Sudama, the childhood friend of Lord Krishna

Sudama, the childhood friend of Lord Krishna, stood at the edge of what had once been his home. He was a man of humble means, his life defined by poverty and quiet devotion. On the occasion of a visit to his divine friend, he had offered Krishna a simple gift—a handful of beaten rice, given with a love that outweighed its meagre worth. Now, returning to his village, he found himself not before his familiar hut of dry twigs and branches, but before a magnificent palace. In the space where his small shelter had stood, something extraordinary had risen. Overwhelmed and disoriented, a lament broke from his heart.

Who shattered my cottage, my shelter so small?
Who held this dark malice, this envy unkind?
Who broke what I built with my heart and my mind?
My hut of dry twigs, the branches so dear—
Who left me with nothing but sorrow and tear?

Who shattered my cottage, my shelter so small?
Who answered my prayers with ruin and all?
O Murli Dhar, the flute-bearer, is this Thy decree?
Is this the favour Thou grantest to me?

Dead-tired and weary, Sudama approached the splendid structure, his eyes filling with tears that streamed bright and clear. He stood as a stranger before his own threshold, unable to comprehend the transformation.

“Who is this king in my dwelling so grand?
What magic is this, by whose unseen hand?”

Again, the question rose, a refrain of bewilderment and quiet anguish.

Who shattered my cottage, my shelter so small?
Who answered my prayers with ruin and all?
O Murli Dhar, is this Thy decree?
Is this the favour Thou grantest to me?

He looked around, searching for the familiar—the faces of his family, the simple garden where his sacred basil had grown. All had been swept away, replaced by opulence he had never known. His body was weak, worn by the journey, his stomach hollow from hunger and thirst.

Where is my family? Where do they roam?
Why do I stand in a place not my home?
Starved by my journey, by hunger and drought,
I search for my garden, my basil, my sprout.

Once more, his heart returned to the refrain, a prayer laced with confusion.

Who shattered my cottage, my shelter so small?
Who answered my prayers with ruin and all?
O Murli Dhar, is this Thy decree?
Is this the favour Thou grantest to me?

But as the tears began to clear from his eyes, his perception shifted. He looked again at the meadows spreading before him, so fresh and new, and at the blossoms that now bloomed where only dust had been. The sorrow in his voice began to give way to wonder. He saw not the destruction of his humble life, but its transformation into something beyond his wildest imagination. The ruin he had mourned was, in truth, the answering of a prayer he had never dared to speak aloud.

Where are the blossoms that silently grew?
Where are these meadows so fresh and new?
What wondrous fields spread wide in my sight?
What grace has transformed my sorrow to light?

And yet, the refrain returned one final time—not as a cry of anguish, but as a whispered acknowledgment of the mysterious, overwhelming love that had shattered his small world only to fill it with abundance.

Who shattered my cottage, my shelter so small?
Who answered my prayers with ruin and all?
O Murli Dhar, is this Thy decree?
Is this the favour Thou grantest to me?

Sham Misri

Letter From My Old Student

 My Dearest Sham Ji,

Do you remember the poem you taught me when I was in tenth class? I still carry it with me—like a bookmark pressed between the pages of my growing-up years. One of them was “Go, Lovely Rose.”

You began by telling me that this was Edmund Waller’s best-known poem, and that it shines because of its structural unity and symbolic depth. You spoke so gently, so passionately, and I—oh, I was all ears, soaking in every single word like soft rain on thirsty soil.

You said the poem was written in the mid-17th century, when ideals of courtly love floated through poetry like perfumed air. To be honest, Sham Ji, back then, I didn’t quite grasp why the poet used “thee” and “thou.” It sounded old, distant. But when you said those words, they felt intimate—almost like secrets whispered between close friends.

It wasn’t until I studied English in my MA that I truly understood. But even now, when I read that ABAB rhyme scheme or trace the lyrical grace of the poem, I hear your voice. I hear you.

You said the commanding mood runs through the poem, with the rose sent forth like a gentle messenger. I remember how you paused, looked at my face, and said, “The poet urges a young woman to recognise her beauty and accept admiration before time steals it away.”

Why did you pause, Sham Ji? Why did you look at me just then? That moment stayed with me—like a rose pressed in a book, its fragrance lingering long after the petals have dried.

You went on, explaining how beauty’s worth is tied to being seen, and how the poem carries a subtle urgency: “Beauty from the light retired” has “small is the worth.” And then, the closing stanza—so tender, so true—about the fleeting nature of all things rare and sweet.

Sham Ji, your words echo in my heart even now. You made poetry feel alive, like it was breathing just for us. I admired you so much back then—your calm, your clarity, your quiet passion. You made me fall in love with literature. And maybe, just maybe, a little bit with you, too.

Happy 25th Marriage Anniversary, dear Sonali & Kamal Ji!

 Happy 25th Marriage Anniversary, dear Sonali & Kamal Ji! May God bless you with all happiness, good health and lifelong togetherness. Loads of love and laughter always.

It is me, Sarla, from Jammu.

Hello!

17th February isn't just another date on the calendar—it's a milestone! A whopping 25 years of marriage! 🎉 That's a quarter of a century of togetherness, tolerance, tea, and... more tolerance! 😄

May your next 25 years be even brighter—with good health, great wealth.🤭

A quarter century of shared sunrise,
Of building dreams with gentle ties.
Through cups of tea and all the unsaid things,
The lasting joy that silver anniversary brings.

May laughter still your daily bread and wine,
With health and wealth, your stars to shine.
And in the chaos, may you always find,
Sweet moments just for your peace of mind.

To Sonali and our dear Kamal Ji,
From Sarla Sham in Jammu, joyfully! 🥂✨

 A Joke -

"Travelling Light: A Barroom Tale of Physics and Punishment"

It was a slow Tuesday afternoon at the Institute for Advanced Studies, so a few of the physics department regulars decided to hit The Quark Bar for a quick bite.

Professor Davies was already at a corner table, chuckling to himself. "You hear about this?" he asked, holding up a dog-eared paperback. "I finally found that book on anti-gravity I've been searching for."

His colleague, Dr. Sharma, slid into the booth across from him. "Oh, the one by that new theorist? Is it any good?"

"It's un-put-down-able," Davies said with a straight face.

Before Sharma could groan, the door swung open and in walked a particle physicist they knew, looking particularly radiant. "Hey, Leon!" Sharma called out. "Grab a seat!"

Leon waved, a bright, beaming smile on his face. "Thanks, but I can't stay. Just passing through." He pointed to his single, small bag. "Gotta travel light, you know."

The barman, a weary fellow named Kevin who had long ago stopped trying to understand his clientele, shuffled over. "What can I get you, gents?"

"I'll have the fish and chips," Sharma said.

"One order of fission chips for the gentleman," Kevin repeated, jotting it down.

Sharma blinked. "No, I just said fish—" He paused, sighed, and waved a hand. "You know what? Forget it. Just bring it."

Davies, meanwhile, was staring intently at the saltshaker. "You know, I've been thinking about absolute zero. It's the ultimate limit."

"Cold subject," Sharma muttered, trying to get the terrible puns out of his system.

Just then, a man they didn't recognize shuffled in and took a seat at the counter. He was so still and expressionless, he seemed to radiate a kind of profound stillness. Davies nudged Sharma. "See that guy? Heard he's a bit of an odd duck. Apparently, he was recently cooled to absolute zero."

Sharma squinted at the man, who hadn't moved a muscle. "Really? He looks... fine?"

"He is," Davies said. "He's 0K now."

Sharma buried his face in his hands.

To change the subject, he pointed to the TV hanging in the corner, which was playing A New Hope on a low volume. "You know what I can't stand?" Sharma said. "When people get the physics in that movie all wrong. It's not 'May the Force be with you.' For a physicist, it should be, 'May the mass times acceleration be with you.'"

Davies nodded sagely. "Much more practical."

The door to the bar flew open with a bang, and in walked two of the institute's most famous—and most eccentric—professors: Werner Heisenberg and Erwin Schrödinger. They looked flustered.

"We were just pulled over!" Heisenberg announced to the whole bar, his hands trembling.

Kevin the barman leaned forward. "Did you know how fast you were going?"

"No!" Heisenberg exclaimed, his voice rising with panic. "But I could tell you exactly where we were!"

A police officer, who had followed them in, stepped forward, holding his ticket book. "I can tell you, sir. You were doing 200 kilometres an hour!"

Heisenberg threw his arms up in the air in exasperation. "Great! Now we're completely lost!"

The officer, trying to regain control of the situation, cleared his throat and looked at Schrödinger. "Sir, is this your vehicle? Do you have anything in the trunk? Alcohol, weapons, anything I should know about?"

Schrödinger thought for a moment. "Just a cat," he said calmly.

The officer's eyes narrowed. He walked outside, and a moment later, they heard the trunk pop open. A few seconds after that, the officer stormed back in, his face red. "Hey! You said there was a cat in there! That cat is dead!"

Schrödinger slammed his palm on the bar, making the saltshaker jump. "Well, he is now!"

The entire bar fell silent, save for the faint TV audio. Professor Davies slowly lowered his copy of the anti-gravity book, a look of profound respect on his face. He looked at Dr Sharma. "You, see?" he whispered. "It's not just the universe that's governed by quantum mechanics. It stops, too."