“We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give”—WINSTON CHURCHILL


   Dear Friends in the annals of life and death this could be one of the most tragic cases. Where the doctors have already communicated, we are losing Sanjeev each day unless he goes for a heart transplant. So, please donate for the sake of Sanjeev’s life. He has 2 kids aged 5 and 8 years. A home maker wife and semi paralysed mother. He is the only earning member in the family with no ancestral backup of properties nor even a bank balance. The cost of treatment would be around 12 -15 Lacs. And, looking at the current resources it just won’t be possible for him to muster it up, all by himself. Your help is therefore vital for his survival. He has a mediclaim of approximately 2 lacs but then mediclaim companies do not pay for pre-existing diseases hence it won’t cover his existing ailment.

    Health synopsis and bank details are given below where you could send in your donations. In case of any other details please feel free to call us on 9212375383/9215201023/9971494795

HEALTH SYNOPSIS—Please spend a few moments reading about his tragic health condition

Like any other normal person. Sanjeev too was leading a healthy life till he was diagnosed of heart ailment when he was just 31 years old. After Coronary Angiography that ruled out any other ailment he was diagnosed of Symtomatic Degenerative Complete Heart Block. A dual chamber pace maker was then implanted in Escorts Hospital and Research Center, Faridabad. The procedure was successful and uncomplicated. After this, some seven years passed without any major complication barring minor issues and change of medicines. In 2012 his Pacemaker was replaced due to end of battery life. But in 2012 he had severe chest infection and viral fever and was hospitalised leading to complications. Where Global Hypokensia (Global hypokinesia or Global hypokinesis is a condition wherein the heart is generally very weak all over) with left ventricular failure was diagnosed. Post that there was some improvement when his permanent pacemaker was upgraded to a higher version in 2014. But in April 2017 he was diagnosed of severe global hypokinesia, dilated cardiomyopathy with EF fallen to 20%. He was admitted in the hospital twice in 3 months with complaints of ventricle tachycardia, where heart rates increased to more than 150 bpm. Doctors have now suggested for complete heart transplant. Currently, he is under treatment in AIIMs (All India Institute of Medical Sciences). A series of presurgery tests are being conducted under Professor (Dr) Seth.     


    So, kindly contribute asap to save his life. You could make your contributions to any of the following accounts by NET BANKING or even send your cheque in favour of any of the accounts to the following address:

Ramanujan Education & Research Foundation, third floor, Krishna Place, Ajronda, Sector 20B, Faridabad-121007


          Branch          : 1037 FARIDABAD BRANCH   (IDBI BANK)

          IFSC: IBKL0001037                      

          Account No.     : 1037104000072496


         Account no: 680510110004635 (BANK OF INDIA)

         IFSC code: BKID0006805








Few lines on Kashmir Valley that is undergoing the worst of turmoils

“Gar firdaus, ruhe zamin ast, hamin asto, hamin asto, hamin ast”,

Which, translates to

“If there is ever a heaven on earth, it’s here, it’s here in Kashmir.”


What should have been the valley of smiles,

Has turned into a stone pelters den,

A misguided nuisance,

Not in the interest of anyone.


When Kashmir bleeds,

Separatists are relieved,

But when there is serene,

Separatists feel the demean.


From valley to the mountains,

From lakes to the rivers,

From tourism to winter sports,

You have a whole lot of things.


Nesting in between,

Korakoram and Zanskar,

Pir Panjal and Himalyas,

And in and around,

 Hazratbal, Mata and Amarnath,

You have so much to pride and revere.


So, in those blessed and scenic surroundings,

What made you pick up stones?

What made you devastate your own home?

And what made you surrender to those rogues?


What makes you feel India is not your own,

And Pakistan is your home,

The grass is not greener on other side,

Take it from someone who is known.


Use the stones to build the valley,

Use the stones to preserve the valley,

Use the stones to kill the enemy,.

Use the stones to rip the separatist.


India is your home,

Where you’ve grown,

So leave Pakistan alone,

And fight for your country’s throne.


By Kamlesh Tripathi


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Shravan Charity Mission is an NGO that works for poor children suffering from life threatening diseases. Should you wish to donate for the cause the bank details are given below:


Account no: 680510110004635 (BANK OF INDIA)

IFSC code: BKID0006805


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Stone Soup



         Once upon a time a kind old stranger was walking through the forest when he came across a village. But as he entered the village he saw something very strange. The villagers were scared and started moving towards their homes, and even closing their doors and windows.

    The stranger could not understand this behavior of the villagers. So he smiled and asked, ‘friends how come you all are so frightened of me. I’m just a traveler looking for a safe place to stay and a warm heart for a meal.’

    But the villagers looked at him apprehensively and said, ‘there’s not a bite to eat. The whole province is under famine. As a result we have not eaten and have grown weak and even our children are starving. So you better keep moving on.’

     ‘Oh! You needn’t worry. I have everything I need.’ He said. ‘In fact I was planning to make some stone soup to share with you all.’ And with that he pulled out an iron cauldron from his luggage and filled it with water and began to build a fire under it.

    Then, in a ceremonial fashion he drew an ordinary looking stone from a silken bag and dropped it in the water.

    This spread a rumour about food. When, most villagers came out of their homes or started watching from their windows. As the stranger sniffed the “broth” and started licking his lips in anticipation. Is, when, hunger started overcoming fear in the village. 

    ‘Wow! What a soup!’ said the stranger, ‘I love this tasty stone soup.’ And of course, stone soup with cabbage—is hard to beat.’

    Soon a villager approached hesitantly. He was holding a small cabbage he’d retrieved from his place of hiding and dropped it in the pot.

    ‘Wonderful!’ cried the stranger. ‘You know, I once had stone soup with cabbage and a bit of mutton and believe me the dish was only fit for a king.”

    The village butcher managed to find some mutton and dropped it in the pot. And so the stranger went on and on. When, the villagers one by one dropped potatoes, onions, carrots, mushroom and some other vegetables and lentils until there was a sumptuous meal for everyone in the village to share.

    The villager elder offered the stranger a great deal of money for the magic stone, but he refused to sell it and decided to continue with his travel the next day.

    But as he left, the stranger came upon a group of village children standing near the road. He gave the silken bag containing the stone to the youngest child, while whispering to the group, “It was not the stone, but the villagers that had performed the magic.” 

Moral of the story:  There is no alternative to team work and team spirit.


     The story is based on Marcia Brown’s 1947 children’s book, Stone Soup 1947

By Kamlesh Tripathi


A day with Dad


    I knew for sure. This ever changing world around me will only change further. But I just didn’t know how much. Ever since you left us on this very day many years ago. I have stayed away from Lucknow. And after many years I’m home around this time. Thinking, I would sight the changing times myself. So, on this serene and dismal morning I went out for a morning walk. Pursuing, quite the same route. That, you once frequented. And it gave me a feel as if I was following the same trail that you had left behind.

     To be frank. I wasn’t surprised when I saw. The old surroundings had really sprung up to the hilt, leaving no niche for that stilly calm. The flow of river Gomti has receded and it isn’t what it used to be in your times. It has thinned down. Like the plait of an ageing lady. The chirping Gauraiyas are nowhere to be seen. And no one knows where they have gone. Did you see them by any chance? Did they come to you? Meanwhile some Gods have grown in stature but some remained where they were. The temple of Hanuman Setu has exalted both in pomp and spirits, just like you. But the small Shivalaya near the banks has only greyed. It still emanates of that salt and pepper looks. The overarching, Banyan tree there, has spread all around the Shivalay. As if, protecting, the God of the poor, residing in it. That reminded me of the days when you protected all of us.

     The chauraha has become quite psychedelic as everything out there has changed. The famous samosawalla—Phullu who had his makeshift shop in the middle of it is nowhere to be seen—the samosas are there but the walla has changed. No one knows where he has gone. Some say he is no more. One, Good Samaritan has converted her home into an institution. I wish. Many were like her.

     The chauraha gossips are no more vociferous. The morning newspapers have swapped positions and with that even the feel. From Swatantra Bharat it is now Dainik Jagran and some others. What has grossly depleted over the years is ‘time.’ People don’t have time but enough to whine. Where, morals have declined.

    Even in the faint trickle and rustle of the holy river. I could hardly hear the serenading calls of those joyous koel in the colourful months of spring. That used to be so piercing earlier. It has now been overtaken by the roar of the swarming vehicles thriving on the embankment. That sadly pollutes the vicinity, all along the scorching day. Lots of people walk up to the newly resurrected Mandirs, Ashrams and even a Masjid nearby for peace of mind. Perhaps, someday, their temples within, shall also kindle to the call of the Almighty.

    Most bright children in and around have left for good. I now only find their parents whiling away their time in obsolescence. Is when, I wonder what I got from you and what I gave to my child. If the equations are not comforting peace shall always elude me.

    So much has changed over the years. Yet a few things haven’t changed. Just as, the day and night take their turn. The sun still rises and the rain comes when it has to come. Seasons too, alternate when they have to. But more importantly the chord we struck during our lives will never ever change.

    What I continue to learn from you is, pillars should not change. But they should allow  the change.

    May, you rest in peace.

    By Kamlesh Tripathi: Homage to Babuji (K.P. Tripathi). He left us this day in 1984.







    So much time they have—In other words a universe of a time. One chat message and there are ten responses, and then the domino effect starts—for I can’t be left behind, says the egocentric mind. I’m talking about the whatsapp group in our RWA. Where, one gets to feel as if the whole society has become a beehive—inhabited by a swarm of predatory flies. Thriving on some lethal one-upmanship—where the killing field is the chat box itself. As and when, you flag an issue. The views of members start flooding in instantaneously even when they are variegated. Normally, they display cool courtesy. Occasionally they trade nagging heat and at times they even explode. But there are many fire tenders to keep the situation under control.

    The chat moves at the speed of sound if not light. After all, it houses a powerhouse. Where, most are domain experts, some the last word, few are litterateurs and writers. Not to forget the DJs, digital and security experts, and the event managers. And needless to say that everyone is a Mr know all.

    You are constantly on guard. At the beep of those frequent chat notifications. Irrespective of the fact, whether you’re in office or in the cool confines of your home. There is always an issue at hand. Blown out of proportion by excessive interaction. Where, every member has to make a superlative comment—meri kameez tumhare kameez se ziada safed hai. Or at least you need to be in the circuit to remain relevant. So at least do send a thumbs up. The quantum of notifications is so much. That if you wish to read them all. You’ll not have time for anything else. 

    Every minute there is a notification. So it is democracy at its best. Issues could be halka or even routine. But viewpoints need to be weighty with a tinge of metaphysics and farsightedness. Considering the legion of scholastic personalities residing in the society.

    But where will all this lead to. Frankly speaking no one knows. As most are shooting from the hip. But I guess it’s about time to lay-off for some time. To, do something more relevant, soothing and satisfying. And let the society be in the safe hands of too many cooks. Hopefully they won’t spoil the broth.

By Kamlesh Tripathi






That one man who follows Gita to the hilt is Rahul Gandhi. Can you imagine the amount of failures he has had in his political career? Countless! I would say. Yet he sticks to his guns which is his political career. For, he truly believes in karma alone. Where, he doesn’t look for success in his deeds.

    But, can you imagine. The manner in which. India ridicules this great young man. Even, today, with the great disaster of Uttar Pradesh tied around his neck. He was busy meeting farmers from Tamil Nadu.

    So, isn’t it amazing. The way our media and citizenry ridicules him, no end. I will withdraw this post of mine. If anyone shows me a media clip praising him for his political career until now. Yet he continues undeterred. So there is much to learn from him while in adversity.

    And last but not the least. It also speaks of we Indians and how much we practice Gita. Well if you go by this analogy. You won’t find too many Indians praising him for doing his karma alone. Rather everyone is critical and even jocular about his failures. So are we practicing Gits in the true sense?


By Kamlesh Tripathi



By Kamlesh Tripathi


    Ghost towns and villages have often held our attention. But simultaneously, they have also unleashed our imagination to some hair-raising and eerie trepidation. So, its character remains quite aloof, from the oppressive ruins of the rich and arrogant castles and fortresses. One such village, nests in Kuldhara. Located in the deep-seated, desert region of Western Rajasthan. Where, when, you stand under the hot striking sun. You might not get to see a single human form till the horizon. In all earnest, such unspeaking and phantom towns and villages may not utter a complaining word. But then they scream about the enduring trauma. Their inhabitants might have undergone and that gives us a chance to peep into their harrowing lives.

    Rajasthan brims in the expanse of Thar desert. It has no dearth of ghost villages. That remains almost unpeopled for various reasons. But only a few of them have got as much attention as Bhangarh and Kuldhara. Perhaps, due to the myths attached to them. So, while we were in Jaisalmer. It was only natural for us to undertake the sightseeing of Kuldhara.

    It simmers in deep desolate wilderness, at about 18 km, west of Jaisalmer. And it certainly has a story to tell. Where, we came across a young boy named Bhairo Sharma. Who narrated the aghast episode, in an emotional tone. Is when, I reflected after many years. That there was someone doing justice to the forgotten art of storytelling.

    It happened some 300 years ago. When, Kuldhara was a prosperous village. Where, Paliwal Brahmins used to reside under the state of Jaisalmer. The story thus throws up a spine-chilling feel. When, the evil eyes of Salim Singh. The all powerful tyrant and debauch Prime Minister of the state. Fell for the daughter of the village head and desired to marry her by force. He then threatened the entire village of grave consequences, if they did not acquiesce to his wishes.  

    The entire clan of Paliwals then lived in those 85 villages. They forthwith held a council. Where, it was decided, instead of acceding, to the demands of the depraved Prime Minister. They would abandon and leave their village and homeland. To, save the honour and purity of their daughter from the evil eyes of the monster. And soon, they all left for good. But before departing they ordained a powerful curse on Kuldhara. That, after them, no one else shall ever be able to settle and prosper in the village. And from that day onwards the village remains unoccupied, barren and even deserted. It gives an isolated and godforsaken look. Perhaps, quite similar to the unseen yet imagined faces of the residents of those times, that too, centuries ago. It is also believed. People who have attempted to stay here overnight have been haunted away by some strange and abnormal phenomenon.

    The parallel story that runs and appears to be as plausible as the first one is. Salim Singh, upon not being obliged by the Paliwals raised the taxes to such an extent. That it became practically unbearable for the local community to survive in the village. So they decided to migrate to greener pastures. However, people are more inclined to believe the first story. That has a tinge of both romance and mysticism in it.

    The dilapidated and tale-telling houses and monuments are now maintained by Archaeological Survey of India (ASI). One can enter the village only after purchasing tickets. After which you drive along the prime street. That appears to be the main boulevard of the settlement. Where, even now, after centuries one feels gloomy and sad. For there are rows of houses with their roofs fallen. And the ruined walls give a sense of melancholic past. Where, the entire landscape is dry, dusty and sun stricken. That conveys a blaring message of atrocious human upheavels. Even, when, the era denoted happiness through righteousness.

    We halted at a location. That appeared to be the hub of the rustic village. Just close by there was a house in good upkeep. We entered to see the rooms that were well maintained. Following the path we even went up the stairs and up to the roof. From where, the entire village was visible. Though, I could not feel any supernatural presence. Yet that element of sombreness struck me while I was there. One could say the animation was missing. Ladies in the group could not withstand the countenance of destruction and slowly walked away.  I could even sight an unvisited and left alone temple nearby. Gradually, we cruised past the ruins available in the form of the crumbling walls. For a moment, it gave me a flash of those lives that lived there centuries ago. There was definitely something spine chilling even when everything around was so calm and unmoved. Perhaps, the collective curse of those helpless citizens was still pulsating there. Where, everything was looking so recent. And one got a feel as if someone was calling you from behind those dilapidated houses.

    Kuldhara remains a desolate place with forlorn looks. Curses don’t die so soon, they say. The ambience brings across a kind of seeping sadness to your heart. Especially, when, one thinks of the unfortunate people.  Who, were forced to leave the land of their forefathers. However the place doesn’t appear to be spooky for any other reason barring the wicked crime spelt in the story.

    Even, when, the ASI has taken over the settlement. It remains to be seen if this village will ever flourish. By flourish I mean—will the lineage of the people, who left generations back. Ever come together to salvage their motherland. And last but not the least. Was this a quintessential example of a migration that moved a civilised settlement? My answer would be no.