Eyes

A Fruit Called Galaxy

Short Story

**Behold!**
[Image by Iris,Helen,silvy from Pixabay]

As if anger – throbbing and tight-, burning hatred and cold fear filled this person’s veins and arteries so that there was no need of the warmth of the blood, red wasn’t red anymore, it was all too dark.

Jassi clung to the darkness, crumpled into it, eyes wide-open that almost attacked every direction mercilessly, the glances were like arrows, everything in darkness, not allowing a ray of light or laughter or love to enter. Jassi was blind, it happened in an accident.

True! Colours were colourful before, but not anymore.

Jassi hated to ask for help, hated the space around, bumping into things now and then, and most of all hated the breeze, why did it try to play, sing, sway or say anything, thought Jassi when nothing moved or flowed within? No, not even the thoughts moved, Jassi killed them, the memories – good/bad – in the very first year after the fatal accident.

Some years passed and an opportunity knocked. A new technology, a new expert, a new experiment could bring back Jassi’s eyesight. To everyone’s surprise, Jassi agreed to undergo another surgery, everyone hugged and cried for Jassi was still alive somewhere inside that stern piece of shell that reciprocated nothing all this while.

Pushing every loved on aside, Jassi spoke – I want to see the galaxy and only the galaxy first!

That was Jassi’s condition, it was accepted, and with some difficulties arrangements were made. Days passed by, it rained, the sun too came out and a rainbow beamed, but did Jassi hear all this? Nothing!

Like never before, Jassi refused to go out of the house or even the finite room. Jassi’s steady un-moving eyes tried to pull, it seemed, the movement of time towards Jassi, not to fight a battle, but to bring it to a stand-still. Jassi had changed and no one knew what fruit this change would bear.

Jassi’s steady, un-moving eyes’ pull worked, so felt the others as the day of the surgery came and passed only too quickly. The doctor said it was a success, but Jassi’s firm and unwavering voice made the doctor sweat and slightly doubt himself. All this for a couple of minutes because Jassi refused to remove the bandages and no one touched the new black goggles; everyone knew how much Jassi abhorred them.

And soon, very soon, so soon that no one remembered what day or time it was when they left for the astronomical observatory, and when they reached the place.

After climbing down into the dark abyss, Jassi got up to climb the stairs to reach the galaxy.

Jassi couldn’t hear anything but felt extremely cold, especially on touching the telescope. Jassi reacted like a little curious child, whispered the others.

The guide guided and made adjustments, but only Jassi’s shell listened, Jassi followed not the guide, but an energy and removed the bandages from the cold eyes, that were shut not so tightly this time. Jassi took a breath and touched the telescope again, feeling the round eyepiece shape through which one could swallow the galaxy.

Jassi gently, almost with love looked through the telescope, one eye open, one closed, then opened both. Jassi looked, looked and looked…

…see for yourself… the galaxy’s arms reaching out, holding Jassi now, breaking the shell with love, showing the dance of colours and light, caressing, bursting with joy, filling the one who witnesses with timelessness and bliss…

Jassi fell on the floor unconscious after so gracefully looking through the telescope that too for so long that the others were by then seated on benches to rest. Jassi woke up in the hospital next, with a high-grade fever and a big grin that turned into laughter.

Tears came out of Jassi’s eyes but the laughter didn’t stop. Jassi’s wet eyes glistened, the eyes looked like jewels, the eyes looked beautiful.

But the doctor couldn’t see it, the doctor was worried, he had failed. Jassi couldn’t see anything from one eye and the other eye tried to see through haziness. There was another way out, doctor promised and sighed that Jassi should not have travelled right after surgery.

Jassi left the hospital the same day and went to eat in a restaurant with the loved ones who were confused, also happy, but unsure.

Jassi has stopped explaining anything to anyone now and has started living. A friend’s friend gave Jassi a simple job that promises nothing grand, yet Jassi loves working there. Jassi walks to the workplace using the stick and a new furry friend, Milo.

Every mirror shows that Jassi is doing good. Walking briskly, so lightly, breathing calmly, Jassi looks like a flight-less bird.

Often hurt, Jassi keeps bumping into things at home and office as if every morning chairs, tables, utensils and pens move on their own to trick Jassi.

Jassi gets up every time, not shying from taking any help from the others.

Milo loves Jassi and Jassi finds Milo to be a funny, happy-go-lucky dog.

What do you want for your birthday, Jassi?

Birthday, hmm, nothing much, will be meeting friends, that’s it. And Milo will be there. Well, we may go stargazing.

**It has all come true!**
[Image by Nicole Rose from Pixabay]

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The Unseen

Posted on January 5, 2025 by Jagriti Rumi Clouds Eyes Flowy Free Of Time Half-Moon Love Mixed Fiction Mountain Top One Movement Painting Stars Sun Rays Uncaptured Wind Winter-Warmth

Mixed Fiction

Photo by Jagriti Rumi
Photo by Jagriti Rumi
Photo by Jagriti Rumi

Today, now, painting a picture with eyes, fresh eyes, a picture uncaptured before, uncaptured still after I finish painting, of course, for I am not a collector, why to collect, why to tie-up or get tied to, when I am living the moment in all its glory… free of any fear or want… free of thoughts… free of time.

Patches of white on the sky-blue ocean, shape-shifting, these clouds, now right above me, now near the giant tree, now hiding the shy half-moon, now pulling the snow-covered mountain top closer and getting pulled towards simultaneously.

The wind playing on its own, swaying to-and-fro, dancing in a whirl, breathing through the trees, blowing a kiss to every broken leaf, falling gently with it on the ground.

The greens, browns, yellows and the spots of red and orange, all soaked in sun rays, full of winter-warmth, tease the cold shadows, shadows that keep whispering and slow dancing following the sun rays in sync – like one flowy movement.

Even though the eyes doze off, the picture paints well – the crimson sky and the crimson clouds, the twilight mix and the twinkling dots, winning over the night with love, falling stars, falling, falling in love.

And now, I open my eyes, afresh, I paint a picture with my eyes, it is all new, it is all unseen.

[Source – Pixabay]
[Source – Pixabay]
[Source – Pixabay]

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Bhikshuni

Posted on May 28, 2023 by Jagriti Rumi Bhikshuni Buddhism Eyes Heart Hindi Fiction Journey Known Face Memories Old Tidings Short Story Shroud Time-Wrought

Review

‘The mother of liberation’, green Tara; Sumtsek hall at Alci monastery, Ladakh, ca. 11th century.
[Source – Wikimedia Commons]

वह दूसरी ओर पीठ किए खड़ी थी। हमारी टैक्सी एकदम उसके पास ही आकर रुकी। वह हड़बड़ाकर मुड़ी और मेरा कलेजा मुँह को आ गया। उसके चारों ओर छोटी-मोटी भगवा पोटलियाँ बिखरी थी, पीठ पर मोटे रस्से में दो-तीन भारी कम्बल लदे थे। अपने खुरदुरे, तिब्बती लबादे को सम्हालती, वह एक कोने में सिमट गई।
भिक्षुणी – शिवानी

English Translation –

She was standing with her back to the other side. Our taxi stopped right next to her. She turned around in a huff and my heart came to my mouth. Some small bundles were scattered around her, two or three heavy blankets were laden with thick ropes on her back. Holding on to her rough, Tibetan cloak, she huddled in a corner.

Bhikshuni, a short story by Shivani

A known face, however time-wrought, when seen, catches the eyes and attention almost at once that you cannot resist thinking about it. She saw Kiki, her heart smiled and a surge of memories filled the world, stopping time effortlessly.

Kiki, a spirited girl, enamoured with every new idea, had the courage to not to conform, not too easily, blindly. As a maiden, when in love, then a married woman, a mother and again in love, she moulded her life and everyone she knew anew. Some cheered for her, others washed away her colours.

When her livid father cremated her without uncovering the shroud, once just to see Kiki’s face, she instantly got a new lease of life.

A new lease of life where she chose to become a bhikshuni; crestfallen, she took a turn to continue with this journey called life. How difficult it would have been?

To let go of the collection closely locked in the heart – the hurts, laughs, blessings, all of it. To begin afresh when old tidings try to tie one down, to let the old self know its place.

The bhikshuni was carrying a potali… what was in it, we know now.

Photo by Jagriti Rumi
Photo by Jagriti Rumi

*Bhikshuni – a Hindu or Buddhist nun.

*Potali – a small packet or cloth bag.

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One-All!

Posted on March 5, 2023 by Jagriti Rumi A Script Boys Bus Eyes Friends Game Girls Love School Life Short Film

Short Film Script

FADE IN

INT. SCHOOL BUS – DAY

Shweta, an eighth-class student, is chit-chatting with her friend in the school bus; they choose to stand by an empty seat.

The bus’s engine crackles and starts running as the driver takes his seat. The boys standing near the back door are talking loudly. With more and more students boarding the bus, it becomes a happy noisy site.

CUT TO:

CLOSE UP

Shweta is searchingly looking at the back door while pretending to be fully engrossed in the conversation.

CUT TO:

INT. SCHOOL BUS – DAY

A boy enters the school bus from the back door; his friends address him as ‘Raghu’; they immediately start discussing something.

CUT TO:

Shweta’s eyes are now fixed at Raghu; she even stops pretending to listen to what her friend is saying. Funnily, her friend doesn’t notice.

CUT TO:

Raghu, while listening to his chirpy friends, turns to look at Shweta just for a second and then turns back again.

CUT TO:

CLOSE UP

Shweta, with a tinge of anger in her eyes, glares at Raghu. This time her friend also notices it. The bus grunts and sluggishly starts moving.

ZOOM OUT

Raghu turns to see her again and when he does, right at that moment, Shweta quickly switches her place with her confused friend.

Taking Shweta’s side, the bus swayed to take a turn on the road, giving this switch a rhythmic touch.

Shweta, with her back towards Raghu, now can’t see him but is smiling as if she has somehow defeated Raghu in a game.

Raghu, somewhat baffled, stares at Shweta in the background and we hear a voice –

NARRATOR

(Keeping score)

One-all!

FADE OUT

**Happier now, wink-wink!**
**[Source – Pixabay]**

Complement with another short film script – Bowie’s Birthday Party

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That Flower, Dark Coloured

Posted on December 22, 2018 by Jagriti Rumi Amma Cold Night Colours Dark Coloured Dusty Feet Embracing The Darkness Eyes Journey Old Lady That Flower Time Toothless Smile

**Bloomed in darkness.**
**[Image by Michael Gaida from Pixabay]**

The dark old lady walks like lightening devouring the night sky, she is swift, she is fast. Her dusty feet, darker than the broken black slippers, know exactly where it is to lead and where it is to stop. Draped in a saree lungi style, her slender figure boasts of agility and strength.

Amma, it is a cold tonight, and she covers her head, her ears with a towel. Does she look funny? Not at all, she looks as beautiful as that flower kept in that book. That flower, dark coloured, tells a story, pressed and noted neatly in that book, stored for a chance meeting.

**Waiting for a chance meeting.**
**[Image by Petra Šolajová from Pixabay]**

Amma what time is it, nine thirty she says and at ten she has to go to a flat and clean the dishes, clear the kitchen counter, set the culinary world in order; often Amma plays music and her dear plates, cups and spoons dance on her tune. Amma beams then like she is beaming now – Amma’s toothless smile.

On her way back home, at night, embracing the darkness Amma moves briskly, but stops in front of a small house and asks Sunita bahin if she can get a water-can and take some fresh water; yes, at Amma’s place you won’t see a water-tap rather there are colourful canisters lined up – yellow, blue, faded red and dirty white.

**Risen in style.**
**[Image by dendoktoor from Pixabay]**

Amma is stylish, her dark self knows what colours to wear – white and orange and green, mixture of all these and add some flowery designs, this completes her look. Do you also wear the colours of the road, the trees, the dark sky Amma? For you look as quiet and great as them.

And your eyes, that glance, killer! Amma your eyes are sharp, your eyes smile – your eyes are familiar with Time and that’s why you don’t mind, you don’t curse it, you don’t cherish it; you know how to live it. Whatever it may be, a raging tempest or a happy carnival or a visit to the temple, you get up the next day and leave for work on time.

I wonder if you have not spoken with everyone until now. Because you are alive, you know Time, you know the society, you know poverty and you smile with your eyes.

Amma cheers to your journey. The dark old lady waved a goodbye.

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Trance

Posted on September 3, 2018 by Jagriti Rumi Colours Dream Eyes Life Mind Trance

Mixed Fiction

Eyes could see that the mind was dreaming, yet it stayed attuned. The soft, glowing place might be the reason. And colours, crayon colours, water colours flowing smoothly. Glory ruled the place.

Such were the wonderfully true sights that my eyes beamed with pleasure. I then was beyond time and space, happy in the present.

Breathing deeply, quietly, I knew it all and I knew nothing. Bliss!

I woke up and with a quick, strong rush, lively sounds reached me all at once. It was time to live another true dream… it was time to be.

Ah life!

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Incomplete

Posted on February 14, 2018 by Jagriti Rumi Chantal Eyes Her Footsteps Incomplete Joy Music Notebook War Windowpane Wooden Floor

Flash Fiction

**Open the window and smile.**
**[Source – Pixabay]**

Chantal didn’t finish the story. After gazing through the few lines that she had written, her search for a known voice abandoned her.

She sat near the window, still holding her pen, playing with it in a steady rhythm, Chantal thought of something and rushed back to her seat. She wrote in her notebook–

It appears as if the joy within

Knows nothing about the war within

And vice-e-versa

Pausing for a moment, she then closed her notebook with a rough jerk. Chantal got up and walked back towards the window, this time leaving the pen behind, letting it rest on the table.

Her gait reflected her confused, unsure, restless state of mind. Chantal took a deep sigh and then without giving it a thought, wrote the word ‘Incomplete’ on the windowpane; a hazy layer of fog on it allowed her to.

Chantal’s eyes fell on something interesting, something which was moving towards her house, she smiled. Her hand poked her cheek as she pondered over the matter.

Suddenly, she opened the window and shouted, ‘Hi, how are you? It has been so long…’

A muffled voice replied, it made Chantal laugh heartily.

A smiling Chantal then closed the window and ran towards the door, opened it and left. Her footsteps on the wooden floor made a fine music.

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The Unfinished Book

Posted on October 14, 2016 by Jagriti Rumi Eyes Red Umbrella The Unfinished Book Time And Space

Flash Fiction

**The unfinished book, a chapter in a story.**
**Image – Pixabay.**

Biting her nails, Ruby thought about the unfinished book. Drops on the windowpane and the cold coffee agreed that it was late. The passing crowd in the cafe didn’t bother her, she was rather pleased. Ruby forgot about time.

Sigh! Ruby looked outside the window and saw nothing, neither the woman with a red umbrella nor her brown guide dog. She was lost; god knows where her train of thought took her by then. Playing with her scarf, she picked her coffee and took a sip. Ugh! It was bad.

Time and space hit Ruby once again, she checked her watch and decided to leave, just then her eyes fell on the woman with a red umbrella; she recognised her and her brown guide dog. Ruby’s eyes revealed something.

As she watched that woman and her dog crossing the road, a part of her got up and left. Heavy eyed, Ruby saw herself through the window; she quickly crossed the road and stopped the woman. They talked animatedly for a while.

Ruby in the cafe looked longingly at the scene. The other Ruby started walking along with the woman and her guide dog. Shaking her head in disbelief, but still smiling, the Ruby in the cafe got up, paid the bill and went outside.

There she waited for a few minutes and then walked in the direction where that woman and a part of herself went.

Another cup of coffee is ready, finish the unfinished book.
Image – 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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Some-Lovely-Funny-Times

Posted on December 12, 2015 by Jagriti Rumi Diya Eyes Far Forever and one second is just the same Lives Some-lovely-funny-times Sometimes Stone Cut Stairs Stories Temple

Observation

**Come along…**
[Image by James Smith from Pixabay]

Alice: How long is forever?

White Rabbit: Sometimes, just one second.

-Lewis Carrol

I closed my eyes and saw the stone cut stairs, broad and homely, stretching from the bottom of the hill to the top, where the age old, beautifully carved and gloriously coloured temple lives. Yes, the temple lives, breathing in prayers and breathing out peace. A magical quietness stops the spinning mind and grants the warmth of love.

Little feet try to reach the bell, failing, but trying, finally adding to the music flowing in the air a happy ‘tan-tan-tan’. Not understanding the images, the big bold eyes, the lion’s roar, its the splash of colours –golden, red, yellow, green- all sparkling gallantly, that enters within to stay. Round and round the temple, the giant smiling peepal tree, flowers in the wind, red threads tied in every direction, the burnt silenced diya, the rich kohl, and faith in miracles, all together makes the earth reverberate.

I am walking in the temple, eating the prasad and savouring the air, the green leaves and the time. Yes, the time, unknowingly I am moving ahead. What seemed eternal has now elapsed in what I thought were years, were just a few funny seconds. Funny because when I opened my eyes, I didn’t see the stone cut stairs or the old temple…

Following the melodies, the colours, the laughs, baffled at every point, blessed now and then, a bit complacent and a bit more naive, I have reached so far. I cannot foresee, but I know now that sometimes, forever and one second is just the same.

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