A second or new birth; reincarnation.
A renaissance; a revival: a rebirth of classicism in architecture.
It all started when it ended.
Years of togetherness shattered. Momentary passion against aged wisdom. It wasn’t about not knowing better. There could be a hundred explanations and a hundred reasons. But did that matter?
It was as if he reached into my heart and yanked it out. That was the romantic part.
I felt like chopped liver. I wanted to be dead. I dint want to feel alive and pained. Alive and dying. All because he cheated on me. It was his mistake but i was the one that cowered. Wasn’t it always like that?
But then time heals everything, doesn’t it. And here I am at the edge of a chapter. Waiting to be reborn again.
Dad agreed to “take over”, whilst Mother was away at weekend seminar.
8.00 – While taking office call, Dad helplessly watched Baby spill cereal
10.00– Maid was absent. Dad rigorously scrubbed the utensils.
13.00 – Dad enticed Baby to eat. TV and toys were the diversions.
15.00– Dad was drying clothes in the washing machine.
17.00 – Closing the door for third time to a random salesman.
20.00– Lunch scenario with the Baby being repeated.
22.00– Dad realized he hadn’t seen the news or match, actually tidied up the rooms, and was still energetic enough to do office work.
23.00 – Groggy with sleep, Dad thought, at end of day his rebirth had happened – he was reborn as Mother.
Her lovely tresses,
Oiled by every other, washed by 3rd.
The locks yearned for a touch of her owns.
A frock she worn,
Always smelt of soap, never of someone so dear.
The morning French-toast,
Was perfect in salt and pepper,
Where was the love she needed ever?
Looking ahead of the motor window,
She wanted that secret clutch of fear,
Not wanting to let go, never far, always near.
She yearned to wave good-bye,
To a smiling face, none to a cold labor.
But she came, saw and stood still.
Amongst her so many, who felt like own.
She could fly here,
Dream and cry unbroken.
Little stupid girl,
So young, not enough to know what “rebirth” meant
The swirling wind swishes continuously
swooshing over my shut stony tomb
not stiff enough to slide its slab although
stiff enough to arouse the stirrings
of disturbance within the confined hole.
Dark and bottomless, but I can’t see–
I’m stirring and trying to turn,
I wind down my neck tight and kick:
a whiff unbeknown blows forth in a puff,
an abrupt glare greets my suddenly-awakened sight,
a rumble that begins in my belly becomes
a wail, and a shrill shriek
simultaneous multiple painful experiences like
the gigantic waves that lash the pathetic pebbles who
gladly die this second in secure knowledge of
their rebirth in the next.
I just woke up from my dream
To realize it.
Muddy hands,spades at work
To free the superfluous water
To sculpt my destiny.
My mind,malleable and soft
Devoid of impurities.
Thoughts become my fingers
Deftly mix ceramic hopes
A vitrified ,
Prof. Richard Devendra Das ( Rich Dev D) 
Rebirths happen for a reason, my reason is fame
Which I rightly deserved in last life…never received the same
A struggling writer I was whose writings people never read
Nowhere to success this profession lead
So one fine day dejected I was
From writing I decided to take a permanent pause
And gifted my new writings to a student I had
Willy S. they called him…his writing was sad
The rest is history, he stole my work and rose to fame
When I confronted him, he used my own line, “What’s in a name?”
Whether it’s your work or mine…it’s all the same…
That day I committed suicide and to this existence I have since came!!
“I baptize you in the name of the Father,
and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”
Few drops of the holy water fell over him
And Mohan became MacMohan.
“This is your Rebirth”,
Father D’Souza said.
He promised him Heaven,
“You will not suffer now, the humiliation
Which your ancestors had to.”
“You are not untouchable now”
like your forefathers were”.
“This is your Rebirth”,
But was this really
He is still not allowed to drink
from the same well.
He cant marry Sarita, his love.
No one buys food
from the shop he has opened.
Mohan may die
a thousand times
We will not let him reborn
Not Up For Kompetetion
Mr. YRF (Yo! Reel Films) 
Meet Raj ! The name you must have heard,
A simple town boy, since school a big time nerd !
Introducing Naina, his childhood crush,
Every time he saw her, he would blush !
But Naina loved someone else ! Aww… what fate…
They were best friends…but in love he was late…
And so his depression…led him to lose his mind…
He didn’t notice that rash driver…coming from behind…
In hospital, was made…a promise to be kept…
“Rohit , in this life Naina is yours … but in next life and life-long she will be mine…”
And so Raj died…and Naina wept…
But for love stories one lifetime is not enough as they say…
20 years later, Raj returned as Om (Surprise, Surprise!!), one fine day…
And then he searched for Naina … as he remembered her again…
Tried to find her everywhere…but no success… alas he searched in vain…
At last he found her (the climax begins)…she too had been waiting for him…
20 yr old Om met Naina (not too old, only 55 she seemed!)
But will the age difference matter, when their hearts were one…
Rohit was dead long back, so Naina was single… waiting for someone…
The question remains will they unite now or not…
Was Naina indeed the destiny …that Om really sought?
To see where this epic of love ends… do visit theatres this Jan…
And watch “Om Returns Home” starring Shahrukh Khan!!