Fading away, parting as tears fall with a fear that there is no return, it starts to brighten up and slowly gets closer to a pure hope that the present will always be magical.
Only when she rises and turns, she feels the fresh rhythms, standing firmly, breathing deeply, she walks ahead, a half smile looking good on her face.
Stories are happening, stories are being written, stories are being ended, stories that are new meets stories that are old, everywhere, in every life a story is taking place.
Now imagine a place, long back in time, a grand place, the centre of a huge empire that today rests quietly, patiently the ruins hold itself against time, vanishing slowly but never getting defeated.
Persepolis, the city of the Persians, awaits quietly and patiently a time, it stands composedly and accepts what it witnessed, giving one a good hint of its past who then leaves taking along an unfinished story that also awaits a time, a time of completion.
Marjane Satrapi has a story, it’s titled Persepolis. A beautiful way to begin a story, to merge the storyteller with her past, present and future, to the place she belongs.
Marji’s story is a story of constant reminder – a reminder about the holy myth, burden passed on by the lineage, large scale bloodshed done by mistake, wars of the sexes; it is also a reminder of true love, beautiful dreams, hope and faith, strength to stand up, courage to bow down, belief in freedom and humanity.
Marji’s story is a fusion of all of this and more that makes life, life. Marji shares it wonderfully from her perspective and whether you know her or not, you will connect to it, for your life too is a story.
So much to be explored, many such Persepolis to be seen, a Marji waiting to tell her story everywhere, a life to be lived today, in the present, a story to be written, today in this very second.
Embark on a similar journey and you will reach a Persepolis and be enthralled by its mere presence. You will become Marji and look back with a smile.
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.
That the dark clouds will pour heavily and ceaselessly, that the rainbow will nurture joyous moments, that a true feeling is there to stay forever, but only to forsake rudely with lessons to accept and time as a remedy, making a revelation that such is life, does this change what is transient into eternal?
Incessant thoughts enjoying the make-believe forget what is real and adhere to what is smooth and comforting and familiar and dear and satisfying.
Transience is a reality, but is this the reason for its permanence?
The world says a yes, the individual says a no.
This fleeting life knows the truth. It lives and dies to prove it.
A static symbol of the dynamic universe, an illusion, Maya, moving rhythmically, revealing in an instant the unfathomable divine, the perfect balance that creates, preserves, destroys, incarnates and liberates, the Nataraja, performing the ultimate dance, is a magnificent work of art that reflects the cosmos – the beginning and the end of the cosmos, the music of the cosmos and the soul of the cosmos.
The Nataraja sculpture represents all – the destined journey, the tragic fall, the glorious victory, the dance in time and timelessness, the poise and elegance, overwhelming stillness, reverberating brightness, brilliance, power and enlightenment. In a single spectacle, it shows what was, what is and what will be.
Shiva Nataraja, the King of Dance, dances on Apasmara, a dwarf, crushing not him, but his ignorance, forgetfulness and limited vision of self, hence freeing his soul from bondage. Four armed – with Agni (flame) to demolish in one, with Damru (drum) playing the tune of time in second, making the Abhaya Mudra (the sign of fearlessness) in the third, thus bestowing power to be without fear, and the fourth in the Gahahasta (elephant trunk) Mudra signifying supremacy over ignorance – Nataraja is the embodiment of all the vigorous flux in the outer world and the serenity in the inner world as he dances the dance of bliss, Ananda Tandava, continuing the harmony of life and death in the cosmos.
Prahabhamandala, the arch of flames within which Nataraja dances, is the manifest universe, making the cycle of birth and death, burning with sufferings and illusions, apparent.
Also, a ring of consciousness that is in agony as it’s blinded by temporary ideas, unaware about the permanent dance of bliss. Oblivious of the Kundalini Shakti (the cosmic power) – that the cobra around Nataraja’s waist represents and is believed to reside in all – the unconscious mind walks cyclically.
Lotus flower, representing the creative power of the universe, forms the pedestal on which the Nataraja dances, celebrating in full zest the dance of true freedom.
Omniscient, omnipotent, omnipresent, the Nataraja does a dance that occurs ceaselessly in every atom, sending waves in the cosmos, waking everyone from the dream world to witness reality and truth, destroying the phantom world full of phantom pains.
Neutrality and peace on Nataraja’s face – the One dancing in frenzy – mirrors the magic of the master who dances within the universe of illusion, but stays beyond that universe. In a palpable language, the Nataraja declares the way the soul can rise from its bonded life and with equality seeping within, can see and participate in the cosmic dance.
*
Wall relief of dancing Shiva at cave temple no.1 in Badami, Karnataka, India. [Source – Wikimedia Commons]
This marvellous sculpture amalgamates supreme power and action with absolute bliss and beauty, radiates the delicate balance of the cosmos and magnifies the close connection between the One and the many. Nataraja, Mahakala (the Lord of Time), with continuity and change flowing throughout becomes an opportunity to understand the sublimity of Maya and work a way out to reach the immutable Presence.
The Nataraja is excellence. Meditating on it is achieving its essence. Its essence is pure excellence.
*
Shiva Nataraja, the Lord of Dance at CERN, the European Center for Research in Particle Physics in Geneva. [Source – Wikimedia Commons]
Hundreds of years ago, Indian artists created visual images of dancing Shivas in a beautiful series of bronzes. In our time, physicists have used the most advanced technology to portray the patterns of the cosmic dance. The metaphor of the cosmic dance thus unifies ancient mythology, religious art and modern physics.
Nazo, busy reading the flowers (she loved this exercise, it made her “fuller”, that is what she said). [Source – Pixabay]
Nazo believed in magic. While the stories about djinns and fairies and magic potions made her wonder, the everyday sundry experiences also left her mesmerized. She was a simple person who felt special about simple things like the sun peeping out from behind the dark rainy clouds.
I told her once a sad story, intentionally, I wanted her to cry. It was a made-up tale about a little dog that lost its way home and died of starvation. Before I could make it sound more pathetic, I saw tears in Nazo’s eyes. Mission accomplished, thought I, until Nazo did something magical.
She asked me about the dog and I fabricated the cute brown dog, with black ears and kohl eyes. Suddenly, Nazo jumped up and started clapping. She told me to follow her and we both ran down to old Mr Tolkien’s house. What I saw there was as mysterious and as astonishing as a miracle.
Nazo went ahead right into Mr Tolkien’s garden and brought a cute brown dog in her arms, it had black coloured ears and kohl eyes. She announced that Mr Tolkien found the starved dog yesterday near the abandoned park and brought him home.
While coming back, I, filled with a concoction of emotions (specifically foolishness), told Nazo the truth; that it was a fake story and I meant only to make her cry because of her utter belief in magic in life suffocated me. Nazo laughed at me and didn’t say a word. She then hugged me, if I remember correctly.
After a few days, Nazo gave me a card (she loved making cards), a lovely one with colourful flowers and bright butterflies. She had written a few lines inside, apart from wishing me a happy day, that I can never forget; it read, “Magic is real for me, maybe because I try to see things from the earth’s point of view – a beautiful blue-green lonely planet – something magical is happening for sure”.
Since then, I too have started to believe in magic.
Phenomena Endless Quest 1992 by Paul Jenkins acrylic on canvas 66 x 74 inches 167.6 x 188 cm Private collection, Taipei. [Source – pauljenkins.net]
And I almost always forget. Sigh! Not that whether I am going forward or backward, is it the oblate spheroid earth or vertical me, the flowing time or the following life, the dream within dream or the dreamy me… but the funny fact that I have gone through all this before, in different measures, small degrees, little proportions and reflected on quite often.
Still, I simply, pleasingly forget.
Then things repeat, without my knowledge. Lucid ideas shine through and bring sense back to this life. Life! Surely very confident of itself, life is. Just look at the way it is happening.
Living an usherette’s life, I watch my story playing in every other story. A happy wallflower, that’s how confident I am. Dashingly, entering the stage in my mind, I take over. The glee moment, ideas collected elegantly.
Reality is not a plain horror story, it depends… just like senility is not only for aged, but it depends.
Oh! I mean, let us pick five memories and analyze all very humbly. Then watch a classic black and white movie and read a ‘must-read-before-you-die’ book, all very scrupulously.
Also, travel to a place never been before, pick it directly from your bucket list. Great!
After doing all this, surely vicariously for now, a tremendous clarity falls on the point I have been trying to make.
Life and the happenings, routine feelings and memories, hard hitting failures and mild successes, dreaming-trying-acting-dreaming and in the end, facing the underlying theme vibrant in every direction, almost deafening once observed, right?
No! What! No? Fine, am sorry, then forget it.
But, please, at least, try to deconstruct what is repeated in your life. That is all.
Mo: It is Pip’s. (BEAT) Have you been drinking a lot of coffee?
Lucille: I have been advised to.
Mo: That doctor friend of yours is a nut case.
A pause.
Lucille: I can’t believe it? Are we living in… this is ridiculous?
Mo: What is?
Lucille: Haven’t you read today’s newspaper?
Mo: Ah! I don’t read newspapers anymore.
Lucille: Why?
Mo: For peace, darling.
Lucille: Peace… yeah, right.
Mo: Wanna piece of it?
Lucille: Piece of peace? What are you…
Mo: The carrot cake… what’s wrong with ya Lucille?
Lucille: O! Yeah, sure. (EATING THE CAKE) Whatever is happening, it hits everyone… directly or indirectly I mean… it hits everyone.
Mo: Hmm! This place has the best cakes in the world.
Lucille: I love it here! (BEAT) Is there any hope?
Mo: Hope? Hmm… there is always some hope… that’s what is dragging us, you know, ya.
Lucille: Dragging us you say…
Mo: Of course! I mean come on, where is “hope” leaving for? It’s not in any rush like us, I… I hope. Gosh! (BEAT) I feel a bit eerie today, I don’t know why.
Lucille: No really? No, it’s lovely today.
The grey weather outside changes into black and the wild dancing winds start to pour heavy rain, the clouds roar loudly declaring that they too have read the sad newspaper. Lightning hits a tree and its huge branch breaks and falls.
Mo: Storm’s here. Is it still lovely for you? Lucille!
Lucille: What? Hm? Yeah! But listen, where did you park the car?
Mo: Why? Under the tree. But why?
Lucille: Now it is literally under the tree, crushed I suppose.
Mo: What! (GETS UP) O, no!
Lucille: Wait, try some strong coffee, you’ll feel better and hopeful.
Mo: Wa… Lucille, you’re crazy!
Mo leaves hurriedly.
Lucille: Mo! Pip’s umbrella!! (PAUSE) I think I hit a nerve there… but black coffee works wonders… I can’t do without it… especially after reading the newspaper.
Tenzin Achi’s magical! [Image by Tri Le from Pixabay]
*
Tenzin Achi for the first time was going to reveal the hidden treasure of her green old trunk. She knew we children were very keen and would do anything just to even take a peek inside. Especially after Lo’s encounter with an alien creature who guaranteed Lo that he came via the green old trunk.
When Tenzin Achi was approached to confirm this incident, she had just laughed and said, “Ask the green trunk.” No one ever dared to do that of course.
And today Tenzin Achi has agreed, astonishingly, at such a low bid – one chocolate and five cookies – to introduce us to the mysterious dwelling of the trunk.
“Oi… not letting you see inside”, said Tenzin Achi, “I’ll show you all myself, stay back.” I knew it, we are duped… she wouldn’t have let our curiosity die so soon.
But you know what, we all were prepared for it. Tenzin Achi is famous as canny granny.
Behold, she announced and took out a pair of silver tinned wire loops, which a talking dragon gifted her. Then came out five stones – red, indigo, yellow, green and white; she collected them from a planet she visited, named Kakuraa, and were extremely precious stones.
Seeing none of us impressed, she challenged us to visit planet Kakuraa and ask anyone about the credibility of the stones. Silence prevailed and when someone yawned, Tenzin Achi was seen sweating.
She then took out a tiny copper ball. Now this appealed to all us children and Tenzin Achi beamed.
There was a message engraved on the tiny copper ball and “only a warrior could read it” said Tenzin Achi. Dramatically she said some words in her dialect and we understood zilch of it, but we stayed hooked.
We all gasped in chorus as she twisted and opened the tiny copper ball. She first made all of us swear with our hands on our heart, “don’t pass my secret to anyone – I am a warrior of Phui clan.” We obeyed as we were clueless and eager to know what’s hidden in the copper ball.
Veil uncovered, Tenzin Achi took out a small piece of crumpled cloth from the copper ball, red-white pattern knitted, it looked extremely ordinary, but the story attached to it wasn’t.
She told us about Zumuh (that piece of cloth had a name). When the Kakuraa dynasty decided to leave for another world, they left on this planet, bits of Zumuh. These magical pieces worked as a Genie and it wasn’t easy to get one. Only who believed in magic and showed reverence to the Kakuraa dynasty could find it. Umpteenth times, she said proudly, Zumuh had helped her. Magic lived in her heart and pocket.
Pazo then said harshly, ‘Tenzin Achi is trying to fool us… this Zumuh can’t be used even as a hanky.’ Laughter filled Tenzin Achi’s old wooden room, but she stayed quiet, like me and Lo. Were there tears in her eyes?
I don’t know, but I stood up and told everyone “I too have a Zumuh, it saved my life thrice from a dog.”
They knew it was true, Kaalu had bitten Pazo and even Lo, but I managed to save my pajamas and myself somehow. I took out a round and rotted plastic but alive key ring from my pocket; with red-white pattern on it, I presented my Zumuh.
I told them that a great traveller gave it to me near the hilltop and then vanished. Surprisingly Lo agreed, adding that he too saw that great traveller vanish into thin air.
Pazo asked me to demonstrate the power of the Zumuh. Tenzin Achi had something else in her eyes then – spark of magic.
I stretched my hand, holding the key-ring and shouted, ‘Zumuh show your power, I believe in you.’
‘I also believe in you O Zumuh, let the magic shine’, said Tenzin Achi as she copied me and looked towards the roof, as if it was magical and we could see through it. Lo, who was without any Zumuh, also got up and screeched ‘I also believe.’
Many eyes were glued to the Zumuh and I was actually hoping for a magical blast.
Thunder!!!!!! We all literally jumped on our places. The sky replied and immediately it started to snow.
Although it was winter, it wasn’t the time of the year for the clouds to shower snow. I yelped, ‘Thank you Zumuh.’
We all rock and rolled and tried to copy Tenzin Achi’s funny one-leg-in-the-air-dance, singing ‘zumuh, kakuraa, o zumuh, kakuraa!!’
*
Lightning dances along with them. [Source – Pixabay]
Endless footprints following footprints/
When suddenly a few of them rise/
To bloom like a flower.
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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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.
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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.
