Colours

Shubhasya Shighram – A Pocket Sized Mantra

Philosophy

Nature too believes in this mantra.
[Source – Pixabay]

शुभस्य शीघ्रम अशुभस्य कालहरणम।

Shubhasya shighram, ashubhasya kaalharnam.

Translation – Do not delay when planning to do something good, but when inclining towards the opposite, think twice.

Contemplation is good and needed. Action is better and a must.

Plans in a potli-mind take time to come out, yes, for they are grand ones, created meticulously, weaved with love.

Inspired thoughts build this glass minar with intricate designs, colours of hope and success and appreciation and a little bit of all that is magical in this universe. We fly high when planning in a potli-mind.

Now how to fabricate such a tall glass minar in reality? Where to start from? How do we know if the time is right?

And what about all the ‘ifs’ and ‘buts’? Oh, and our dominating ‘know-it-all self’ that loves to put a stamp on every new thought, issuing summons, calling the poor thought a fraud, out-of-our-league or an impossibility, come what may?

Or worse, comparing it with the giant called the OTHERS?

Maybe this is the moment to tell yourself, shubhasya shighram, why wait to do something good.

Maybe this is the time to take the first step towards that glass minar, an overwhelming act it may feel at the beginning, but by the end, whatever the result is, we get enriched, we understand the rotating world and our bumbling selves a little better.

What a brilliant mantra then, a pocket sized mantra!

So, my friend, go ahead with that plan… because shubhasya shighram, shighram shighram.

Potli – bag, bundle, parcel, packet.

Minar – a tower or turret.

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रंगों की तरंग/ The Wave of Colours

Posted on March 10, 2020 by Jagriti Rumi Sky The wave of colours रंगों की तरंग

शॉर्ट कविता/ Short Poem

*Holi* Festival
**[Source – Indiaculturetree.com]**

रंगों की तरंग

रंगों की तरंग

बस इतना कहने उठी,

की ये जो अस्मा है,

रंगो के लिए बना है।

Translation – The Wave of Colours

The wave of colours

Rose to say

That this sky is

Meant to be coloured.

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That Flower, Dark Coloured

Posted on December 22, 2018 by Jagriti Rumi Amma Cold Night Colours Dark Coloured Dusty Feet Embracing The Darkness Eyes Journey Old Lady That Flower Time Toothless Smile

**Bloomed in darkness.**
**[Image by Michael Gaida from Pixabay]**

The dark old lady walks like lightening devouring the night sky, she is swift, she is fast. Her dusty feet, darker than the broken black slippers, know exactly where it is to lead and where it is to stop. Draped in a saree lungi style, her slender figure boasts of agility and strength.

Amma, it is a cold tonight, and she covers her head, her ears with a towel. Does she look funny? Not at all, she looks as beautiful as that flower kept in that book. That flower, dark coloured, tells a story, pressed and noted neatly in that book, stored for a chance meeting.

**Waiting for a chance meeting.**
**[Image by Petra Šolajová from Pixabay]**

Amma what time is it, nine thirty she says and at ten she has to go to a flat and clean the dishes, clear the kitchen counter, set the culinary world in order; often Amma plays music and her dear plates, cups and spoons dance on her tune. Amma beams then like she is beaming now – Amma’s toothless smile.

On her way back home, at night, embracing the darkness Amma moves briskly, but stops in front of a small house and asks Sunita bahin if she can get a water-can and take some fresh water; yes, at Amma’s place you won’t see a water-tap rather there are colourful canisters lined up – yellow, blue, faded red and dirty white.

**Risen in style.**
**[Image by dendoktoor from Pixabay]**

Amma is stylish, her dark self knows what colours to wear – white and orange and green, mixture of all these and add some flowery designs, this completes her look. Do you also wear the colours of the road, the trees, the dark sky Amma? For you look as quiet and great as them.

And your eyes, that glance, killer! Amma your eyes are sharp, your eyes smile – your eyes are familiar with Time and that’s why you don’t mind, you don’t curse it, you don’t cherish it; you know how to live it. Whatever it may be, a raging tempest or a happy carnival or a visit to the temple, you get up the next day and leave for work on time.

I wonder if you have not spoken with everyone until now. Because you are alive, you know Time, you know the society, you know poverty and you smile with your eyes.

Amma cheers to your journey. The dark old lady waved a goodbye.

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Papyrus Talks

Posted on February 17, 2018 by Jagriti Rumi Canopic Jars Desert Gold Hourglass Listener Mystery Nile Papyrus Talks Quaint Urns

Literary Nonsense

**Turn the hourglass over.**
**[Source – Pixabay]**

Yes, all your talks are papyrus talks; that is why your breath smells of quaint urns. You’re still trying to sell old gossips that were packed and preserved in those canopic jars.

I have seen you dancing your fingers on the rock faces. And you hold that old text so dear to you. Don’t try to hide your love for it only confuses you and the listener.

Oh, that beautiful Nile song of yours, it shimmers and shines and colours the time into desert gold.

But mystery remains says the hourglass… probably that is why all your talks are papyrus talks.

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Dear September

Posted on September 2, 2017 by Jagriti Rumi Colours Dear September Months Remember The Carousel

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.

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.

My dear September, I love you!

Oh, so you do remember… ah September!

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Creepers Meet the Trees

Posted on January 1, 2014 by Jagriti Rumi Believe Clouds Colours Creepers Forest Life Meet Reverberation Spiritual Stories Sun Rays Trees Velvety Green Waves

I believe in the waves. Everything in the universe is in the form of waves. The connection never breaks. Reverberation happens. Do you also feel it? It is amazing, but most of the times beyond our understanding, often leaving us frustrated.

Like when something is in front of us, we know that it is but we can’t find it.

I saw something that caught my attention, I saw some creepers climbing high and meeting the trees’ branches. The light green coloured creepers united with the brown coloured branches and the contrast between these colours and the dark green coloured tree-leaves looked so perfect, as if the scene was painted.

I don’t know if the union was meant to be or not. It was just wonderful, the creepers slowly crept on to the big trees; first the trunk and then the branches and then making a green velvety blanket with the leaves, like a slow wave.

**Capturing sunshine.**
**[Source – Pixabay]**

The clouds move beautifully you know. They dance. They don’t stay at one place. We should also learn it. I mean we should keep in mind the fact that nothing is permanent, everything shifts from being to non-being. The clouds allow the sun rays to pass through it, only sometimes the sun rays decide to stay back and be with the clouds. The clouds change in colour when they are about to rain.

What a grand way to leave, to change into droplets and become a seed and come alive and then to meet the sun rays once again.

When a dancer performs and a singer sings and a musician plays and a painter paints and an architect builds, and a scientist thinks and a mother smiles – it is in a wave form. Like the velvety green wave we see in the forest, when the creepers meet the trees.

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Rain! Rain!

Posted on November 19, 2013 by Jagriti Rumi Alive Clouds Colours Dancing Happy Musicians Nature Poem Rain Song

**It is raining music and the birds are loving it.**
[**Image by Lisa McCarty from Pixabay]**

Though I know it is not raining

I hope it did; I am carrying

Colours of life that I wish I could

Mix in me, and then surely I would

Live. Often do people say

‘It was raining on that evil day’

I hope they won’t, because they don’t

Understand rain. They don’t feel rain.

Rainfall is the dancing of clouds and

The song of the Nature. The land

Becomes alive and happy; ‘I’ becomes

‘We’, playing with the paper boats

And all the musicians taking notes

Rain rain, rain-rain.

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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.

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Ya-hoy!

Chiming Stories (formerly Home Chimes)

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