Jagriti Rumi

On A Foggy Day

Whiteness rules a foggy day.
Image from Pixabay
Walking in the whiteness with silence around me, I kept searching. The moment stayed for a few minutes as I moved forward.
 
Caught in the fog I felt happy and I knew I wasn’t alone. The wet freshness flying everywhere made me alive.
 
With every step, I came close to nothing. The road was dark grey and blackish; it was also wet. The grass that was visible was blooming and beaming, full of life.
 
I turned back once, just to check. There was only nothing.
 
Rejoicing and smiling I walked steadily. I was dizzy. I don’t remember the reason for my happiness now. Probably there was magic in the air.
 
In this joy, confusingly, I was looking for something. Maybe that’s why I didn’t stay there for long and I kept walking ahead.
 
In a minute or so, I was able to see the surroundings; trees, cars, buildings, lamp posts, shops, people, and me.
 
The moment of joy passed so quickly that I felt I didn’t enjoy it properly.
 
No one teaches us how to relish things, to realise the moment. I thought I could have done better.
 
But no, I told myself, such things cannot be taught, feelings cannot be caught.



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The Better Way

Flash Fiction
Neatly folded and settled.
[Source – Pixabay]

Kavya was searching for a book to read, only to pass that foggy evening. She was in her grandma’s house for vacation. Nothing but memories was left of her grandparents. A faint image entered her mind every time she thought of them- she is sitting beside them and her grandma is reading a book, they are on the balcony, soon she falls asleep, nevertheless feels the warmth because of their presence.

She was young now and restless. An idea came to her, she imagined herself sitting the way her grandma was sitting and reading, she felt that if she copied it she would get some of the serenity that her grandma had on her face. Strangely, Kavya could now see wholeness and contentment in her grandma’s eyes; calmness on her face; as if she is telling everyone to have faith…to believe; even the old monotone photographs of her grandma spoke the same whenever Kavya looked at them.

Finally, she picked a book and went outside on the balcony. Pulling a chair towards her she sat on it. She sighed…what for…she had no clue herself. Was it something in her life or was she simply missing her grandma? Maybe she sighed because we sometimes do, without knowing that we did.

There were two more pages to finish the first chapter, checked Kavya. She always did so. Kavya didn’t count herself in the category of the fervent readers, but among those who read because others read, because books are there to read and because they know reading is a good habit. There is nothing wrong with being in this category; it is just that you lag in one or the other way.

Trying to sit in a comfortable position Kavya got up and dragged the chair but while doing so she dropped the book. The book was old and some pages peeped out as soon as it hit the floor. ‘Oh!’ said Kavya. They say what happens, happens for the good. While placing the pages properly she found a folded piece of paper. Curiosity made her eyes big. She opened it; her grandma’s handwriting spoke to her. The words were few. It said ‘Just smile…it is the better way’ and under it were her grandma’s initials.

How quickly can things change, how strangely can people change, how fast the light passes in the darkness, right? Kavya couldn’t believe that she was suddenly full of happiness; spirited to do anything. She looked at the piece of paper once again and said, ‘Thank you grandma…thank you so much.’ She got up and left the balcony.

Indeed, Kavya didn’t finish that book but then she had something else to complete. The old book is back on the shelf but the message is with Kavya, which will stay with her forever.


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Big Words Are Going Somewhere

Poem

Time is a big word

And a big cheater

It swears to stay

But never stops to say

Even a goodbye


Love is a big word

And a big cheater

Love is what is beautiful

Though not without pain

At its best when slain


Life is a big word

And a big cheater

Full of opposites

Charming by nature

It tricks a keen creature


Death is a big word

And a big cheater

Feared by the greatest

A truth that stands tall

Accepted in the end by all


The big words are going somewhere

With a small word ‘smile’ I stare  

WHAT COUNTS!

I blame myself for whatever is happening. For what we have made of the planet earth, for the cries that are both heard and not heard, for the tears that dry without an answer, for the ones who are hurt and the ones who fall. I blame myself for the natural disasters and the ones we humans gift ourselves. Through blaming myself I hope to do well, for myself and others; to be serious in a way that things don’t get serious and bad in future; to understand the responsibility of being a human-the most intelligent species so far.

I and my friend were talking about the natural calamity that hit Uttarakhand (North India); we ended in a spat. Not because she said that she was fed up with the zero reactions that came from the elite members of our society (though she is absolutely right to feel so) but because she ended with a dull expression- ‘Leave it.’ I pounded at her last comment and said that the ‘Leave it’ attitude was the reason behind all that was happening in the world.

Elite class is in minority and we how say ‘Leave it’ are in majority.  Individuals matter whether or not they hold a position in the society.

I believe that every single action (even of thinking) is responsible for something in the universe. Every little step of ours can change the look of what the universe will be in future. Yes, that big is the role we play, that is why it becomes our duty to develop our intellect so as to understand this role. It doesn’t mean to be whatever one feels when the term duty is discussed but it means a joy ride. Joyous only if you can feel the universe, if you know the vastness of the universe and the tininess of yours in it; if you can recognise your essence in it. For this you don’t need the material richness, leave also the spiritual richness aside for some time, all you need is ‘you.’

Do you know yourself? Why don’t you talk to yourself? Why the hesitation? Talking to oneself is disturbing because then many things stand against you and your personality; things that compel you to change yourself and we all know that self-mastery is the most difficult to achieve. Will not the world change if every one of us is a little better than we are now?

I call this process of knowing myself joyous simply because I’ll then know myself truly.

And in blaming myself I am not creating a burden but rather I am giving myself an opportunity to do something more than complaining, no matter how small that action is. It counts!

Love or Flu?

Me and my darling sauntering together before I,aachoo, excuse me, fell sick!
Image from Pixabay.

*

Like a flower with dew drops

The colour of the evening sky

Enchanting aroma in the coffee shops

And that song by Gabrielle Pie

This is how I remember you

Because dear darling I love you

Aachoo! Silly doctors call it flu.

*

I was eager and almost ready

‘Going without Umbrella?’ enquired the landlady

I smiled and sauntered without care

As love was in the air

Smile disappeared instead the clouds appeared

Evil above me slowly, surely leered

I didn’t return only for you

Because dear darling I love you

Aachoo! But doctors call it flu.

*

My letter will reveal my pain

I know you know my tragedy

But why, why did it rain?

Sweet love, please accept my apology

I would have come in pain

If rushing was a good strategy

Very soon I will meet you

Doctor agrees with this plan too

First medicines and then only you

Aachoo! My Love this is flu!

*


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A Memory in My Pocket

Prose Poem

I found a memory folded in a paper. I read it and it hit me.
 
The memory was not meant to meet me. It was draped with words that were very loud. Terse and cold.
 
It said ‘I am leaving you…forever’ with the initials Rosie.K.
 
I wondered how the person for whom this memory was meant to be dealt with it.
 
Naively, I searched around for Rosie.K, but the wind made my eyes wet instead.
 
I read and re-read the memory as if it would reveal some more of it through magical words.
 
Why do memories always make us halt, lying to us that we can play with time, even reverse it?
 
I folded the memory again and kept it in my jacket’s pocket.
 
It tickles me whenever it feels like making me unfold it.
 
A Memory In My Pocket
Image by TanteTati from Pixabay

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Common Puzzle

This happens every time without any exception. In my mind I am all set to study, I assure myself that today I’ll finish the topic I started a few days back.

No dragging the subject or dreaming about my success that will outshine others. Or thinking about friends and the golden time spent with them. With such a hope I sit and open my books.

Soon the evil forces put their plan to action against me and the funny thing is that their plan is always the same; and then I shout, ‘Where is my pen?’

Puzzled by day dreams and decisions. [Image from Pixabay]

I don’t know how but I always misplace my pen and then I can’t find it. Behind the books, under the table, on the chair…where!!!

I feel like Oompa Loompas are assigned this job to first hide the pen and then reveal it sitting in the silliest and most obvious place. All this breaks my concentration and I again find myself incapable of completing my goal.

Sometimes I keep my calm but mostly I foolishly complain.

My friend said that same happens with her, especially during the exam days. One thing or the other comes up to distract us- the sincere ones. And then we laugh at our brazenness.

So anyway, this is a puzzle shared by all, I guess. What do you say?


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Arrested!

Roger: I love this coffee house. It’s the same as old days.

Perry: Yeah! But the coffee is different.

Roger: Things change Perry.

Perry: Yeah! Back then it was better. It was real coffee.

Both the friends didn’t say a word for other four or five minutes. They were dreaming about the past.

Roger: Do you remember Carl? The old waiter who worked here? We owe him a lot.

Perry: Oh yeah! ‘Mr Beetle’ we use to call him. (Reflective) I wonder if it was his Beetle. He was a tolerant man I must say. I bet I owe him more than anyone from our group. Poor Carl!

Presently they were in his shoes. They were old.

Roger: What about Andy? I thought he was coming too…this get-together. He loves such ideas.

Perry: Yeah! His doctor didn’t allow him to take a journey after the transplant. He thought he would sneak out but his wife…you know.

They shared a laugh and then again went silent. Suddenly there was a lot of noise and a group of boys entered the coffee house. They were cheering about their victory in a local football game. They shook hands with the coffee house owner, giving him details about their match. Such was the beauty of this small town. Everyone shared happiness and love. One of the young boys came and shook hands with both Roger and Perry, and told them, ‘we won 3-0!’

Both of them were simultaneously arrested in what was now their history. They couldn’t help but think about the days when their life also was all about playing football.

Perry: Ah! Yeah! We know the feeling too!

Roger: The feeling! (Sigh)

Perry: We have played some good football Roger. Do you remember our 5-0 victory?

Roger: Come on Perry, the rival team played like a bunch of idiots.

Perry: Ha ha! Yeah! But you can’t take the credit away from us. We played well.

Roger: Sure! Sure! (More like a whisper) I can’t take anything away. It’s Time that takes away all.

Perry: Yeah!

They turned to notice the group of boys. They couldn’t resist smiling. 

Days

Days like these…
Image by Lena Lindell from Pixabay
 
Where are the days going?
Slipping away like a thought
Fog on a hasty horse has got
The answer, but can’t be caught
 
A dawdler when we avoid
A spirit when we desire
The mire of glum fire
Suddenly sweet enough to admire
 
Special days are remembered
Blue days aren’t forgotten
Memory relishes even in the rotten
Light laughs, tough tears are begotten
 
Dear days before you go
Three things I want you to know
My mind will recall and glow
I’ll be happy and low and happy and slow.
 

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With A Painting

[Source – a Hindi novel’s book cover; image by Jagriti Rumi]

Deep eyes for whom are you waiting? You look like a forgotten painting hanging high on a wall of an old chalet. I wish to talk to you…come alive; the mortal world needs a touch of your beauty. Just for a few minutes or even a second will do…come alive.

A blink of your eyes might melt million hearts; your smile could dance in the darkness and glow. Lost in the hazy splendour, talk to us once or make a gesture.

Hypnotising colours that you are adorned with has the power of bringing serenity. Share some with me; one shade of it in my life and I’ll be seen flying without wings.

Surely you are waiting for someone but what is the pleasure in it? A beloved resides in your mind or… a question?

The elegance in you speaks for you. It says you know the answer and that you are just playing Life.

Are you happy to be a pretty curse? I dreamt you are. Clever!

I am capturing your colours as much as my eyes can discern, your elegance as much as my mind knows and your love as much as my heart can hold.

You have made house in many souls and though you go on living many lives, you know that your wait is not over. You know peace, but you are waiting for it to complete.

*


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