Littera Scripta Manet

 Found in almost every household around the world, chess is a board game cherished by the young and old alike. In addition to connecting generations through tactical skills and strategic planning, it also offers a unique insight into the changes the world has since its inception, observed and undergone.  Suffice to say, it acts as a link between the mind and the soul, the present and the past, even life and death.  Written and directed by Scott Frank (the writer of Logan ) The Queen's Gambit is an American miniseries (available on Netflix ) which revolves around an incredibly gifted young orphan- Beth Harmon who manages to touch the hearts of the millions lending their ears to her story through her love for chess and her own inner battles against the demons she became vulnerable to at a very young age.  Released only a few months ago, in October, it has managed to reach innumerable people already and has awakened a fire for chess in their hearts. That is the power ...

In an empire headed by the son of Allah, lived the fearless daughter of the sun. His throne was made of blood his crown was a souvenir of wars. His luxurious carpets sat on decaying corpses, love lay walked on in the muds. Her clothes were stitched with strength, her zari was colored in brave. Her steps gave birth to Chandni Chowk, and she brought him back from his grave. The corpses which hadn’t yet rested, had by the caresses of her farasha, finally found peace. History might’ve been written about him, but its pages still remember her crease. Fire was her loyal puppet, it traced the movement of her ruth. Breathing behind the curtains of stereotypes unnumbered, she was still the only keeper of the truth. She weaved magic with her fingertips, while he bathed in blood and wine. She gave voice to the weak and the mute, but he was a friend of time. You see, in an empire headed by the son of Allah, lived the fearless daughter of the sun. The son may have ruled the land, but she was the qu...

 Being a poet isn't a blessing,  it's a sin.  I do not fear hell because I know it very well.  It breaks me down from the inside  until i'm nothing but cracked pieces  carelessly forced into a whole, pieces with edges which cut  my heart and it bleeds and bleeds and  bleeds until there's only white.  Bereft of peace.  Even in my silence there is chaos.  Being a poet isn't a blessing it's a sin.  I do not want the heaven,  which exists beneath my skin.  It stamps the impressions of the past  on my mind and the stones of the present  on my soul to make sure I'm never able to  escape, run away, fly into nothingness,  no.  You feel emotions I drink them, gulp them down with my eyes closed,  red, yellow, grey, blue cups a day,  like they're the poison I need to live.  I am addicted to my feelings.  Being a poet isn't a blessing it's a sin.  I am not living in art, I am bare...

Being the homo sapiens of the 21st century, most of us are so modernized (or westernized) in our ways that we often forget about the existence and crucial importance of traditions around us, barely surviving in the forests away from our blind eyes, perhaps.  A tribe which goes by the name Yanomami happens to be one of them. It's amusing to think that even after lacking many of the resources we consider essential, they live in a way which not only saves the near future but also allows them to accept and acknowledge each other thus leading to beautiful harmony.    Who are the Yanomami people? The word, ‘Yanomami’ means human being. They’re basically the largest isolated tribe in South America (more specifically, Brazil and Venezuela). Like most tribes on the continent, they possibly migrated across the Bering Straits between Asia and America some 15,000 years ago, making their way slowly down to South America. Currently, their total population stands at around 38,000. They’...

Dear Diary, I’ve so many questions in my head but I can’t voice them in fear of the inevitable: disappointment and brutality. However, no one can stop me from penning them down even though I often find myself doubting the strength of a pen as compared to a sword. Yesterday, I went out with a mask my mother stitched from the cloth of her old saree, and our creased ration card to buy a few vegetables when I was mocked and bullied by some kids I’ve never really talked to before. They called me vicious names and claimed that I was actually carrying the virus inside of me. Diary, I do not know anything about the deserted streets except for something about a disease that might kill me if I were ever to get infected, and thus, I ran home to my mom because I was so scared I couldn’t control my tears. If I knew what I was going to find, I’d have probably done something questionable.  My father had  died on the way back to our village because he fell asleep on the railway t...

Between 2 beautiful rivers sat a lovely vast land where trees embellished the North, and the South was all sand. Its resources were less, as limited as the infrequent rains. Its climate was very dry, but it still had advanced drains. Sumer, Akkad, Assyria and Babylona, were the major empires of this land. This land called Mesopotamia, where the temples were extremely grand. Sumerian was the main language, and for it, Cuneiform was invented. But the many who couldn't write Sumerian, were unconsciously and silently tormented. So many Gods, the people worshipped that each city had its own. And they claimed it was their God who chose, the one worthy of the throne. Sumerians were the clever ones, they invented irrigation, plow and the wheel. They settled, started agriculture, and nature allowed them to heal. Now for some interesting facts, both men and women wore paint! Kubaba was the only female who ruled, Enheduanna was a poetess and a saint. Some believed...

Rivers, as important to a country as blood is to humans, are heading right towards the wrecks of humanity, the burning hot pits of doom and what is being done to stop them? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Yamuna (also known as Jamna), one of the holiest and most sacred rivers of India is also the most polluted. That is the strength of our faith. It is the fifth longest river in India, has been sustaining livelihood to millions of people ever since history, supplies 70% of Delhi’s potable water and yet, much to an environmentalist’s indignation, has received absolutely no practical consideration. Delhi dumps almost 58% of its waste into the river which makes one wonder if it can be labeled a river at all. Yamuna flows over a distance of 1376 kilometers; it starts from the glacier Yamunotri in the lower Himalayas in Uttarakhand and meets the Ganges at Triveni Sangam, Allahbad. Further, it enters Delhi through the village Palla and traverses a distance of 48 kilometers through the capit...

"India is a hopeless country and I absolutely hate it. I'm gonna shift to the US after school because I cannot tolerate the mentality here anymore." "Oh, did you listen to the new pop song by Ariana Grande? Damn man, I'm in love." "You listen to Bengali songs? Actually? That's so old, listen to English songs bro, grow up, be cool." "Why do you even wanna watch a Hindi film? Bollywood is extremely horrible, let's check out the new English film instead! At least it'll be worth it." "Oh! you do not know the meaning of this simple English word? Dude, coolness increases as the vocabulary of Hindi decreases, you embarrass me." Such is the culture of India. Lost amidst the trends of the magnificent western world, with our own personal identity absolutely forgotten, we're sailing on the oceans of approval far from our land of origin with no plans to return. What is the use of existence when we cannot be grateful to...

Who are we, the ones who live? Why are we here, if not to give? The trees were painted, the mountains were laid, the sun was involved and the seas were laid. Such enormously important things, were created only for us. But still on the tiniest of things we normally tend to fuss. Where is the gratitude? Where is the respect? Nature gave us so much and more, yet only flaws we detect. She thinks she's alone, she thinks she'll always be, The beautiful flowers bloom for her, waiting for her to see. He thinks success is a seed, a seed he hasn't sown. He ignores the ferocious winds, telling him to do the unknown. They muse with raining eyes, giving all the sadness a place to reside. Thus I wonder how they cannot hear, the waves of the ocean they have inside. The stars, the planets, the galaxies, are known for the treat they're to our sight, but often we do not realize, we're their source of light...                  ...

                  Why’s it blackmail? Why not blackfemail? Because, hey! That makes no sense just like the trending ‘feminism’. But unfortunately, that’s a fact camouflaged by the increasing romanticizing of the term mentioned already. What is feminism? Female domination? NO. Suppressing the males? NO. Feminism is, in literal terms, the theory of political, economical and social equality among the sexes and not an excuse to raise meaningless protests and movements. Many people who tried to fight the system were weighed down by Weltschmerz. What’s encouraging this completely messed up inaccuracy? Is it the kakistocracies? Is it the media? Or, is it all of us? No title can reach popularity unless it’s majorly hyped up by a flock of sheep and so, in order to bring a change in the mentality of the contextual sheep, it is important to bring a change in the herder’s mentality and basic understanding first. ...

Standing tall unflinchingly, under the vast unplumbed sky, they shine as luminously as ever, emitting a light which shan't die. Surrounded by colours too many, they have a life of their own. So peculiar they have always been, a certain uniqueness they hone. Yet, they reach for the heavens, in a desperation so eternally sad, and a forlornness to an extent we can only wish we never had. Birds sing in praise of their beauty reflected by the delightful mirror of nature, a sight so mystically enchanting, it can melt even the dullest creature. Love and peace they have given, they are the ornaments of earth. So green is their tranquility, thanks to the trees and trees they birth. As I remember their sweet caresses, I wonder if with them I'll ever be able to part. Maybe the mountains are calling out to me, maybe I'm under the influence of my heart.                                   ...

“ It is easier to build strong children than to repair broken men .” said Frederick Douglass, clearly unaware of what lay ahead. Around 3 lakh children in the world have been subjected to violent separation from their family members forcefully or through clever manipulation, so they could be recruited by non-state armed groups to serve as messengers, slaves, or even shields during conflicts. Non-state armed groups are unofficial military and paramilitary organizations (with rare government support). They’re responsible for major recruitment of child soldiers. Afghanistan, Iraq, Sudan are some of the countries which exploit child-soldiers and use them in conflicts irrespective of their age. The children are forced to kill or abandon their family members so they cannot escape the vicious claws of the recruiters. It goes unnoticed that the very basic human rights of the children are being disrespected. It is particularly saddening how we’re all so lost in a world full of p...

Breezes painted the tree's leaves, the tree which listened alone to the songs of melancholy sung by the birds, as the stars twinkled in silence. Rustles of the sly grew quiet around the beautiful lone tree mounted by the pale winking moon, on another long old night. A light broke through the darkness, falling on the length of the tall lone tree, giving it promises of a warm company, but alas, it was, unsurprisingly, temporary. The light faded away, on the path the tree could never walk, taking away the only warmth it craved, and the love it begged to receive. Simply ignored and overlooked, the tree was by the ones passing by, the ones perhaps too blind to see the pain of the lone, lone tree. It had been a hundred years or so since the tree had been alive. And yet, it never quite got to feel intimacy, care or kindness. It had given to the world whatever they demanded, and had, in the journey of only giving, gifted his soul to the notorious young winds. B...