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We don’t hear the word fain often these days or do we? If we do, then I am pleased to know.
But if not then let us talk further. Fain means gladly, preferably, willing, ready, obliged or required. A dictionary will tell you better and it will also tell that this word is obsolete. There are many archaic words like fain which are out of fashion…what is new in it?
Fain to me is such a sweet word that I feel when it was asked to leave it (by its nature) said, ‘gladly’.
Why is it that some words stay and some don’t? What happened after the times of Kings and Queens with this pretty word that it left us?
I can’t say it left us as we can still use it but it has been forgotten. Yes, this can be one of the many plausible explanations; man is after all the most forgetful creature.
I would like to believe that fain never stopped being happy and willing and eager. And that is why it reached a state of gladness. Fain visited the Ultimate Fain.
All these beautiful archaic words are silent not because no one wants to hear them, but because they were heard by the One. And now they are in a sublime state.
Such is the destiny of one, anyone, who knows oneself and remains constant. One who doesn’t look for answers outside but inside. One who knows the true meaning of Karma.
This is what I feel. Who knows if all this makes sense or not? One who knows, knows a lot or knows a lot at least about others.
Anyway, fain would always be for me a wonderful word which gives my mind a feeling of its texture- silky soft and white.
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Time for a coffee break
How much sugar do you take?
Life is an unwrapped toffee
Sure! Sure! Hold your coffee
What a lovely cold day
Life is a strong bright ray
Oh! Please drink it when it is hot,
Then go to the market and buy a new pot.
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Life is shallow if you can’t see deep
I care less because I don’t want to weep
Now, if you are done, give me your cup
Life is life if seen downside up.
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Mr. Podolski was sitting in the attic, smoking idly. He continuously ignored the noise that was coming from downstairs. Everyone was watching the game, football. Both the windows in the attic were open.
For a long time, he was gazing at the blue sky which had some white spots here and there.
‘That’s a goal!’, shouted his grandson, gripped in the game. Mr. Podolski gave a grim grin and lit a cigarette afresh.
He failed to ignore the clouds gathering, the blue sky soon less blue. He thought, ‘they are teaming against me, again, like…that day.’
‘That Day’ echoed inside him as the huge church bell echoed in the town. It revived his rage and furry. In spite of his daily practice, he merely feigned calmness.
He stood up from his rocking chair and reached the window limping. He sharply glanced above while the clouds replied with a thunder.
He tried, tried hard, very hard but failed. His mind’s eye presented a slideshow before him.
Green ground, heavy rain, his white dress no more white but muddy, 90 minutes almost over, scoreboard shining 2-1, the crowd going mad, fans screaming ‘P-O-D-O-L-S-K-I-P-O-D-O-L-S-K-I’, the commentator shouted, ‘it’s a penalty…all eyes on Heinz Podolski now!”
His mind de-fossilized the amber which consisted of the words spoken by his coach before the match. He had said, ‘for some people football is a matter of life and death…I can assure you it is much more serious.’
This was exactly what he thought before hitting the penalty and then…. ‘We won!’ said Mr. Podolski’s grandson, shouting at the top of his voice.
Mr. Podolski’s recollection died away. It was raining outside. He shut both the windows and settled back in his chair.
‘Should I tell grandpa?’ exclaimed the grandson, who was extremely excited to think before speaking up. In a few minutes, though, Mr. Podolski got the answer as his grandson didn’t come upstairs.
He sat in the dark attic with the steady smoke all around him. He soaked the thundering sound and the heavy rainfall that gave his face a plastic expression and his eyes some moistness.
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Falling colourful lights
Red and yellow
And I sway, sway
Like a dancing ray
Hear me
Magical me
A shade of black
Let us go back
To the colours
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Jo loves kite flying and he is flying one right now. His kite is bright red and cheerful. Jo is a very skillful boy and he knows all the tricks needed to fly a kite high.
Dramatizing happily, he tells his friends, ‘Look at my kite…soaring high, up above the sky’. All the boys burst out laughing and Theo animatedly sings ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ while an out-of-tune chorus follows him.
These kids are full of fun at the moment. Life is beautiful for them.
The kite flies high. Wind is also playing with it; taking it high and low, twisting and tickling it.
A kite has a wonderful life. Everyone looks at it with awe when it glides and dances along with the wind and the kid holding the string also feels it. A kite is joyous by nature. It brings smile on the face that looks at it. It has only one purpose in life and that is to fly high in the free sky.
Jo knows nothing but one thing that kite flying on a holiday is his life’s purpose. He didn’t even know how to spell the word purpose correctly, his English dictation test is a non-living proof of this fact, but he knew this feeling very well.
It is something to do with passion and excitement and playing well and concentration. These big words are also a problem for him, especially to remember the spellings. Jo knows the feeling and not the spelling of such words, how silly and smart of him to be so.
Jo shouts, ‘I am flying…see I am flying… o twinkle twinkle little star oye, here I come oye’.
A sound of real, innocent, pure somewhat like the rustling of the leaves, laughter filled that lucky area.
Pleasure is all around here. It is a vanilla cake sweet moment.
Slowly the winds begin to get crazier; Jo understands immediately that now is the time to fight and stay alive. All the kites are ready for the battle. Who is their enemy? Not an outsider, they are against each other. Jo tells his kite, ‘Come on… fight hard… it’s an order!’
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The bright red kite gets tangled up with the black one which is Mat’s kite. ‘It’s a knot!’ said a kid (who exactly spoke, we don’t know, anyway something more important is going on up above in the sky).
It’s the nature of the strings to get tangled, form knots and then break away.
Jo warns Mat and Mat challenges him. The mad winds knew it, Jo and Mat knew it, and the kites knew it- one will be defeated and it’ll fall.
That lucky area is now filled with exclamations, some funny, some ridiculous.
And without any final announcement it happened. Jo feels it, the string is now loose in his hand, and he looks at Mat for a millisecond. All of them stare upwards. His bright red kite is gliding away with the winds.
To his surprise, it is not alone as now the black kite is also gliding away.
Jo and Mat, half-glad, scream excitedly. Walking towards each other; their little gang members encircle them. Whatever the two say, the other boys find it entertaining.
The kites are gone, says their experience in kite flying. Like mirror images of each other, Jo and Mat begin the debate.
Possession is powerful, it can make enemies (but in this case, just for a while).
Let us leave the kids alone, they’ll be alright soon.
Life is very funny and very fickle minded. It jumps from one emotion to the other. But then this is how life is by nature. The interesting thing is that kites don’t copy life, kites always remain in one state and that is the happy state.
So look where the bright red kite is going. Colour is beautiful and this is a truth. One will naturally follow the colourful kite.
Oh! The way it matches with the dance winds do, is heavenly. It seems this kite wants to reach a selected place. It is driving for itself. But the trees are near now, will it get to rest on a tree?
No! It lands safely in a garden. Who lives here? Someone is pruning the plants there. It is Mr. James. The kite fell in Mr. James little garden.
Don’t know what will happen now. Mr. James is very old. See he walks with a limp and can’t see properly. Oh, he picked up the kite. He is checking it. Is he trying to read the kite? Maybe he thinks it is a newspaper or something.
Anyway, he’ll know what he is holding when he wears his reading glasses. Surely there is nothing to read in a kite.
He sits on the lawn chair, but without washing his hands? He is a clean freak and there is some dirt on his hands.
What is he trying to find in this kite? Perhaps he likes the material of the kite. He is rubbing his hands against the kite. And now he smells it. The kite must have been prepared using a high quality paper.
*
Mr. James is caught in a reverie. His eyes are looking bigger. Where ever he is, it is a good and happy place. There is a grin on his face. He suddenly looks peaceful.
A bicycle passes outside his gate and rings the cycle-bell. God knows why the bicycle rider did so, surely not to wake-up Mr. James. But see, he breaks out of his daydream. He looks around and gets up. His expression changed, though it isn’t that clear due to the wrinkles. He looks at the sky and then at the kite.
Moving towards the house leisurely, he bends slowly to keep the kite on the top staircase. Then he returns to work in the garden.
Even the flowers and the bushes and the leaves he was pruning could tell that Mr. James is still pondering about something.
After five or so minutes, Mr. James gets up, fixed on the spot, shares with his garden, ‘I know all the tricks to fly a kite high…up above the sky’.
He is now beaming, now humming something, it is not clear. But then it is the nature of the aged people, they have a smiling face, they answer in a mystical style (unclear to others) and they always chew the songs they enjoyed in their life.
Freedom from life
Or finding freedom in life,
What a joyous ride,
Especially if you are a kite.
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Radiant spot
A lover’s thought
Behind the leaves
Who weaves?
Open eyes gaze at you
I turn, can still see you
Moon Shadowy Moon
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I took a step forward
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.
