Pedalling the cycle in a rhythmic motion, Aunty Ji moved ahead towards a destination unknown to me. I saw her through the bus window and I don’t remember her face clearly.
She was wearing a dull purple sari; now was the sari actually light in colour or was it the hand-washing that the sari went through for infinite times that made it dull, I have no idea about it.
Her complexion was rough. Her hands, arms, and neck looked very rough; and rough not because her skin was bad or simply dry, but rough in a sense that reflected how hard she has worked for ages and how hard she will work for ages.
The skin was rough and dry because the sun rays befriended it; the sun rays and the burnt skin smiled together whenever they met.
She also wore a chain. She was married. She was bulky, but not because she was lethargic or slow, it was the birth of her three or four children that left her on a heavy side; and also the fact that she rarely got any time for herself.
However, she did take two minutes in the morning to dress up, apply powder, bindi, and comb her hair, she enjoyed these two minutes every day.
I didn’t know where she was going to or coming from, what was in her mind – capitalism, liberalism or food, what was her religion – Hinduism, Christianity or food, what was her educational qualification – was she a maid, a saleswoman or a sole breadwinner of a family, what did she know about the world – about global warming, the war/peace game and the wastage of food, and that whether being a human being was she even aware of her life’s higher purpose, was she following a godly Saint or a reasonable atheist, a complex God or a straightforward Holy Text?
I am not sure about anything and nor am I interested to be. Because she was cycling in rhythm and I connected with her as did the wind.
She was nothing extraordinary and almost obscurely invisible. She camouflaged with the out-of-city-region-before-entering-the-proper-country-area perfectly.
Yet she was the most alive person there – the Skylark of the sky and the Albatross of the ocean. She was the solution to the puzzle; she was the answer to the riddle.
Amusingly, she carried the answer and the solution in her bun- the lively, fresh orange flowers. There were two or three orange flowers, beautifully and so neatly pinned to the bun that even the speed breakers were unable to disturb the setting.
The orange flowers – what was the type I don’t remember – were fresh and sweetly orange in colour. The orange flowers hummed a soothing tune. Oh! It was melodious, it was magical, I can’t explain in words…it was a feeling.
A strong, but a fleeting one. And after all, I had just seen a glimpse of Aunty Ji.
I was inside the bus and we passed her and many other bicycle riders.
Everyone moving towards an end, busy garnering their life without truly perceiving it.
She possibly was ignorant, out-dated and wronged, still she had found a way that was orange in colour and alive and quiet and true.
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Clouds: Here we come.
Sun: It was fun…we’ll play again tomorrow.
[Seriously, did you miss watching their game today? No worries, remember to observe them tomorrow. And these players are painters too…you’ll fall in love with them…just take a moment to see the spectacle that reveals itself every day.]
If we believe that life reflects what is in our mind, let us all think of sunshine. We should then imagine a colourful picture.
Red-red flowers, blue-blue sky and calm green grass and happy air all around us, with a touch of music in it.
We can all be dancers, dancing nonstop. Our body will be caught in action and rhythm and our soul in peace.
We can also think of meditating; every one of us on Earth meditating; sending sublime vibrations in the universe and connecting with this marvel.
Our planet will then glow. We’ll be like the sun. A passing alien might confuse our planet for the Sun. Nevertheless, we’ll welcome others to join.
The best thing is, we all can think of holding hands, the whole humanity, a never-ending long chain. And then we’ll move round and round. We’ll sing and dance and move round and round.
Why don’t we think so? Why don’t we think? It’ll be fun if we think, I promise that it’ll be.
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Photograph by Jagriti Rumi; Location – Tikarpada Wildlife Sanctuary, Odisha
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“The trouble is, you think you have time”- a straightforwardly true quote.
But listen don’t worry… just take a deep breath. And allow your mind to be empty.
It is true that time is running but that doesn’t mean you have to run with it.
Instead, you should stop and discover your inner self.
Knowing who you actually are is a big question for which you should hurry; being aware of every breath that you take is important, and for this you should be quick.
Time is fleeting and there is a whole universe to explore within and without.
Our soul is something we don’t consciously think much about and rarely do anything special for it, for it to flourish.
So there is no time to waste in any trivial issue when inner peace is all you need.
The solution to this trouble is to be extremely quick in settling your mind without spending the time elsewhere.
A settled mind can make you sit calmly, a calm posture can make you concentrate, you can meditate and what comes next is even better… a mind that meditates can stop Time.
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Sujata – The Voice of the Unheard
Sahib Bibi Aur Ghulam – A tale of role-reversals and downfalls
Chalti Ka Naam Gaadi (That which moves is called a car)
Mrinal Sen’s Aakaler Shandhane (In Search of Famine)
La Strada And The Round-Faced Clown
Sherni – Even in the dense jungle, the tigress knows her way.
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.
Essentially Gold, The Lavender Hill Mob
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.
Regina Spektor’s Musical World – Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V
Of Monsters and Men and This Journey
The Circle Game, Joni Mitchell, You and Me
The Answer Is Blowin’ In The Wind
The Wonderful Mr. Tambourine Man Song
Weather Forecast Says Listen to George Ezra
The Choir and Their Toads Sing ‘Double Trouble’
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.
A joy so complete without any rise or fall, so free without any time corners, so real without true being false, false being true.
