Clouds

In Bloom

In Conversation

**A foggy day paints the forest in white bloom.**
[Image by Ieva from Pixabay]

Gone are the days when a foggy day reminded of a short story that my Grandma read to me. It becomes just too awkward to step out for a walk and too dull to stay in. The wooden floor creaks when I don’t want it to. The stairs quietly sit there, only talking to me if I stop in between and wonder about something.

Gone are the days when I wasn’t acquainted with the ceaseless and fleeting nature of time; when I didn’t understand what the wall clock was saying to me; when I thought of going through the mirror and meet Alice and her friends.

Gone are the days when the bed side table light’s friendly glow helped me to make last minute changes in the Mothers’ Day card. I always picked colours in pairs and tried my best to keep the card neat. This tradition is now forgotten though whenever I buy a card, I look for myself in the printed words.

Gone are the days when that old song transported me to my dream world. Now, my mind always takes me to a vacuum and when I suddenly come out of it I realise that that old song is over.

Gone are the days when I wrote with an ink pen, confident about what I am expressing. My letters looked as if I had scribbled throughout, but the response showed that the love always got conveyed successfully.

Gone are the days when the grass, the weeds, the flowers and I counted the clouds together. Some clouds changed the shape quickly and some remained the same – thick, heavy, floating nonetheless. The floor and the walls in the house are cold though accurately warm for me but not for the grass, the weeds and the flowers.

I try to take care of a plant. It lives in a small teacup, sitting shyly near the window. The curtains know the plant better than I do.

Gone are the days when I wished and believed that it will come true. To see the plant in bloom just the next day after planting it is a silly wish wasted as a child but I am not silly anymore and so I don’t wish.

I am going to see how the plant is enjoying the weather. It’s foggy – I’ll say to start the conversation. Come along, if you want to.

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Creepers Meet the Trees

Posted on January 1, 2014 by Jagriti Rumi Believe Clouds Colours Creepers Forest Life Meet Reverberation Spiritual Stories Sun Rays Trees Velvety Green Waves

I believe in the waves. Everything in the universe is in the form of waves. The connection never breaks. Reverberation happens. Do you also feel it? It is amazing, but most of the times beyond our understanding, often leaving us frustrated.

Like when something is in front of us, we know that it is but we can’t find it.

I saw something that caught my attention, I saw some creepers climbing high and meeting the trees’ branches. The light green coloured creepers united with the brown coloured branches and the contrast between these colours and the dark green coloured tree-leaves looked so perfect, as if the scene was painted.

I don’t know if the union was meant to be or not. It was just wonderful, the creepers slowly crept on to the big trees; first the trunk and then the branches and then making a green velvety blanket with the leaves, like a slow wave.

**Capturing sunshine.**
**[Source – Pixabay]**

The clouds move beautifully you know. They dance. They don’t stay at one place. We should also learn it. I mean we should keep in mind the fact that nothing is permanent, everything shifts from being to non-being. The clouds allow the sun rays to pass through it, only sometimes the sun rays decide to stay back and be with the clouds. The clouds change in colour when they are about to rain.

What a grand way to leave, to change into droplets and become a seed and come alive and then to meet the sun rays once again.

When a dancer performs and a singer sings and a musician plays and a painter paints and an architect builds, and a scientist thinks and a mother smiles – it is in a wave form. Like the velvety green wave we see in the forest, when the creepers meet the trees.

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Rain! Rain!

Posted on November 19, 2013 by Jagriti Rumi Alive Clouds Colours Dancing Happy Musicians Nature Poem Rain Song

**It is raining music and the birds are loving it.**
[**Image by Lisa McCarty from Pixabay]**

Though I know it is not raining

I hope it did; I am carrying

Colours of life that I wish I could

Mix in me, and then surely I would

Live. Often do people say

‘It was raining on that evil day’

I hope they won’t, because they don’t

Understand rain. They don’t feel rain.

Rainfall is the dancing of clouds and

The song of the Nature. The land

Becomes alive and happy; ‘I’ becomes

‘We’, playing with the paper boats

And all the musicians taking notes

Rain rain, rain-rain.

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The World of Candyfloss

Posted on September 12, 2013 by Jagriti Rumi Candyfloss Clouds Cottony Air Curled Lamp Post Pink Sky Sweet Air Time

**Flying by the curled lamp post in the candyfloss world.**
**Image from Pixabay.**

Yes, it was the world of candyfloss. Pink softness everywhere. The sky was pink and you could touch and have a piece of it.

The cottony air filled your mind, making you smile. The pink trees and the pink flowers and everything else was so sweet that one had to smile.

In pleasure, I lurched and took myself in some direction. The path was quite visible because it wasn’t pink. Yes, the path wasn’t made of candyfloss.

So I walked and walked for some more time. I couldn’t think of anything, maybe it was the sweet air. Then I saw a beautiful lamp post, it was long and curled at the top, like a curled flower.

But the lamp post was also not made of candyfloss. Don’t know why. The path curved in left and then right direction. I would have kept walking but then I reached a circle and felt tired.

Luckily, there was a bench nearby and I decided to rest. The bench was cold and solid and oh it too wasn’t pink and candy-flossy. I found it strange.

In a few minutes, I lied down on the bench. The pink sky was full of fluffy pink clouds. It was so pretty. I took a bite first and then ate leisurely, playing with the sugary cloud.

A long time passed and then weird things occurred.

The clouds turned black and made angry sounds and it started to rain. In zero time I was soaked from top to bottom. And then it happened.

I simply rubbed my eyes and blinked and what I saw then was not the world of candyfloss. The pink, light, cotton world had just gone. I don’t know where!

A bicycle rudely passed me at that moment. Yeah, someone was riding it. I decided to hitch-hike and so I did.

All my way to someplace I kept thinking about the world of candyfloss. I still do, especially when I eat candyfloss. And also when I lie down, not to sleep but just like that.

**Candyfloss clouds** **in this world**
**Image from Pixabay.**

The world of candyfloss!

In this world I think three things are just like the world of candyfloss, one candyfloss, second clouds and the third is Time. I mean literally. Yes!

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Hiding From The Rain

Posted on April 5, 2013 by Jagriti Rumi Attic Clouds Football Hiding Podolski Rain Sky Stories

Flash Fiction

Mr. Podolski calls hiding from the rain ignoring.
[Image from Pixabay]

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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