Stories

Satellite Constellations

Satellite Constellations.
[Image by Napoleon King from Pixabay.]

Look up Juniper, the sky is full of twinkling satellites. Bright, beaming and ever present, you do not have to chase the shooting star now. Just look up and the reflecting panel will bow down to you happily and fulfil your wish, before you can think of one. (9:15 PM)  

Did you not ask for high speed internet access? I know you did. We owe so much to these satellite constellations, our relationship is based on the true internet connectivity. Oh Juniper, you’re so far away and yet I feel you’re here with me. (9:25 PM)  

I mean the internet service provider, the company – True Internet Connectivity. (9:38 PM)  

Of course, what I said above about our relationship, I meant it symbolically too. (9:40 PM)  

Do reply when you get a chance. (10:40 PM)  

Shared a photo with you, is it not breathless? That is the nearest satellite constellation to my place. (11:47 PM)  

Nothing matches the real night sky. Bye! (2:08 AM)    


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Crescent Moon Lights

“Crescent moon lights

Buckwheat flowers

This hazy earth.”  

Basho  

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The moon is being carved, I can hear the hammers, the chisels, it is raining white shimmer… the crescent shape will light up every heart soon.  

And the valley of buckwheat flowers will then dance the dance of love, soothing the eyes of a traveller.  

Intoxicated, the earth will then spin and stagger making, as always, a painter’s painting hazy.


Complement this haiku post with similar ones –

Basho’s Haiku Pond

Violets

Fetching Water from a Haiku-Well


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The Life of Jane Eyre

A zealous soul!
[Image from Pixabay]

Jane in her simple jade dress stood out in that mahogany room. The splendour surrounding her could not match the spark in her eyes, knowing this the chandelier, humbled, dimmed its light.

Jane in her efforts to live freely always broke barriers and always lived freely. The shackles, when not shown any fear of, never dared to grab the fire named Jane Eyre.

She walked towards the window and half opened it; the gushing wind reminded her of a folk tale, of the times when a princess stared at the moon through a half open window, shared a secret and smiled. Jane Eyre could not help but smile then.

*

Title page of the first Jane Eyre edition.
[Source – Wikimedia Commons]

Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre is a marvellous, striking Victorian novel which was originally published under a pseudonym ‘Currer Bell’. Many female writers in that era opted for a pen name, occasionally for anonymity, but mostly for their work to get a wider audience (if it is accepted for publication at all).

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We do not know who ‘Currer Bell’ might be, but his name will stand very high in literature.

The Weekly Chronicle

While all the reviewers praised the powerful story and imagination of the author, no one expected it to be a woman.

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Charlotte Bronte, portrait by George Richmond.
[Source – Wikimedia Commons]

One great merit of the work unquestionably is its originality. The author deserves no slight credit for the ingenuity and success with which fact and fiction, reality and romance, have been intermingled and made to serve conjointly in maintaining deep and unflagging interest.

Morning Advertiser

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Have you lived the life of Jane Eyre? If not, then you must.  


Also read – Enshrined in Double Retirement – a short write-up inspired by the novel Jane Eyre.

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That Flower, Dark Coloured

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. 

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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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Lord Jagannath’s Eyes

Lord Jagannath by Vrindavan Das.
[Source – fineartamerica.com]

One eye says that the play is on.

The wheel of Time moves ceasing for none, winning over oceans, mountains, the sky, the wind and the fire.

People crowd to clench forms and beliefs, together they build and destroy. They wait to gauge for more and what is better.

Look now, how they shine, bright like fireflies, honest to the core; look now, how they lure, how they trick the tricksters, how they slay a man’s soul.

Speak not, for they are at work, cross-legged monks, meditating on what is less; speak not, for you will fail to express how chaotic is the chaos.

Rising high is the music of unity and harmony; falling face down is the corrupt, fake cry of every rigid mind.

Knowing the beginning, waiting for the end, it walks, it lingers, we walk, and we linger.  

Tala Pattachitra, Palm Leaf Painting – Odisha’s ancient art form.
[Source –
ethnicpaintings.com]

Second eye says that it is all absolute bliss.

There is no Space or Time and it binds none; the ultimate end and the ultimate start merges with the absolute existence.

Flowing in a silent music, dancing always, the ripple reaches the centre.

The Brahman breathes; formless, it is of the colour peace.    

Lord Jagannath’s eyes are the universe we see and the universe we can’t see. The happy devotee who bows, who worships, who sings, who gazes gets mesmerized by one of the universes, and by Lord Jagannath’s smile.

Our million eyes find a million revelations in Lord Jagannath’s eyes.

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Lord Jagannath, Lord of the Universe.
[Source – harekrsna.de]

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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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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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Bumblebee

Prose Poem

“Towards the Moon flower”, said the Bumblebee.
[Source – Pixabay]

Flying high in the sky reaching for the beautiful white flower named moon, the Bumblebee forgot about home, colours and fragrance of the land.

The wind resisted it, throwing it back and forth. Like a puppet the Bumblebee danced.

It rose up and crossed the cloudy river, river that was flowing to nowhere special, river that was attuned with the Universe.

A tiny spot, a funny Bumblebee approaching its white flower… the moon saw it and decided to wait

 
 

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In Slo-mo Towards the Moon

Poem

A tide of thoughts.
[Source – Pixabay]

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Walking towards the moon

In slo-mo and riding,

Hiding behind a tide of thoughts

In slo-mo, unaware, unconcerned

About the change that is happening

In slo-mo, now and always,

Carrying in bits the old me, turning

In slo-mo, hoping to see

Something better. Living the life

In slo-mo and looking into the future

Where things are picture-perfect, but moving

In slo-mo. Cracks in the present

For it isn’t that dear, until

In slo-mo I sit with patience and

Breathe, see, feel and realise

That everything is beautiful,

That our mind knows the tricks,

That reality simply is, just like the moon,

Towards which I am walking

In slo-mo, beaming quietly. 

*


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The Same

“What I meant was that if we are talking about the universe and how it works, then shouldn’t we first at least be aware of the micro-universes… the micro-universe of every living being which may throw some light on the macro-universe?”

“Hm-hm, I said the same.”  

“How life evolves… its route from birth to death… simple cycles, complex cycles… such details can reveal a map of which we are also a part.”

“My words mean the same.”

“And finally, where are we headed to… is there any sense in this flow of energy that we see everywhere… waves that have risen will soon fall and merge with the rest, will it be the end or a new beginning…? Maybe these questions if answered can change the meaning, the essence of our lives.”

“Same… same.”

“Hey, what is with you? Same… same? Don’t you know anything else? Being quiet doesn’t make you a good listener, being honest about your response makes you. I don’t know why I began talking to you… who are you anyway?”

SILENCE RULES A LONG MINUTE

“I am you and you are me… we are both the same.”

*

Understanding the life, the mind, the duality within we walk ahead, questioning & asking for an answer from the same being… our inner self. [Source – Pixabay]

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