Mind

The Broken Nest and Other Stories by Rabindranath Tagore

Coverage

**A painting by Rabindranath Tagore.**
**[Source- V&A Museum]**

The Broken Nest

Charu and Amal didn’t understand their heart’s secret, but how could it be that their own heart hid something from them, well it did. Maybe, Charu’s binoculars didn’t work properly.

And Mr. Bhupati, a lost editor, busy sketching the details of a busy world, had no time for keeping secrets.

Why did they give their secrets to Time for safekeeping?

Time always travels light, thus, it naturally left their secrets behind, visible for them all to see, casting a spell. The spell didn’t kill, it broke hearts.

The Ghat’s Tale

Vasant… Grishm… Varsha… Sharad… Hemant… Shishir… Six seasons talked to the Ghat near the Ganga River. The seasons brought green moss at times and dry leaves at others, dipping the Ghat into sunlight and rain shower with love, the seasons spoke less, but heard sincerely.

What did the Ghat tell them? It shared stories… yours and mine.

Notebook

Let her be, why torment her, why read her notebook without her consent? She is little, just a girl, a child bride, she has left her world behind, she has carried some in her notebook.

Postmaster

Love is all-powerful and yet it blooms slowly in every soul, taking time for the realisation to sink in and sync with it completely.

A shade of love wrote a letter to the Postmaster who, tricked by mind, read it too late. Oh! That feeling…

**A happy poet.**
**[Source- Poetry Foundation]**

The Broken Nest is a novella, while the other three are short stories; each one holds a complete universe and touches you deeply.

Rabindranath Tagore beautifully writes in the language of love, his characters always express something which stays usually hidden within a heart, sidelined by the talkative world.

Every story of his is like a time machine, it unfolds the past keeping it alive and magical at the same time.

The birds sing sweetest of songs in his stories, the earth dances the best to his tunes, the colour red blushes flamboyantly in his paintings and tears take time to dry up when he narrates.

Know his work and you will know.

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Mind Games

Posted on February 8, 2018 by Jagriti Rumi It Looker Looking Mind Games Observation Quite Unique The Human Mind

An Observation

**Looking without the looker.**
[Source – Pixabay; Illustration by Elisa Riva]

Quite unique it is… It confines, it suffocates, it destroys a troubled soul… it frees, it liberates, it celebrates a calm self. It scares the same one for whom it holds the beacon. It likes to play games and break promises. It supports, creates and imagines the unimaginable. It forgets almost everything. It remembers almost everything. It never forgives, until it realises that it can forgive. It is a true lover. It loves itself the most. Quite unique it is… the human mind.

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In Slo-mo Towards the Moon

Posted on September 3, 2017 by Jagriti Rumi A Tide Of Thoughts Beaming In Slo-mo Towards the Moon Mind Moon Moon Lovers Quietly Reality Simply Is Tricks

Poem

**A tide of thoughts.**
**[Source – Pixabay]**

Walking towards the moon

In slo-mo and riding,

Hiding behind a tide of thoughts

In slo-mo, unaware, unconcerned

About the change that is happening

In slo-mo, now and always,

Carrying in bits the old me, turning

In slo-mo, hoping to see

Something better. Living the life

In slo-mo and looking into the future

Where things are picture-perfect, but moving

In slo-mo. Cracks in the present

For it isn’t that dear, until

In slo-mo I sit with patience and

Breathe, see, feel and realise

That everything is beautiful,

That our mind knows the tricks,

That reality simply is, just like the moon,

Towards which I am walking

In slo-mo, beaming quietly.

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Walking A Gatha

Posted on May 26, 2017 by Jagriti Rumi Changing Free Light Mind Mountain Music Ocean River Rocks Search Shadows Times Trees Walking A Gatha

Flash Fiction

**Dancing shadows and light…**
[Image by Kanenori from Pixabay]

Walking straight, walking on the mountain listening to ‘The Times They Are A Changin‘ I saw nothing, neither the trees nor the rocks, neither the shadow nor the light, and just kept walking ahead. Mountain spoke, I didn’t hear, until I bent a little.

It said, ‘You will reach your destination, you will, for sure’, and happily I smiled, crossed my hands behind my back and continued walking.

Swiftly I moved forward, there was no stopping me. Dashing ahead I crossed jungles after jungles, I played with the shadows and the light, I didn’t even wait for the wind.

Like a curse, definitely a curse, a disaster hit me – I started panting. It had never happened all this while, why now?

Then I remembered faintly of what the mountain told me… I pleaded it to guide me again, the mountain listened. It said, ‘Know patience and its power’, I bowed down and stopped walking. I stopped for the first time in my journey; I learned the art of deep breathing. Ages passed there; then I left in search.

In search of what I was looking for. I was looking for what I was in search of.

**Sing and walk along the river.**
[Image by Sergio Cerrato – Italia from Pixabay]

Familiar with the pace of the trees canopying me, stopping and listening to the rocks and their untold gathas, attuned with the shadow and the light, I kept walking when I reached near a ferociously musical river. It carried along the ocean’s depth and waves’ nimble notes… ‘Will merge with the ocean, I do not wait for anyone’, replied the river to my question – ‘can you please let me pass?’

So I changed my path and followed the river. Who said you can’t? Change… change and move ahead.

Right where the river met the ocean, where it all seemed to end, where the trees, rocks, shadow and light all disappeared, music stayed by my side and showed me a narrow, slippery way to cross the river. I stepped in, the water was cold, but shallow and so I could cross easily.

With joy and cheer I continued along, I danced on the way, I slept peacefully and then walked leisurely. I sang, the tune echoed. My mind envisioned a valley of flowers and pink clouds when suddenly I tumbled down.

I was hurt. My dream shattered and cold winds bruised me badly. It started hailing. Troubled, I shouted angrily… who knows at whom?

The weather opposed me and pinned me down, I accepted defeat.

Lying half dead, I waited for the weather to change…

When it did, I woke up and saw as the fog disappeared that there was a huge mountain standing in front of me. I couldn’t stop smiling, a new journey was going to begin.

**Majestic, towering and free!**
[Image by Joe from Pixabay]

Climbing the mountain I listened again to Dylan’s ‘The Times They Are A Changin‘. I didn’t know it, but I was free.

I have always been free.

Listen to ‘The Times They Are A Changin’ by Bob Dylan now –

And read the lyrics here.

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Loitering Mind

Posted on February 20, 2017 by Jagriti Rumi Endless Journey Loitering Mind Old Stories Rainbows Real Laugh Round And Round Talking Waves

Mixed Fiction

**Notorious mind to THE MIND.**
[Image by IRINA from Pixabay]

Minding the mind

It is kind of, sort of looking amazed and all it has done is talking… talking to itself. If thoughts wear colours then this mind is making rainbows after rainbows.

Mind’s petty issues

Whether a smoothie is meant to be always cold? If instead of right we had turned round and round? Why am I scared to say, ‘I said so’?

Mind’s grand tales

Oh, endless journey don’t you end… don’t you end before I set the hat right and check the change within and without with a smile. Don’t you end or change or stop or move or be false. Be happy.

Mind, when at peace

Waves, lights, colours ocean up and down for seconds, until the old stories return. Back and forth between peace and everything else.

Mind talks

And with enough repetitions dear mind, one is ought to remember it all.

Mind makes

The one standing under the shed, waiting or not waiting, unsure whether to wear the spectacles or not, is being made and unmade at that very moment.

Loitering mind

It rests quietly when one sleeps, but only to run wild and free in the dreams.

Sooner or later usher the mind beyond what it tells. Then have a laugh. A real laugh.

Vision science.
[Painting titled ‘What and Where’ by – Greg Dunn]

This painting was commissioned by The Center for the Neural Basis of Cognition to commemorate Carnegie Award recipient Dr. Leslie Ungerleider’s substantial contribution to the field of vision science. Her work in delineating the dorsal and ventral visual processing pathways led to the discovery that the ventral pathway predominantly processes information related to how we recognize objects (what), whereas the dorsal pathway interprets how objects are related to one another in space (where). The painting is designed to reflect this dichotomy in its layout and conceptual content.
Greg Dunn

Find out more here – What and Where by Greg Dunn.

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The Answer Is Blowin’ In The Wind – Bob Dylan

Posted on October 17, 2016 by Jagriti Rumi Blowin in the Wind Bob Dylan Brusque Thoughts Meanderings Mind Music Stopped and Listened Truth

A Fictive Take

**The Living Legend. [Source – Wikimedia Commons]**

It was her version of the truth and she tried to separate it from mere meanderings of the mind.

She walked ahead unsure if she had succeeded or not. Autumn winds brought along something that made her cry.

Alone, sitting on that bench, she asked herself about right and wrong. Pendulum like, silly, brusque thoughts!

Why did she participate in the parade? For letting the confusion rise and fall? For the questions to disturb and the answers to convey…

She stopped and listened…

Bob Dylan – Blowin’ In The Wind

How many roads must a man walk down

Before you call him a man ?

How many seas must a white dove sail

Before she sleeps in the sand ?

Yes, ‘n’ how many times must the cannon balls fly

Before they’re forever banned ?

The answer my friend is blowin’ in the wind

The answer is blowin’ in the wind.

Yes, ‘n’ how many years can a mountain exist

Before it’s washed to the sea ?

Yes, ‘n’ how many years can some people exist

Before they’re allowed to be free ?

Yes, ‘n’ how many times can a man turn his head

Pretending that he just doesn’t see ?

The answer my friend is blowin’ in the wind

The answer is blowin’ in the wind.

Yes, ‘n’ how many times must a man look up

Before he can see the sky ?

Yes, ‘n’ how many ears must one man have

Before he can hear people cry ?

Yes, ‘n’ how many deaths will it take till he knows

That too many people have died ?

The answer my friend is blowin’ in the wind

The answer is blowin’ in the wind.

Blowin’ In The Wind, the song.

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Opposite the Nadir

Posted on May 28, 2016 by Jagriti Rumi Faint I Igneous Journey Mind Opposite the Nadir Shadow Sound Walking Whimsical Wind

Short Lyrical Prose

**White cloudy raga plays… and I am still walking.**
**[Source – Pixabay]**

The igneous surface I am walking on has a tremendous sound stored in it, but in a dense state so that the land appears dead.

The colour is thick black; it stains me anew with every step that I take, entering breath by breath within.

Smog-heavy mood, like heavy chains, has made me hunchbacked. Hollow quietude stays along, walking next to my faint shadow.

I utter nothing, nothing at all – all noise is of the wind; the wind ruffles around greasily, overwhelming me with dullness.

The mind is whimsical, I tell myself after some days’ journey; I continue ahead.

Where to, I ask, am I going?

That was the last I heard from myself.

But I am still walking, walking towards what lies opposite the nadir.

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Deconstruct What Is Repeated

Posted on March 22, 2016 by Jagriti Rumi Deconstruct What Is Repeated Dreaming Forgetfulness Good Luck Ideas Life Mind Story Vibrant Wallflower

Introspective Prose

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.

Good luck!

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Illusion is the First of All Pleasures – Voltaire

Posted on March 15, 2016 by Jagriti Rumi Change Fathomable Illusion Inevitable Mind Ocean Eyes Rainbow Reality Remember The Beginning The End

**Ocean eyes, an illusion or a reality…**
**[Image by 愚木混株 Cdd20 from Pixabay]**

All that you see, all that is in your mind, all that you have experienced, all that which breathes within you, exists only because you are.

The inevitable change assures gently that illusion is reality and the rest a seeming.

The carousel of life goes on; from the darkest night to the brightest morning, from black and white to the rich spectrum, you pass by. Humming a single note, you pass by.

The end, the beginning. Remember?

You created the rainbow as you saw it, you replied to the mountain when you echoed, you walked ahead to make it happen, you looked behind to say goodbye, you stopped to realise and what was beyond came to you with an epiphany.

Illusion is a friend. Fathomable, it is the reality.

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Stopping to get a Rhythm Check

Posted on January 5, 2016 by Jagriti Rumi Dancing Flash Fiction Life Memory Mind Pond Rhythm Check Rose Stopping The Wheel Turned

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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