Reflections of Passions

Rabindranath Tagore Nobel Laureate The emerald became green in the hue of my consciousness. The ruby became red. I opened my eyes to the skies. And light broke from East to West. I looked at the rose and said, "How beautiful". And the rose became beautiful. You will say, "These are philosophical truths, These are not the poet's speech." I say, "These are truths, And what is poetry but truth?" My conceit is here, A conceit on behalf of mankind; On the canvas of man's conceit is drawn the masterpiece of universe-- The creation of the Artist. The philosopher reiterates at every breath Counting his rosary "There is no emerald, no ruby, no light and no rose, Neither you nor me', While He who is infinite came to realize Himself Within the boundary of man, And this is named "I". In the density of that "I", a conflict arose Between shadow and light. There appeared form, the awakening of sap. The "no" became "yes&

Rajdeep Sardesai Editor-in-chief, CNN-IBN 24 x 7 media is an amoral beast and the camera is Shiva's third eye. It sees the positive and the negative and it doesn't blink; it is indeed a double-edged weapon. Television magnifies sound and images, but it can also be used to completely distort them. An artful government will recognize the power of the media, but will harness it to its advantage. An under-confident government will allow the media to dictate the agenda, petrified by the media's power and then merely react to it. The UPA-II is a prime example of what happens when television becomes the Pied Piper and the government then desperately plays to catch up. Ubiquitous TV images will show up an absentee government in high definition every day. In recent weeks, as the images of Baba Ramdev and Anna Hazare have played out relentlessly across television screens, the government has appeared to panic. Four cabinet ministers rushed to the Indira Gandhi International Airport, N

Swami Tejomayananda The Speaking Tree Man has made remarkable progress in the fields of science and technology. Technology has made it possible to travel faster than the speed of sound. New avenues of communications have opened up with the advent of computers. The advances in the field of medicine have produced wonderful results. All these changes have affected the pace of life. Man is forced to think of various issues in the light of these new discoveries. Issues that were unimaginable a few decades ago such as euthanasia, cloning, morality and ethics are demanding immediate answers. It appears that there has been progress in various avenues, but paradoxically on the other hand one sees so much of destruction and violence. The old value system is degenerating. Families are now breaking down giving rise to a lot of mental discomfort and distress. People are becoming more unruly and violent. Nations are itching for conflict at the first opportunity. At this, what will happen in the pres

The 2011 Hindi film "Shor In The City" produced by Balaji Motion Pictures is not one of those regular entertainers that Hindi cinema keeps churning out with amazing regularity and insult the intelligence of the viewers. On the contrary, "Shor In The City" is a film that keeps you totally on the edge, but at the same time is a very entertaining film. As a film, it absorbs you into its world in no time. It is slick in nature and has a lot of nervous energy and also has its share of fun moments. It actually stands out from the clutter of Hindi films because of its unconventional plot and the brilliant execution. "Shor In The City" revolves around three stories in the midst of the noise and grunge of Mumbai. It has the gangster backdrop, without making the film dark or depressing as well as the thriller quotient that keeps you at the edge. The three stories run concurrently--the characters are not at all connected with each other, they don't cross paths an

Go, fly bird sing, breezes blowing Misty the window's glass... Have I lost me or could it be A fairy tale at last? Here and there fireflies spark, Golden moon lost in waters dark. In the window, piled clouds above. Go cloud go, keep an eye on my love... Go, fly bird sing, breezes blowing Misty the window's glass Have I lost me or could it be A fairy tale at last? Here and there fireflies spark Golden moon lost in waters dark In the window piled clouds above Go cloud go, keep an eye on my love... Go, fly bird sing, breezes blowing Misty the window's glass Have I lost me...?

Night, O ambassador of black, Night, O envoy of dark. The moon's mate, O night, You come to me forlorn. An era has passed and yet, You come to me alone? The mood is solemn... ... Only the crickets mourn. The moon's mate, O night, You come to me forlorn. Where is your friend, the elusive moon? Why do you come alone? Extinguish the twilight, eclipse the dark... ... I only wish to speak To the pitch in black. The night is sad... ... It's heavy with grief... .... Sitting in its own dark shadow. The moon's mate, O night, You come to me forlorn. An era has passed since we met last, And yet, you come alone? Extinguish the twilight, eclipse the dark... ... I only wish to speak... ... To the pitch in black. The darkness is maddening Opaque and dense. It pricks, it stings; It's a welcome offence. I seek its lap, To end my day... ... I join its embrace... ... To veil my dismay. Like my black renegade kohl, It streams down my face. The moon's mate, O night, You come to me f

My brother in London has learnt all about the British predilection for discussing the weather--was about how the rains were going to make a complete wash-out of September. The summer there was effectively over, according to the weather forecast officials, from now on it was going to be rain all the way. The sadness and disappointment on the faces of the Britishers was almost palpable, as everyone glumly seemed to agree that it was indeed time to put away those sundresses and shorts and bring out the brollies and boots (not that you can ever put them away in England, which is famous for showing you all the four seasons in the course of a single day). The days of the balmy sunshine were over; from now on it was going to be wet, wet, wet. As I nodded along sympathetically at my brother, I couldn't help marvelling at the very different attitude the Britishers and we Indians have to the rains. In India, we crave for it during the long summer months when temperatures climb into the stra