Jagriti Rumi

The First Choir Performance

Posted on December 30, 2014 by Jagriti Rumi Choir Performance Light Up Like a Child

Like it was their first performance, all of them looked nervous and excited, merged with the colours of a painting of a child thrilled living life. Like a child!

Can you see Pamela? She has rehearsed a lot and wants to give her best; I am sure she wants to impress Madame Margret. I agree that she is dedicated but I feel Susan is a better singer, only if she shows some more confidence. Oh! Just look at Thomas, yawning…gosh…Madame Margret almost saw him…he is quick to pretend he is just practicing his baritone voice. You know what, once Georgia wasn’t able to get her voice to the right scale and she started crying…Madame Margret then calmed her and helped her, she is really good, she knows how to handle everyone in the Choir. Shshsh! It is going to start.

Just notice one thing throughout the performance, they all, everyone in the Choir including Madame Margret will light up during the performance. No! Not the stage lights…they themselves will. Their expressions and their eyes and their voice will talk about all the music in the world. How beautiful is that! See…it has started, they are lighting up, girls are going to blush red and boys will look golden; their eyes sing the most and the energy that they exuberate will make you…will make you…. Shshsh! Oh Sorry!

Hmm…hmm. I love Patrick, can’t look at anyone else but him. How lively! Last time he told me that while practicing he was reminded of his childhood, how his mother baked cookies for him and his sisters; he used to play all day long in the winter sun and return only in the evenings, to delight himself with warm milk and cookies. He said that he felt the crispiness of the cookie disappearing into milky moistness while singing that day. We returned and ate cookies with milk for dinner. I loved it, though Patrick said it is not even near to what his mother baked for all of them.

You call him Patrick…?

Yes, earlier I used to call him Grandpa Patrick then Grandpa Patricy…but now just Patrick. He loves it this way. And I love him. He is also my best friend. He is just like a child.

The performance is over, they all bow down and stand beaming with happiness. Their eyes are shinning and the entire hall is still resonating with their voices, this time mixed with the applause. They pose like little children – obedient, happy and enthralled. Warm with a natural glow and dynamic, they bow again along with Madame Margret.

Subtracted World

Posted on December 12, 2014 by Jagriti Rumi Dirty Hands King Poem Queen Remember Adition Road Smartphone Subtracted World

Poem

*Non nobis solum* – not for thyself alone.
[Source – Pixabay]

I am the King and the Queen,

Of my subtracted world,

From my bedroom to where my smartphone takes me,

It’s shinning and laughing with glee.

Walking on the road, I hit a plastic bottle

‘High Score!’ cried my smartphone, when a little

Skinny girl pulled my sweater

Dirty hands open up… there was a letter

Crumpled, old and torn…ah, useless

I thought, but still checked it, to find two words

– Remember Addition?

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In Light and Darkness

Posted on December 11, 2014 by Jagriti Rumi Feeling Film Friends In Light and Darkness Spell Theatre Wild Roses Yellow Flower

Flash Fiction

Sitting in a theatre hall, watching a film, in light and darkness, in the noisy quietness, I realised how fast everything is moving and how static I am, busy running in my mind, alone.

The image of the yellow flower, growing peacefully in the sunlight is still fresh and I too can feel the warmth. I am running madly and my friends are running behind me, we are happy, and finishing the game means everything to us. There is a rush to catch and not to get caught.

After school hours, it wasn’t a routine to play on the way home, it was us, we were simply playing. I was fast but so were the others, with school bags on our back, we didn’t care of the world around us, we bumped into it passionately and made it alive. The lost adults often said, ‘You kids!’ and we replied with a ‘Sorry Uncle’ and a pure laugh.

The image fades away and suddenly I am walking all alone in the park. It is a rose garden but everywhere I see, the roses are pruned, they look like humans who know how to grow better, but not how to live. Wild roses are happier.

The protagonist is running wildly, furiously, shouting to express his anger…. When did I last run like him, wildly, shouting to express my anger, my happiness? Just before I was pruned, I guess.

Soon I’ll be forced out of this strange meditation class, soon the film will get over. The lights in the theatre hall will make me blind. But before that happens, let me take one last plunge, in that same memory that doesn’t leave me, of that yellow flower.

I walk passed it and then came back, I sat next to it and observed it. My friends were not around and the nature was talking and I was listening.

Why was that little yellow flower getting the entire attention there; the sun rays were perfectly falling on it and the trees were providing it enough shade, the earth was softly wet and the pebbles were guarding it in a funny way. I looked at it for some time and then one of my friends called out for me. I wasn’t startled; the spell broke but I was charmed and the feeling survived. It’s still living.

The film is going to end; there is a wave of calmness and acceptance in the air. People will clap and the ‘hypnotised all’ will come back in the normal world.

And I…I am not sure about myself, I like being in light and darkness.

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The Light in My Notebook

Posted on October 28, 2014 by Jagriti Rumi Beautiful Different Worlds Doodled Flash Fiction Ink Light Notebook Tears Time Universe Walt Whitman William Faulkner

Flash Fiction

The light helps in flying.
[Source – Pixabay]

“Civilization begins with distillation said William Faulkner….”

The way he wrote it on the blackboard, I first felt as if I am in a management class and I should note it down, word to word… later, I did note it down but the feeling wasn’t the same. The white chalk on the blackboard and the handwriting suddenly changed and I felt I had heard a secret that William Faulkner said long back. It happens a lot and though it’s strange, I enjoy these secrets… no I don’t understand the secrets, all of them, immediately, no, I just absorb them quietly.

I generally don’t remember all of them, especially on the occasions when there is a need to quote them but nonetheless a beautiful, warm and sweet feeling stays, the secret stays, forever.

The ink on my paper also talks to me but I rarely pay attention. And when I do, the ink has nothing to say. When it has something to say and when I also listen to it, a tear falls and erases it. Yes, tears can erase and paint beautifully.

I don’t know why, but I use the word beautiful a lot. There are so many other words like charming, pretty, gorgeous, lovely, graceful, even heavenly… how does it matter anyway, every word is beautiful. I scribbled some lines on the last page, it goes – ‘how beautiful the scene was but when I tried to capture it…it died.’ On that page then, I couldn’t write anything, not a word, I just doodled.

The flowers, the creepers, the sky, the moon and the sun close to each other along with the stars circling them, a small boat and a butterfly all danced their way towards what I wrote and then stopped. I darkened the moon, till it looked very deep and I have plans to colour the butterfly.

*‘What page is it?’*, ‘I don’t know!’,
*‘Forget the topic, tell the page number.’*
**[Source – Pixabay]**

What is he saying? What are we talking about? Have I missed something important? I flip the pages and peep at someone else’s book. To confirm! Ha! It is the same page, nothing has changed, he has been talking and talking; I felt for a moment that ages have passed, time rushed some centuries back and forth for me, swinging in different worlds I almost always forget to live in the present.

Everything is so cold for some never ending seconds, then why will I not want the warmth of the other worlds? The last page…and I float again.

Oops! The duster fell from his hand and we all smiled. I shared my smile with a guy sitting next to me. How stupid is that? Laughing without any reason…though I generally do that a lot.

I have a story in mind… it’s an image that has stayed with me for a time I can’t recall.

An old man, he is tall but thin, his wrinkled hands and tattered clothes tell me something different from what his wrinkled face expresses – a smile.

He is always smiling or is it because the wrinkles have taken such a shape… or is it just my imagination. We are on the same bus and I never think about the bus fare because I just don’t, but the old man with a wrinkled smile fixed on his face seems to be thinking about it a lot. For two-three minutes, he requests the conductor to allow him to travel without the bus fare and then from his invisible pocket of his torn coat, he takes out some coins and gives it to the conductor.

I can’t hear the exclamations of the conductor, I am too engrossed to see the old man with a wrinkled smile fixed on his face.

*‘What are you reading?’*, ‘Page 144’,
***‘Oh, you’re still the same.’***
**[Source – Pixabay]**

The pages are turning, millions have written in it, the ink is dry and still alive… a lot has been said and there is still a lot to say… the blank page looks exciting and it says the most and aloud. I am listening. Are you listening?

‘Are you listening?’ Yes, I nod! He has written something else on the board, but I didn’t see him writing again.

“All truths wait in all things – Walt Whitman.”

Wait… for there is some truth waiting to get revealed in everything.

I wrote this on the blank page, there I also drew a time machine, then the whole universe danced its way towards what I wrote and then stopped. I plan to colour it with light.

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The Moon Is Moving

Posted on September 22, 2014 by Jagriti Rumi I Bless You The Moon Is Moving

I change with the moon changing its shape. That is what someone told me, she was a palmist I guess or an aspiring one. Since then I have believed in it too, you know. Whenever I cannot understand myself or the mood I am in, I look at the moon and think, ‘where is it going now.’ And I confidently share this fact with others, my relation with the moon, nothing to hide about it.

My friends think that I am going crazy about this moon issue. They say, ‘it’s just a heavenly body’ and I say, ‘soon the moon will answer all my questions’, they then curiously ask me, ‘what do you want to know?’ Sometimes I don’t reply and most of the time they just don’t listen. I have a list, if I may speak the truth, I have a list of questions that I want to ask the moon. It goes like- what is your language other than the mellow serene white rays; do you like the blue planet or not; what if you could fly away, somewhere far; do you sing, if yes, sing one for me and some other questions, you know. Oh! I forgot to tell you about the most important question – how do you feel being the symbol of love? I find it really funny when I think that the moon might not be aware of it.

I have also composed a song, a tune basically, for the moon but I don’t feel like humming it right now. It is not complicated, there are no words, all you have to do is go ‘la…la, la, la…la’ after you are alone with the moon and then you have to meditate. It’s something very peaceful.

Once, it so happened that I was sitting and talking to the moon, I was all alone and I was speaking non-stop, you know. It was all very funny even though I was speaking my heart out and was getting emotional, when suddenly I sneezed and the moon said, ‘I bless you’. It was a superb experience. I told one of my friends about it who stupidly called the moon arrogant and silly. I lectured for an hour that it is not bad to bless someone and to bless one needs to be pure and that I think that the moon is pure. Weirdly my friend agreed with me but before I could feel happy about it, we were talking about something else.

There was another time when I tried to record the voice of the moon but I don’t feel like talking about it now. I feel strange, I think I’ll go for a walk now, I think the moon is moving and I plan to move with it.

With Myself

Posted on September 14, 2014 by Jagriti Rumi Green Pond. Green Water With Myself

The green pond and the green trees can be so different. I was sitting on the stairs and looking at the thick and the pleasing green water when I realised that I am looking through the image in front of me. Everything was hazy for some time and I felt light. A concrete thought broke my imagination and I heaved a sigh. A sigh that meant nothing except the realisation that I am sitting and watching the green water in the pond. The trees were welcoming me and soon I was lost again. Did the time float away or swayed with the leaves? Time, that the people complain about and love and cherish at the same time. But at that moment I was’nt time bound, I was free. Just then or after some time, something musical fell in the pond and I enjoyed it. I started humming and playing with the stick in my hand. Then I dipped it in the pond and swirled it around. The green trees were watching all the time. I was in my own company and the time went by beautifully.

A Painting That Sways

Posted on August 15, 2014 by Jagriti Rumi A Painting That Sways Free Life Moonlit Night Pure Blue Light Remember The Sky And The Moon

Poem

**Paint and sway.**
**Image by Pixabay.**

Delicately touched

Touched only to sway

Swayed with love

And loved just to say

To say it loud enough

Enough of the artificial blue light

Pure blue light of the sky and the moon

The sky and the moon that play a harmony together

Together they sing to me

Me, who breathes quite often,

Often they sing and I dance

Dance like I am a cloud close to them

A cloud close to them that is me

Me, who dreams to be free,

Free like the painting of a moonlit night

And a moonlit night will always say

‘Hey, paint well and remember to sway.’

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Two Photographs

Posted on July 16, 2014 by Jagriti Rumi Brightness Click Eyes Flash Fiction Granny's smile Love Say cheese Secret

Flash Fiction

Granny’s smile has lots of secrets and lots of memories in it. She is always smiling, beaming; we can also count her wrinkles rising from her cheeks to her closed eyes; eyes shining with childlike brightness, watery eyes speaking the language of love.

It is early morning and everyone in the house is running hither and thither. Mummy is cooking food and packing the tiffin-boxes. The children are late once again and Daddy is going to give them a lift to the school. But Daddy himself cannot find his tie and the green file and somehow Mummy is managing everything right from the kitchen.

In this daily drama we see Granny sitting in the balcony, she is combing her grand-daughter’s plaits; Granny talks about her late grandmother who use to tie her plaits, to which her little granddaughter giggles up and says, ‘Granny you also had a Granny?’

Mummy shouts from the kitchen as the clock declares it is 8. Everyone is late!

In this relay race, this cute family is asked to stop and pose for a photograph. Daddy says no but the children agree and Mummy is caught between them; while everyone else hesitates only to agree in the end, the granddaughter brings Granny inside and both of them settle comfortably on the sofa for the photograph.

Say Cheese! Click!

Daddy is awkwardly smiling with a bad tie-shirt combination making him look funny; Mummy is smiling nicely and is hiding her apron behind her; the children are looking full of life and sleepy at the same time; the granddaughter is hugging her Granny and saying cheese loudly; Granny is smiling peacefully.

Daddy, Mummy and the children wish Granny a good-bye, she waves back at them from the balcony. They leave in their car and get mixed with the ‘bhroom-honk-honk-bhroom’ crowd on the road.

When Granny is asked about the brightness in her eyes and the secret behind her smile, she laughs musically and says, ‘thank you very much’.

Enjoying the scene from her gallery she seems to be waiting for somebody. She walks slowly to the kitchen like there is no need to hurry, this is how blessed she is, maybe this the reason behind her smile.

When we are about to leave the house, she calls us and asks us to meet her friend. Back in the gallery, Granny is feeding a stale roti to a crow with extreme joy in her eyes.

She indicates us to take her photograph with the crow. She is already saying cheese. Click!

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The Keyhole Trend

Posted on June 19, 2014 by Jagriti Rumi Bird Door Ends Fee Free Journey Shine Sky Small World The Keyhole Trend

Poem

**An amazing keyhole.**
**[Source – Pixabay]**

If you peep through the keyhole

The small world you see

Might look real and free

The sky, the bird, the tree

The building, the street and me

All with the round edge and incomplete

Half of the shine and half of the night

Half of the smile and half of the ride

When the journey ends, it ends

Though the keyholes are in trend

Laughing loudly at yourself you’ll see

One can open the door without any fee.

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I Can See Mountains from the Window, I’ll take this Window Along

Posted on June 6, 2014 by Jagriti Rumi Calm Rock Drawing Gratitude I'll take this window along Life Mountains Window Yin-Yang

Flash Fiction

The mountains are so grand; I realised it that day when I climbed one. The green velvety zigzag stretch left me overwhelmed.

A thought caught my attention and told me how beautiful and majestic the mountains were, how incredibly small I was, how peacefully colourful the surroundings were and how sublime the music played by the wind was.

**Portable Window! [Image by AnnaliseArt from Pixabay]**

I saw the clouds and they saw me; I blushed quietly. With my feet in the wet green grass, I stood there enjoying the drizzle. I sat on a calm rock calmly and opened the notebook. I couldn’t write for some reason, so I drew the scene instead.

Have you ever felt the same? Like when you feel something you cannot describe in words or otherwise? When the smell of an old book takes you back in a different century?

As if the leaf that fell near you was meant to fall there so that you could pick it up and observe it? And that the glamorous city lights were talking to each other and the moon was talking to you?

What about the smiley face drawn by a passer-by on a dusty car that reminds you of the one you had drawn? Have you ever felt the still mind?

The drawing that I made took the shape of the yin-yang without my knowledge. Opposites complement each other. I sat near the window and thought about it; the sun passed by and the moon came with white light very quickly and in the shadow, I saw the light and immediately, I agreed.

I again looked at that drawing, in gratitude but the drawing was no longer the same… there were dark green mountains and blue sky, white clouds and green grass and me, sitting on the calm rock calmly. And I looked through the window…

I can see mountains from the window, I’ll take this window along.

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