Chiming Stories

Stopping to get a Rhythm Check

Flash Fiction

Just then, when the wheel turned, the rose fell on the grass and I fell along, the music within me found a new rhythm. I quietly listened to it, resisting the magic at first as I was hurt, but then tears always dry in the end. I got up and walked in suspense, unknown to me before. Bathed in the new rhythm, I paced up and ahead. Trying to catch the music in the air, I ran and reached near a green pond. I had a smile on my face by then. Curious! I tried to fathom the quietness that permeated the air. With a queer yet happy faith in things around me, I started to dance, round the pond… hmm… laa-la-laa-laa. The pond somewhere was hiding a piano, the branches a violin and the beetles, drums. It started to drizzle and I stopped dancing. Sitting by the side of the pond, cross legged, playing with a twig unconsciously, my mind went silent or maybe it was thinking something of its own.

She met the swans!
Don’t remember if I did too.
[Source – Pixabay]

Like it happens in life, the image and the music fades away, leaving a consolation named ‘it is just the past’. But luckily, I still relish that experience sometimes. Let the memory play tricks I say. What fades within, stays within forever and often takes you beyond… that’s enough, isn’t it? If you happen to turn the wheel and fall on the ground along with a rose, you’ll know that it is.

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Over And Over Again

Posted on December 23, 2015 by Jagriti Rumi Crime Fulfilling Aftertaste Glow Illusion Life Myriad Ideas Over And Over Again Shooting Star Sunshine Tides

Flash Fiction

**Springtime – A Painting by Claude Monet**
[Source – Wikipedia]

How can I be alone when I am always there with myself? Is this illusion stronger, better, more true than the other one we call life?

In fiction, the tides merge with the sea, the sunshine flows warmly through the perforated leaves, the collocations rise with sense and settles smoothly, a fulfilling aftertaste savoured by one and all.

This is my hope, light and everything. This is what I am following, leisurely. Those who call it a crime are shunned automatically.

Myriad ideas know me well and I know them too, at least some of them. We haven’t set a selling price or cost price, we are friends and I am not clever. Ideas follow a different train of thought, though unaware about the details, I understand the emotional part of it.

The high plateau doesn’t rise again. There I walk alone and often stop near a tree to rest. One eye shine with stars in it and the other quietly shed tears. For a moment I knowingly choose one of the two sides, but generally I prefer walking on the border line.

I saw a shooting star and like the last time I wished for the same thing… I don’t remember it now, though I am thankful. Whenever I am thankful, I feel confident and happy. Often the glow makes me glow.

What I remember now is that I have been here before… it was as different as same it looks now.

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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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A Dream of Twin Rainbows

Posted on November 30, 2015 by Jagriti Rumi A Dream of Twin Rainbows Blink Cage Clock Dance Fly Imagination Ocean See Sing Soulfully Thunderbolts Wink

Poem

**One, two… lucky you!**
**[Image by Jagriti Rumi]**

My imagination is strong and hence I can see

The waterfalls, mesmerizing clouds and the ever working bees;

I am very much alive with a working clock

Hanging on the earthen, painted, plastic wall saying ‘tick-tock-tick-tock’;

My ears don’t bleed anymore and though my eyes are shy to blink,

I have learned to bar the command and hide behind a paused wink.

Master shouts and thunderbolts hit the wall,

Faking to cry and tremble, I try to make the cage fall.

Yes! I live in a cage! But I have a dream, a dream of twin rainbows.

I will one day fly towards it, crossing the ocean of dead vows,

There I will soulfully sing and freely dance and just be me…

My imagination is strong and hence I can see.

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In Oblivion

Posted on November 23, 2015 by Jagriti Rumi Gold Frame Oblivion Painting

The first painting is in a gold frame, neat and perfect, so grand and precious that almost untouchable, but only if you gaze to pass by. If you stop to gaze, ponder over and stay quiet, you start to see the flaw. The shining plastic layer disappears and you get to see the cracks everywhere. Just like a true realization, this happens really slowly. Colours, the violet, the reddest of red, the emerald green and the deep yellow look sad and ready to shed away anytime, at any moment. But the gold frame, a trickster, keeps the colours together, dead or alive and manages to pose for eons.

Another painting, without a frame, but nevertheless with rough and sudden boundaries, looks straight at you, making you pause. Amongst the faded attempts of all the colours to present an impeccable tale, rich hazel brush strokes alone in the painting gives it the eyes to express. Eyes that make you wonder and leave you awestruck. This perforated paper then becomes a memory collector.

A painting without limits exists. The colours are pensive, silky and bright, almost invisible. Seeping everywhere, every moment, the painting is.

“And she drank herself into oblivion.”

‘In Defence of our Present’ I#SupportFTII

Posted on November 22, 2015 by Jagriti Rumi #FTIIPune #nocolor #nofear #SupportFTII

The Government is acting so senselessly that now it has all become like a bad, a very bad quality of film. It has become an annoying and unacceptable farce. But farce it maybe, it surely is not a film, it is real life and there are people who are suffering… suffering because of a range of bigoted ideas wrapped in empty patriotic beliefs that has been nurturing differences among people from generations. This will go on and on and will affect every individual on this planet in some way, if we refuse to understand each other, if we deny looking for the truth on our own level and if we don’t take a stand. Every bit counts!

Download the booklet, share the link, spread the word…it counts!

Thank you!

http://raiot.in/download-in-defence-of-our-present-solidarity-with-ftii-students/

‘In Defence of our Present – On giving up the National Awards’ is a booklet released by Solidarity with ‪#‎FTII‬, a group of filmmakers who came together to protest against the blatant disregard by this government for plurality, tolerance and secularism in the country as well as their attempts to destroy the excellence of institutions like Film and Television Institute of India. The booklet brings together statements by filmmakers on returning their National Awards as well as essays on the struggle of FTII students.

For more information – https://www.facebook.com/FTII-Wisdom-Tree-1607915209448356/

https://twitter.com/FTIIWisdomTree

It’s in the Agenda

Posted on November 7, 2015 by Jagriti Rumi It's in the Agenda

The Third of May 1808 by Francisco Goya

Hello fellow countrymen

Rise I say

Welcome to my den

Smile I say

In this land where we worship freedom

We quash the negativity and the opposition

Watch my videos and agree with my ideas

Industries, growth, good days and fun

Violence, protests, dark rays I’ll shun

Rhyming is my mantra, my motto, my goal

This country’s destined to progress as a ‘hole’

I hear your cries and accept all the applaud

“We are crying in pain”, said someone out loud

No gain without pain, was the reply with a pout

Photo tagged and then uploaded on the social media

And that’s how anarchy begins, says the encyclopedia

Goodbye fellow countrymen

Rise I say

Follow the tide

Try I say

Boundaries

Posted on October 31, 2015 by Jagriti Rumi Boundaries Crazy Divided Beautifully Painter Planet Earth

What happens in the west doesn’t happen in the east and vice-versa. This is our country and this is our tradition. We love our motherland and we can die for it.

The North is different from the South. And this state, this city, this town, this village and this house is where I belong. I cannot live anywhere else but here.

Lines are drawn and everything is divided beautifully. If not entirely, the plan does work out fruitfully with minor problems here and there.

When these minor problems become big, it is dissected thoroughly and the offender is caught, punished and forgotten. Things turn back to normal; once again it’s a sunny day.

But, there is one story that no one can forget. An ordinary-looking fellow, who lived in the mountains and always painted the oceans in his notebook, once painted the planet earth on a grand rock, it was magnificent, but he was anyway convicted for it.

Maybe he was crazy, that is what most of us believe, otherwise, why will a sane person draw the beautiful earth and then divide it? Yes! That is what he did.

It was a violent crime, of course. How could he even think so? But then, they say he was crazy.

There’s another story about that painter.

You know that the earth is changing colour, you must have seen the photographs, it’s becoming reddish with each passing day. Some say that this change occurred only after that painter was hanged, which is true, but I don’t know if these events can be related.

It’s all crazy, no?

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Boundaries

Posted on October 31, 2015 by Jagriti Rumi Uncategorized

What happens in the west doesn’t happen in the east and vice-versa. This is our country and this is our tradition. We love our motherland and we can die for it. North is different from South. And this state, this city, this town, this village and this house is where I belong. I cannot live anywhere else but here.

Lines are drawn and everything is divided beautifully. If not entirely, the plans do work out fruitfully with minor problems here and there. When these minor problems become big, it is dissected thoroughly and the offender is caught, punished and forgotten. Things turn back to normal; once again it’s a sunny day.

But, there is one story that no one can forget. An ordinary looking fellow, who lived in the mountains and always painted the oceans in his notebook, once painted the planet earth on a grand rock, it was magnificent, but he was anyways convicted for it. Maybe he was crazy, that is what most of us believe, otherwise, why will a sane person draw the beautiful earth and then divide it? Yes! That is what he did.

The blue, green planet looked so perfect on that rock as if it was alive, but then, that bloke painted a hand hammering the earth into two, a chasm that spread like the roots of a tree and divided the whole planet. It was a violent crime, of course. How could he even think so? But then, they say he was crazy.

There’s another story about that painter. You know that the earth is changing colour, you must have seen the photographs, it’s becoming reddish with each passing day. Some say that this change occurred only after that painter was hanged, which is true, but I don’t know if these events can be related. But it’s all crazy, no?

Wandering

Posted on October 25, 2015 by Jagriti Rumi That Small House Up On The Mountain Wandering

Who lives in that small house up on the mountain? It is made of earth, wood and stones. I feel its presence here. The pine trees gathered around it look less like guardians and more like friends.

The fog, very slowly, is encircling the house. Grand mountains stand quietly in the backdrop, reverberating with magical rhythm. It is then that I realise I am holding a stick in my hand and humming leisurely, attuned to the magical rhythm.

I keep walking, espying now and then at the small house up on the mountain. The fog flows away, ending the game of hide and seek. I take out my notebook and start to draw the scene. The mountains take most part of the page. The small house is a beautiful speck of white on dense green background. The trees are spots of different green here and there.

The fog returns and, this time, hides the small house completely. I quickly run and climb a rock as if to brush away the fog. I try it literally, when gaily the fog engulfs everything around me. White magic!