Won’t let you into my nestling

to torment my fleshy castle


my sacred sanctified soul

 Oh: Wicked Carona Virus

on the rampage the world across

   inconceivable inscrutable invincible

formless, odourless, colourless

angry hungry

wiping out the humanity from

Wuhan to Madrid

Rome to New York

California to Ottawa

Frankfurt to Paris

Hongkong to Bombay

Kochi to Delhi

        unprecedented anomalous abstruse

engulfing every nook and corner


the spree of annihilation .

world reeling under lockdown

to combat the fear of

oblivious clueless tireless.

wicked Corona Virus

Won’t let you into my nestling

to torment my fleshy castle


my sacred sanctified soul

oh: wicked Corona Virus

no more of any bouts

wrestling bustling trestling


your fretful gnawing glance


by Social Distance

  Lockdown lockdown


option to avoid


deadly breakdown.


A moment just to cherish today

intoxicating under her sway

with fragrance filled aura


rhythmic lissome fleshy corridors

swaying with coquettish grace

luring me for caressing

impassioned lovely face.

A drew drop kiss effused

radiating my love


blissful ecstasy.

A moment just to cherish

the ephemeral moments

scurrying through purring waters

pungent shadows of long trees


in the joyful gentle breeze

laying entwined in her arms


browsing through glistening

expansive treasure trove

pervading her passionate love.

under the bonnet blue sky.

in a moment of exaltation we

barrelled across the lush glades

absorbing flavour of blossoming


So enchanting engrossing

uniting soul mates to the

fanciful dreams of romanticism..

A moment just to cherish today

intoxicating under her sway

oh my gosh

love is revitalizing

And is fantasizing


desires emotions

of two hearts

sewn into one

and only one,

MY STORY. by Brijkaul


Living for 44 years in wedlock has been sweet sour relationship, though arduous at times, but definitely a joyous journey a milestone to cross and be proud of.

It is love begets love situation and never ending story of anger , arguments , but nevertheless ceaseless memorable moments of courtship with resonance of love romance and passion.

Way back in early ’70’S I worked in Pune , obviously a difficult predicament I was in to travel to Srinagar every now and then for selecting the right girl to be my wife.

On the face of it ,looked stupid even those days to come from such a far distance simply to say yes or no.

But my father, being an astute resolute person, was in fact keen to seek my consent to the selection of the girl in waiting before proceeding ahead.

I undertook this uncomfortable voyage twice and finally gave in. I told my father to handle the job on his own.

“ Dad “, I said ”you are fully competent to do this for me and my consent is always there. I trust you and mum.” “All Kashmiri girls are good gracious and educated .so there is no problem as such” I continued emphatically.

“ ok my boy ,so nice of you to say so. But the task for me is more difficult now” He laughed heartily.

My father , a tall , be spectacled six footer of swarthy complexion was endowed with great sense of humour.

An educationist of repute, being in touch with young students , he was very much young at heart too.

Moreover he had love marriage with my beautiful small sized angel mother.

My mother was my grandfather’s bosom friend’s daughter . My father loved my mother very much and eventually married her.

Soon after I received a photograph ,exceedingly beautiful one of my wife.

The chiselled features with deep set dove eyes , demurely innocence made me simply to fall in love with the photograph who  eventually  became the queen of my tender heart.

Interestingly the photograph framed in exclusively silvery designed frame adores my working desk in my home office.

I just conveyed my consent in a jiffy through trunk call to my father .

I could imagine my consent might have done wonders for my father by relieving him from the stress that had compressed his mind for a long time.

My father recounted me the girl’s family background and I would say “ok ok” least interested in knowing that and hung the phone instantly.

I and my younger sister were yet to be married.

Father was keen to see me married so that he could relax with responsibilities taken off his shoulders.

My two elder sisters and two brothers were married already.

The eldest sister ,whom we fondly called Bengashi was great inspiration and help to my father. She was very upright ,modern woman and had full authority to take decisions regarding home affairs without any hitch.

Elder daughters were always a center of power and authority in a Kashmiri Pandit family to negate or accept any decision to be taken. So my sister, with affable magnetic personality ,was the most loved one of all the children.

I travelled down to Delhi in a train and flew to Srinagar by plane , very unusual at that time, to see my heartthrob.

As the plane descended on to Srinagar airport ,the resplendent nature with snow capped mountains glittering through the bluebonnet skies, opened up a breathtaking view of the Paradise on earth ,my beautiful Kashmir.


The marriage date was fixed as 19th October 1975.

My father ,a social reformer and ardent activist forebade any money spinning Celebrations like “Gandhun”– engagement and “Durbati”— a special lunch organised by maternal side .

Marriage was an elaborate saga , as expected of   typical Kashmiri marriages those days with great fanfare.

Ceremony Groom’s house

The ladies invited dressed in  co lo u rf u l  attires , sang Kashmiri songs ,to the tunes of Kashmiri music with the twang of their noses , ‘ Wanvun’— a melodious refrain sung by a group of ladies. The guests were served with pink salted tea (sheer chai) in the midst and at intervals  of the singing throughout day and night ,

Finally on the D-day I was center of attraction , being decorated as Groom by my uncle ,  fondly called ‘Babuji’,who helped me to tie the turban with specially stitched ACCHKAN for the occasion. ‘Babuji’ was connoisseur  of our family loved and respected by one and all.

Before the marriage procession I stood on the ‘Vyoog’  —Rangoli , a decent decorative designed pattern of dry colours and the eldest Aunty gave nabbad a sweet hard dessert to nibble at . I and the Guests (Baraat) proceeded for bride’s house in several cars .

Those days the craze for marriages was at high pitch.. The guests and all others enjoyed to one’s fill.The participation used to be with  great zeal and fervour.

Reception at Bride’s place

 As soon as I and my Baraat (marriage procession) reached Bride’s place ,just at stone’s throw from our house, the relatives of bride greeted us by blowing a conch shell.

Here again as per ritual I was to stand on the ‘Vyoog ‘and the maternal uncle of the bride brought the bride out on to the Vyoog where I was made to stand.

The mother of the bride performed puja with lamps made of wheat flour and fed us both with the Nabad – the hard sweet dessert , and the purohit performed the Dwar pooja   before leading us to the Lagan (marriage ) mandhap – the auspicious place .

One more typical tradition of Kashmiri Pandit marriage is the performance of POSH PUZA , not performed in Hindu Indian marriages .

We were made to sit in comfortable posture , a red cloth was put on our heads and all relatives of both families offer flowers to the chanting of Vedic hymns .

The newly weds are regarded as Shiva and Pa r v a t i and worshipped as such .

Now I could see my bride dressed in beautiful sari and bedecked with ‘Dejaharu’   an ear ornament with golden tussels that pass through the the middle cartilage of the ear. The holes are pierced in Kashmiri Pandit girls at very early age of 4 or 5 years .

The ‘Dehjaru’ is having same sanctity as ‘Mangal sutra’ for Indian brides.

 At this late stage of life the myriads of memories trickle down the mind and heart and I gleefully watch my wife Sharika for hours together ,still beautiful and glittering like Summer’s Sunny morning,thus enjoying every bit of the fleeting moments .



The acrimonious somersault of Jyotiraditya Scindia from the Congress party smelt of his betrayal to both, the Party that chiselled him to be an astute politician and to the peoples’ trust of Guna his home constituency in Madhya Pradesh.

A politician nurtured for 18 years with coveted union Ministry for many years, should choose to ditch the party to be in the opponent lap for an immediate political gains at a time when Congress Party needed him the most.

Mr Scindia’s actions have therefore established the fact that these so called ‘young political crop’ treat politics as a career and not essentially as ‘service to people ‘.

His short cryptic resignation letter amply signifies the above fact in the lines mentioned ” I move on “ in   the most casual manner despite the Party holding him in high esteem always.

The attitude of Mr Scindia is deplorable, too ambitious and also atrocious hence not good for him or the country as such in the long run.

He cannot inflict any harm on the Himalayan Congress Party.

No doubt The Kamal Nath government is in tizzy and scurrying for survival but the veteran leader like him would not lay down arms without a fight true to his temperament.

Grave Situation.

The Congress party is no doubt in grave situation as BJP is in process of destabilizing its elected governments through defections. It should worry the right thinking people of this country that such back door entrance could have far reaching implications on the Politics of India.

The situation has come to such a pass due to dithering of decisions to select/elect a new president in place of Rahul Gandhi, who resigned some eight months ago. the Congress is drifting in and unable to drag itself from its  vacillating whirlpool.

Rahul Gandhi has made it clear that the Party should elect President out of the bond of Gandhi family to reinforce sense of belonging for one and all and thereby ensuring a fair chance for the right person to demonstrate his or her ability to rejuvenate the party.

But unfortunately most of the talented leaders have little or no connection with grass roots. Being in power for long such leaders have lost their mass appeal and hence not either confident or not willing to take responsibility as prominent one of the President of the Congress .

Sonia Gandhi is still most authoritative leader with great appeal to steer the party to its rightful place.

Again Mr Jyotiraditya Scindia exit should be an alarm to rope in leaders available and new ones from diverse background who are wedded to the core ideology and willing to rise to the political call from time to time to uphold and afloat the congress party as the party of peoples’ aspirations.

Moreover Congress should sincerely address to the crises of organization ,leadership, ideology and decentralize some of its vital decision making bodies so that a strong feeling of belonging is infused in each and every cadre of the organization to propel it as a strong opposition in the present scenario.


 It is not going to be easy for Mr Scindia   to get into ideological foot prints of BJP as being its virulent opponent till recently both in Parliament and outside and needs to slog on for a considerable time to earn saffron kudos.

Secondly being a sub regional leader in his home state he will be not accepted in his new role easily to sail him off to his rightful destination.

The Congress needs to keep its flock together at a time when its ideological polarization is at loggerheads.





I have now nothing else to do

just to love you


only just to love you.

with those modestly downcast eyes

of beautiful almond size

penetrating and piercing ones

the sparkling countenance with

winsome smile triggering

sensuous desires down

the corridors of my heart

                 reverberating raw emotional thought.


into a pragmatic romance.

I have now nothing else to do

just to love you

and only just to love you.

The glimmering glittering starry night

through the moon light

beckons me to its delight

I ascend the boulevard road


through the blossomy boughs

laden with apples .

listening to the cooing amorously.

The Whole prospectus pungent

with earthy romance.

And your one glance would

entice me to the ecstasy of

your pure love.

I have now nothing else to do

just to love you


only just to love you.


C h a n d a m a a l, fondly called by  me , my brothers, sisters children, elders , one and all other relatives as K a k n i , was my pretty mother.

The elders would address her with respect as Kakinjigri — ‘jigri’ complimenting for madam.

My mother and I had strong special bond being youngest among brothers , I had somehow grown up hankering with such bright idea about my mother’s fondness for me was more than any one else.

But soon after ,this bright idea of mine about my mother’s special fondness came to abrupt end when I saw mother hugging my two elder brothers pressed against her bosom showering a rain of kisses on their ruddy cheeks.

In anger I blurted out in chaste Kashmiri    ‘ accha   yeh aus sori apuzu che chuk moin saraney khute toth” meaning “it was all a lie you were telling me that I am your most loved one of all.”

‘ hata phetir bata kata, mauj che aasan sarai bacchai taeth’.

literary meaning “you stupid Pandit boy mother loves all her children alike”, my mother continued sarcastically explaining her love for all of us pulling me with her arms and smooched me warmly.

All of us laughed loudly and dispersed.

 Kakni was brightly complexioned petite beautiful woman with deep-set eyes, long brilliant dark hair worn in two plaits like a school girl. In contrast to her  my father, Baigash as we called him lovingly , was tall around six feet with dusky complexion and was eldest of all his three brothers  Shyam lal, Premnath, and Dawarka nath.

All were bonded by love and great affection for one another.

Dawarkanath lived in Delhi with his doctor wife, Mohanji and two fondly children son Bupesh and daughter Naina .

My youngest aunt Dr Mohanji was attractive ,reflective and looked pretty when she  smiled.

Ours was a joint family and all lived in a beautiful bungalow in  karan-nagar Srinagar Kashmir.

The drawing room was the most attractive room in the house. we had ten willow chairs and a big Kashmiri wall to wall carpet . The ceiling was carved and walls were painted in light golden hue. A long wicker sofa was covered with embroidered  Namda, a maetris of pure wool.

A large glass paneled cabinet Crockery almirah stood in the corner of the room.

It had  Chinese crockery of cups, saucers, and beautiful bone china dinner plates .

A lot of other decorative knick -knacks to make it look  more gorgeous.

Large Family portraits  hung from the side of the window wall.

A large garden with beautiful flowers of roses, hyacinth, Amaranth, marigold adored our house.Seven huge cherry plants, apricots and mulberry trees stood at the back of our house all along the brick wall of the courtyard and thus enhanced the charm of bungalow.in totality.

My mother Kakni wore sari draped over her broad shoulders leaving head uncovered.

She preferred to have big round vermilion spot in the middle of her broad forehead.

She had forsaken longtime back wearing typical Kashmiri Pa n d i t a n i costume ‘Pheran’ —- A loose c o l o u r f u l gown   with ‘Tarang’ – headgear , Loong – a c o l o u r f u l belt and puuch – long white scarf touching the back of feet. and finally Zari embroidered hem line.

The neck collar of gown was brightly embroidered as well.

All such bright attires of yesteryears were forbidden now. Sari wearing was less complicated , much easier to drape on one’s body and obviously a preferred dress by women all over the country.

She had more of a demure shy personality ,usually taciturn but highly conscious of her gait and possessed a commanding voice to instill a fear among all children to adhere to the discipline in the house.

she would shout with stern looks at the scurrying , shouting rowdy children .

Children and younger ones were naturally afraid of her, although she never rebuked or spanked anyone for that matter.

But I  remember once she spanked me severely when I spilled the ink on the carpet in the living room.

I and my cousin Kanwarji were very close friends , young and frisky, just eleven years old, studying in same class same school in the close vicinity of our home.

We decided to feign illness to bunk the school to spend a nice time gossiping and eating cherries.

Kanwar was a tall lanky one ,I was short hefty but thrifty enough to climb the top of the trees to nimble at the fruits.

It was a pleasant morning ,the sun rays gleaming through our windows in the early March of 1956.

I succeeded in coaxing and cajoling my mother to bunk school feigning stomach ache as planned.

Kanwarji on his part had also managed to pleasantly hoodwink her mother Bhabi for bunking the classes.

All was carried on meticulously.

 Gossip hour.

By 10 am all family members young old had left for schools colleges ,offices and all was silent in the house.

Kakni with her two young ‘Dirkaknis’ –sisters in law , Bhabi and Mataji pulled out three wicker chairs from living room into large Verandah for a possible gossip hour over steaming cups of tea.

Bhabi ,my aunty, wife of my uncle Babuji, was fair with slightly heavy features but had curly dark hair ,and Mataji ,my second aunt, wife of my uncle Pitaji was very beautiful much younger having somewhat chiselled features with golden hair cascading over her shoulders.

Kakni seated herself on her favourite chair with fluffy back,   flanked both sides by Bhabi and Mataji. as on a dais of a conference hall.

Kakni asked with authority Mataji to make ‘sheer chai’   pink tea , tea with salt instead of sugar , commonly taken those days.  Even now we Kashmiris drink this tea with great pleasure.

Soon they were taking tea and enjoying their jokes amidst peals of laughter.

we did not understand the jokes they were cutting on . But all had good chemistry amongst themselves and respected one another immensely.

As they were busy in their glorious gossip picnic, Kanwar and I went to climb the trees for an appreciable hunt of fruits ,the juicy cherries and apricots . After having our fill we tumbled down calmly and found the gossiping trio rounding off the joyful time for more pending kitchen works.

Women had to do lot of domestic daily chores, like cleaning of utensils, cooking , sweeping scrubbing floors and all related works as no maids were available in Kashmir .

Hence no respite for a second  even for all womenfolk.  Ah our Poor mothers.

Kakni used to light the kitchen fire the breakfast activity started stirring up and Bhabi and Mataji joined her in the kitchen works. every morning right in the nick of time.

The house was soon agog by the shouting children jostling along to eat, bathe, and find school satchels .

Mataji would send me for bringing at least two dozens of tandoori Rotis from Hindu Kashmiri bakery for the breakfast.

I would gladly go with a big cloth bag for this errand in particular because the bakery owner Raja would give me one hot ‘katlam’ a thick pancake to eat. This bakery item is round crisp one laced with ghee.

Ghee is clarified butter made from the milk of cow used commonly in cooking delicious dishes.

All would sit cross-legged and barefooted on floor to eat the breakfast.

My second aunt Bhabi was quite adept in making hot stuffed Parathas and all older girls boys would gulp down a few  such nice ones  before finally getting up for going to schools or colleges.

Days, months and years passed by. The Joint Kitchen had split into three and we had grown up completing graduations some in engineering ,some few in medicine and others in sciences or arts.

All of us were heading for different destinations to eke out our living .

Kakni and her other two companions Bhabi and Mataji had grown up somewhat older but were connected with great affection and bond of love . They passed time filled with moments of great emotions in a very affable manner .

They all had steely energy to move forward and would never encourage domestic squabbles. amongst themselves.

My elder brother Bhaipyare was more divinely person and would love his parents more than any one of us , thus would be reluctant to serve away from the home. After completing higher education in the field of Agriculture ,he got good job in the valley itself .My eldest brother Baitote as I fondly called him was in Delhi serving as an Architect.My Delhi uncle Baiji as we called him and his wife Dr Mohanji was instrumental in making Baitote to settle down in Delhi comfortably. He lived with them for  a considerable time before moving to an independent apartment in the same vicinity.

My other brothers sisters .including cousins found jobs near home and everybody seemed happily settled at least for the time being.

I got job in Pune . and my younger sister Anita got upset as she would not like me to travel so far away . I consoled her “ look I could not find a job here for last one year ,so I got some opening in Pune. . Baipyara, Kakni Baigash are all here with you, more over your all cousins, so lovely ones , to care of you.” “I need to do something worthwhile. Don’t you want I should be earning my livelihood.”  I continued placating her softly, stressing my point with a prideful smile curving my mouth. My sister looked convinced.  she was alike her mother to a T except for her swarthy complexion.

My mother Kakni was very upset practically dumbfound dispirited too but apparently wearing a brave face with a forced smile .

She joined me in comforting Anita by declaring in emphatic manner “ your brother needs to be a great man so do not worry he needs to go.”

My enthusiasm to join my job at Pune was high and now possibly off the chart.

My Father Baigash was firm to his fingertips and announced in unmistakable terms that my going to Pune was final and irrevocable.

I began my journey way back in early 1970   to Pune.

I can recall very well Kakni was a magnificient lady both in looks and thoughts. She was kind-hearted and always helped people with whatever she could.

I knew her benevolent nature would guide me to right path and I would emerge finally successful in my all endeavours of life.

And years after I solemnly realize the power behind such prophecies – the inspiring blessings from parents ,elders. take one to great unbelievable heights in life.

And Kakni’s blessings also speak for me.








                                                  Dense Deodar Pine woods


     I will never be young again

   Fluttering reverberating


chasms of romance love

rousing simulating her

scintillating passions for me


I will never be young again

Strolling up the green pastures

of dense Deodar Pine woods

in tandem with my perky love


surreptitiously spinning around

slipping into my arms

exhibiting her tantalizing charms

       throwing ludicrous tantrums


                me thus to her comfort warms.

 I will never be young again

holding her hands

jouncing bouncing fruit orchards


join the gracious glistening giggling

women,  girls boys wearing scarves

of all hues yellows, blacks, blues, reds


apples, apricots , pears on garden beds.

blustery winds blew sweeping

the leaves and all knick knacks

we stand in huddled hug.

slipping my fingers through

her long tresses

patting her ruddy visage

with love borne kisses

I will never be young again

young again young again


mollify her blistering anger