In sickness I lay staring out from the window. All I could see was a few small trees and one big grey building. Shades of black, pataches of dirt and the peeled paint made it look more like a sketch of a building…
A sketch of an old building that has seen eras pass by. An era that changes almost nothing, but still does. Change that life awaits. Life that holds colours. Colours combine to form black, if it’s light they combine to form white. Remember the prism experiment? Black and white…and grey. Grey characters say a lot. A grey building says a lot.
InDharamshala, Himachal Pradesh, India. Image by Aditya Thakur
The Red Jeep said to the Blue Jeep that it was late. What is the point of hurrying if you don’t know where you are going, replied the Blue Jeep.
*
Sure the circle is round and the track is wide, beautiful vistas stretched within and beyond me, prints are taken, but the journey is not free.
What is the price you ask? It is different for everybody. Though ultimately all agree to pay, and thus the journey begins.
But someone must know where I have reached. This guy in blue safety helmet might reveal.
Hey! Hey! Hey-hey! The man replied not, real the man was not, it was all plastic, just an image. It bounced off voices and that was enough for many. Still is.
*
The Red Jeep asked the Blue Jeep that if it followed the echoes or not. What is the point of following an echo when you can’t hear your own voice, replied the Blue Jeep.
You shot her and now hiding in your dingy room, scared in your dingy little heart, you fake a loud laugh. Pathetic! You, who have sold your soul in exchange for a new house, new car, new phone or possibly for a position, will suffer… and there won’t be an end to it.
But less about the hypnotised, dizzied and lost ones and more about the majority, observing and quiet ones… the ones who look, often address, but slowly learn to ignore. It must be due to some personal tragedies that they choose to stay silent. Sad, yes it is. But then such a lot forms the majority, yes they do. The majority if stands together will become a nightmare for the old selfish rich rulers.
The majority will definitely unite because there are great leaders who are already working for this, the great leaders who won’t ever fall, the great leaders who will always be heard by millions, even if their voices are silenced, their words will live forever… and so will they.
On screen the reality is often dramatized, over emphasised, sometimes underplayed and made loudly fictitious… it is also murdered and often what we see is already dead. To be alive and stay real is not easy; on screen it is tougher. Yet we come across something true all the time. Coffee and Cigarettes by Jim Jarmusch is one of such films that I find overwhelmingly true. So real and simple that it is difficult, like we all are. I am not talking about the technicalities or even about the film’s theme. I am just happy to feel whatever the film says… For me it is true and abstract and nonsense and completely real. Just like life is.
(P.S- Wrote it back in 2014 when I was at the film school.)
A crumpled piece of paper, resting in an old library book, smoothened by time.
Intrigued by it, Bakul quickly rushed to a corner. She read the words loud and clear ‘Ellinikí Glóssa’.
Unsure of what it means, she fabricated a story– it is a secret message meant for someone. Yes! Beaming like a sunflower beams on seeing the sun, Bakul crossed the corridor, then the stairs. Students saw her and thought, ‘ye to gayi firse’ (she has lost it again).
Bakul looked at you, yes you, the reader and said with dreamy eyes and a wide smile – “Let us find out what the secret message is.“
A turn and Bakul bumped into her teacher.
“Sorry Sir”, “Bakul! Be careful girl! And what’s in your hand, what are you up to this time?”, “Sir, Rekha Ma’am is looking for you”, “Quiet Bakul, show me… eh… Ellinikí Glóssa… so now you’re interested in Greek language, hm?”, “Sirrrrr… this is in Greek?”, “Don’t waste your time and submit your assignment by Monday, okay?”
Bakul nodded. Sir turned to leave, then stopped, “Where did you say Rekha Ma’am is… in the staff room?” “Hee-hee-hee”, “Bakul, wait, you silly girl!”
Alone in the corridor, she looked again at you, yes you, the reader (don’t you remember?) and said with starry and mischievous eyes– “Am I interested in Greek Language?” She then winked at you.
Well, she must have found out the answer to this questionby now. What do you think?
Happy me with happy flowers in September. Image – Pixabay.
Do you remember how snowflakes made the little girl smile? And how velvety the whole valley looked? And me… jumping like a rabbit in white madness that I love so much…?
Oh sorry, that was January.
Do you remember when the squally winds took my hat away?
Ha! It was February. Sorry-sorry!
Surely you remember the rush of the colours – rich green, bright but soothing yellow, and joyous merry pink… oh what days, colours dripping music and more… glorious days, sunshine in store read the headlines and our red shoes couldn’t stop dancing, remember?
No? Colours rule, hurray, hurray… March, April and May… Oh! So it lasted till May… my mistake.
But then mangoes arrived and shined and peaches and plums and cherries and strawberries… and never did we see such a bigger moon… what a splendour, you had said, I clearly remember, you can’t deny… the moon and the earth and the sky all in tune.
Oh! It was June.
The moon and the earth and the sun all in tune… oh, it was June. Image – Pixabay.
Those monsoon showers I hope you remember… lie, if you have to, at least to save me from heartbreak. Puddles and paper boats, raincoats and wet pockets, teacups and gossips… Don’t take it all as a joke, I am hurt and you know it. But I won’t cry like you did and sneezed and laughed and cried again. We shared the longest hug… no, I am not mad.
July and August… My bad!
The golden autumn leaves, don’t say you don’t remember… we jumped on them, you and I… We liked the crunch-crunch sound… but that old uncle who wore a woollen Kulluvi-cap didn’t and he ran after us… remember?
Long walks in those misty mornings, me shivering you laughing, me yawning you still laughing… I even wrote a poem titled – September laughed throughout October and November…
Am… Sh, why am I getting it all wrong?
Lights and candles and time for celebrations… candies and cakes and handy resolutions… Oh! I know, am wrong again, you don’t need to say it… “December, December, December!”
Indeed it was in December.
Oh, my dear September… accept my apologies and hear what I have to say… whatever the calendar ever tells me, whatever the weather ever shows me, I carry September in my heart throughout the year, for September is special to me and will always be.
The carousel plays on and on, it is where we met for the first time, I came reluctantly to that fair or was I dying to be there… but I am sure I stayed for you.
A roguish year, 2020, I believe was a twist in our LIVE story. Terrible, oh, terrible things happened. Let us nurture hope, let us learn from our mistakes, let us help each other and contribute honestly to this change.
Let the old charm of stories work, let stories heal your tired heart.
This colossal twist proves that the great writer is planning to finish a chapter, but the story is far from over. Dawn is about to break, the sun rays will fall on a new beginning soon.
Come to Chiming Stories, pocket old and new posts and watch, along with me, the horizon.
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.
