Feature Article
In Bloom.
[Source – Pixabay]

‘Kaun Buddha Si?’ (Who was Buddha?) by the wonderful Punjabi Poet Amar Jyoti.


Who was Buddha?

Whose tale is it?

It’s left for you to decide;

Whether of Yashodhara or Siddhartha

Who repaired to the peace of jungle

Leaving Yashodhara behind

To bring up Rahul

Congruent with the royal

Customs and traditions,

Who made the glittering glass-house of her life a ruin

Behind the portals of a palace,

Where the seasons didn’t change,

Where life resided in silence,

Where her sight turned into an unending path

Waiting for Siddhartha.


And when he returned from the quiet of the peaceful abode

As Buddha the wise,

Who was the wise one,

Siddhartha or Yashodhara?  


English translation of the Punjabi poem by Jagriti Rumi.

Yashodhara, a princess, was Prince Siddhartha’s wife, who was born on the same date and year as that of her husband. According to a Chinese legend, Yashodhara had met Siddhartha in their past life where she took a promise from him that they will be husband and wife in all their next births.  

This beautiful poem asks a simple question and gives a concealed answer. Quietly it is telling a forgotten story, forgotten but real, real and empowering.    

The journey inwards was taken by both, Siddhartha as well as Yashodhara. While one left the world of attachment behind, the other stayed in the midst of it all and grew like a lotus. In waiting for her dearest, in bringing up her only son, Yashodhara knew trance, living every moment and trusting herself, comprehending spontaneously.  

After she met the enlightened Buddha, after her Rahul became a monk, Yashodhara did what she had prepared for, she become a Bhikkhuni (Buddhist nun); then the lotus shone brightly.  

Yashodhara didn’t search for peace, she gently nurtured it within, she didn’t live in seclusion, she found herself in the celebrations. Not in a ruin, she lived in every effort of hers to learn.  

Yashodhara, which means ‘bearer of glory’, got enlightened not once, but many times.    


Buddha with Yashodhara and Rahul 
[Source –]

To read the original poem (in Gurumukhi), please click here.

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Crossing The Bridge To Complete The Circle

…to bridge the circle.
[Image by David Mark from Pixabay]

He who cannot forgive breaks the bridge over which he himself must pass.

George Herbert

For it is a circle and you must learn to remember.  

The stored memories, the cherished ideas, the endless thoughts, the proud emotions, the stubborn beliefs, the intuitive steps and the unknown, all of it nurtured by time. You learn to watch for the twists and turns, you accept the changes, sooner or later. You experience the journey.  

And when those eyes are old enough, when that smile is true, that is when you are able to see another’s journey and that is when you are able to forgive… for life is a circle and you must learn to remember.

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A Simple Prism

Colour blast within!
[Image by kitti851 from Pixabay]

Conversations and time

Old ones like wine

That which is far

Or locked in a jar

Called by memories

And sifting through the debris

Through patient hands

Holding back and

Letting go in a rhythm

Like a simple prism

That knows its colours

Always leave me coloured…

And I walk ahead

With a better vision.


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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.

Night Jasmine

Night Jasmine or Parijat

Six petals in sync
With orange centre as link

Adorned with white peace
Singing with the trees

Fragrant, pure and polite
Holding the divine light

For it begins at dusk
And greets all at dawn
Resting on the leaves              
Or on the path, it weaves
A true reflection
Of perfection.
Photo courtesy – Google 

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Chapter 7 – The Boggart in the Wardrobe

It was the Defence Against the Dark Arts class and Professor Remus Lupin had plans to teach us about the Boggart as there was one inside the wardrobe kept right in front of us. The Boggart sounded eager to meet us.

The Wardrobe with the Boggart inside.

Can anybody tell me what a Boggart looks like’, asked Professor Lupin and of course, there was one who knew the answer, Hermione, she said, ‘no one knows, Boggarts are shapeshifters, they take the shape of whatever particular person fears the most, that’s what makes them so…’, ‘so terrifying, yes, yes’, Professor Lupin finished Hermione’s sentence and added, ‘luckily, a very simple charm exists to repel a Boggart… let us practice it now… ah, without wands please… after me, ridiculous.’  We all spoke, ‘ridiculous.’ ‘Very good, little louder, very clear, listen – riddiKulus.’ Except Malfoy and his sidekicks, we all repeated the spell, ‘riddiKulous.’
The class ended before I could try.

Though I didn’t get a chance to face the Boggart in that particular class because when Potter… nevertheless, till date ‘riddikulus’ stays to be one of my favourite spells. I miss those days…


At the Harry Potter exhibition. 

A Boggart, present in many English folklore as a notorious spirit inhibiting the house or the field, is portrayed wonderfully in the Harry Potter series. It takes the shape of what we fear the most, which is quite troubling a thought, but we can overpower it by using the spell riddikulus i.e. by imagining a completely ridiculous shape and forcing the Boggart to be that.

This is truly a fabulous spell, big thanks to J. K Rowling for it.

In our Muggle (non-magic) life, we face Boggarts daily, stubborn Boggarts (bosses, elders, bullies and we ourselves) who aren’t shapeshifters; we give them a grand horrible shape in our mind and then look for places to hide. But we can make the trouble look ridiculous, we can laugh at it, at least from inside, and who knows after a few days, months, years, these troubles actually look ridiculous to us. Like our childhood worries, that bad score in a test, that upcoming Parents’ Meet, those nail-biting worries now look ridiculous.

Professor Lupin faces the Boggart and it takes the shape of the full moon.

Also, Boggarts aren’t very intelligent, all they try is to scare the one they face, like the Boggart took shape of the full moon when Professor Lupin came in front of it, without thinking that being moon won’t stop Lupin from saying the spell (one doesn’t become a werewolf just in seconds).

So, just like Boggarts our worries are also not that intelligent, if we calm down and think properly, an answer, a way-out immediately pops-up in front of us and all we are left is with the execution bit.


It is true that in non-magic world problems attack in umpteenth ways and maybe every time this spell might not work, but there is no harm in trying, all we have to do is stay calm as we face the troubling Boggart and say RIDDIKULUS!

Watch the Boggart scene from the Harry Potter and Prisoner of Azkaban film here –

Farrukh and Coco

Flash Fiction
Our house and Farrukh’s car.
A painting by Coco.
[Source – Pixabay]

In a hurry Farrukh forgot his wallet on the desk and left.

Down the stairs – nod to the watchman – walking towards the car – caressing hair – quick glance at the car window – slipping hand into the pocket – pausing for a second – no wallet – retracing steps – opening the door – “I forgot my wallet like an idiot” – bedroom – long pause – returns and bids me goodbye.

I smiled at him.

Just a few minutes ago Farrukh came to get his car keys. Of course, I tried to tell him about the wallet, but he didn’t listen and cutely replied “see you in the evening, Coco”.

Now, Farrukh will come back for the third time, yes he will, he has forgotten to put my food in the bowl. Look-look, it is empty.

When he returns, I will go near the table and bark loudly, for he has also forgotten his wrist watch there. O Farrukh!


Coco – a portrait.
By Farrukh.
[Source – Pixabay]

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Winsor Blue

Winsor blue coloured painting stayed back in her mind for a reason unknown. The soft flowers, every petal breathed of composure and hummed it in her ears. She understood nothing, albeit she sensed the tone seamlessly. Standing in front of the painting, tilted head, she absorbed it… blink after blink, stare after stare… slowly letting it seep within.

Measure her smile to know the reason or smile along.

The Trip to Jerusalem pub, Nottingham by John Wright

Walking In Her Own Style

Sara the fearless. [Source – Pixabay]

Sara never thought of running the race. She lived in the moment, carrying all emotions in one potli (small packet), always responding quickly to the dancing wind.  

Pausing or stopping was also not her aim. Sara believed in action, her genre was action.  

That tarot card reader did say that her stars were tricking her for fun and times will change, that she should be ready to fight.

All Sara felt then was that a glitch is a glitch.  

Time changed and Sara started running the race. She didn’t realise it for a quarter and when she did, dismayed, she tried to pause the world.  

A year passed by on the calendar and Sara, at last, acknowledged it. You know she had to, her neighbours burnt firecrackers all night on the New Year’s Eve.

Sara understands the race better now, but she still loves walking in her own style.

When an obscure voice asked her what next, she confidently said, ‘wait and watch.’

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The beach was audible to her in intervals. She walked bare feet on the sand and still didn’t smile. Rhea had muffled thoughts, a cluster full of it, covering her face. And that is why she couldn’t see the beautiful, starry canvas right above her. The sky didn’t twinkle, the waves didn’t play music for her. Like a ghost, locked in some tragic seconds, she moved slowly, that pale thing or maybe the world moved around her, and she stood still.

But the beach was audible to her in intervals. And she unconsciously moved towards the ocean. The interval ended, but it was too late for to be locked back again… a wave rushed towards her and caught her. Rhea took a deep breath and looked down, her feet were wet, the waves danced forward and backward. She smiled before she could stop herself.

Rhea could now hear the gushing ocean, see the sparkling stars, feel the cool wind and the cool sand. She started walking, this time not shying from the waves. She sauntered along the shore, opening her arms and welcoming the wind, the waves and the night sky in intervals.