to himself.

He applied some more to the remaining toast.
The pain of losing his wife was overpowering. He cried out aloud -"Meena". The echo reverberated loud and clear.
Meena had left him.

The pain had intensified. It was a heavy, suffocating experience-far more intense than anything he had felt in a while.
Meena had left him.

He could barely breathe as the pain radiated through his chest.

Two days later cops find Raj’s dead body in the dining room with a crumpled note next to him.
"Failed marriage" the inspector smiled after he read the note.

Postmortem suggested a heart failure. ‘Failed marriage’ or ‘Butter’, I guess we will never know.

Regards,
Rosh

Loosely inspired by ‘Don’t Stop on the Motorway’ by Jeffrey Archer

It was 1:00 am when the train reached Derby station. I didn’t have the stomach for travelling alone. My journey from Bristol, to say the least, had been miserable.

Stepping out of the train was such a relief. In fact, I was so excited that I almost ignored that a man had been following me for quite some time now.

I looked around for help. The station was almost empty but for the lady who had been travelling on the same train, seated couple of seats ahead of me.

I ran over to her and explained my situation. Both of us looked back at the man. He was medium built but had a queer haggard look about him. He seemed quite agitated.
We increased our gait, but so did he.

Sylvia, that’s her name, told me that she was visiting her aunt in Derby. She was in her mid forties, bespectacled, with wavy brown hair and streaks of red that was cut short and looked as if it was in desperate need of a comb. Her breath smelt faintly of peppermints, with a mild undertone of nicotine.

I glanced back again trying to locate the stranger following us. He was very much still there. He was calling out and waving his hands frantically.

I told Sylvia that the stranger was still trailing us and suggested that we run. She agreed and there we were - two ladies running out of the rail station.

I looked back again. The man was chasing us down, still waving a news paper that he held in hand. I told Sylvia that my house was just 15 minutes walk from the rail station.

When we exited the station, Sylvia said that she better accompany me till my house. ‘Two were better than one’ - I seemed to agree.

As we sprinted along, we took turns to check if the man was still following us. He was still very much there. Maintaining a safe distance but surely following us.

"Darn! I think we took a wrong turn somewhere. It’s a dead-end!" I explained Sylvia. She stared at me. We looked back to see if the stranger still followed us. We had managed to lose him.

Sylvia let out a sigh of relief. "I think we have lost him. Let’s walk back and try to find your house" she said. She held my hand and slowly walked away from the alley.

Sylvia squealed like a mouse when her throat was slit. I watched her bleed. I always get excited when I see blood. I wiped the cut-throat blade and threw it in the pool of blood as I always did. That was my signature.

Morning I picked my daily dose of newspaper. The headlines ran with a black and white picture of me by the side.
Daily Mail: "Lady Cut-Throat strikes again! One witness identifies the victim and mentions seeing her with the killer."

Regards,
Rosh

Caution: Not for the faint hearted! The following story has some ideas and themes that may not go down well with everyone.
Reader discretion is advised.

Jessica: "Some more wine?"

Trisha: "Yeah! It’s fantastic.  Different from the red wine’s that I have been having lately."

Jessica: "It’s from a local vineyard. So much hullabaloo about French wines, but I prefer the Californian home-growns."

Trisha (pointing towards the gallery): "What a queer showpiece! Where did you get it?"

Jessica: "Oh don’t you remember my aunt in Borneo? She is a missionary who lives with the so called head hunting tribes.
It was a gift from her. She said that it was the head of a man convicted of adultery.
They have a strange ritual, you see.  They drink the adulterer husband’s blood and then shrink his head and the wife wears it around the neck"

Trisha: "How cruel!"

In venting out her disagreement against the form of punishment, Trisha spills some of the wine on her white secretary shirt. Both ladies stare as the wine seeps through the shirt and makes the stain expand.

Jessica: "Use this towel, my dear. Blood and Wine stains are difficult to remove if they are let on the dress for too long."

Trisha lets out a cry as she uncontrollably tries to stop herself from puking. She spews out the bloody contents of her stomach as she reaches the door.
Jessica watches her drag herself down the stairs to the parking lot. She smiles to herself.

Mark: "Who was it dear?"

Jessica: "Oh! It was Trisha from your office. She wanted to check on you. You have been away from the office for a while haven’t you?"

Mark (with a hint of discomfort): "Yeah. But, I had specifically told her that I would be joining office tomorrow. I shall call her now."

Jessica: "No need to do that now. I have already talked to her. Poor girl! I think she is not well. Look, how she has made a mess of the entire room. I will have to get somebody to clean up."

For a woman who had her living room desecrated, Jessica seemed unusually calm and happy.

Cheers,
Rosh

Inspired by Isiah 42

Lord I sing your praises
To your holy name
Lord I shout from mountaintops
Of your blessed fame

Lord I sing your praises
Lord I shout with joy

From the depth of the seas
To the heights of the clouds
On the mountains and hills
And the land all around

Your majesty (2)
Your Majesty abound.

The Lord will march out
Like a mighty warrior
He’ll stir up the zeal and
Raise the battle cries

And triumph over (2)
And triumph over his enemies

The lord will lead me
Through unfamiliar ways
Turn darkness and night
To light of the days

And I’ll sing (2)
And I’ll sing his praise

Cheers,
Rosh

My God and Saviour Jesus Christ has been an integral part of my life and his presence in my life has made all the bumpy rides smooth. My life has transformed to a beautiful harmonious singsong ever since I invited him into my heart.
May the following song inspire each one of us to open our hearts to him.

My life has been a singsong, O Lord
for you have carried me through -
Hail and Ice and Wind and Snow
Rain and Sun’s warmest glow.

Holding me close;
shielding my fears.
Wiping away
my sorrowful tears.

I sing your praise, Evermore Lord
for you have guided me through -
Brooks and Creeks and Hills and Plains
guiding me through the rugged terrains.

Holding my hand;
blessing my days.
Showing me all
your miraculous ways.

Countless are you blessings, O Lord
for you’ve loved me all-way through -
Sins and Faults and Highs and Lows
forgiving me as you always do.

Lifting my spirits;
with a gentle caress.
Saving my soul
through the light of your face.

Your name shall echo among the nations
for you are the true Living God whose -
Strength and Might and Truth and Glory
Will shine eternally.

Cheers,
Rosh

"Maurya’s empire came to power in 321 BC. The empire reached its peak under Emperor Ashoka who converted to Buddhism in 262 BC."
"Muslim power first made itself strongly felt on the subcontinent with the raids of Mahmud of Ghazni. The six great Mughals were Babur, Humayun, Akbar, Jehangir, Shah Jehan and Aurangzeb and their reigns were between 1527 until 1707. "
"In 1612 British made their first permanent inroad into India when they established a trading post in Gujarat and later at Madras in 1640, at Bombay in 1668 and at Calcutta in 1690. In 1672 the French established themselves at Pondicherry and stage was set for a rivalry between the British and French for control of Indian trade." I read aloud from my notes as young eyes stared on.

"I never appreciated History. There were loads of dates and other facts to remember. But one thing all my History teachers would vouch for is the fact that I could paint a picture of History as no one ever could - at least in my school."

"And when I say paint a picture of History - I mean literally" I add for increased effect.

I could see that everyone in the room was involved. Each one of them awaited my next line with infective eagerness.
"I bet you all are bored. Let me stop now."

As was the case for the past innumerable times, I was requested to continue. I smile approvingly.
"Yes. Where were we? Haan, I was telling how my fame started from school, spread through the district, through the state till every news channel in India had a primetime report about me - the child prodigy."

"The Lokayata Art Gallery, Delhi wanted to display my paintings for their Indian Glory Exhibition. I was surprised that I was to be featured beside stalwarts like M.F. Hussain and Tyeb Mehta."
"Do you know that one of Tyeb Mehta’s paintings was sold for 1.58 million dollars? I think that’s the highest by an Indian."
"It was a special day, the day my paintings were featured at the Gallery. We were lucky to have couple of distinguished guests from the British Royalty."
"I can still remember the day, clear as crystal, as if it happened only yesterday. There was supposed to be no sale that evening. Only exhibition. No sale."
"But she was so persuasive. She came to me and congratulated me on such a wonderful piece of art. She was surprised to find that I was so young. I had turned fourteen that year. She asked me if I had an agent whom she should speak to. I vaguely remember asking her why. She said she liked - ‘Taj Mahal’ so much that she wanted to take it home. She asked me if i had a price in mind. Such a beautiful lady, appreciating my work; I was only happy to give it to her for free. I replied in a soft but sure tone - For you, it’s free. "
The young keen eyes had started becoming droopy.
"She discussed with me on a range of interesting topics before bidding adieu. Before leaving, she hinted that she wanted to be anonymous, I have let her be."
"A check for a quarter million pounds arrived in my mailbox a few weeks later."
"To honor her, I have never painted the Taj Mahal again."

By Prof. George Wilson.

"Your grandpa" I add. Everyone in the room had fallen asleep. I admired the fact that the cherubs slept so peacefully.
I kiss them good night before turning off the lights.

Cheers,
Rosh