సుందరివో, నీ నవ్వులోని వెన్నెల
మంజరివో, పూవుల్లో దాగే తేనెలా
నీ ఒడిలో సో…..లితే
నేనే నువ్వయ్యాలే
నువ్వుంటే గుబులు దిగులు చింత అన్నీ సద్దుకుపోయే
లేకుంటే పున్నమి రేయి వెన్నెల కూడా బోసిపోయే
ఎందుకంటే నీవే
ప్రేయసివో, నా గుండె లోని లయవో
నువ్వుంటే ఎన్నేళ్లైనా హాయే మాయే ఓ నిమిషం లా
లేదంటే హిమమే లేని ప్రాణం లేని ఓ హిమగిరి లా
అందుకని నీవే
సుందరివే, నా మనసు రాగ శ్రుతివే
సుందరివే, నీ నవ్వులోని వెన్నెల
మంజరివే, పూవుల్లో దాగే తేనెలా
నీ ఒడిలో సో…..లితే
నేనే నువ్వయ్యాలే
నిదుర పో రా కన్నయ్య నిదుర పో రా
నిదుర పో రా కన్నయ్య నిదుర పో రా
తనువు మనసు సేద తీర హాయిగా నిదుర పో
తపన విడిచి మెల్లగాను నిదురలోకి జారుకో
నిదుర పో రా కన్నయ్య నిదుర పో రా
నిదుర పో రా కన్నయ్య నిదుర పో రా
జో... లాలి జో.. లాలి జో లాలి జో
ఆటలో… తెలియకున్నది కాలము
అలసటే… తెలియదన్నది ప్రాయము
అమ్మ ఒడిలో పవళించి ఈ జోలనే ఆలకించి
అమ్మ ఒడిలో పవళించి ఈ జోలను ఆలకించి
జో... లాలి జో.. లాలి జో లాలి జో
నిదుర పో రా కన్నయ్య నిదుర పో రా
చెలియా…ఈ దూరం చాలదా
సఖియా…ఈ భారం తీరదా
ఓ చెలి… నా సఖి
నా… దరి చేరవా
ఈ… నిశి…నీవే శశి
దారినే చూపవా
చెలియా…ఈ దూరం చాలదా
సఖియా…ఈ భారం తీరదా
కన్నుల్లో కదలాడి
కనుపాప అయ్యాక
కనుమరుగై పోతే ఎలా
వెన్నెల్లో ఒడి చేరి
తెలవారి పోయిందని
వదిలేసి వెళితే ఎలా
శిల అయిన నన్ను శిల్పాన్ని చేసావే
ఉలి అయిన నీ ఉనికితో…
కలలాంటి స్వర్గాన్ని నాకందించావే
చేరువ అయి నీ ప్రేమతో…
చెలియా…ఈ దూరం చాలదా
సఖియా…ఈ భారం తీరదా
When I think about big political and economic systems like capitalism, socialism, and communism, I often come back to a simple story of two farmers.
• Farmer A grows 10 bags of wheat and has a family of 4.
• Farmer B grows 5 bags of wheat and has a family of 8.
Now the question is: how should their wheat be divided?
⸻
Capitalism
Each farmer keeps what he produces.
• Farmer A keeps 10 bags.
• Farmer B keeps 5 bags.
If Farmer B’s family needs more, he must buy or trade with Farmer A.
Principle: Reward for effort, minimal redistribution.
⸻
Communism
All wheat is pooled together, then shared equally among everyone.
• Total = 10 + 5 = 15 bags.
• Total people = 4 + 8 = 12 people.
• Each person gets 1.25 bags.
→ Farmer A’s family (4 × 1.25) = 5 bags.
→ Farmer B’s family (8 × 1.25) = 10 bags.
Principle: From each according to ability, to each according to need.
⸻
Socialism
Each farmer keeps most of what he earns, but a portion is collected and redistributed for fairness.
• Farmer A contributes 3 bags to a community pool and keeps 7 bags.
• Farmer B contributes 1 bag and keeps 4 bags.
• The pooled 4 bags are redistributed to help larger or struggling families.
After redistribution, Farmer A ends with 7 bags, Farmer B ends with 8 bags.
Principle: Balance between fairness and reward.
This story taught me something important: no single system is perfect.
⸻
Why I Lean Toward a Middle Path
Pure capitalism rewards hard work but can leave the vulnerable behind.
Pure communism guarantees equality but kills motivation.
Pure socialism tries to balance the two, but often struggles with efficiency.
So what works best? For me, it’s a capitalist base with socialist safeguards.
That means:
• Yes, Farmer A deserves to enjoy the fruits of his labor.
• But no, Farmer B’s children shouldn’t starve because his harvest was smaller.
• The solution is a system where effort is rewarded but dignity is protected.
⸻
🇨🇦 In Canada: I Support Conservatives
In Canada, I lean toward the Conservatives. Not because I want to abandon social programs, but because I believe in keeping the capitalist backbone strong while following the socialist tenets of equal distribution of care. Conservatives champion lower taxes, smaller government, and enterprise — but they still protect essentials: universal healthcare, pensions, child benefits.
Here, accountability is also better built into the system. Governments can fall if they lose public trust, and leaders can be questioned and replaced. That keeps both capitalism and fairness in check.
⸻
A Philosophy for Life
To me, politics is not about left or right. It’s about living by a principle:
“Freedom with fairness. Effort with empathy. Power with accountability.”
This extends beyond governments — it’s personal.
• When somebody pays me, I feel accountable to deliver value.
• By the same logic, when citizens pay taxes, the government — which is elected by the people and funded by taxpayers’ money — must be accountable to them.
• Without accountability, freedom and fairness collapse into corruption and exploitation.
In the end, I believe my worldview is simply this:
• Reward effort.
• Protect dignity.
• Demand accountability.
• Avoid extremes.
That, to me, is the true path of a citizen who cares — for family, for community, and for the country.
A nation’s progress is not measured by the number of its skyscrapers, but by the stature of its mind. India has changed its skylines, not its premises. Beneath the glass and steel of its cities lies the same ancient submission — to power, to tribe, to myth. The nation that once produced thinkers capable of abstraction has learned to worship obedience as a virtue and dependence as destiny.
Most of the Indians mindset remains feudal — not because kings still rule, but because men still kneel. Authority is not earned through reason or merit but inherited through position, caste, or wealth. The peasant’s loyalty to his landlord has merely changed form; it now appears as the voter’s devotion to his leader, the employee’s worship of his boss, the citizen’s reverence for the bureaucrat. Individual dignity has been replaced by the need for validation from the powerful.
It is also mythological — not in the poetic sense of imagination, but in the moral sense of evasion. Myths that once served as metaphors for human struggle have become instruments of submission. Instead of learning from the epics, people seek permission from them. Truth is not discovered; it is decreed by tradition. A culture that once asked questions of the cosmos now fears questioning its own customs.
And it is patriarchal, because the idea of freedom still ends at the threshold of the family. The man is ruler by birthright; the woman, subject by decree. Honor replaces morality; control replaces respect. The tribe — whether of blood, caste, or religion — demands loyalty not to values but to its survival. Individual conscience is smothered by the collective’s code.
This, then, is India’s tragedy: it has built a republic on a feudal soul. Its constitution promises liberty; its citizens still crave masters. Its economy speaks of growth; its morality whispers obedience.
Yet somewhere within this vast inertia, a different spirit stirs — men and women who refuse to kneel before birth, title, or god; who seek truth not in scripture but in logic; who measure worth not by faith, but by thought and action.
When such minds rise, India will finally enter modernity — not by importing machines or slogans, but by reclaiming the one idea that made civilization possible: the sanctity of the individual mind. Until then, progress will remain decoration — a palace built on medieval foundations.
The world craves labels. It loves to tuck us neatly into boxes called “isms.” Nationalism, socialism, feminism, atheism, theism—the list never ends. Each promises clarity, but most deliver cages.
At first, isms seem useful. They compress complexity into a word. But soon the word demands loyalty. To wear the label is to accept its entire baggage, even the parts that don’t belong to you. And before long, the label speaks louder than you do.
Take feminism. I believe in equality—deeply. But equality doesn’t need a manifesto stamped onto it. The moment I wear the “ism,” I inherit the assumptions, conflicts, and agendas of others. My simple belief becomes a banner, a battlefield.
This tension exists in faith, too. I do not believe in any higher being. And yet, I sit with the Vishnu Sahasranamam. I let the voice of M. S. Subbulakshmi or the youthful innocence of Ishaan Pai wash over me, and something within me stirs. Not faith, not surrender—something beyond those words. I love devotion in music, even if I do not subscribe to devotion in doctrine.
So tell me—why must rejecting one ism shove me into its opposite? If I am not a theist, must I be an atheist? If I am not a nationalist, must I be branded anti-national? Must every “no” be misheard as a “yes” to its enemy?
Nietzsche warned: “Convictions are more dangerous enemies of truth than lies.” Jiddu Krishnamurti asked: “When you call yourself an Indian or a Hindu or a Muslim or a Christian… do you see why it is violent? Because you are separating yourself from the rest of mankind.”
Isms divide. They flatten. They demand allegiance when life itself demands fluidity.
Albert Camus once wrote: “I rebel—therefore I exist.” My rebellion is not against gods or nations or traditions. My rebellion is against the demand to choose one box over another.
I exist in between. I exist in the space where music moves me, but belief does not bind me. Where equality matters, but labels don’t own me. Where doubt is not weakness, but freedom.
In the end, I don’t need an ism to define me. Because truth is not found in a label, but in the resonance of things that move us—like the timeless voice of Subbulakshmi, or the tender notes of a child singing Bhaja Govindam or a ‘Kun Faya Kun’.
I am not this. I am not that. I am simply here.
ज़िन्दगी भर यही सुनता रहा कि अगले पल में ही सुकून है
जब मौत दरवाज़े पर खड़ी थी, तब जाना कि मय्यत में ही सुकून है
ज़िन्दगी वक़्त की साज़िश है,
हर खुशी एक कशमकश है,
जो मिला, वो खोने का डर,
जो न मिला, वो पाने की ख्वाहिश है
