Tuesday, 24 March 2015



It was a lame evening and I had gained nothing watching the boring interview of Mr. Sodium Gandhi. So, I had to pick a new resolution for the day and it was shopping. It’s been years I’ve bought a painting for my room. Being a writer, I knew that even buying a painting is nothing but an art.  Patience again was a show – steal-er here.
I was looking for a unique portrait in the art gallery. It was a hectic task. It felt as if you are in a room filled with beautiful lasses and you have to select a perfect match out of it. However, for me the process was not that tardy, though I could manage a fast glance at few artworks.
The gallery contained almost all kinds of paintings; it even included a portrait of Osama wearing a sari, which was quite enough for a chuckle.


After a 500 feet – journey, I had come cross an  unique oil art. The artist had his signature written as anonymous. Then I realized, a true artist does not explore for fame, but does it for himself.
The painting was as simple as possible; it was set up in a sultry desert. There were four oldies sitting on the courtyard of their house and peacefully sharing a hookah. On the other hand, there was a camel feeding its baby calf and a beautiful damsel carrying a bag filled with grass.
It was more than enough for a buy and I came back home wrapping the masterpiece.


I was desperate to show the masterpiece to my father. Even he had some inclination towards art, but it had an orthodox angle.
The moment I came home, he wasn’t surprised. However, he didn’t wanted me to hang another portrait on my wall, which already boasted of a few. And when I finally showed him, he threw me a vexed look. My dad was an ardent follower of RSS, but he was not a hypocrite. He was not happy about my decision.
Only then, I realized, why he was blurting out at me. The painting contained some sheikhs and he was not happy about it. I was numb for a moment. I was at the gallery for almost four – hours and I myself could not see the Muslims in them, as I was an artist myself.
I didn’t want  to create a havoc , so I silently walked back to my room carrying a message for myself and on the other hand I realized, I was a true artist.



Monday, 23 March 2015



Stress is something you can relate with your ex – girlfriend, the more you think about it, the more you get sophisticated. It is a never-ending process, unless you stop thinking about it.  However, it is quite monotonous to complete the task, knowing it would be a tardy process. Stress plays a standard role in every human’s life and the common criteria called – insecurity is the one big culprit, which leads to all this shit.
Moreover, being a HR Recruiter it has been ages I visited a rehab to kill my stress down, but my inner soul was not happy about my decision. However, there was a fortnight left for the financial year-end and I had no other choice left out in my pocket, so I ended up landing in a rehab cell.
The rehabilitation centre had conducted a crash course session for a week. I was glad that it would not kill my time.


First day session at a rehab was just some meditation programs. Though it was not an easy task to do, I was away from my insomniac sessions after a very long time.  I found another section in the same place, which is for the kids who fall into the prey of the early health disorders.
It was this time; I met Ananya, a 9 – year old kid, who was suffering from Alzheimer’s disease. The fate played an antagonist in her life. I was wondering; how could a girl who is just in her childhood can face a challenge like this?
I could not control myself even for a moment. Without a second thought, I walked towards her and wanted to have a small conversation.

Hi Ananya, this is Vishal.
Hello Sir.  
You know why you are here.
Of course.  My parents could not bear me for long, so they threw me in this rehab. Moreover, thinking from their perspective, they were right. How could they manage a child who does not even remember their parents? (The girl laughs).
I was shocked for a moment. I had nothing to speak. It was a numb feeling with goose bumps all over my body.
So you do not feel like seeing your parents.
Yes I do. However, even if they visit me, I should at least be in a situation to remember them, which is again beyond the bounds of possibility.
Do you feel lonely sometimes? On the other hand, do you feel depressed?
Depressed for what? You guys should feel lonely on the other hand, not me. Having everything in life, you guys come here for getting treated for illogical reasons. I don’t get that. And by the way, why should I feel lonely, I should actually thank the supreme who’s given me this fantastic life. I’m one among those trillion people out there who’s born gifted. No egos, No envy. I have all the freedom to live life king size.
I had another 5 days left out in my calendar for the rehab’s crash course session. However, now I don’t think it’s worthy enough. The 9 – year old girl had a maturity of a 90 – year old woman. She had seen nothing, but had carried the optimistic loaf all her life.
Knowing that, I do not deserve a moment with a girl of this great stature, I just gave her a final bow and walked away to my home carrying a heavy message.

All Rights Reserved.

© Written By Vishal Aryan Komara.

Saturday, 21 March 2015

The True Warmth!

The True Warmth – The Poem

When I saw her for the very first time,
Love at first sight was not at all a crime.

It took some days to get to know,
Then, it was Love, which started to flow.

She said, this is not the time for the sparks to fly,
Adamant was I, for which my heart couldn't deny.

Silence played at the sorrowful situation,
Exams intervened during the invalid condition.

The journey repeated again,
However, my efforts went all in vain.

Slow and steadily, the flower started to blossom,
In addition, I was glad that, the time has finally come.

Days passed without my knowledge,
And the flower had something to acknowledge.

Doubts she had, on my love,
Assuming that, I would leave her for now.

Infatuation was not my pal,
Being true to her was my final call.

No matter how much she bloat,
I am confident that my love shall float.

Confused was she, to choose upon two things,
Career and love, were the indecisive rings.

She wanted some time to think about the future,
Worried was I, thinking that my love would rupture.

The unfortunate day knocked my door,
She left me alone in the floor.

Years passed, she came back soon,
A question, popping from her phone.

Committed was she, this time,
Is being physical with a flower a crime?

I told her, that is a part of love’s journey,
However, I did not go behind for that luxury.

I know, it is difficult to understand the essence of my LOVE,
I promise that, you will never experience this kind of LOVE.

Assuming, you would reach me one day,
After all this is what I can expect in my life every day.

© All rights Reserved.

Written By Vishal Aryan Komara.

Wednesday, 18 March 2015

The Unexpected!


Last night was highly peaceful; wife was off to her native and no more snoring for the next two days. The 14-year-old whisky had a fresh taste and after the five – peg session, the painting on the wall made a lot of sense. There was this woman carrying a bucket of water-to-water the almost dead plant in the sultry desert.  
The deadline for the next project was a week ahead and I was a mile away from capturing those exotic birds in the early dawn. However, knowing my boss would fire me for the delay, I had already cracked an interview in some other ad – agency to be in the safe corner.

…. 5:15 am
The lake was just a furlong away from my lane and I was used to those early – morning walks with smokes. However, carrying those tripod and huge lens was a burden every dawn.
Shooting those rare species in the bone chilling weather was something highly challenging and at the same time, even patience mattered more. However, when you are dissolved in your passion, pain is a hardly a cake –walk.

…. 5:23 am
     Through the lens,

I seldom see old – aged people having morning walks in this kind of parks especially in these frigid winters.
However, this black coat dressed oldie was one among them. But that did not astonish me in any way possible. I pitied because he was born blind. He was dressed up in his black Raymond suit; I was wondering how an old man who is in his 80’s could can dress up in this attire that too for a morning walk.
He was lean and built up tall. My inner soul shouted curiosity and being a blind man, why should he strain himself at this age and that too in this cold weather. However, it was none of my business and I had to turn my landscape mode on, as it was getting late for the photo session.
When you are dissolved in your passion of doing something, the scenario would say – “Rome was built in a day”, the time flies. Because, every moment is a question mark.
….6:02 am
The Oblivion
I had to wind up today’s session as it was getting late to my office, I had to reach my client’s place by 7.30 and give the sample photographs.
On the way back home, when I was about to start my bike, I found this blind oldie again. However, this time, he had been accompanied with another stranger who helped him to cross the park to enter the other side of the lake. I thought of taking a picture of this and slowly the scene made me to shoot a video.
All of a sudden, I witnessed a jaw dropping moment in the very first time of my life. The blind man took out a thin blade from his white cane and stabbed multiple numbers of times in the stranger’s stomach; it was a traumatized moment. I did not know what to do, how to react. I simply started my vehicle, and went back home.
                                                                                                        …TO BE CONTINUED.

© Written by Vishal Aryan Komara

Tuesday, 17 March 2015


Lochan makes a visit, gives a stare, and goes away with a blushed smile and the cycle repeats. However, the sitting duck here is me, – Aryan.
I seldom remember the day we met for the first time, but her grey matter was of top-notch.
The crucial part of the human career was the 12th grade, as our parents blurt out very often and to my ill – fated destiny, I had fallen in love with this lass at the same time. The feeling was like two people boarding a titanic vessel. Nothing was of sheer importance, when you are in a relationship. Every aspect in your life would be a second option excepting for the love of your life. Every moment went on well, be it - watching talkies over a tub of popcorn, popping phone calls in the witching hours, long walks within few minutes. Theory of relativity made its presence. 
Was that Love or Infatuation? It was an intriguing moment to decide. As I knew, this ain’t the right time for the sparks to fly. Moreover, the graduation was waiting for me at the other end of the tunnel. The competition was toilsome; I had stuck in a grueling situation, where I was to choose upon my career and this yet-to-be finalized relationship.
As I told before, everything feels secondary at that time even though it does not make any sense. However, I was true in my relationship, not knowing what was going on in her loaf. She aspired to be a Filmmaker and sometimes I used to get pissed off with her inclination towards Art. In the beginning, every moment was delirious and fresh. Few months later, the process became a bit predictable and the long walks suddenly transformed into a one – way traffic.
I was not possessive by nature; she had a free hand after all. Everything went on well, but not as before. However, dropping a bombshell was not my idea. If this was not enough, the final exams was about to begin in a week’s time. I had fallen down in the dumps; I sometimes really wonder what the subjects in my grade have to do with my career?
However, I change my mind and come back to the boring books and the most important aspect - which makes a presence in every student’s ontology – The Distraction part.
Holding the math book, staring at those curved hyperbolas and the inner soul shouts in a different pitch. It is a common process, as I have mentioned before.

Lochan could never meet me due to the exam preparations and the pressure from her orthodox parents was up to the skies limit.
Finally, the Gruesome Project came into the limelight. Everything went on well and the results were out in a fortnight. Her results had a boasting percentage of 88 and I was on cloud nine to be the premier among the last benchers.
She was not happy about my results. However, she did not show it on her face. I knew where I stand in my academics and was not peculiar about the grades.
Because, somewhere in my deep senses, I knew that the books were of no use to my career. However, according to the protocol, I needed them in my closet. It is just my opinion.
I slightly turned my career curve towards cooking as the white toque interested me and cooking was my impetuous passion from childhood. I was hardly 8 summers old when my granny passed away and she was a cooking maestro. However, she was a bit orthodox by nature and made sure that no one enters the kitchen.
Being youngest among the lot and most pampered in the entire house, I took this as an advantage to enter in the scullery. It was indeed a pride moment for me, because no one so far had dared to go the kitchen.
However, I was of no use to my granny. She single – handedly managed the entire process with élan. A strict scrutiny was only my task.
After my granny passed away, the kitchen was no more a heaven. My mother went through a hellish process all day. She had to shuttle around between her work and the household songs. It was this time; I had a free hand in the kitchen and the entire room was mine.
However, I used to help my mother doing those veg - curries and south Indian dishes even though it was completely monotonous.
Being a vegetarian, I was more interested to cook some Italian cuisines and up to the minute recipes in kebabs. However, for me - Chinese recipes were idiot – proof and it didn’t kill time.
At the age of 17, the authority of the kitchen was under my control and I had almost learnt many recipes by now. However, to become a chef was not a cakewalk. It would be a step – by – step process and since cooking is an art; the main asset an artist has to boast about is – patience.
Yes!  A positive mindset is mandatory without a second thought and the most vital part of an artist’s life is to have immense self – confidence. I feel nothing more is required for the activity.
I was ready for the next level, where I had to convert my passion into profession. Therefore, I enrolled for a degree in Hotel Management and I could not stop myself sharing this with Lochan. On top of this, we did not meet each other for a month or so; the gap was a bit exaggerating.

The ‘LONG WAIT’ for the girl, the common aspect - which every guy encounters during his relationship. Even though my clock was punctual, Lochan always chose to be tardy for the hang – outs. It has been a month seeing her beguiling face and on the other hand, I went berserk, as she didn’t turn up according to the time mentioned. The ‘135 Minutes wait’ finally ended with her presence. She was in her casual jeans, which she normally dislikes and this surprised me to think beyond the curve. I could see the odd vibes surrounding her and sensed something bizarre.
She gave me an orthodox hug. Hi, Aryan. What’s up?
Nothing had changed in a month; I was literally getting bored of her questions popping from her nous.
There is nothing much to blurt out Lochan. I have enrolled for a degree in Hotel Management as you know I have the zeal towards cooking.  
Holy shit, what is wrong with you?
Are you nuts? Cooking can only be a passion. How can you be so stupid thinking to make a career out of it. It is not too late, join engineering with me and we will have a blast together.
Meanwhile during this conversation, my inner soul was visualizing me dressed up as a chef and serving delicious dishes to the customers and on the other hand, I was in no mood to pay attention to whatever Lochan said.
Thanks for your advice Lochi; I am in no mood to think anything apart from Cooking as it has been my passion right from my pre – teen days.
So, is this your final decision! She blurted out in a squeaked voice.
I gave her a big YES!
After having a limited chat, we both left to our places.


Trrrrnnnnng! My phone buzzed. It was a sms from Lochan – “Hi Aryan, I have a got a seat in IIT – Chennai. I would be leaving Bangalore tomorrow. So, have a nice life and I would not like to be with a person who is out of his senses. All the best and hope we meet in future and good bye”.
I was in a strange dilemma for few minutes. I was broken completely. I only had two options in my mind right now, follow her dreams or cook the bread.
I chose the second option. As Mr. Farrah Gray Quoted - 

“Build your own dreams, or someone else will hire you to build theirs.” It was absolutely a masterpiece.


After completing my graduation in hotel management, I got a job as an intern in a seven star hotel. My job was nothing but to make a note of quantity of vegetables used every day.

First month went on to be a boring task, the work that I did; had nothing to do with my career. So I used to wind up my daily routine within two hours and jump to the kitchen to lend my hand to all those chefs.
Mr. Mukund was an executive chef and he had 6 years of experience in the hotel industry. He was highly impressed with my passion towards cooking and shifted my base to the kitchen. 8 months down, now I was a full time chef in the snacks division.
Few months later, I got bored of my job and I had planned to start a business of my own.
Hailing from middle – class family, I did not have the guts to lend my father’s hand. I modified our Maruti Omni into a Mobile – food court and started travelling to all the IT – hubs in Bangalore.
The survey on the latest Gen says that – 90% of all the people strive for the fast foods and this was the plus point for me to implement this idea.
On an average basis, I used to spend two hours near every IT – Park, so I could cover the entire city. This process went on for 3 years and I had 6 mobile food courts by now.  
One fine morning, I was serving hot sandwiches to an old man, looking at his attire and color; I came to know he is not an Indian. However, I was happy after seeing him munching those hot buns.
Young Man, Can you please share the recipe with me as well?
I was astonished for a second and asked me why he wanted to know about it?
My name is Walter Mike and I am from Germany. I own a restaurant in Hamburg and I came to India for a vacation.
I was not in a mood to listen to all his shit, because I couldn’t waste my time in the peak hours.
He walked away paying the bill and giving me a visiting card of his. I felt he would have liked my sandwich. However, the question, which troubled me, was how he could assess my talent with just having a sandwich.

10 years later…

The Sapphire,
The Hotel,

Hotel Sapphire was one of the famous seven – star hotels in the entire city. They covered all kind of cuisines in the same hut.
One fine day, a couple walked into the restaurant and ordered a combo meal for them. The wife was immensely happy with the taste of the hot chicken kebabs and wanted to have a word with the chef who made it.
Excuse me! Can I meet the chef who made these dishes?
Of course, Mam and the bearer left.
Sir, you have a call from one of the customers in the main hall. What’s the matter John? I asked.
She’s impressed by your dishes and wants to meet you. Well I will be back in few minutes.


Compliments from the customers are one of the best appreciations you can have in your life. That makes your day, even though it would be hectic.
I could not believe the fact that, the customer was none other than Lochan. She had goose bumps all over her body. I could read her face completely by now and she was numb.

Good Noon Madam,
 Did you call me?
Yes, her husband started the conversation and told me that Lochan was highly impressed with the dish and that’s the reason they had called me.

After a while, they were getting late for something and had to leave the hotel. Lochan told her hubby to take the car out and she would join him in few minutes.

What’s wrong with you Aryan? Even in my dreams, I’d never thought I would see you someday in this kind of situation. Why did you ruin your career?
Without any hesitation, I asked – “what did I lose Lochan?”
I am completely satisfied with my job and enjoying my work. What kind of work is it? Did you waste so many years for this? I don’t think you’re on the right track!
All of a sudden, inexplicably, one of the managers interrupted into the conversation and said - Mr. Aryan, we are getting delayed for the meeting in the Oberoi.
Two minutes Henry I said and I took a break from Lochan and told I would be back in few minutes.
Hi Madam, are you Ms. Lochan? Henry asked.
Yes. How do you know my name? Everyone knows you here in the entire hotel Madam.
Mr. Aryan is the Founder of this hotel, Every Morning he would share a story of his past to all his staff so he could be ignite some amount of inspiration to all the young guns out here.
Before I came, Lochan had left; I guess she did not want to make a fool out of herself.
Both of us were right in our own perceptions, but at the end of the day, she fell for the society’s prey and I simply followed my heart.

© Written by Vishal Aryan Komara.

Monday, 16 March 2015

Broomstick - The Poem

A  Broomstick for the finish!

A spectacular feeling shouts in my heart,  but I am invited to the new world which turns my feelings apart.

All of a sudden,  like the spark from the blue,  I was found thrashed on the floor without any clue.

Just before my conscious was regained,  there was hardly no time for my injuries to get sustained.

The cycle started again the very next day,  after all this is what I can expect in my life everyday.

©Written by Vishal Aryan Komara

Excerpt - My First Pen

Excerpt from my First Book .

This story is more of a lesson, more of a value, which is purely an experimental effort by a yearn-to-learn Writer whose perception on humanity, hard work, knowledge and many more tough lettered words had completely transformed by an Educated Rag picker.
I do not consider this experience as a life-saving drug; rather I take it as a life-changing drug. Seems a bit colloquial, but I completely disagree to my own inner- word. Speaking to the point, I sometimes feel that a life –saving experience is nothing but a temporary solace, where as coming to the life – changing phenomenon, it is more of an erudition. Therefore, I could raise my head up and confidently agree to the second point. If a question of curiosity repeatedly knocks my door, I would say – ‘Go and experience for yourself’. That is the best way to shut the door. Isn’t it
It takes a lot of pain to convince your ego, which is actually the main reason for the ‘Big – fall’.  However, it is better to have wide ears; rather than having bloated mouths. Nevertheless, that does not mean you have to pay heed to whatever shit is been blurted out; instead, look upon to the latter’s opinions and buzz off to your businesses. This would not only reduce your energy but in turn, the peace of mind will definitely make its presence.
I normally prefer penning in a dark tranquil room with presence of a night lamp. That does not mean I am a nostalgic person; instead, I presume to look upon to this procedure, as it brings out the best emotions from the writer. Let me make this clear – the above statement is just my opinion.
As per the Google – Christ Stats, a human mind has occupied with an average figure of 70,000 thoughts per day and I would proudly say that, even my grey matter shouts a five – digit figure.
Moreover, the figure solely relates to my Writing and Creativity, as I am inclined towards it.

The Dark Bedroom,
July 18th 1999,
2:17 am,
The squeaky voice of the door irked my pen’s flow.  
Who is that?
It was neither Sherlock Holmes nor Hercules Poirot; it was my Father.
Dad, what makes you enter my room? Moreover, its seventeen past two
Did you come across an insomniac encounter like me?
Yeah Karan, where on earth, did you learn such behavior?
Moreover, it is too late. Better, go to bed.
I am not squandering my time away; I was just penning an anecdote.
Oh, c’mon Karan, do not give me a Hemmingway right now. Just sing those puppies to bed and buzz off. Nevertheless, I have got no time left in my pocket. There is a short story competition coming up next month and I normally prefer booking down before the dawn as it brings out the best out of me. Oh, really, when did all this happen?
Dad, this ain’t a knee-slapper moment and I am literally serious. Do not take it lightly, as holding a pen is my raison d'être.
‘Well, Sorry. However, do not keep yourself awake all the night. Have a peaceful slumber.
Thanks and I have a surprise for you too.
Oh, what is that?
I will be leaving to Coorg next morning. Are you just trying to pull my leg Karan?  No, I am serious as always.  The anecdote, which I am writing about shouts a rural – backdrop, ergo I have to make it. There is nothing to dwell on; I will be back in a week’s time.
Fine, do you need some money for the trip?
Not necessary, my purse is a bit heavy and I could manage with this dough as of now.
Good night and have a safe journey. Thanks Dad. Love you.
Like – Father, Like – Son lustrous

I guess the last time my father penned a novel was 20 summers back and now it is my turn to ring the bell. However, he was not a fulltime writer.
He was at his twenties when he got his first métier. In early 1980’s, a matriculation passed out had the same value compared to the other aspirants. He completed his graduation and his higher studies in correspondence. A business idea was on the cards. He wanted to start a weekly – tabloid; so that it would publicize his articles and content.
The work was indeed very rigorous. He had to shuttle around between his part –time and regular work. The tabloid business turned to be an overhead. It showed no progress in the beginning. He started doing over – time, slowly the momentum was back and simultaneously the writing idea did not fade away .I guess he had written a novel in this period. However, the book could not work out due to the tight schedule. The business ran more than a decade and finally made a pause.
The tabloid – racket turned out to be a lesson for me; it gave me a clear insight about Business and the Man – power. My experience with the tabloid made me a writer. It taught me no skills, but I had seen the up’s and down’s in the lot.
However, the ‘how-do-you-do’ part is nothing but the procrastination of your book. This is where many writers feel bogged down with their pens. All I can blurt out is - ‘It just has to happen’. At the age of 21, I was been left to choose upon my Writing and Engineering careers and my decision was adamant and I chose to hold the pen.

I PICKED THE TICKET ON The floor…. I could only see a picture with an I-d number. I threw the ticket, as it was no use to me.

Six hour hunt…
The bus journey is literally a painful butt- journey. It is a place where you come across all kinds of strangers. I had a perfect start to my innings. I was near the window. A better picture of the outsight turned out to be helpful to me.  
However, this trip was for my research about the reasons of the common blows happening everyday in the so-called middle class families.

Mr. Rasamalai Subramanyam was one such of a character who could describe my point of view according to my perception. I found this specimen smoking marijuana near some isolated farmhouse in the outskirts of Coorg.

I swear to god, there was nothing fascinating nearby. Without a second thought, the curiosity made me pounce from my seat to go have a word with him.
Mr. Rasamalai has the habit of chewing his gutkha after a dose of hash believing it would give him some positive vibes.
He was a philosophical snob. It was then I realized the value of travelling and meeting new breeds. Mr.R hails from Chennai, however settled his butt near the outskirts of Coorg.
Dressed up in a white dhoti and blue khadi shirt with a thick moustache, he was more or less an Orthodox - Tamilian look – alike.


Mr.R was a 6th grade dropout, but learnt lessons throughout his life. He had observed people, their interactions, cultures, habits and finally the so – called Politics. I am normally a person with wide ears and broad eyes. I felt both of us are sailing in the same boat with a broken oar. To make it more precise, we had similar ideologies with questions popping on many topics.

However, the topic here was about the common disputes in the orthodox families of the Middle – Class.

I thought he could be the best species to aid me in my research.

#1 –The Food Quotient

Wife prepares idlies like rose petals. Meanwhile, husband is very busy watching the news hour in the night. With great affection, she hands over the plate to her hubby.

 Husband finds a long grey hair in the hot sambar, which makes him go wild and throws a punch on her face.

#2 –The unexpected at the wrong time

After a hectic week of studying the parabolas, the alcohols, the electromagnetic fields, Mr. Average wants to have a break from his college and comes home with an enthusiastic face to enjoy the weekend.
However, the next morning, his aunt abruptly makes a call and tells her son has topped his exams with 98%.
The planned weekend goes for a toss as the atmosphere in the family starts heating up and the voices of comparisons increases.

#3 – I am always right. OK! – The EGO CLASH

“Son, - Do not give me this idiotic shit. I might be wrong at any cost, but pay some respect some to your Father”. 
EGO is a feeling where it puts you in a cornered situation and sometimes you will have to accept the fact that 2*2=5.
#4 – The Whisky Effect

A Workaholic husband comes home after enjoying a six – pegs whisky session with his friends. Lo and behold, he finds his wife with a sick face and the next morning the Broomstick Session begins.

After concluding the research, I immediately blurted out a question.

Mr. Rasamalai, Why do you smoke Hash?

I am a Nature Lover – he replied.

© Written by Vishal Aryan Komara  

A leaf from a HR's Diary!

An HR’s Grey Matter

The common criterion between a HR and an app is nothing but updating. That is the crucial phenomenon; “an idea a day keeps your agitation away”.    
Another closet pal in the recruitment field would be your Manager’s lecture in the meetings; I seldom remember the incident few months ago in my interview, the HR cleverly gave me a hint about the job profile – “In a target based industry, the boss would always fire at your chair, not at you!”
I was impressed and it is absolutely a fact. A manager would get same amount of pressure from his boss as well. A Pressure which is a form of energy which can neither be created nor destroyed, but can be transferred. Therefore, the formula is simple – the cycle repeats. All you can do is to relax, mount your efforts and finishing the day with a smarter note.
Another major part in this industry would be your observational skills, which is again the first step – be it in any industry to gain a momentum in the beginning. It works great when you invest your costliest asset – Patience!
Finally yet importantly – Mistakes! Which is the mandatory part in this field? The only criteria which makes you to jump from your comfort zone.

© Written by Vishal Aryan Komara.

Sunday, 15 March 2015

My Team Lead had a wish and the result is Below

The HR Poem


I entered the hall for an HR interview,

Knowing it was nothing but a target based crew.


All of a sudden, like the bolt from the blue,

I was placed near a computer knowing nothing about the clue.


Dynamic it was, when she entered,

This completely made my mindset flattered.


Landed up in a team full of flowers,

Later on, I realized, they were nothing but my mirrors.


The beginning was a bit UN - easy,

However, the petals made my work very tasty.


My team is the one, which made me proud,

I was never bothered about the pessimistic cloud.


© All Rights Reserved

Written by Vishal Aryan Komara

Saturday, 14 March 2015

The Prolonged Justice!

The Barking Studio – The Unwanted Therapy

After fighting a tough migraine from past 2 days, an article in the editorial column gave me a high.
A person who had been migrated from the Indian soil to the States; 30 summers ago had some potential content in his perceptions. It was slightly satirical, but the truth was bitter for those who had to accept it.
All his life in the US, he had not come across any such paparazzi aka media spoke – persons showing a valued content about the so – called Indian Government and its political achievements. India is a great country! An intellectual financial minister can transform into a dumb puppet.

# Tragically Satire
An old man seeking justice for his daughter, who was raped brutally by some atrocious thugs comes to the Barking Studio (The Media).
The Editor – in - chief has some certain problems to highlight those atrocities to the Indian society because the slots was already booked for another few months for the opposition government who had nothing to prove rather than blurting out their sincerity towards their greedy chairpersons and according to the media perception, these issues didn’t flicker their TRP grades.
Nevertheless, even the idiotic spoke persons had something hidden in their wallet; they were highly concerned about the unemployment of those thugs who was the reason behind the brutal rape incident.
The old man with no choice knocks the court door, but to his ill-fated destiny, even the court had some genuine constitutional issues. Knowing these people not turning the tables in his favor, he had to consume the pesticides, meant for the mitigation of pests in his farm. The chemical could not save his land though, but confirmed his ticket to the heaven.

Welcome to the Indian Judiciary System!

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Written by Vishal Aryan Komara