What good is an incomplete tale? As said earlier, an incomplete tale sooner or later completes a circle, like this one did.
And then? Well, it liberates and lightens the metaphorical albatross around one’s neck… and who knows, a day may shine here when the albatross quietly flies away.
She is just ten years old. Talkative and curious by nature, she wishes to know, but only about the magical, the dreamlike and the pleasing.
Her world is of all the shades of pink. With the warmth of an honest, caring canopy overhead, she looks at the stars and floats in the Milky Way.
There is ample clarity in everything she sees and time’s her friend – blistering fast or dragging slow. There is only one melody she is tuned to and it is called life.
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She is living in her own world, within and without. Image from Pixabay.
She is young and brave. Quietly, she observes the world and the world within her, laughs at her.
Battling the questions and transforming the answers, she moves ahead with every failure and tries to fathom the success.
A mirror walks with her; she has broken it umpteen times but they are still in a relationship. Her cries, her sighs, her laughs, her smiles, her ways and one life… all packed in a rucksack is her pride and joy.
The doubtful star burns with her glare and the rhythm of change trespasses the old.
She is living for others now and has placed herself on the top shelf, in a green trunk, under an old book. Close to many and far from herself, she is standing on the border – this way or that way… her life is slipping away…
She just woke up and whatever was under the old book, in a green trunk, on the top shelf she burned that rusted world to dust.
Walking on ashes, she turns black and grey until the mirror returns. It is not going to be joyous all through, but she doesn’t mind the sound of a burned guitar.
They say she is weak and crouched, that she hears less and that her wrinkles make her a puzzle. A puzzle indeed and a child from within, no one knows what a good time she is having.
Her old eyes shine like a starry night and things magically appear and disappear with her touch. The words cannot express bliss; she is singing, hear this – ‘La-la, li-li, o, la-la, li-li’.
She is extraordinary. She is over there, can you see her? I know you can.
Don’t ask for mercy, ask for strength. Image by Couleur from Pixabay
She had decided to leave and her bag was packed. Sitting on her bed she was just getting herself together to face her decision. She took a few deep breaths.
Her mind told her that she was doing the right thing and she appreciated it. But then it contradicted immediately and said loud and clear to her, ‘the road is tough and you are not.’
More thoughts flooded her mind – it isn’t what others normally do…who will take care of grandma…and a recurrent thought of failing.
In fact, her mind guaranteed it that she would ultimately, definitely fail.
She got up and moved towards the window. She saw little kids playing outside, happily and ignorantly.
Images of destruction, people crying for help, and dead bodies lying everywhere shook her once again.
The news channels always make it easy to remember the gross truth without presenting an actual practical answer, though options of ‘SMSing’ and voting are abundant.
She returned and said something to herself. Then she turned to see the mirror and said loudly, ‘I am doing the right thing…I can’t just sit and talk…I can’t…this is right…I know it.’ She took her bag and left her room.
Her grandma knew about her plan and though she had asked her to abandon it, at that moment she warmly hugged her granddaughter and said, ‘I am proud of you…God be with you.’ She kissed her grandma and left the house in a spirit to be the change.
She reached the camp with difficulty. Bad weather and landslides made it almost impossible.
All the people on the way kept telling her that she must not go. An elderly man even scolded her and asked her if she was trying to be daring or cool or trying to prove something to her friends.
He thought it was a joke for a young girl like her. She didn’t reply to him, she knew the man was hurt and maybe had lost someone in the disaster. She kept quiet and walked ahead.
After almost three weeks of no information, her grandma received a letter.
Grandma,
I am trying hard to help, I am trying hard not to cry but I’ll need your blessings. Don’t ask for mercy, ask for strength. We are together in this Grandma.
When I return home, you’ll also have a younger granddaughter to welcome. Her name is Sheena. She is my baby sister.
Arched perfectly in peaceful white/
Talking rarely via windows and hanging lights/
With those who look up.
Greetings!
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!
Ya-hoy!
Chiming Stories (formerly Home Chimes)
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Gabbeh, the 1996 film, is a simple tale of a gipsy girl, her clan and the way their life goes on. Unfolding beautifully just like an artist painting a canvas, Gabbeh quietly touches the grand questions.
Godard… Breathless and Alive
A Tribute to Jean-Luc Godard, the Film Philologist who Reinvented Cinema.
Arthdal Chronicles is a South Korean fantasy drama TV series that takes us back to the Bronze Age in a mythical land named Arth, where different human species and tribes struggle to be on the top of the power pyramid.
Yes fly! For walking on the second track is dull and usual, but dreaming high, high, high requires tools. Tools like the right pair of shoes, a chirpy, gritty soul that eats butter-jam dreams, a soul that drinks milky-milky creams.
Universe’s a Disciplined Place
Silver cascade shimmering the night sky, music to the waves and surreal beauty to the eyes, the Moon loves the art of discipline.
It may be difficult to believe for the Moon’s splendour defies time, it stupefies the clock, it follows the path of a dreamer, but how could this be possible if the Moon knew not discipline?
In this moment, I am a little bit of this and a little bit of that, I am complete and incomplete, I am pleased and uncertain, I wish for nothing and I know I have to wait.
Because the distance covered reminds me of the hurdles I have crossed and the ones I could not, it reminds me of a throbbing past and a dreamy future and it reminds me of how much time is left.
Meredith and the Green Lake
Illimitable Splendour
A joy so complete without any rise or fall, so free without any time corners, so real without true being false, false being true.
