Fly My Sunday Butterfly

Tried every moment to fly with you.....
Tried my luck to be with you.....
Tried in every breath to look at you....
but I failed, I failed....!!!!

colors of your wing were too bright.....
you seem to be lost when you see the light.....
you spot onto something which is too close...
you don't seem to know,who cares for you everyday....

may be your eyes are closed or my heart is too blind.....
may be I am crazy or am I a sly....
you don't fly on weekdays,may be on some weekend....
you don't seem too hurt or in pain....
but I am hurt and in pain....

wasteless to say, you roam around here and there...
wasteless to say, you are a charmer everyday....
wasteless to say, I am a waste for you anyway....

You move like a butterfly, but sting like a bee....
You pray like a poor,but wish like a child....
You are gem in my heart, but my heart is like a coal mine....

Fly on sunday, is that the perfect time.....
is it where your scent would purify.....

Good bye my butterfly....!!!

Flightless Bird

Flutter in the sky, up so high.....
that everyone could see you fly......
you are wingless, but fly with hope....
you are hopeless,but dream with your soul.....

You have a vision of a eagle,don't make yourself blind....
make yourself independent, even though you can't fly......
Free your mind, free your self.....
Freedom is everywhere,touch with your soul......

paint the sky, as you fly........
paint it red, as you desire......
enrich your world, with a freedom of thought.......
don't bound yourself to a limitless sky........

Abolish the orthodox, adapt something new.........
make your rule,even though you can't fly......
make a wish,that can't be wished again.....
make a prayer, that can't be taken again......

you are fearless and strong......
you go farthest and long.....
you are not likely to get bong down, even though you can't fly....


From morning till dawn.....
From day and so on......
make your presence felt, as you move on.....
make yourself ignorant, as you go along.....

Don't run out of thought.......
Don't you get weak....
Don't get drained.....
and get some beak......

Guitar man

Oh guitar man Oh guitar man.....
Oh guitar man oh guitar man...play me a few song....
Play me few notes.....as I wanna go along.....

Oh guitar man Oh guitar man....
Oh guitar man Oh guitar man....slam the base....
Hit the 'G' ....slam it hard.....
because it ain't that free.....

Play me country....or any damn folk song....
play me led zeppelin or any bollywood song....

Oh guitar man Oh guitar man.....
Oh guitar man Oh guitar man.....play me a few song.....
play arpeggio that really moves on.....

Oh guitar man Oh guitar man....
Oh guitar man Oh guitar man.....play me a few song....

play well...as the radio is turned on......

I hear you guitar man....I hear you every night.....
I don't see your guitar.......but I do see you play alright....

Oh guitar man Oh guitar man....
Oh guitar man Oh guitar man...play me a few song....

I am a big fan of your's ..and let the party go on....

Oh guitar man Oh guitar man....
Oh guitar man Oh guitar man...play me a few song....

My Own Eyes

I see the world with truth....
see the world with more lies.....
I see it in furious anger.....
I see it with my own eyes.....

I see people with hatred....
I see them so blind.....
I see people with different colors..because..
I see it with my own eyes....

I see the blood on my hand....
spreading across man kind....
I see a disgruntled soldier....
killing his own wife....

I see a big white lantern...
but there is no light....
I see the sun and moon....collapse...
in the darkness of a sky....

I see no love.....
see only people with mean heart....
I see them as people...
who have no soul and not even their own mind....

I see tragedy in everybody's life....
I can't see myself going anywhere.....

Because I see it with my own eyes....
as I only see it with my own eyes...
with my own eyes..
with my own eyes....

Cliche of Mumbai

I never knew with in such small tenure of time, I will fall in love with a city that has given me everything in life that I could not even dream of. As I left mumbai , I think I left a part of me back there, I left a home there or you can say that I am feeling a bit nostalgic.

Over past two and half years I was working for this IT company, the primary reason that I came in Mumbai or Navi Mumbai was this job, my first job. The company’s base location being Mumbai so the obvious prevailed over any reason.

I don’t know why it is so difficult for me to treat as any other place that I went before getting my first job, why it is difficult for me to forget this place. Its really hard to forget the first day at mumbai, the first day when I landed mumbai I sat down a ‘Tapriwala’s’ stall i.e. is your tea stall, had a special cutting ‘chai’, I realized the feeling of freedom being here.

With the course of time I joined the company for training and I had to accommodate with 5 punjabi guys, now the organization provided me and these 5 other guys the accomodation untill the 3 months training got over. Now any guy who is coming from a very under rated city like kanpur and he has to share his room with 5 punjabi guys, boy it was some issue, but I never had that issue and neither they did have any issue. You know why because I and they had one thing in common in our nature i.e. is adjustment.

Soon training got over I parted my ways with them as they wanted to stay with their own college friends, I finished my training early as I passed certain exams.

One thing when you travel in local trains of mumbai you will realize this that while you are catching a train or getting off the train you will not move an inch,the force of people will take you to the train and off the train and I really enjoyed it, many of my college friends who expereinced did not feel the same way as I did. I never had an companion in these 2 years , I mean somebody whom I can take or roam around half of the mumbai, although it does not mean I did not go out with any of friend I went but I never felt the connection when I was with my friends. It was only when I was alone I felt the siprit of mumbai.

I don’t know what do you call the siprit of mumbai, or why do people say that, but somehow I always felt that. It’s the people of mumbai that never allows to dim the light in their hearts, it’s shear tolerance and pateince of the people of mumbai that has kept that siprit alive and kicking. You will the feel the vibe of the city when you move along the road.

Mumbai has so many people, with soo many cultures submerged under the same kaleidoscope, it makes your heart salute this city. Everyone here is working and they want to work, he/she does not care wheather he/she is bihari,marathi,bengali or from any other region I think they have also the same common nature that me and those 5 punjabi guys had “Adjustment”.

So I think me and those 5 punjabi guys and many others like that are keeping the siprit of mumbai alive and that is what a keeps a city,state and country going. So why do you think Raj Thakrey doing something like that, why he is such a spoil sport going ga ga over “Marathi Manoos” may be he should also do the same thing that me,my 5 punjabi roommates and all of the mumbai is doing “Adjustment”

Identity

I like to be alone....I like to be free...
i like to be sedate..but i don't like to be me....
i like to fly...i like to hide..i like to be good...
but i don't like to be me....
i like to be strong..i like to be clever....i like to be charmer....
but i don't like to be me...
i like to be an actor...i like to be a runner...i like to be cruiser...
but that shit ain't me.... what i like to be....and what i don't like to be...
is none of your goddamn buisness.....
i am what i am ....that's what i like to be....

Freedom Writers

“I don’t know many of you but it is the shear tolerance of human being that invokes the sprit of power and determination”

This is a true story of strength, courage and achievement in the face of adversity.

At Woodrow Wilson High School in Long Beach, California, an idealistic teacher named Erin Gruwell faced her first group of students, dubbed by administrators as "unteachable, at-risk" teenagers. The class was a diverse mix of African-American, Latino, Cambodian, Vietnamese, and Caucasian students, many of whom had grown up in rough neighborhoods in Long Beach. In the first few weeks of class, the students made it clear that they were not interested in what their teacher had to say, and made bets about how long she would last in their classroom.

Then a pivotal moment changed their lives forever. When a racial caricature of one of the African-American students circulated the classroom, Erin Gruwell angrily intercepted the drawing and compared it to the Nazi caricatures of Jews during the Holocaust. To her amazement, the students responded with puzzled looks. Erin Gruwell was appalled to discover that many of her students had never heard of the Holocaust. When she asked how many in her class had been shot at, however, almost all of them raised their hands, and began lifting their shirts to show their scars. This initiated a battle-scar show-and-tell that left Erin Gruwell shocked and inspired to take advantage of the powerful energy she had sparked.

By fostering an educational philosophy that valued and promoted diversity, she transformed her students' lives. She encouraged them to rethink rigid beliefs about themselves and others, to reconsider daily decisions, and to rechart their futures. With Erin's steadfast support, her students shattered stereotypes to become critical thinkers, aspiring college students, and citizens for change. They even dubbed themselves the "Freedom Writers" - in homage to the Civil Rights activists the "Freedom Riders" - and published a book.

From the moment they named themselves the "Freedom Writers," the students of Room 203 changed from a group of apathetic, frustrated students to a closely knit, motivated family. The Freedom Writers have continued their mission to teach tolerance and share their story of success.