Dorjee’s Smile

Total number*- 99
 
Young feet on the wet green ground looked like pink flowers common in spring. But still, something was uncommon about the young feet in the slippers.
 
The mountains, the trees, the stone huts, the flourishing flags, everything in the valley was enchanted by the young feet. Earth was happy to be the closest one.
 
Dorjee was running happily through the valley in jet speed. He was all alone but was smiling about something or maybe it was his natural look.
 
We all had this look, like Dorjee, when we were 10 years old. He was about to reach his house when he met one of his friends and he went with him instead. To play, play and play was all that Dorjee thought of.
 
Total number*- 105
 
Dorjee loved whatever his mom cooked. He liked his food hot. Often his mom would say, ‘You’ll burn your tongue Dorjee!’ And he always just smiled.
 
His cheeks were red like cherries. Eyes were watery. The valley lived in him. He lived in the Tibet valley.
 
Mysticism took home here once and quickly entered its soul, to stay forever.
 
Total number*- 109
 
Dorjee will soon become a monk. He knows it. His family has told him. He is happy about it.
 
Most of his friends will do the same. In fact, he is excited to be a monk. His mom told him once, ‘Dorjee, it is not as simple as you think.’ He replied again with a kind ‘cheese’ and his eyes were not visible.
 
Why did Dorjee always smile? Why? Maybe he knew what Percy Bysshe Shelley said the ‘Skylark’ knew. A heavenly secret.
 
His smile attracted the soothing valley towards him, his smile attracted mystical purity towards him, his smile attracted the one we cannot see yet we feel is.
 
One day Dorjee was bound to leave. For the designer of Paradise missed his favourite smile, his Dorjee.
 
Total number*- 112
 
You left us Dorjee. We have adapted to the ‘burning alive’ but we don’t know how to smile anymore.
 
*
Read about Self Immolations by Tibetans here
 
The post is written in remembrance of all the lost souls.
 
 

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Fain!

We don’t hear the word fain often these days or do we? If we do, then I am pleased to know.

But if not then let us talk further. Fain means gladly, preferably, willing, ready, obliged or required. A dictionary will tell you better and it will also tell that this word is obsolete. There are many archaic words like fain which are out of fashion…what is new in it?

Fain to me is such a sweet word that I feel when it was asked to leave it (by its nature) said, ‘gladly’.

Why is it that some words stay and some don’t? What happened after the times of Kings and Queens with this pretty word that it left us?

I can’t say it left us as we can still use it but it has been forgotten. Yes, this can be one of the many plausible explanations; man is after all the most forgetful creature.

I would like to believe that fain never stopped being happy and willing and eager. And that is why it reached a state of gladness. Fain visited the Ultimate Fain.

All these beautiful archaic words are silent not because no one wants to hear them, but because they were heard by the One. And now they are in a sublime state.

Such is the destiny of one, anyone, who knows oneself and remains constant. One who doesn’t look for answers outside but inside. One who knows the true meaning of Karma.

This is what I feel. Who knows if all this makes sense or not? One who knows, knows a lot or knows a lot at least about others.

Anyways, fain would always be for me a wonderful word which gives my mind a feeling of its texture- silky soft and white.

The Coffee Table Talk

Coffee table talk time.
Image from Pixabay.

Time for a coffee break

How much sugar do you take?  

Life is an unwrapped toffee

Sure! Sure! Hold your coffee  

What a lovely cold day

Life is a strong bright ray  

Oh! Please drink it when it is hot

Then go to the market and buy a new pot  

Life is shallow if you can’t see deep

I care less because I don’t want to weep  

Now, if you are done give me your cup

Life is life if seen downside up.


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Hiding From The Rain

Mr. Podolski calls hiding from the rain ignoring.
Image from Pixabay.

Mr. Podolski was sitting in the attic, smoking idly. He continuously ignored the noise that was coming from downstairs. Everyone was watching the game, football. Both the windows in the attic were open.

For a long time, he was gazing at the blue sky which had some white spots here and there.

‘That’s a goal!’, shouted his grandson, gripped in the game. Mr. Podolski gave a grim grin and lit a cigarette afresh.

He failed to ignore the clouds gathering, the blue sky soon less blue. He thought, ‘they are teaming against me, again, like…that day.’

‘That Day’ echoed inside him as the huge church bell echoed in the town. It revived his rage and furry. In spite of his daily practice, he merely feigned calmness.

He stood up from his rocking chair and reached the window limping. He sharply glanced above while the clouds replied with a thunder.

He tried, tried hard, very hard but failed. His mind’s eye presented a slideshow before him.

Green ground, heavy rain, his white dress no more white but muddy, 90 minutes almost over, scoreboard shining 2-1, the crowd going mad, fans screaming ‘P-O-D-O-L-S-K-I-P-O-D-O-L-S-K-I’, the commentator shouted, ‘it’s a penalty…all eyes on Heinz Podolski now!”

His mind de-fossilized the amber which consisted of the words spoken by his coach before the match. He had said, ‘for some people football is a matter of life and death…I can assure you it is much more serious.’

This was exactly what he thought before hitting the penalty and then….   ‘We won!’ said Mr. Podolski’s grandson, shouting at the top of his voice.

Mr. Podolski’s recollection died away. It was raining outside. He shut both the windows and settled back in his chair.

‘Should I tell grandpa?’ exclaimed the grandson, who was extremely excited to think before speaking up. In a few minutes, though, Mr. Podolski got the answer as his grandson didn’t come upstairs.

He sat in the dark attic with the steady smoke all around him. He soaked the thundering sound and the heavy rainfall that gave his face a plastic expression and his eyes some moistness. 


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Mother Nature

Have you ever heard the music of a vivacious stream, the rustling of the leaves? Have you seen the glorious colour of the sky when the sun sets, the diamonds twinkling in the sky? The peace we get when we feel a sapling in our hand cannot be compared with any other feeling. It is blissful to be in nature, only because we all are children of Mother Nature. There must be no one who hasn’t seen the movie Avatar. The beautiful world of Pandora is not much different from Earth. We all are connected. There is only one soul, the soul of Earth which runs within us. We take it from her and we’ll return it to her one day.

But what are we doing with our planet? We are blindly ruining it, believing in the veil of technology and science to be the only truth. The Earth does not belong to us, we belong to Earth. As soon as we realize it we can make a difference. Everyone is aware about how to bring a change, a small step to plant a tree is what is to be followed by all. But more than this we require showing respect to the Earth.

Earth is quiet but not dead. It is not a polythene bag which will hold our crap. We should learn to understand nature, before there is no such opportunity left.

Nature paints for us, day after day, pictures of infinite beauty, if only we have ‘the eyes’ to see it. We all are a part of nature. Let us try to recognize this relationship, let us show respect and care. Let us not forget that the secret of nature is patience but this doesn’t make it helpless.

Falling Colourful Lights

Photograph by Jagriti Rumi.

Falling colourful lights

Red and yellow

And I sway, sway

Like a dancing ray

Hear me

Magical me

A shade of black

Let us go back

To the colours

Dancing lights and dancing camera. Photograph by Jagriti Rumi.

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Kites Are Happy By Nature

Jo loves kite flying and he is flying one right now. His kite is bright red and cheerful. Jo is a very skillful boy and he knows all the tricks to make his kite fly high. He is sharing his confidence with his friends, he says, ‘Check my kite…soaring high, up above the sky’. All the boys started laughing and singing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star in chorus. They are full of fun at the moment. Life is beautiful for them.

The kite is flying high. Wind is also playing with it. Taking it high and low, twisting and tickling it. A kite has a wonderful life. Everyone looks at it with awe when it glides and dances along with the wind and the kid holding the thread enjoys it. A kite is joyous by nature. It brings smile on the face that looks at it. It has only one purpose in life and that is to fly high in the free sky.

Jo knew nothing but one thing that kite flying on a holiday was his life’s purpose. He didn’t even know the spelling of purpose. His English dictation test was a non-living proof of this fact. But shrugging all these facts away, Jo knew very well the feeling called purpose. It was something to do with passion and excitement and playing well and concentration. These big words were also a problem for him to remember, especially the spellings. Jo knew the feeling and not the spelling of such words, how stupidly smart of him to be so.

Jo shouted to his friends, ‘I am flying…see I am flying…twinkle twinkle little star, here I come now that you are not so far’. A sound of real, innocent, pure, somewhat like the rustling of the leaves, laughter filled that lucky area. Pleasure was all around there. It was a vanilla cake sweet moment.

Slowly the winds were getting crazier, Jo knew it immediately that now was the time to fight and stay alive. All the kites were ready for the battle. Who was their enemy? No one strange, they were against each other. Jo told his kite, ‘Come on…fight hard…it’s an order!’ The bright red kite got tangled with the black one, it was Mat’s kite. ‘It’s a knot!’ said a kid (no one looked at the kid, everyone was staring up, so no one knew who pronounced it, anyways something more important was going on up above in the sky). It’s the nature of the threads to get in a tangle and make knots and then break away.

Jo started warning Mat, while Mat rebuked him. The mad winds knew it, Jo and Mat knew it, the kites knew it- one will be defeated and it’ll fall down. That lucky area was now filled with shouts and furious words. And without any final announcement it happened. Jo felt it, his thread was now loose in his hand, and he looked at Mat for a millisecond. All of them stared upwards. His bright red kite was gliding away with the winds. But to his happiness it was not alone as the black kite was also dying away. Jo screamed at Mat and Mat reacted the same way. Both came near and the other boys formed a circle around them. Whatever they were speaking the other boys were enjoying it. The kites were gone, told their experience in kite flying. They were looking the mirror image of each other, yes they were, both Jo and Mat.

Possession is powerful. It can make enemies. But leave the kids alone, they’ll be alright soon. They are kids after all.

Life is very funny and very fickle minded. It jumps from one emotion to the other. But then this is how life is by nature. The interesting thing is that kites don’t copy life, kites always remain in one state and that is the happy state.

So look where the bright red kite is going. Colour is beautiful and this is a truth. One will naturally follow the colourful kite. Oh! The way it matches with the dance winds do, is heavenly. It seems this kite wants to reach a selected place. It is driving for itself. But the trees are near now, will it get to rest on a tree?

No! It lands safely in a garden. Who lives here? Someone is pruning the plants there. It is Mr. James. The kite fell in Mr. James little garden. Don’t know what will happen now. Mr. James is very old. And see he limps and can’t see properly. He picked up the kite. He is checking it. Is he trying to read the kite? Maybe he thinks it to be a newspaper or something. Anyways he’ll know what he is holding when he wears his reading glasses. Surely there is nothing to read in a kite.

He sits on the lawn chair, but he didn’t wash his hands. He likes clean stuff and there is some dirt on his hands. What is he trying to find in this kite? Perhaps he likes the material of the kite. He is rubbing his hands against the kite. And now he smells it. The kite must have been prepared from a high quality paper.

Mr. James is caught in a reverie. His eyes are looking bigger. He is surely lost in some another world. Where ever he is, it is a good and happy place. There is a grin on his face. He suddenly looks peaceful. A bicycle passes outside his gate and rings the cycle-bell. God knows why the bicycle rider did so, surely not for waking Mr. James. But see, he is back from his daydream. He looks around and gets up. His expression has changed but it isn’t clear due to the wrinkles. He looks at the sky and then at the kite. He walks towards the house leisurely and slowly keeps the kite on the top stair. He turns and returns to work in the garden. Even the flowers and the bushes and the leaves he was pruning could tell that Mr. James was still pondering about something. After five or ten minutes, Mr. James got up and stood fixed at the place. He again was looking at the kite. And then he told his garden, ‘I know all the tricks to fly a kite high…up above the sky’.

He is now openly smiling, he is humming something, it is not clear. But then it is the nature of the aged people, they have a smiling face, they answer in mystical style (unclear to others) and they always chew the songs they enjoyed in their life.

Freedom from life
Or finding freedom in life
What a joyous ride

Especially if you are a kite


Moon!

Poem

[Image by Heiko Stein from Pixabay]

*

Radiant spot

A lover’s thought

Behind the leaves

Who weaves?

Open eyes gaze at you

I turn, can still see you

Moon Shadowy Moon

*

The radiant moon always shines in the darkness to guide, to listen, to dance and sing, always in the mood for love.
Image by Jagriti Rumi.

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THEN

I am walking forward
Then I jump back

Tick-tock in the mind
Be kind
What’s that shinning there?
It’s a diamond hare
And over there?
A poster saying I am the mayor
Tasty eyes stare
But I don’t dare
At least take the cake
OK! But first let me bake
Oh! So silly of you
Darling I am with you

I took a step forward 


The Zine List

·         I prefer ink pen if I have an option and I strongly feel that the white paper thinks the same. The smoothness with which it works makes a bad handwriting elegant, adding to it an old world charm.

·         ‘Ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone…’ this song is stuck in my head. I cannot put pen to paper when my mind is out for a stroll somewhere in a far land.

·         I think I know what will be the name of the main character in my story. I will call him Shakespeare. What a wonderful name for a tree. This will be so as the other character Tim, a kid, who after reading a story in his English class written by William Shakespeare is captivated by the music of the surname and decides to name the Tree, Shakespeare. The Tree, Tim’s best friend, will be a large, leafy and shady tree.
It’s looking quite okay this far. I hope I’ll complete the story in time.

·         I love to come on this hill top. What a calm place this is. My eyes can see greenery everywhere, with a shade of blue, as if these are God’s favourite colours. And the birds fly here and there as if they are the paintbrush. I think I will be able to pour my heart in my writing, in such a beautiful place.
God bless the person who thought of putting a bench in this place.
Oops! Please shower manners on some idiots who enjoy putting chewing gums on the seats. Hah!

·         The story is moving in a good pace. I feel both, Tim and Shakespeare the Tree, are looking strong. But if I am to consider what my teacher said, dealing with an experimental plot like mine could result in a lame tale. Nevertheless, I am going to stick with what I have thought of. Do we have the liberty to express ourselves or not? So what if one enjoys writing absurd stories?

·         Well, I haven’t written much from a long time. My lovely ink pen looks dry lying on the table by the notebook. I wonder what the ink pen is thinking. Maybe it is waiting to pour fresh ink on the paper and make cursive designs. Maybe it dies when one is not using it and when used, it comes back to life.
I can’t forget that scene when Ella trying to fill the ink pen, somehow managed to spill the ink pot all over, staining her new dress. She shouted at me because the ink pen was mine and blamed me for the disaster. I didn’t reply her because I was busy laughing and cleaning the site of accident.

·         The highlight of my story will be the interesting conversations between Tim and Shakespeare the Tree. Tim will be a sensitive boy, who notices and relishes each and every movement of the Tree- the dance of every single leaf and every branch, the falling of all the old leaves, the ants walking non-stop on the Tree, sometimes tickling the Tree and the habit of the Tree to aim the leaf in the pool of water. Shakespeare the Tree will be like its name- grand and simple, mysterious, life-giving and a great actor. An actor who knows his role very well and performs it perfectly with such swiftness that looks dynamically static.

·         It is raining today and Ella doesn’t like it. We cancelled our plan. Ella messaged me ‘rainfall is not happening’ and I agreed, though I didn’t in reality. I like rainy season; the dominant sound of rain splashing everywhere; watching the birds trying to hide; the dripping roof; and the hot coffee.
Thanks to the rain, I’ll add a chapter about it in my story. Something of a sort when Tim rushes to save himself from the heavy shower and finds Shakespeare the Tree as his rescuer…but not like a cliche  it should represent the bond between the two friends.

[After a few days.]

·         I am excited because tomorrow I’ll present a sneak peak of my story in the class. And so will the other participants. I’ll have to make the opening sound both reasonable and authentic. I think I’ll be able to sustain the interest of all those who will hear me out. I’ll end the summary in verse.

Tonight the moon looks quite talkative or maybe I can hear more.
The Moon: Do you know about my friend Cactus? He lives in a desert.
Me: How calm one gets just by looking at you.
The Moon: You talk like my friend Cactus. He said he enjoys my calm white rays.
Me: What is that you want to say dear Moon?
The Moon: A lot. It’s quite lonely up here sometimes, you know. I’ll tell you about my other friend, he is a sailor. But later sometime, for now I wish you a sweet night.
Me: Talk to you soon. I am feeling sleepy. Good night!             

·         I got an average response in class. It is so that people like straightforward love stories and adventure tales more than any experimental tale like one of a friendship between a boy and a tree. Well, this will not stop me from continuing. I asked my ink pen and he said nothing. Instead, he was ready to write. So am I.

·         Tim can’t be a single child or an adopted child or mentally challenged or troubled at school or anything weird and obvious. Tim should be normal and a happy go lucky child. I want him to be one of us, whose innocent mind bonds with a tree. I think I’ll make him a hostler and his school will be in a beautiful hill station. This sounds familiar but I have to start with this basic idea. Because later in the story I’ll have to deal with lots of How’s and Where’s etc.

·         Shakespeare the Tree will be an Oak tree and I was always clear about this; a big tree with canopy branches and spiral leaves. Like all the trees, this one too will be warm and welcoming. I feel we all have been friends with a tree or will be in future. Not a single tree in the world needs the help of words to express themselves. Their aura is such that if we get close to them we immediately sense the connection. This is what I and Tim believe.

·         Ella disagrees. I never want to fight with my best friend but we sometimes upset each other a lot. Like yesterday she said that the story is too something and when I asked her to describe what something, she said it is risky to write such out of the place stories. We are not talking, for now.

·         After two days she messaged me sorry. I did the same. We are back.

[The girl writes a lot about herself and her thoughts.]

·         I am getting irritated. What was Ma’am thinking when she asked us to empty our mind and heart and see how the zine list helps us?

[Crux of the story.]

·         Tim and Shakespeare the Tree: it is about a blessed friendship between Tim, a 5th standard kid and an oak tree, who is named Shakespeare the Tree by Tim. He names him so because he is impressed by the grandeur of William Shakespeare when his English teacher talks about the legend in the class. Tim wishes to call the magnificent Tree by a magnificent name. He visits the Tree daily and enjoys talking with the Tree. Tim is astounded by the fact that the Tree offers so much to the surrounding. He decides to be like his friend Shakespeare the Tree when he grows, to be as helpful as the Tree is. Without giving a thought about the future, he delightfully gets close to the Tree.

[She is ready.]

·         Tomorrow morning I’ll submit the story. Fingers crossed!

[Before throwing the writing pad away she writes.]

·         My teacher announced the name of the story that was selected for the competition. It wasn’t mine. Ella cheered me up and we went for shopping. She asked me to not to take it seriously. I told her that I am fine. We both knew I lied.

[No one told Time that it can stop and rest. And so, the life of the girl who wrote the zine list went on. She became a teacher and her dream to be a writer wasn’t that successful as she thought it to be. Ella is still her friend but they are not in touch. Ella is married and lives in a foreign country. That girl is now a lady, who works to earn, to survive. She is presently in her class. She is talking about a writing competition. She encourages all her students to participate. Students burst with questions but she is lost. For a second she reaches someplace else. She comes back and asks the class to make a zine list relating the story they want to write. It helps she adds.
She reaches home and drinks tea. She knew she’ll not be at rest until she finds her zine list. She rummages all the racks. She finds it and unfolds it. The thin writing pad was old but half of the pages were blank. Only few pages were filled.  She reads through the zine list. Then she picks up her pen and writes.]


·         I am writing with a ball pen. It doesn’t matter much. All you need is words.
[She rubs her wet eyes.]

·         I am glad that my teacher didn’t choose my story, it wasn’t worth. My story was too sunny and happy. The title for instance…Tim and Shakespeare the Tree…what was I thinking? And the chitchat between little Tim and the Tree…everything was like a dream, it was out of place.

[She looks outside the window.]

·         Life is such a shrewd player that you are bound to loose. I have not lost. I avoid participating. But I’ll write a fair ending to this story here. And let me give a fair opening to it as well. The writer in me is back. Funny me!

·         Tim walked in the jungle. As soon as the voice of all the other campers was absorbed by the colossal forest, he thought of returning back. He felt the hushes piercing. He was scared but soon the natural noise sunk in him. He took a deep breath and felt alive. He didn’t realize when the serene madness of the jungle entered in him and brought him in front of a giant oak tree. It was godly. Tim felt as if the branches of the Tree were ready to give him a tight hug. Seeing the gigantic structure Tim took a step back. But in few minutes he got hypnotized and sat near the Tree, adoring it and letting it seep inside him. He knew somehow that the Tree was waiting for him from a long time. He had a feeling that he was meeting a very old, dear friend. Tim was staring hard. Then he looked around. Nearby, a stream was playing a sweet melody and Tim starting humming. Nature is always at its best. Always perfect. Receiving everyone with an everlasting, undying warmth. Tim didn’t realize but soon he fell asleep. The smile on his face made it evident that he was at peace.

[A sigh!]

·         Why am I not Tim? Why have I never tried to meet my old, dear friend? Life can be so mean if you don’t appreciate it. I find myself empty.
[She stops writing and looks outside the window again.]

·         I hope the idea of making a zine list will help my students. It’s a crazy class. Boys are busy fighting and shouting and girls love giggling about everything. I love all of them. And those two girls, they are always together, I have noticed their Best Friend Forever bands.
[Another Sigh! She adds.]

·         Tim and Shakespeare the Tree remains my favourite.