Wrtier

Nature

Green magic!
Image by Mabel Amber from Pixabay.

Wondrous are the ways of Nature

Capturing, hiding the sun in a leaf,

Revealing it in a colourful belief,

Fruits of absolute joy, a treasure.

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Giving life to all lives,

Giving shelter to all tribes,

The Nature plays a rhythm divine,

Transforming the woods into a shrine.

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Nature destroys the apathetic traders;

Blind, unforgiving, hitting with catastrophes,

Listening not to the heavens, the creators,

But to the Time that heals.

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A dense forest or a tiny plant,

Both are Nature’s marvel;

Her ethereal hands are the mantle

That blesses our lonely planet.

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Sublime nature!
Image by David Mark from Pixabay.

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My Sunglasses

A journey by air, by road, by rail to reach the ocean started with me sitting cross-legged, looking through the window, and thinking about myriad things.

While the world around me appeared to be the same – it smiled when I did, it passed a dull nod when I did – it was secretly weaving a plot.

I got to know about it when I wore my sunglasses.  

The unbiased tracks.
Image – Jagriti Rumi
Live wave-like.
Image – Jagriti Rumi

Everything then moved in a wave, including me.

Immersed in one colour, we were all attuned to do the Samba, and Samba we did.

When the ocean wind joined us, it enthralled us, we chased the beats faster to match its incessant flow.

A heavy old bridge tried the same, corroding swiftly, meeting the ocean wind in rhythm.  

Standing steel solid until…
Image – Jagriti Rumi

I saw the iron steel heavy ocean wind, dancing, through my sunglasses.

The fishermen left their boats, swung their nets, and summoned all the others to sing and dance, to be one with the wave.  

Rowing is knowing life.
Image – Jagriti Rumi

 I hopped and tapped along and beamed, my smile touching my sunglasses.  

At night or was it at dawn, what did the quaint temple said to me? It spoke of its time, the artisans ritual of worshiping their tools, shared an epic tale and sang good old folk songs.

What they say about its static avatar is not true, for the temple sways with wind and sings and adds to the music.

Luckily to see this, you do not have to stand at the ticket counter or wait for hours in serpentine lines.    

The alive architecture.
Image – Jagriti Rumi
Meenakshi Amman Temple, Madurai.
Image – Jagriti Rumi
The grand parade, Rameshwaram.
Image – Jagriti Rumi

In my company no one did, but I saw a monkey, no, a langur, happy at the top of the temple, playing with the waves… all thanks to my sunglasses.  

Back from the journey, lying upside down on the bed, staring at the funny trees outside the window, I think about Time in general and yawn.

But before those lazy dilemmas hit me, I get up, yes, I sit up straight and plunge forward to look for my sunglasses.  

Namaste!
Image – Jagriti Rumi

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The Journey

Amongst the clouds… yes, this is how the journey began. Mushy clouds, mushy dreamy clouds all around her. Whether she walked or the white dreams floated around her isn’t something the music ever revealed.

The music was busy playing and she was busy colouring. The sky and earth colours participated and turned rich.

Meanwhile, in a parallel universe, someone took a flight, landed, took a cab, halted for a coffee break, laughed with her friend and continued the road trip.

Warm waves of velvety starry blanket covered the existence and hushed those who listened into happy silence. She stayed awake for a while just to witness it all. A simple melodious note filled her ears and she swam to sleep.

That someone talked to her friend, they ate pastries and called it a day. That someone, with ‘oh’ look, got up to brush her teeth and then went to bed. Phew!

She opened her eyes, awakened the self and stepped out to see the end of a long search. Birds and buds, earth’s aroma and touch, giant trees’ humble smiles, the sun’s vocals and the wind’s compositions, other human beings, all dancing, and of course, the bicycles… everything she laid her eyes on glanced back at her, welcomed and sang to her.

At bliss, at Auroville. [Images by Jagriti Rumi]

Tring, tring… tring, tring, she replied to them. Crossed leg sitting inside an apple she relished it, sweet, sour, juicy and fresh. When she jumped outside, she gave the left-over bit to a dog. Questioning her about nothing the dog finished the apple.

Tring, tring… she went ahead and met a mathematician’s spirit, who gave her the map that took her to the grand golden lotus with twelve petals. Its beauty struck her hard and she kept standing there for ages in admiration.

Primary and secondary colours, in circles, pyramids and cylindrical shapes all passed by her. She blinked and found herself inside the grand golden lotus.

The grand golden lotus!
Matrimandir, Auroville. [Image by Peter Anta from Pixabay]

Earth, Fire, Wind and Water were there, she saw it, just a glimpse, but they were there in absoluteness. She blinked and she was back outside. Oh! The joy!

She danced all her way, lal-lal-lal-laaa, rotated and laughed, climbed the musical rainbow and listened to what the colours were playing and then surprised herself with her quiet self, quiet but not low, because her eyes were beaming and her soul still dancing.

By the hourglass the journey continued for that someone and her friend, click-click-click, pictures taken, tring-tring-tring on the cycle path, resting, eating and laughing.

That someone’s friend like a darling blue bird sang and danced… unable to resist she also joined her friend. Together they collected memories and both filled their hourglass with it.

Smart! Now time reminds them of those memories all the time.

Auroville… the journey, the destination. [Source – eco-villages.eu]

O journey, when did you start and when will you end?

O journey, can I stop and meet my friend?

The beginning is hazy, but true and the end will be a new beginning for you.

Don’t stop if you want to meet your friend, for she is on a journey too.


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