Beautiful

Beautiful Like an Insect

Short Coverage

**An illustration by Maria Merian.**
**Plate 5 of *Caterpillars* vol 1, depicting the metamorphosis of the garden tiger moth, its plant host, and parasitic wasps.** [Source – Wikipedia]

Little Maria loved drawing. Drawing something beautiful, beautiful like an insect, a small being living in a jar, brimming with life, ready to burst, ready, delicate wings, ready to fly, fly-fly-fly, finding that plant, that flower, that fruit, which becomes its new home, where it rests and lay eggs for the cycle to continue blooming, for life to rise in a tiny form, a beautiful form, in sync with the movement, the grand movement, grand yet subtle, that speaks with the sun, the stars, the galaxies, all light and bright, such colours in the dark, brimming with life, bursting, moving in waves, gently touching all life, gently letting the wind lift the tiny insect which flies looking for that plant, that flower, that fruit, which becomes its new home.

Title page of The Caterpillars’ Marvellous Transformation and Strange Floral Food, first volume, published 1679 – Wikipedia
Plate I of Caterpillars vol 1, entitled “Maulbeerbaum samt Frucht”. It depicts the fruit and leave of a mulberry tree and the eggs and larvae of the silkworm moth. – Wikipedia
Plate showing the stages of the Cocytius antaeus from Metamorphosis insectorum Surinamensium. – Wikipedia
Coloured copper engraving from Metamorphosis, “Spiders, ants and hummingbird on a branch of a guava”. The spider in the bottom left corner is eating a bird. – Wikipedia
Plate 1 of Metamorphosis, showing a pineapple and cockroaches. – Wikipedia
Plate 8 of Caterpillars, first volume. Depicting a dandelion Taraxacum, with Dicallomera fascelina, the dark tussock moth. The Dutch common name for the moth Meriansborstel is named for Merian. – Wikipedia
Illuminated Copper engraving from Metamorphosis insectorum Surinamensium, Plate XXII. – Wikipedia
Duroia sp. and assorted insects – Wikipedia
Illuminated Copper engraving from Metamorphosis insectorum Surinamensium, Plate IX. Maria Sibylla Merian, 1705 – Wikipedia
Illuminated Copper-engraving from Metamorphosis insectorum Surinamensium, Plate VI. 1705) – Wikipedia
From Metamorphosis insectorum Surinamensium, Plate XIII. (Spondias purpurea) – Wikipedia
Illuminated Copper-engraving from Metamorphosis insectorum Surinamensium, Plate XLVIII. 1705 – Wikipedia
Illuminated Copper-engraving from Metamorphosis insectorum Surinamensium, Plate XXVII. Musa paradisiaca, 1705 – Wikipedia
Illuminated copper engraving from Metamorphosis insectorum Surinamensium, Plate XLV. 1705 – Wikipedia

**Portrait of Maria Sibylla Merian (1647-1717).**

Maria Sibylla Merian was a German entomologist, naturalist and scientific illustrator whose work led to the advance of entomology in 17^th and 18^th centuries. Her first book of natural illustrations was published in 1675. In 1679, she published a two-volume series on caterpillars and in 1705, she published Metamorphosis Insectorum Surinamensium (“The Metamorphosis of the Insects of Suriname”).

Arguably the most important work of her career, it included some 60 engravings illustrating the different stages of development that she had observed in Suriname’s insects. Similar to her caterpillar book, Metamorphosis depicted the insects on and around their host plants and included text describing each stage of development. The book was one of the first illustrated accounts of the natural history of Suriname. – Britannica

Her detailed work contributed in understanding the life cycles of an insect, dispelling the two millennia old scientific theory of ‘spontaneous generation’ according to which insects were thought to be ‘born of mud’, that living creatures could arise from non-living matter.

Watch this short video now to know more about the awesome Maria Sybilla Merian and her work –

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Along With the Sun

Posted on June 2, 2025 by Jagriti Rumi Along Always Beautiful Dance Flower Gold Magnetic Mountain Movement Nature Old Presence Rhythm River Shining The Sun

Observation

**A gentle, love filled spotlight**!
[Source – Pixabay]

That which is now is old and gold, golden, oldie, yet lively, burning energy, fire, light, warmth and love, shining always like a flower in spring.

It is the sun we are talking about. It is the sun we see, it is the sun we breathe, it is the sun we eat and drink.

The sun, that which is now, always now, carves in nature its most delicate presence – from a tiny leaf to a magnanimous mountain, from a roaring river to a dancing dew drop. Dance it does, the sun, rhythmic and magnetic, carving along, letting the rhythm seep within all, making magnets of us all.

That is all, a beautiful movement, matched by nature, calmly, ferociously, fearlessly.

The rise and the fall of all follows this powerful rhythm. And every morning the sun touches and takes us along.

**Nature’s ready, the sun’s shining… and action!**
[Source – Pixabay]

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Thoughts Versus Giggles

Posted on August 31, 2016 by Jagriti Rumi Beautiful Dreams Eyes Flash Fiction Hopes Life Pink Umbrella Radiant Smiles Rain Road Thoughts Versus Giggles

Flash Fiction

**Giggling, a shade of pink.**
[Source – Pixabay]

Samira was walking briskly. Her thoughts followed her where ever she went, in shade and dust, amongst the crowd and throughout the dim alley with matted hoardings. Life in its minute detail, including the folded chit in a jeans pocket, spoke to Samira. Thoughts dappled with plaintive acceptances and mellowed retraces were highlighted.

Everything was perfectly normal when Samira turned in slow motion, her hair flying dramatically, her eyes looking for… Alas! There was nothing filmy to see, except something comic – pigeon droppings dropped on a man’s head. Samira grimaced as if she knew the pigeon or the man.

It started to drizzle. Samira smiled, almost chuckled, why, because she had an umbrella. And then came the moment – heavy, pouring rain made the pedestrians hide in shops, except a bunch of few who had an umbrella. Samira shined with a beautiful pink umbrella.

La la la laa laa, la-la la la laaaa! She was reminded of the grand music score from Chariots of fire.

But all this for a few minutes and she was back in shade and dust, amongst the crowd and on the rough road. She looked at the people around her and wondered about their life, sufferings, dreams and hopes. Gosh! In a puddle, Samira saw her gloomy face and noticed her laces. Now, just like the others, she looked for a corner and sat to tie her laces.

Umbrella on a side, down on her knees, Samira got drenched as a rusty, rickety roof pipe broke brazenly. Pedestrians saw it, ignored it and then saw it again. Sheepishly Samira got up, then acted brave till the road curved to the left. “It is over”, she said.

Samira walked, deep in conversation with herself when a little girl, a beggar, came running towards her and started to walk with her. She thought, now she will ask for some money, now she will beg, now. But the beggar smiled and said, “I just want to go till there”. Samira nodded and looked at her pink umbrella happily. The beggar giggled as her little brother joined them. Samira looked at both of them and saw the two most radiant smiles she had ever seen.

Gladly she walked with them, not thinking anything, quietly and happily. Giggles overpowered her thoughts.

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Today with the Clouds

Posted on June 20, 2015 by Jagriti Rumi Beautiful Burst Into Laughter Funky Good Listeners Journey Painters Secret The Clouds Today

Fictive Short Feature

I say the clouds by nature are very funky and awe-inspiring. I enjoy watching them pass; just a simple hello or a nod is appreciated. They swirl and sway, move in waves and dance every single time, yet they maintain their uniqueness. I mean something which can be counted as a routine, an unchanging event, is actually a very grand and beautiful journey.

Only time might be able to answer how many eyes have dreamt and seen their secret mysteries getting a platform on the clouds – a bunch of flowers, a giraffe eating tree leaves, a cute rabbit, a candy bar, a bicycle, a boat, a pretty face, a simple smile – everything floating silently, invisible to others but clear to those happy eyes.

I say the clouds are a blessing in disguise. They are what freedom might look if given a form. I often try to paint them, to capture them, to be like them… a far-fetched dream. I am trying and I’ll continue.

I tell you there is some sort of sublime never-ending party that is going on up there. I have a proof… I didn’t believe it until I shared it and got to know that many, many, many people know about it too. Some of them have, like me, heard the clouds laugh… not just giggle but burst into laughter.

Others talk about the clouds as singers, dancers, good listeners, painters; a well-known scientist had said once that the clouds have the coolest particles, meaning that by nature they are funny and calm. Clouds also like to play. But more than anything, they are profound… I mean they have depth.

Wise people say that all the answers become clear in the end… it is now believed that ‘all the answers become clear’ because they are hidden in the clear looking clouds. So I guess one should not wait till the end and just keep looking. I am going on the hill top today… let’s see if I get any answers… nevertheless, I’ll have a good reason to burst into laughter.

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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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All You Need To Know

Posted on December 25, 2013 by Jagriti Rumi All You Need To Know Beautiful

There is something beautiful everywhere. No matter if we are on a picturesque island for a vacation or we are in our car on our way to the office or if we are taking our evening walk. If we stop for a minute or so, we’ll definitely find something that we would like to take with us. Even if we have been walking through the same way for many years, still there is beauty everywhere. And if we find it boring and dull, it might be a mood swing rather than the place around us. It is beautiful, the world is, only if we stop for a second and look around.

Faded Yellow

Posted on May 3, 2013 by Jagriti Rumi Beautiful Depth Faded Flower Forever Magic Yellow

I saw a beautiful little flower on the road. The wind must have brought it on my way. It was crushed by someone and was faded yellow.

Extremely beautiful and what a smile.

Saying hello to me it beamed. I couldn’t resist my curiosity and straightaway asked it about its amazing colour…the depth of the faded colour had seeped in me.

I, somehow, could feel the faded colour, I was arrested by the colour.

Smiling again it said, ‘because of your eyes’. I didn’t understand the reply but I too smiled.

I was influenced, captured and enlivened by the faded colour of the yellow flower.

Smooth, dull, faded magic touched my heart. Its lightness entered me. I was with kindness, love and serenity.

The encounter was of a split second but the little crushed faded yellow flower left me beautified…forever.

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Kites Are Happy By Nature

Posted on March 27, 2013 by Jagriti Rumi Aged People Beautiful Colour Fickle Minded Freedom Glide Happy Joyous Kids Kites Life Lucky Memories Mystical Nature Playing Powerful Reverie Ride Rise Smiling Face Up Above The Sky

Flash Fiction

**Look, I am flying.**
**[Source – Pixabay]**

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!’

**Glide and rise!**
**[Source – Pixabay]**

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.

**Lost in the world of memories.**
**[Source – Pixabay]**

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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