Stories

Dream Light

**Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose** by **John Singer Sargent**.
**[Source – Wikipedia]**

Keep your dream light on. When bright it reveals the Narnia world, takes you to Alice’s Wonderland, and introduces you to Peter Pan and the Wizard of Oz. When dim it shows you the path that no one can see in the, hah, real world…

The real world of oh so beautiful Earth, the real world of oh so enchanting colours, the real world of oh so troubled minds, the real world of oh so trapped hearts.

So keep the lantern ready and walk towards the dream light. Tip toeing the wooden floor, tap dancing on the way, gliding on the sea, swirling high in the sky, however twisted maybe your turn, the lantern will keep on glowing, it will never betray you, even when you go blind.

How to select a lantern for such a trip? Always, write it down if you want, always choose the lantern that chimes, hums and whistles, after all music fuels dream lights.

On the lonely road towards your dream you will see things that you have never seen, meet djinns and dragons, flying carpets and cars, funny friends and foes and your doppelganger for sure.

And when you fall down, when your heart breaks, close your eyes, breathe and believe, you’ll then remember to follow your dream light.

So keep your dream light on forever.

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Follow The Light

Posted on May 16, 2019 by Jagriti Rumi Alive Darkness Dew Drop Dying Follow The Light My Voice Nothing Petals

Flash Fiction

**The light!**
[Image by Bruno from Pixabay]

After succumbing to the darkness I sat there quietly for ages. Did the wind play with the kite? Did the dew drop decorate the petals? I saw nothing, I stared at nothing, it was all dark. But I did hear them mocking, complaining, exclaiming, demanding. I said nothing, my voice had become dark too.

Then from nowhere a light emerged, glowing softly, fading now and then, but never dying completely. I remembered then that I can stand up, I realised then that I can walk ahead, I felt then that I am still alive. And I walked towards the light. I could see then, in the light, how dark it was.

I followed and I am still following the light.

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Crescent Moon Lights

Posted on May 5, 2019 by Jagriti Rumi Basho Buckwheat Flowers Crescent Moon Lights Earth Heart Moon Moon Lovers Painter Painting Shimmer Traveller Valley

“Crescent moon lights

Buckwheat flowers

This hazy earth.”

– Basho

The moon is being carved, I can hear the hammers, the chisels, it is raining white shimmer… the crescent shape will light up every heart soon.

And the valley of buckwheat flowers will then dance the dance of love, soothing the eyes of a traveller.

Intoxicated, the earth will then spin and stagger making, as always, a painter’s painting hazy.

Complement this haiku post with similar ones –

Basho’s Haiku Pond

Violets

Fetching Water from a Haiku-Well

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Flowers Are Made Of Stories

Posted on May 1, 2019 by Jagriti Rumi Flowers Are Made Of Stories Heart Remembers Journey Life Love Sang And Danced Yellow Flower

Mixed Fiction

Flowers are made of stories, every colour a different genre, every form a different journey.

A yellow flower lived high on a tree; it sang and danced along with the wind. One day the yellow flower fell on a passerby who looked up at the tree, then down at the flower, smiled and left. The passerby loved its story.

Flowers are the best storytellers, just a glance and the job is done, allowing the story to unfold, to bloom within the seeker slowly.

A lotus once told me an epic and a night jasmine a love story and a marigold a fairy-tale saga.

Flowers are made of stories which the mind forgets but the heart remembers.

Cassia Fistula, golden shower

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Calling the Ocean

Posted on April 28, 2019 by Jagriti Rumi Calling The Ocean Flew Away Giant Wave Glint In Her Eyes Grocery Bags

Flash Fiction

Georgina was walking towards her home, by the same old path. With grocery bags in both her hands she could not straighten her hat or pull her hair back. She blew her hair when it tickled her nose.

It was a hot summer day, everything around her glistened in heat. Then she heard something, she could feel a vibration and as she turned her head right, she saw a wave, higher than the surrounding trees and the sweet hillocks. Georgina, dumbstruck, could not move, she kept on gazing at the giant wave devouring the trees, the hillocks and rushing towards her. ‘This can’t be true’, exclaimed Georgina. The wave hit her.

She twisted and swirled, the grocery bags somehow managed the wet blow and so did her hat. Georgina could breathe; she was not hurt rather she could swim without any effort. She looked all around with bewilderment, a school of Goldband forage fish crossed her; each one greeted her with a quick ‘hello’. Beaming, Georgina nodded and said ‘hello’; she tried to wave, but she could not, because of the grocery bags in her hands.

Georgina swam happily and was joined by two dolphins. They whistled a tune and said something that Georgina did not understand. Both the dolphins then nudged her hands and made her let go off the grocery bags. She felt light as she saw the bags sinking and touching the ‘sea bed’. Joyfully then she danced along with the dolphins. She threw her hat away and opened her hair; she swam, she swayed, she stretched her arms and flew away.

Late in the day she reached home soaking wet; grocery bags in her hands made a puddle in the kitchen and her hat added a tiny stream to it. Aghast, her mother finally managed to say ‘where in the world have you been?’ Georgina looked at her mom and with a glint in her eyes, smile on her face she said ‘the ocean’.

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Humming Is Good For The Soul

Posted on March 18, 2019 by Jagriti Rumi Humming Is Good For The Soul Kites Magic Ruby Sky Stories Time Tune

Flash Fiction

**Hmm…la, la, laaalalaaa!**
[Image by Ngân Yun from Pixabay]

The wind is blowing and the wind chime is playing a melodious tune. It is a calm hour of the day.

Dozens of clouds are drifting by leisurely. And that group of birds is sailing high, their songs are falling along with the sun rays, it is a tune unheard.

What charm is it that is capturing this scene? Ruby does not know, and, yet she allows herself to let it seep within.

Standing against the railing, staring at the sky, Ruby feels free and happy. Those thoughts cannot grip her any more, those worries slip down her gleaming face.

Ruby realises then that there is nothing wrong with Time, if it is fleeting, it is also filling every second with a pearl like moment.

“Breathe it”, she tells herself. When she does, she feels at home.

Waterfall like grand, fresh as a rainbow, her inner self whispers something. Ruby smiles, she does not know why. She looks at the kites, red kites against the blue sky, hopes, wishes, dreams they are, flying high.

Humming is good for the soul, Ruby tells herself as she hummed an incomplete tune.

Why incomplete? Who will complete it? “Ruby-Ruby”, someone calls out her name and completes the tune.

Oh! It is all magic… magic, magic, magic!

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The Life of Jane Eyre

Posted on February 28, 2019 by Jagriti Rumi Charlotte Bronte Classic Female Writers Folk Tale Mahogany Novel Powerful Story Shackles The Life Of Jane Eyre Wind Window

**A zealous soul!**
**[Image from Pixabay]**

Jane in her simple jade dress stood out in that mahogany room. The splendour surrounding her could not match the spark in her eyes, knowing this the chandelier, humbled, dimmed its light.

Jane in her efforts to live freely always broke barriers and always lived freely. The shackles, when not shown any fear of, never dared to grab the fire named Jane Eyre.

She walked towards the window and half opened it; the gushing wind reminded her of a folk tale, of the times when a princess stared at the moon through a half open window, shared a secret and smiled. Jane Eyre could not help but smile then.

Title page of the first Jane Eyre edition.
[Source – Wikimedia Commons]

Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre is a marvellous, striking Victorian novel which was originally published under a pseudonym ‘Currer Bell’. Many female writers in that era opted for a pen name, occasionally for anonymity, but mostly for their work to get a wider audience (if it is accepted for publication at all).

We do not know who ‘Currer Bell’ might be, but his name will stand very high in literature.
The Weekly Chronicle

While all the reviewers praised the powerful story and imagination of the author, no one expected it to be a woman.

Charlotte Bronte, portrait by George Richmond.
[Source – Wikimedia Commons]

One great merit of the work unquestionably is its originality. The author deserves no slight credit for the ingenuity and success with which fact and fiction, reality and romance, have been intermingled and made to serve conjointly in maintaining deep and unflagging interest.
Morning Advertiser

Have you lived the life of Jane Eyre? If not, then you must.

Also read – Enshrined in Double Retirement – a short write-up inspired by the novel Jane Eyre.

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Ambitious? Yes.

Posted on February 10, 2019 by Jagriti Rumi Ambitious Epic Faith Grand Life Mountains Night Jasmine Passionate Silence Path Storytellers

Flash Fiction

The flowers are ambitious by nature.
Image by Marisa04 from Pixabay

Gori knows not where the path leads to, the wet air, the dusky flora, and the mysterious tunes do not guide either.

Soaking in the newness she walks forward.

And why is it that we always choose to walk ahead, why does not the uncertainty collapse us?

If we stop to rest, if we feel defeated, if we turn back embarrassed and ashamed, we still reach, in some time, at the glorious hour of a beginning.

The tired, wounded, and sullen eyes once again look up, once again fathom the depth, once again find the path.

Taking the rope bridge, climbing the echoing mountains, crossing the glassy rainbows, Gori saw that valley where her loved one awaited her.

The gush of wind cheered her, the dew heavy leaves blessed her, the clouds played the drums for her.

And why does it seem that the whole world dances when we dance and the whole world moans when we moan?

How come we hear the call when there is a concrete silence around us, when facts dispel hope and when dejection raises a toast?

In anger the head is alone, when rejoicing the heart holds it all.

The illusion rudely reveals the reality and Gori faces the brazen cold marshland.

What happened to the beautiful valley, to the lover’s promise, to the perfect dream? Hush! The monster rises, its shadow darkens Gori’s faith.

Thundering sky strikes with lightening that Gori catches with her bare hands. Heaving, she runs towards the monster.

Why is life so epic, so grand, so ambitious? Why do the storytellers talk about ‘once upon a time’?

If the legends appear amused by the mundane, then how many of us are at folly for it is the ordinary that becomes extraordinary?

The tales have never ceased to be melodious, we live perpetually enchanted.

Gori starts walking, leaving behind the triumphant air, gravity shining on her forehead.

She resumes the journey as a narrow track becomes visible to her now, a solo night jasmine tree on the way, showers her with its flowers, Gori takes its fragrance along.

Gori knows not where the path leads to, soaking in the passionate silence she walks forward.

Are the night jasmines very ambitious to wait for and shower a victorious warrior and not anyone else? Yes, they are.

**Shine-shine, you two!**
**[Source – Pixabay]**

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Love Letter

Posted on January 12, 2019 by Jagriti Rumi Candle Burnt The Parchment And The Desire Cursed Ink Dear O Dear Doubt Fear Frustrated Lover Love Letter Parchment Smiled Quill Writing

Poem

***Dear-O-dear!***
**[Source – Pixabay]**

In a letter I wrote

Words of doubt and fear,

The cursed ink smeared,

‘To hell with you’, I quote

A frustrated lover.

A fresh parchment smiled

As I thought of words,

‘For you, I will fight the world’,

Only if this damned quill worked

In the hands of a frustrated lover.

Your eyes are my light,

Life looks oh-so bright,

‘My love, you’re… Fire! fire!’,

Candle burnt the parchment and the desire

Of a frustrated lover.

Let me see what stops me now

My dear, I take a vow,

‘I will finish writing this letter…

After a power nap’, dear-O-dear,

Said a frustrated lover.

*Zzzz…*
Master’s still asleep, I, his pet gerbil, will finish this love letter now.
*Dear-O-dear!*
**[Source – Pixabay]**

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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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