The Open Sky

Smidgens of smoke, curling around a dampened brain, as untouched petals, begin to bloom. The vast wastelands, await the final smoke, to crush the flowers that dared to blossom. Somewhere, in the din of the night, the wait lasts a split second, as the smoke curls around the damp wasteland.

Jaded by the clamorous malls, cafes with loud music and chaotic traffic jams, one day I invited my friends to a place which we had long left behind within the confines of our history books. Though we never forgot making fun of our history teacher even after so many years of leaving school. Here, at Safdarjung Tomb, there was no loud music or flashing lights to entertain us and this monument seemed like an icon of sadness and boredom standing tall on a busy road. Leaving the chaos of the traffic behind we went to buy the tickets.  With sun at its extreme, we wandered around the Safdarjung Tomb chasing each others' shadows. This tomb was built in 1754 by Shuja'u'd-Daula, son of Safdar Jang. Curious as ever, I rushed towards the stairs of the tomb to explore the various facets of the monument. I was amazed to see the flawless architecture and symmetry defining this wonderful structure. The grandeur with which the Mughals lived is pretty much evident in all their monument

Myriad shapes are formed as you look at the shadows that things impart on the ground. Gazing beyond the numerous cars parked in neat rows, I pondered over my future pursuits. Slowly the far held gaze narrowed down to my jhola, my beloved carry bag, which had this monument hand painted on it. For a hundred and fifty rupees, it was the best of the lot painted by a Bengali craftsman. The fort reminded me of the Mughals who invaded India and brought in their flowery curves into our legacy architecture, art and life. While the Hindu fanatics still crib over Muslims not being a part of our great dynasty of Lord Rama and the Mahabharata, I am enthralled by Mughal history in India and its remnants. One of the greatest Wonders of the World has been presented to us by a Muslim emperor. Imagine if all these monuments were never built in India, these lands which look majestic with the shadows of these domes would have been hoarded by sky scrapers or heaps of filth. Well, I can't i

The metro ride back home from Connaught Place reminded Rehana of the tubes in London which dragged themselves and were not even as spacious the Delhi metro Rail. Rehana’s trip to London was one of the most memorable trips. She enjoyed every moment of it except for the fact that one pound was equal to 100 rupees in layman’s language and 84 rupees in her calculative mind. Before picking up anything she would multiply the amount with eight, and then while admiring it she would assess its worth in relation to the money that would be deducted from her pocket. London made her realize India was still a poor country, a lot had to be done. “Gosh!! Our economy is pretty low as compared to OTHER countries. Bloody Britishers!! They stole India’s wealth and look at the currency exchange rate. No wonder India is not called 'the golden bird’ anymore. This is where the gold is perhaps…. On the gates of Buckingham palace?? Melted and used to make the queen’s crown? Maybe on the streets, No, no…S