The window was closed and I stood staring, the reflection looked better, I thought.
I took a step forward and could still see myself, but also the wind blowing outside. The flying leaves passed right through me and the golden rain tree caressed me gently.
*
The wonderful golden rain tree. Image by Suanpa from Pixabay
Few more steps towards the window and I got closer to myself. The reflection was quiet… unlike the weather outside. I could even hear the wind, the music it played was resonant.
I forgot the reflection and saw through it as I stood by the window. The live drama outside and the rhythms playing caught me and I hummed along. I smiled.
Just then like a flash I again noticed my reflection on the window, it was also smiling this time. Immediately I changed my focus and tuned to watching the wind’s performance, smiling the whole while.
She has fallen down, she feels weak for sure. I can see her stunned eyes, I can hear her trembling breath. A gush of wind passes by, and she feels nothing. It just makes her vision blurry. Nothing is audible to her, neither the cries nor the roars. Her mind is like a blank slate, but right then she hears a sound… her heart is beating. And this is enough for the warrior to rise.
Today is a calm day, I believe and thus, it is a calm day. Sunlight is pleasant and my cows are happy. What is making me smile is the greenery. I’ll climb this mountain one day, as for now I am glad to just witness it. Are the clouds coming? I can’t see it, can you? Pshaw! What is not in the present is not present and the past is past. And my ukulele is my ukulele, which now I’ll play.
To keep walking is hard. Repeatedly dying on the way is a normal occurrence, but no less significant.
What breaks the heart often is not the crude world or a passer-by, but the heart itself. It allows itself to be crushed.
And as funny as it may sound, the truth doesn’t change that the heart also heals itself.
Let us keep aside the magical part for it blindfolds the ones with sightless minds and talks about reason and logic.
Oh! But that is already done – heart breaks itself and heals itself… very straightforward indeed. Brain, heart, brain, heart… and this is the journey.
Carrying on kills, but so does not-carrying on; carrying on also gives you a chance to live and to experience the universe. It is a long, long, long journey and then you reach nothing.
At nothing, you become everything.
Read about Antonio Porchia, the Argentinian poet here.
With sand slipping away under his feet, King Suriya observed the desert ocean in front of him. There was no question of giving up. Determined to win, the King moved towards the next slithering dune, right then he saw, or he thought he saw, a shadow. He looked all around, but could only see the golden brown sand soaking the sunlight happily. The King looked up, the blue sky turning bright white almost blinded his vision. King Suriya thought, ‘illusion’, and resumed his journey.
The Vulture King followed him.
The Vulture King
They will meet, King Suriya and the Vulture King, and set out on a fabulous journey. Read the novella ‘The Vulture King’ by Aditya Thakur, an indie author from India. It is enriching.
A cotton wrap dress, flat sandals, a jhola bag, drop earrings and a messy bun, Miss Bhattacharya looks ready. She is beautiful. Oh, she doesn’t like the bun, okay. Open hair looks fine, more than fine I mean.
She cannot hide a smile, still she tries and smiles more. Just look at her, she is trying right now. Her crazy talkative mind is talking. No, not talking, but singing, yes, she is clicking her fingers… now she waves her hand rhythmically in air.
Miss Bhattacharya is walking, she is humming, the wind plays with her hair, and she lets it. She is a sweetheart! And she shouts at the auto rickshaw driver. What? Well, yeah, the driver nearly splashed her. It’s a crowded street for all.
But our Miss Bhattacharya lives in the present, she has crossed the road and is humming again. She loves to wear her smile, even in difficult situations, even at the crossroads. You know where she has reached now? At a crossroad, will she turn left or right, maybe she will go straight.
Miss Bhattacharya is a woman of decision. And so, oh, she is turning back, she is running now, running back. Time check! Yeah, she is late, oh no. She must have forgotten something, some silly little thing, no worries. We all forget.
“Oh, how can I forget switching off the stove, the iron, the fans and the lights… stupid, stupid… yikes, I think I forgot to lock the door, arrh”, said S. Bhattacharya.
Ha! Alright, this is all normal. These things happen with everyone. Only yesterday, I forgot something… can’t even remember what it was. Shut up! The point is, Miss Bhattacharya rules, she rules her simple, crazy, funny life. (I used crazy twice… why?)
Who am I? The narrator, of course. My distinct voice makes it so obvious. Oh, you can’t hear me, my bad.
Where did Miss Bhattacharya go? I am the narrator, you cannot leave me. Wait for me Miss Bhattacharya, you’re the protagonist!
Miss S. Bhattacharya dressed as a warrior or a queen, I guess. She likes to dress up, okay. It is an old photo.
Sweet sneakin’ melody! [Image by Lucas from Pixabay]
*
Trumpet
The room was dimly lit, the colours were all crayon textured and old… they all easily submerged in it. More footsteps could be heard and voices… voices were telling each other tales only known as a secret before by some selected few. Voices were joking, but just for a while. Soon they were talking MUSIC.
Soprano saxophone and electric guitars
Rhythms were played verbally and details were given through gestures. People gathered around knew it was time… time to create. Like a charm, everyone flowed, everyone flowed and synced to reach the MUSIC.
Organ, double bass and drums
Time stopped to bask in the musical waves… the musical waves were powerful enough to capture time. It danced, yes, it did. The room stayed dimly-lit, crayon shades also didn’t change… the room and the colours were in awe like little children looking through a wire fence… even the floor swayed… in a silent way, everyone did.
Trumpet, soprano saxophone, electric guitars, organ, double bass and drums later reminded Time to move.
This post is dedicated to the studio album In A Silent Way by Miles Davis, listen to it now –
I am joy running free/
freely flying, fluttering, soaring in a valley/
Of joy am running free.
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.
Big thanks to my readers. Stay tuned!
Also, a humble request to the new subscribers to check the spam folder after subscribing. Silly (but necessary) confirmation emails often land there instead of the bright inboxes. Merci!
Ya-hoy!
Chiming Stories (formerly Home Chimes)
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Gabbeh, the 1996 film, is a simple tale of a gipsy girl, her clan and the way their life goes on. Unfolding beautifully just like an artist painting a canvas, Gabbeh quietly touches the grand questions.
Ranked as one of the greatest British films of all time, The Lavender Hill Mob confides in the audience, letting them see, feel, laugh and think without tickling persuasively with a joke here and a punch-line there.
Godard… Breathless and Alive
A Tribute to Jean-Luc Godard, the Film Philologist who Reinvented Cinema.
Yes fly! For walking on the second track is dull and usual, but dreaming high, high, high requires tools. Tools like the right pair of shoes, a chirpy, gritty soul that eats butter-jam dreams, a soul that drinks milky-milky creams.
Silver cascade shimmering the night sky, music to the waves and surreal beauty to the eyes, the Moon loves the art of discipline.
It may be difficult to believe for the Moon’s splendour defies time, it stupefies the clock, it follows the path of a dreamer, but how could this be possible if the Moon knew not discipline?
In this moment, I am a little bit of this and a little bit of that, I am complete and incomplete, I am pleased and uncertain, I wish for nothing and I know I have to wait.
Because the distance covered reminds me of the hurdles I have crossed and the ones I could not, it reminds me of a throbbing past and a dreamy future and it reminds me of how much time is left.
Meredith and the Green Lake
Illimitable Splendour
A joy so complete without any rise or fall, so free without any time corners, so real without true being false, false being true.
