Writer

Not so Lonely Island / And I am with Jake

Literary Nonsense

Not so lonely island.
Image from Pixabay.

Me – Hey Jake, do you want some coconut water?  

Jake – No, I don’t want coconut water, I just had coconut water, how much coconut water can a man drink? (Pause) Okay, give me some coconut water.  

And so, I and Jake drank coconut water.


Me – Sand, sea-shells, sea-shores, ships, sharks… ‘S’… aren’t you playing Jake?

Jake – Seagulls, sea urchins and no, I am not playing.  

Jake’s not a spoilsport.


Me – Nightingale knows the night and knows the stars.

Jake – Of course, it does, it has been painted along. Painted all white, white in the night?  

A classical realist, just generally I mean, nothing to do with the international relations, that’s Jake.


Me – A word for me? Describing me? Like for you, I’d say… Hvorfor Ikke that is Danish for Why Not.

Jake – Hvorfor… that’s for you.  

I won’t flounder and hence, I am super quiet. Dead quiet.


Me – Time’s so slow! (Laughing) That’s my joke, Jake.

Jake – Seems more like a taunt. Here, quickly, burrow my watch in the ground.  

I took it and now it is in my pocket.


Me – Why so glum, chum?

Jake – Really? I have been yodelling for an hour. What’s wrong with you?  

My chum’s so caring.


Jake – I see a ship… hurry, light a fire, fireworks, burn everything, now…

Me – But we are out of firecrackers… I used them while you yodelled and I danced.  

Hey ya, my bad. Jake is all smiles.

Jake – No I am not, I am clenching my teeth. And… and stop adding these footnotes. I hate it!

Me – As you say, dear confidant.  

Jake is awestruck.

Jake – I am more appalled than anything else.

Me – But no one can tell… I know you want to keep my morale high. Wait, where are you going?

Oh, time for a stroll. This will be our 57thround around the island. Cool! Well, 57th or 59th?

Jake – (Talking to himself) God, kill me now.  

Jake’s praying, god, just fulfil his wish, whatever it is.

*

And I am with Jake.
Image from Pixabay.

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You Stardust!

Fictive POV
Tarantula Nebula.
Image – Pixabay.

Step out you stardust, the door is wide open!    

Why? Aren’t you ready? That table is your trunk, you packed it long back, ask the thick grime your feet are resting on.

Lurking on the wall is a spider, is he your friend or not, don’t bother I tell you, he is on his own journey.

For now, the lamp is cold and dead, for now, the darkness is not a thing unfamiliar, for now, you have mourned too long, so just get up.

Don’t you see the ants working? You sulk and cough and spit and drink thinking life will just pass, but it will not, not so easily.

Get up, step out, it has been so long since you heard the sound of your own footsteps… deep resonance… connect once again to the earth.

Shout or cry, dare or try and always happily fall… fall down for then you’ll learn to wake up… getup-getup.

You turn away from the light, no-no it is not laughing at you, walk with it a mile, you’ll smile and shine too.

The hands you’re resting, the head you’re swaying, the air you’re breathing knows better than you.

Don’t worry for smoothly it will all come back to you, the sun rises and sets, the moon shines and hides, the wind plays and takes, the river nurtures and leaves, the sky stays yours forever – see up, get up.

Witness, for the truth is waiting. Witness, for the Time is calling. Witness, for your life is yours to rule.

Aye! Aye! It is hard, bone-screeching, don’t listen to the stubborn emptiness, all it does is preaching.

See, you’re up, take a step forward, one at a time. Push away the hindrances, let the mirror fall and break into umpteenth pieces, for you’re about to change into an image that the mirror cannot behold.

Aye! Rub your eyes for now you’ll see the world beyond. Keep walking!  

Step out you stardust, the door is wide open!    

Wizard Nebula. Image – Pixabay.

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Two Blind Crows

Ra-ra’s famous window story.
[Image from Pixabay]

Ra-ra: Why did the window go SHUT… who closed it SHUT… my question is just HOW?

Ra-ra’s friend Coo stays quiet, looking absolutely nowhere.

*

  Ra-ra: S-H-U-T shut, right when I was about to pick my share and leave…  

Coo: I believe you, it has been so many years since you first told me this story.

Ra-ra: (astonished) Many years you say, gone nuts…? It happened an hour ago.

Ra-ra: Coo, this ain’t the time to argue.

Coo: A while? He died ages ago.

Coo: You’re standing fine, 900 years have passed.

Ra-ra: 900? I have come flying from the west port of Oraffa city just now.

Coo: Oraffa city? Hah! Blind dreams!

Ra-ra: How dare you? I can see very well… you can’t, you blind ugly funny-sounding bad crow!

Coo: I said blind dreams… didn’t call you blind.

Ra-ra: Oh, oh-my, then let me apologise.

Coo: For what? We are blind, the world knows it. Yet…

Ra-ra: Blind we are, yes, yes… very much… (mumbles).

Coo: I’ll complete my sentence… yet we are still alive.

Ra-ra: (flaps wings) Death sentence, I have been given a death sentence and yet I am alive.

Coo: Cool-cool yourself Ra-ra. We are together in this.  

*

Ra-ra starts sobbing, mumbles again.

  Coo: I am turning left.

Ra-ra: (softly) Left?

Coo: Turned.

Ra-ra: Wait for me!

Coo: Can’t.

Ra-ra: I think I also turned left unless it is the right, or it is somewhere in the middle, who knows.

Coo: Not me.

Ra-ra: (laughs) You’re funny!  

*

Both Ra-ra and Coo stand quietly. Coo speaks after some time.

  Coo: Hey Ra-ra, you never told me your famous window story.

Ra-ra: I didn’t? How come?

Coo: That’s the truth.

Ra-ra: Well, then listen… the window was SHUT before I could pick my share… someone just closed it SHUT…

*

The two blind crows talked facing what they thought was the left.

*

Two Blind Crows
[Image by Santa3 from Pixabay]

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Walking A Gatha

Dancing shadows and light…
[Image by Kanenori from Pixabay]

Walking straight, walking on the mountain listening to The Times They Are A Changin I saw nothing, neither the trees nor the rocks, neither the shadow nor the light, and just kept walking ahead. Mountain spoke, I didn’t hear, until I bent a little.

It said, ‘You will reach your destination, you will, for sure’, and happily I smiled, crossed my hands behind my back and continued walking.

Swiftly I moved forward, there was no stopping me. Dashing ahead I crossed jungles after jungles, I played with the shadows and the light, I didn’t even wait for the wind.

Like a curse, definitely a curse, a disaster hit me – I started panting. It had never happened all this while, why now?

Then I remembered faintly of what the mountain told me… I pleaded it to guide me again, the mountain listened. It said, ‘Know patience and its power’, I bowed down and stopped walking. I stopped for the first time in my journey; I learned the art of deep breathing. Ages passed there; then I left in search.

In search of what I was looking for. I was looking for what I was in search of.

Sing and walk along the river.
[Image by Sergio Cerrato – Italia from Pixabay]

Familiar with the pace of the trees canopying me, stopping and listening to the rocks and their untold gathas, attuned with the shadow and the light, I kept walking when I reached near a ferociously musical river. It carried along the ocean’s depth and waves’ nimble notes… ‘Will merge with the ocean, I do not wait for anyone’, replied the river to my question – ‘can you please let me pass?’

So I changed my path and followed the river. Who said you can’t? Change… change and move ahead.

Right where the river met the ocean, where it all seemed to end, where the trees, rocks, shadow and light all disappeared, music stayed by my side and showed me a narrow, slippery way to cross the river. I stepped in, the water was cold, but shallow and so I could cross easily.

With joy and cheer I continued along, I danced on the way, I slept peacefully and then walked leisurely. I sang, the tune echoed. My mind envisioned a valley of flowers and pink clouds when suddenly I tumbled down.

I was hurt. My dream shattered and cold winds bruised me badly. It started hailing. Troubled, I shouted angrily… who knows at whom?

The weather opposed me and pinned me down, I accepted defeat.

Lying half dead, I waited for the weather to change…

When it did, I woke up and saw as the fog disappeared that there was a huge mountain standing in front of me. I couldn’t stop smiling, a new journey was going to begin.

Majestic, towering and free!
[Image by Joe from Pixabay]

Climbing the mountain I listened again to Dylan’s The Times They Are A Changin. I didn’t know it, but I was free.

I have always been free.


Listen to ‘The Times They Are A Changin’ by Bob Dylan now –

And read the lyrics here.

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Unforgettably Yours

Flash Fiction

I dare you to forget not. Forget what not? Try to remember… remember that day when…

… for the first time you crawled… you struggled to walk… you hopped all along… you won a race… you tap danced with grace… you came in style… you left wearing a smile… you befriended the walking stick… you crawled for the second time…

… for the first time you were loved… you were pampered… you were jealous… you were told to share… you were lonely… you made a friend… you believed in dreams… you knew true joy… you hurt yourself… you stood up… you worshipped time… you quietly realised… you happily understood… you loved them back…

… for the first time you felt you knew absolutely nothing… you followed their path… you managed to survive… you built a new track… you knew right is right and wrong, wrong… you travelled in time… you accepted the change… you thoroughly read writings in brief… you said of course… you said not at all… you repented and laughed at the mistake… you cheered your take… you declared that you still knew absolutely nothing…

Everything is forgotten on the way, but the journey goes on… the journey that is unforgettably yours.

*

“Don’t forget now, alright? Go, leave, carry on!”
[Image by Lin Tong from Pixabay]

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Ik Onkar

Look within and fly high!
Image from Pixabay.

Parvez it is familiar because it is music… and music cannot be forgotten once the wavelength matches.


Parvez it is shining because it is guiding… we all can follow, dawn to dusk, it is listening, it is reminding.


Parvez it is present because it is true and ‘timed’ for you… beyond measurements, answers and queues.


Parvez it is travelling, because it understands the journey is never-ending… shimmering throughout, glorifying silence.


Parvez it is dancing because it believes in union… one circle, two circles, circles resolve it all.


Parvez it is there, because you garnered patience.


Parvez it is talking, because you are listening.


Parvez it is knowable, though you still don’t know it.


Parvez, look within.

Ik Onkar Sat Naam

*

Listen to this Mul Mantar

*


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Loitering Mind

Notorious mind to THE MIND.
[Image by IRINA from Pixabay]

Minding the mind

It is kind of, sort of looking amazed and all it has done is talking… talking to itself. If thoughts wear colours then this mind is making rainbows after rainbows.

Mind’s petty issues

Whether a smoothie is meant to be always cold? If instead of right we had turned round and round? Why am I scared to say, ‘I said so’?

Mind’s grand tales

Oh, endless journey don’t you end… don’t you end before I set the hat right and check the change within and without with a smile. Don’t you end or change or stop or move or be false. Be happy.

Mind, when at peace

Waves, lights, colours ocean up and down for seconds, until the old stories return. Back and forth between peace and everything else.

Mind talks

And with enough repetitions dear mind, one is ought to remember it all.

Mind makes

The one standing under the shed, waiting or not waiting, unsure whether to wear the spectacles or not, is being made and unmade at that very moment.

Loitering mind

It rests quietly when one sleeps, but only to run wild and free in the dreams.

Sooner or later usher the mind beyond what it tells. Then have a laugh. A real laugh.

Vision science.
[Painting titled ‘What and Where’ by – Greg Dunn]

This painting was commissioned by The Center for the Neural Basis of Cognition to commemorate Carnegie Award recipient Dr. Leslie Ungerleider’s substantial contribution to the field of vision science.  Her work in delineating the dorsal and ventral visual processing pathways led to the discovery that the ventral pathway predominantly processes information related to how we recognize objects (what), whereas the dorsal pathway interprets how objects are related to one another in space (where).  The painting is designed to reflect this dichotomy in its layout and conceptual content.

Greg Dunn

Find out more here – What and Where by Greg Dunn.


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Here’s why Henrik Ibsen’s A Doll’s House touched my heart!

Embracing, accepting, forgiving the doll walks on. Struggling, fearing, hoping the doll looks around. Learning, recognizing, changing the doll steps out, no longer a doll, but an individual.

The reign of the Doll ends.
[Source – thelodirampage.com]

It is Christmas Eve and the doll has told maids to hide the Christmas tree from the children until it is decorated and lighted up, and she is going to dress up and perform the Tarantella in the party as it is her master’s wish.

On the day after Christmas she will leave, changed forever, no longer a doll, but as Nora, Henrik Ibsen’s Nora.

At the time when the play A Doll’s House was written, marriages were sacrosanct, women were meant only to look after their husband, children and the house, in return the husband was to provide her with everything that she needed for maintenance; a rich man was a good prospect of making a happy married life.

Nora – managing the Helmer House and all the maids, taking care of her three little children, jumping around like a squirrel for her husband, Torvald Helmer – is struck by a calamity and there is no one on her side to support her, not even her master, Torvald. When the time approaches for the miracle Nora very much hoped and dreaded for to happen, she is left with absolutely nothing in her life.

Henrik Ibsen
[Source – Wikipedia]

From the year 1879 when A Doll’s House was performed for the first time on the stage to the modern 21st century, this play has continued to be appreciated both by the academia and the audience.

Free from the in-style verbose poetical soliloquies and with the woman as the central character, it was both a pioneering and a controversial play; pioneering for bringing the element of realistic drama in the theatre world which till then had been occupied with the historical romance and the thesis plays, and controversial for a woman behaving the way Nora did was unheard of, which is why Ibsen, on one occasion, had to present a leading actress with an alternate ending as she refused to act in the play as a woman who abandons her husband and children.

Many playwrights have also criticised the sudden awakening that Nora undergoes, which then gives her the strength to walk out; the Swedish playwright, August Strindberg, questioned Nora’s decision to leave her children with a man whom she doesn’t trust any more.

But, with or without any flaws, Nora’s story has touched many hearts and has made it a timeless piece of work. Its simplicity, conversational tone and ‘the slamming of the door’ climax gives us a truly dramatic, cathartic and a classic three act play. If the change of heart that Nora’s character goes through in the third act is unacceptable and absurd, then it only magnifies the fact that A Doll’s House is an absolutely realistic work because reality is stranger than fiction.

The storyline moves and grows and evolves and complexes with every scene. Nora, shifted from her father’s doll’s house to her husband’s, from past eight years had been working to decorate it. She, Torvald’s little lark, little spendthrift, knows nothing but to be at her husband’s disposal, by thoughtless choice of course. Ivar, Emmy and Bob are Nora’s dolls with whom she happily plays and she is Torvald’s doll, whom she happily obeys.

Torvald’s little lark.
[Source – cocosse.com]

Nora (goes to the table on the right): I shouldn’t think of doing what yon disapprove of.

Helmer: No, I’m sure of that; and, besides, you’ve given me your word. (Going towards her) Well, keep your little Christmas secrets to yourself, Nora darling. The Christmas-tree will bring them all to light, I dare say.

Uninformed and an act of love becomes unreasonable and an act of forgery for Nora Helmer; she took loan to save her sick husband and forged the documents because that was the only way out. Later when Krogstad present her with the facts, Nora replies,

Do you mean to tell me that a daughter has no right to spare her dying father anxiety? That a wife has no right to save her husband’s life? I don’t know much about the law, but I’m sure that, somewhere or another, you will find that that is allowed.

Krogstad is determined to reveal her secret and Nora is worried only for Torvald as she is sure he will take the blame for her sake and spare her any shaming. This is her fear for she knows Torvald would do anything in the world for her safety. What happens, though, is the stark opposite of this; Trovald is only worried about his own reputation and is even ready to bow and accept Krogstad’s demands. When Krogstad sends the IOU (I Owe You) and apologies for troubling Nora, Trovald changes euphorically and assures Nora that everything is fine.

“I must make up my mind which is right – society or I.”
[Source – cocosse.com]

But nothing is fine for Nora as she finally sees herself; Torvald becomes a mirror for her and the quick personality shifts he presents her with, shatters the mirror altogether and a real view of things comes in forefront. Nora starts to question – question her life, her relationship with Torvald, her role as a mother, her understanding of what society teaches and what she wishes to learn. Torvald’s little lark realises that she can fly and she, thus, chooses to do so.

Helmer: Nora, can I never be more than a stranger to you?

Nora (Taking her travelling bag): Oh, Torvald, then the miracle of miracles would have to happen.

Helmer: What is the miracle of miracles?

Nora: Both of us would have to change so that… Oh, Torvald, I no longer believe in miracles.

Helmer: But I will believe. We must so change that…?

Nora: That communion between us shall be a marriage. Goodbye.

With A Doll’s House Ibsen had no intention to serve the women’s rights movement, rather it was to present the significance of individual responsibility, the importance of understanding oneself, ones’ purpose in life and then striving to achieve it.

By the end Nora is ready to take a stand for herself, without any fear of the society or her master, without her own fears and inhibitions, without any support, but only with a determined and awakened mind, heart to know about herself and her life. And this certainly is why A Doll’s House still charms its readers, after all, the field of studying oneself is not well explored and many discoveries, many inventions are yet to be made.


Originally published at SWA – Blog on January 11, 2017.


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Jeremiah’s Roomie Ferdinand Forgot Two Simple Things

Flash Fiction
Jeremiah wrote in the letter that Ferdinand must continue his journey across the five oceans, dipping when the moon rises and shinning when the tempest calls, stopping to explore the alien lands and fleeing if he sees a woman with snakes for hair or the trolls.
 
Ferdinand understood not much for he was not travelling to any place and was rather at home, sick and jaded.
 
Jeremiah further expressed his own adventure of a morning walk through the deep dark forest when he met a king cobra who nattered about this and that, about the tales of the netherworld and of a future when the sky will fall down; who got to the point only at last with a fang-full smile and asked him to bring all the eggs of the cuckoo bird that lived nearby.
 
Ferdinand, confused, spoke aloud, “But Jeremiah goes to that park near the colony for morning walks…”
 
Jeremiah then mentioned in capital letters the highlights of THIS WORLD –
 
1) The raven flew away and the raven came back, we talked, ate and enquired, ‘who can change the track?’
 
2) Maria knows that Keith knows that Jenny doesn’t know, and now we also know.
 
3) For a few days we hosted the Police at the colony, ha ha!
 
Ferdinand sat straight, scratched his head, and tried calling Jeremiah – “the call cannot be completed.”
 
Jeremiah signed off his letter with the words – flying to Alpha Centauri, good you left your swimming goggles, peace-out mate.
 
Ferdinand got up, worried, stood numb holding that letter in his hand for a few seconds, then haphazardly packed his bag and left the house. Bang!
 
He closed the door behind him, not replying to his mother’s alarmed shout, he dashed out.
 
 
Ferdinand forgot that Jeremiah is a writer, a writer by choice, profession, and living standards.
 
He also forgot his keys to the flat.
 
Now no one would be there to welcome him back in the city as Jeremiah was flying to Alpha Centauri.
 
Ssh! Writer at work!
Image by Cdd20 from Pixabay.

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Fresh Rhythms

Flash Fiction
Rhythmically attuned to life.
[Source – Pixabay]

Fading away, parting as tears fall with a fear that there is no return, it starts to brighten up and slowly gets closer to a pure hope that the present will always be magical.

Only when she rises and turns, she feels the fresh rhythms, standing firmly, breathing deeply, she walks ahead, a half smile looking good on her face.

Cheers!


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