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The Better Way

Flash Fiction
Neatly folded and settled.
[Source – Pixabay]

Kavya was searching for a book to read, only to pass that foggy evening. She was in her grandma’s house for vacation. Nothing but memories was left of her grandparents. A faint image entered her mind every time she thought of them- she is sitting beside them and her grandma is reading a book, they are on the balcony, soon she falls asleep, nevertheless feels the warmth because of their presence.

She was young now and restless. An idea came to her, she imagined herself sitting the way her grandma was sitting and reading, she felt that if she copied it she would get some of the serenity that her grandma had on her face. Strangely, Kavya could now see wholeness and contentment in her grandma’s eyes; calmness on her face; as if she is telling everyone to have faith…to believe; even the old monotone photographs of her grandma spoke the same whenever Kavya looked at them.

Finally, she picked a book and went outside on the balcony. Pulling a chair towards her she sat on it. She sighed…what for…she had no clue herself. Was it something in her life or was she simply missing her grandma? Maybe she sighed because we sometimes do, without knowing that we did.

There were two more pages to finish the first chapter, checked Kavya. She always did so. Kavya didn’t count herself in the category of the fervent readers, but among those who read because others read, because books are there to read and because they know reading is a good habit. There is nothing wrong with being in this category; it is just that you lag in one or the other way.

Trying to sit in a comfortable position Kavya got up and dragged the chair but while doing so she dropped the book. The book was old and some pages peeped out as soon as it hit the floor. ‘Oh!’ said Kavya. They say what happens, happens for the good. While placing the pages properly she found a folded piece of paper. Curiosity made her eyes big. She opened it; her grandma’s handwriting spoke to her. The words were few. It said ‘Just smile…it is the better way’ and under it were her grandma’s initials.

How quickly can things change, how strangely can people change, how fast the light passes in the darkness, right? Kavya couldn’t believe that she was suddenly full of happiness; spirited to do anything. She looked at the piece of paper once again and said, ‘Thank you grandma…thank you so much.’ She got up and left the balcony.

Indeed, Kavya didn’t finish that book but then she had something else to complete. The old book is back on the shelf but the message is with Kavya, which will stay with her forever.


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Love or Flu?

Me and my darling sauntering together before I,aachoo, excuse me, fell sick!
Image from Pixabay.

*

Like a flower with dew drops

The colour of the evening sky

Enchanting aroma in the coffee shops

And that song by Gabrielle Pie

This is how I remember you

Because dear darling I love you

Aachoo! Silly doctors call it flu.

*

I was eager and almost ready

‘Going without Umbrella?’ enquired the landlady

I smiled and sauntered without care

As love was in the air

Smile disappeared instead the clouds appeared

Evil above me slowly, surely leered

I didn’t return only for you

Because dear darling I love you

Aachoo! But doctors call it flu.

*

My letter will reveal my pain

I know you know my tragedy

But why, why did it rain?

Sweet love, please accept my apology

I would have come in pain

If rushing was a good strategy

Very soon I will meet you

Doctor agrees with this plan too

First medicines and then only you

Aachoo! My Love this is flu!

*


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Days

Days like these…
Image by Lena Lindell from Pixabay
 
Where are the days going?
Slipping away like a thought
Fog on a hasty horse has got
The answer, but can’t be caught
 
A dawdler when we avoid
A spirit when we desire
The mire of glum fire
Suddenly sweet enough to admire
 
Special days are remembered
Blue days aren’t forgotten
Memory relishes even in the rotten
Light laughs, tough tears are begotten
 
Dear days before you go
Three things I want you to know
My mind will recall and glow
I’ll be happy and low and happy and slow.
 

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With A Painting

Flash Fiction
[Source – a Hindi novel’s book cover; image by Jagriti Rumi]

Deep eyes for whom are you waiting? You look like a forgotten painting hanging high on a wall of an old chalet. I wish to talk to you…come alive; the mortal world needs a touch of your beauty. Just for a few minutes or even a second will do…come alive.

A blink of your eyes might melt million hearts; your smile could dance in the darkness and glow. Lost in the hazy splendour, talk to us once or make a gesture.

Hypnotising colours that you are adorned with has the power of bringing serenity. Share some with me; one shade of it in my life and I’ll be seen flying without wings.

Surely you are waiting for someone but what is the pleasure in it? A beloved resides in your mind or… a question?

The elegance in you speaks for you. It says you know the answer and that you are just playing Life.

Are you happy to be a pretty curse? I dreamt you are. Clever!

I am capturing your colours as much as my eyes can discern, your elegance as much as my mind knows and your love as much as my heart can hold.

You have made house in many souls and though you go on living many lives, you know that your wait is not over. You know peace, but you are waiting for it to complete.

*


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Failed Successfully

View from the window…
[Source – Pixabay]

Sitting by the window and watching the wind do its customary dance, Kent wrote a line in his diary and stopped. The line said, ‘I failed again.’ Dry leaves and twigs joined the wind hesitatingly…a bit shy but tending. Kent took a sip of his hot coffee. He flailed the pen in his hand and then began to write-

Again. I try and then I fail. I wonder how I have reached so far when all I can do is to fail. I sink low every time and it becomes difficult to make a comeback. The sympathy, the taking my side, the hiding my faults…I hate when people do this to me. It hurts me more. But I am the reason of the burden I am carrying.

After another sip, Kent again checked the rendition. He couldn’t hear it clearly but was sure about the charming song that the wind played. Huge trees rhymed along, they were so great yet so modest; nature knows some marvellous secrets that make it awe-inspiring.

I have nothing to say anymore. I wish I could visit Mrs Graceland’s house, the backyard and the trail that led to the jungle and the brook with leaves and twigs wafting in it.

If only I could sit there for some time alone. My heart would pour itself in the brook and I am positive that I could then breathe without feeling the knots. The jungle, the brook they don’t know that I have failed. They will not demand any answers nor will they console me. I will be with them and they’ll welcome me.

But with time things start eluding and you feel silent, empty and helpless; a mere bystander.

Kent’s sigh sounded heavy and blue. He searched for something in his room and finding it his eyes rested upon it; a wall clock that made him conscious and humble. He lost himself for some time. Coming back he looked at his diary and wrote-

I think I have failed in putting my thoughts in words. I am sorry dear diary. I think I should just stop writing and….

A green leaf in autumn.
[Image by Jagriti Rumi]

At this moment he found a leaf knocking on his window. He stared for few minutes waiting for it to fly away but it didn’t. He stretched his hand reluctantly and opened the window.

Taking the leaf in his hand Kent watched the scene and without waiting for his permission the wind touched his face and made his hair dance. A smile came on his face naturally.

The power of the wind amazed him, the music enthralled him; he could feel the spirit, the liveliness that was abundant in nature. Peeking through his window Kent stood for long in that position unaware of the clock, the pen, the diary, the leaf and himself.

It was getting dark. He forced himself to shut the window. With nature you don’t know when the time passes and if you happen to know you wish it to go slow.

Sitting back on his chair and before he could finish his diary entry, he examined the leaf in his hand. It was green. It was autumn. It was a message. Life loves to live. Who loves life lives…happily.

Kent finished his diary entry.

I can’t believe myself but I am going to try again, maybe I’ll fail again. It doesn’t matter. I’ll never stop walking because I never know what is there for me on the next turn. I am going to die one day, I don’t want to die before that.

Cheers to the green leaf!

Kent  


And now, listen to Vashti Bunyan’s album Just Another Diamond Day, this is one of Kent’s favourite tracks, one that he listened to after finishing his diary entry –


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A Religious Goof

Wishes upon wishes burning

Carrying prayers with air

Endless love and faith

With some clean care

Oil soaks oil lamps

Incense rubbing against air

Mood transcends but we

Are busy paying fare

We make the God

We create him here

Only to be afraid

And forget him there

Affordable power not manageable

Still we always dare

To act blindly and

Trust the Almighty’s heir


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Go Mad!

Pip-pi-pipeee… It is time to go mad.
Image by Gordon Johnson from Pixabay

It’s time to go mad, I told myself. The world looks best through the eyes of the mad.

Even history tells us so. But it’s not more about the world than it is about myself. I have seen right into the eyes of the mirror and all that is visible is a question mark.

Now I’ll check it when I am upside down, if nothing, I’ll at least enjoy the inverted me.

I’ll fly from now onwards, at least I’ll fall. I’ll follow the bird and visit its nest. I’ll keep a secret diary and make sure that it leaks.

Secrets are good only until they are not kept otherwise they are dull dead details yawned away by the majority.

I’ll rub the window clean with my hands so that the dirt makes my skin shine in black.

I’ll spin round and round and stop; I’ll shout loudly and then add a whisper to it; I’ll befriend the thorns and love the cuts…. Is it too much?

What is too much? Do you know it? Who knows it? No one!

That’s the real fact we forget. So why not find it out, by ourselves. Yes!

If not now than when…waiting for another life to do all that we dream about? That’s a strange fantasy to believe in.

Because you are not given new wings in the next life, you carry on with what you already own.

This almost endless journey needs a mad soul…mad for the goal.

That’s why I will go mad, I need this energy drink to drive me forward. I’ll hear no one, I’ll not act anymore, I’ll just be present. 

I’ll just be present… and also attend Mad Hatter’s tea-party.
Image by Clker from Pixabay

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A Small Hut

Poem

Dhenkanal, Odisha, India.
[Image by Jagriti Rumi]

The Outside:

Shabby roof and thick straw

Man of passion, hands raw

Low walls, drenched colour

House of the season turner

One wooden window

Candle light and smell of meadow

Dry hands, cracked heels

Week by week and two meals

Dusty earth, dusty man

Dusty hut and a hand fan


The Inside:  

Dim light and a family of six

Let us share and mix

First dish full of love

Last dish full of love

Owners of poverty

Know less and happily.

   


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Dorjee’s Smile

Total number*- 99
 
Young feet on the wet green ground looked like pink flowers common in spring. But still, something was uncommon about the young feet in the slippers.
 
The mountains, the trees, the stone huts, the flourishing flags, everything in the valley was enchanted by the young feet. Earth was happy to be the closest one.
 
Dorjee was running happily through the valley in jet speed. He was all alone but was smiling about something or maybe it was his natural look.
 
We all had this look, like Dorjee, when we were 10 years old. He was about to reach his house when he met one of his friends and he went with him instead. To play, play and play was all that Dorjee thought of.
 
Total number*- 105
 
Dorjee loved whatever his mom cooked. He liked his food hot. Often his mom would say, ‘You’ll burn your tongue Dorjee!’ And he always just smiled.
 
His cheeks were red like cherries. Eyes were watery. The valley lived in him. He lived in the Tibet valley.
 
Mysticism took home here once and quickly entered its soul, to stay forever.
 
Total number*- 109
 
Dorjee will soon become a monk. He knows it. His family has told him. He is happy about it.
 
Most of his friends will do the same. In fact, he is excited to be a monk. His mom told him once, ‘Dorjee, it is not as simple as you think.’ He replied again with a kind ‘cheese’ and his eyes were not visible.
 
Why did Dorjee always smile? Why? Maybe he knew what Percy Bysshe Shelley said the ‘Skylark’ knew. A heavenly secret.
 
His smile attracted the soothing valley towards him, his smile attracted mystical purity towards him, his smile attracted the one we cannot see yet we feel is.
 
One day Dorjee was bound to leave. For the designer of Paradise missed his favourite smile, his Dorjee.
 
Total number*- 112
 
You left us Dorjee. We have adapted to the ‘burning alive’ but we don’t know how to smile anymore.
 
*
Read about Self Immolations by Tibetans here. 
 
The post is written in remembrance of all the lost souls.
 
 

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The Coffee Table Talk

Poem
Coffee table talk time.
Image from Pixabay.

Time for a coffee break

How much sugar do you take?  

Life is an unwrapped toffee

Sure! Sure! Hold your coffee  

What a lovely cold day

Life is a strong bright ray  

Oh! Please drink it when it is hot,

Then go to the market and buy a new pot.

*  

Life is shallow if you can’t see deep

I care less because I don’t want to weep  

Now, if you are done, give me your cup

Life is life if seen downside up.

*


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