Perhaps it is better to know the world after you know yourself completely. When the fog will disappear and the pain will die out, you’ll see what you’ll see. It will be real and true. You can float blissfully only after you have drowned, till the depth pushes you back and alive. It is not the misty wind or the world that shakes me but my ideas. Everyone is quiet outside but the moon is singing white light. Until I say ‘see you later’ to the world and tap my mind twice, my soul will stand separately on the hill.
I touched my shadow and folded it and I have hidden it in the pocket. Don’t panic. Though I am running but I am looking for something…I am looking for a silent room with green grass and a tree to sit under it. I’ll unfold things without judging then.
Festive season is here with lots of sweets and colourful lights. In fact, festive season never ends rather it goes on year after year, month after month, day after day. We even have a particular day of celebration for each individual i.e. the birth day. And in every culture, all over the world, we give ourselves various reasons to celebrate and enjoy. There is something very deep in our culture of celebrating because of which it has passed and survived from centuries. And it is nothing but the basic nature of all the human beings to be happy, to be joyous and reach the blissful state. All that we want in life is happiness; happiness for not oneself alone but for everyone. Happiness increases by sharing it with others and hence we all believe in making merry.
Leaving the point that we have made simple things complex aside, we should sometimes acknowledge the good ideas and then spread them. We all are meant to be happy forever and meet the Sublime Bliss. There is no need to grind your soul for attaining happiness because it is your very nature to be happy, it is in you, it is you. And this festive season, do it for yourself, be happy now. You need nothing from the outside world, just smile and feel the happiness.
A small window doesn’t matter if the view is good. A small window doesn’t matter if you are at home. A small window doesn’t matter if you keep smiling. A small window doesn’t matter if you dream big. A small window doesn’t matter if you are alive. A small window doesn’t matter to tell you the truth. A small window doesn’t matter if your life matters more.
Through the open window I choose to see the brightness and follow it.
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.
Fresh and sweetly orange in colour. Image by M W from Pixabay
[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.
When you talk to the flowers and feel dew drops on the leaves; when you look at the night sky and you immerse yourself in the never ending ocean of the stars; when the wind plays music using the wind chime and makes you happy- you unknowingly pray to the universe.
When you ponder over the truth; when you try hard and fail; when you cry and smile, together; when you know less facts and you feel more- you realise it later that you were on the right track all along.
But when you blindly follow, you fall badly; when you cheat your inner self, you are cheated by life; when you choose to be wrong, you end being wrong- all this because you fail to see the truth.
There is only one truth. There is only one path. You can deviate and make new ways but you’ll reach the only path that the only creator has made.
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!
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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.
