With the intense, ceaseless process of contemplating it all, fitting it into an invisible box, Leela stayed both certain and uncertain. This was no secret to her and yet it was.
Leela smiled, she played the game and enjoyed the Ferris Wheel ride. Leela preferred coffee to tea when she felt blue.
Life means movement and life means change where time is determined to achieve its aim. And so in the ocean of life, Leela sailed to the horizon and back to the shore.
One day when Leela sat down at the shore, sure of not going anywhere, sure about not waiting, partially quiet and calm, she realised that moment’s magic and thought ‘it is alright’. That is it, that is what she thought.
It is alright, the pace, the degree, the twists and turns, the faults and failures, the tiny victories, the awesomeness and overpowering nature of life is just alright.
This acceptance, this vision has often helped Leela to fly and touch the sky, and on those gloomy days, it has helped her to be herself.
To believe is very dull. To doubt is intensely engrossing. To be on the alert is to live, to be lulled into security is to die.
– Oscar Wilde
Let there be doubts, for then the imagination runs hither and thither showing you new possibilities each time. Don’t be scared of the different, don’t be rude to the unexpected, don’t banish the unheard for all of it arises from within.
Let not a belief dwell if it entangles you, binds you leading to nothing but erosion. A belief is anything but stubborn; believing is liberating.
Let there be empty spaces free of certainties, rigid lines that defines, keeping records, storing facts.
Let there be doubts, for then there is much brighter chance of a change.
It is still writing. This writing won’t change. Or it will, if growth is synonymous to change, if evolving is change, if awakening is change, if change is truly blissful. It has bundle full of memories stored sincerely, memories that glisten when talked about. New vistas, old memories, feelings usurp, and the writing continues.
Yes, it continues, even though realisations slow down with time. Amazingly, just in a déjà vu second it speeds up, collecting all shades and colours of memories, infinite times faster than before. And what do memories do? Memories create, elaborate humbly, resolve, express, spread warmth and love. Pure, true love!
It in the making of itself uses the eternal ink of faith. Sometimes it believes and sometimes it smirks, cheats, forgets, sinks and turns away. But it nevertheless keeps writing, always. Either with a heavy heart or a feathery lightness. And when in the end it listens to its heart’s beating, the heaviness vanishes.
It in the making of itself? Whence did it all began? Listening to its memories it gets to know whence. A tough journey gets no support, but a rough straight answer. Accept or ignore the answer, toss it away or idolize it, the answer stays.
Incredulously, observably it lives in its own truth, the truth, the only one for it. While walking in every direction, on every day, in every moment, it distils the world through its sieve, adding and subtracting memories at its true whim.
Lightly, o lightly, it writes forgivingly, gaily, o gaily, it enshrines its memories, softly, o softly it speaks of the truth, deeply, o deeply, it sinks to reach the end, bravely, o bravely it passes on the pen. And the writing continues.
All that you see, all that is in your mind, all that you have experienced, all that which breathes within you, exists only because you are.
The inevitable change assures gently that illusion is reality and the rest a seeming.
The carousel of life goes on; from the darkest night to the brightest morning, from black and white to the rich spectrum, you pass by. Humming a single note, you pass by.
The end, the beginning. Remember?
You created the rainbow as you saw it, you replied to the mountain when you echoed, you walked ahead to make it happen, you looked behind to say goodbye, you stopped to realise and what was beyond came to you with an epiphany.
Illusion is a friend. Fathomable, it is the reality.
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.
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!
Keep walking! Walking? Together! Together?/
For a bright future – said the leader,/
Sitting comfortably on the throne.
A storyteller, following the ancient tradition of cave chroniclers, standing in vrikshasana (the tree pose) on a hill top (it is sunny, but windy), breathing in and out stories (relishing it all, but at times overwhelmed), declares animatedly that she will continue to – tell stories, share rare story gems, and connect with the pacy universe while also keeping the website ad-free.
Big thanks to my readers. Stay tuned!
Also, a humble request to the new subscribers to check the spam folder after subscribing. Silly (but necessary) confirmation emails often land there instead of the bright inboxes. Merci!
Chiming Stories (formerly Home Chimes)
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