Loving Rascal

 We’ve all been there: you make a perfectly respectable, completely noble vow to be a saintly "friend of the world," and then life hands you an interrogation room, a strangely firm handshake, and an existential crisis. Standard Tuesday, right?  In today’s post, Manoj takes us down a surreal rabbit hole where ancient spiritual vows smash headfirst into modern anxieties, Neuralinks, and the unexpected gravity of facial moles. It turns out that fighting your inner demons is hard enough, but it gets significantly more complicated when you realize you might actually be the monster starring in someone else’s nightmares. Part high-stakes drama, part theological mixtape (featuring special guests Saint Paul and Nebuchadnezzar), this piece explores what happens when love refuses to be neat, polite, or particularly convenient.  Grab a coffee, lock up your ribs, and dive into this beautifully chaotic vision of a loving rogue just trying to locate his missing link. *A Viswamitra's Awa...

Welcome back, you lovely, crazy rascals. Tonight, we are diving deep into the messy, beautiful space where raw longing meets radical theology. Below are two versions of a heartfelt cry born out of isolation and intense eye-fire glances. The first version is unfiltered stream-of-consciousness—just pure, mystical ache poured onto the page. The second is a polished, rhythmic rewrite that channels that same wild energy into structured verse. Whether you are a bright young ruler or a dim-lit fool, grab a seat in the brown dessert and let love take you captive. Version 1. Manoj in Full Form How I wish the hostel building Had some wheels like Yahweh's chariot, Carried by clouds—wheely clouds. The fan's cool breeze makes me feel chilly, Even as your hot kiss leaves me thrilled.  I wonder if I drove the hostel, Full of bright young rulers, Eager to follow the Lord. Without investing anything but ourselves, We bring to his feet wholly, All the rascals—lovely, cool, In part crazy, and dim...

Let’s be honest: most of the time, we treat love like a lifestyle accessory. We swipe through profiles looking for the perfect aesthetic, hit the gym for that lean-protein fitness glow, and benchmark our relationships against pristine Instagram feeds. We like our romance neatly packaged, photogenic, and comfortable.  But what happens when the filters are stripped away?  In this raw, unfiltered piece, we go inside the chaotic, exhausted world of a hospital night shift. Written from the trenches of a medical internship where mortality is a frequent visitor, this reflection moves past the superficial metrics of modern dating—the six-packs, the status, the skin-deep beauty. It is a gritty, beautiful reminder that the greatest love stories aren’t found on movie screens, but in the quiet, trembling spaces where human beings hold onto each other until the very last breath.  I stood helpless, a faithful witness to the night, Watching love stories fracture, fade, and die. Mortalit...

This poem explores the intense, transformative power of all-consuming love, detailing how a deep connection can completely overshadow the beauty of the everyday world. Driven by a haunting, melodic refrain, it follows a journey from deep worldly detachment to a final, passionate declaration of what true love really means.   I still wait for him to show Why her "Al Gult" along the way Captured my soul so completely, Captivating, taking me away.  Captivated me, Fascinated me, Mystified me, Along the way— All along the unsung way.  I only want to be close to you always, Yet you do not sense the need, Despite everything you did— The path where you carried me away.  The flowers blooming in the garden, The birds lightening my load with song, The dogs, the cats, the butterflies— They do not excite me anymore.  Captivated me, Fascinated me, Mystified me, Along the way— All along the unsung way.  The sunset, the sunrise, The moon I try to hold in my palm, Even the t...

This poem captures the emotional landscape of the past two weeks—a period marked by a painful awakening, the letting go of a one-sided connection, and a return to spiritual grounding. It explores the bitter realization of empty promises, framing the speaker not as a victim, but as a resilient figure—part poet, part soldier—who chooses to lock the doors to past disappointment and redirect his energy toward deep study, sacred duty, and self-worth.  Did you play me at the finish line? Perhaps you did, and I was blind, Wrapped in a love that could not see The changing shapes of you and me. Now I must pack this heavy grief, And seek in distance some relief, Letting a higher power trace The painful contours of this space.  What was meant to be, was not; What lies ahead is unbegot. I am sorry if I became the thorn, The quiet weight you might have borne, Sorrowed to learn, at bitter cost, Our hearts were singing chords we lost. I should have let the moment slide, Before the grievances...

Welcome back to Loving Rascal , a space where we strip away the noise of the world to explore the raw, beautiful paradoxes of life, love, and human connection. Today, we are sharing a deeply reflective piece born from a moment of quiet wonder. It is about those fleeting experiences that capture our attention and refuse to let go—the melody we can’t stop humming, the effortless beauty of a master stroke on the cricket field, or the quiet magic of watching butterflies with a child. It is an exploration of the Spirit, found not in the logic of the mind, but in the purity of the heart. We hope these words touch that silent, sacred space within you. A melody plays without a name, No pitch or rhythm that the mind can frame, Yet the music flows, and the fingers stay, Unable to pause or turn away.   A canvas hangs in a silent room, Its meaning hidden in light and gloom, Yet the eyes are held by an ancient tie, Unable to blink or pass it by.   Like a drive from Sachin that haunts the g...