Storytelling

I Forgot

Mixed Fiction

Where are my colours? [Source – Pixabay]

I was coming back. In the bus, people sitting attuned in silence, hypnotised to the bone, were no different from me until I looked outside the window with sleepy eyes, swaying without a reason. I wasn’t asleep. Whatever was passing was in a rush and I was in a deep slow-motion, so nothing matched.

A thought came to me and I started pondering over it. Gauged a bit about the thought and would have done more, written a few lines, but I forgot; whether I just forgot the thought or to pen down the thought or both, I don’t know.

It is really funny, the party lights seem to be dancing just because they are in a party. But in that sullen room where a solitary sullen bulb glows, no one dances. Rich place for getting scolded and for discussing the future. Who listens when the elders talk? Who listens when anyone talks?

My mind keeps running a never ending tape that I have to adhere to. Yet another thought that I wanted to work on, but I didn’t because of two reasons – I couldn’t find a pen and then I simply forgot to. Hah!

Could it be that while you are walking all alone, nothing changes in you, you are naively, accidentally, mistakenly moving with tranquility and when you are a part of a loud ‘what’s up-oh that-like really?’ crowd everything changes in you, you are then surrounded by absolute confusion and fear?

Changes that crawl and form a labyrinth inside, of which you stay completely unaware.

It can happen. I completely forgot that it can.

What I remember though is that I should make a card for my uncle and auntie. There is no occasion, but then cards aren’t meant only for some special, grand celebrations alone.

“Where are my colours?” Yes, I remember that and so one day I began. I half did it; learnt a good lesson though. Here it is in parts – 1) even if you are not a 10 year old, you can still spill water and make a fabulous mess and 2) (the best one) the comfort of your bed and using water colours is not at all a good combination.

Soon million tiny things around wage a war against you without even moving and you are certainly helpless. You’ll then not find the scissors, the only clean brush, pencil or eraser and as soon as you get up to take a stand, things fall and laugh at you.

My hands… they are muddy green and bluish… am I an alien?

Using water colours mean getting your hands dirty. Oh! This didn’t bother me when I was a kid. I very often made cards for all my friends, getting my hands dirty was never a problem. I guess, I just forgot this.

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The Month of April

Posted on April 15, 2015 by Jagriti Rumi Birds Butterflies Dandelion Magic of April Messages Moody Moon The April Drama The Month of April

I haven’t given much thought about the month of April, I realised it only recently. April… very quiet and yet so lively a month.

Emerald hues all around, telling me a secret and listening to me at the same time, swaying with the wind and merging with the blue sky.

A little yellow dandelion standing all alone at the end of a cliff witnessed all the April drama.

**Butterfly flying in a rhythm…**
**Image from Pixabay.**

Butterflies can fly so very high, up the giant trees with two-three light hiccups on the way, sitting on the top of the tree or sweetly enjoying the descent. And they always fly in a rhythm, they are always playing a tune.

Some also say that butterflies carry messages; imagine a fluorescent yellow, bluish-black with a tinge of orange message flying towards you… definitely worth feeling amazed.

And what can I say about the birds? The group that chirps all the time, the pairs that keep singing lengthy songs, the sets flying one after the other and the sole bird sitting somewhere preoccupied with a thought.

**Thinking… meditating.**
**Image from Pixabay.**

While the sun in April looks exactly like we painted it in our drawing notebooks with an orange crayon, bright and glaring, the moon, on the other hand, looks different every night.

One night the moon is attended by starry twinkles, the next it is all alone talking directly to you, expecting a face to face chit chat.

Then one night, I stared at the circle the moon had drawn around itself… as if that night it didn’t want to be disturbed. Funny!

A few days later it was crescent-shaped, clearly asking me to come up with the help of a rope.

April usually meant “just the last exam left” and then “not going to touch the books for a month” to me.

I have lived an obedient student’s life and somehow foolishly forgot to engage myself in the magic of April. Until now!

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Pierrot Le Fou

Posted on April 6, 2015 by Jagriti Rumi Criss-Cross Eccentricity Individual Life Love Mind Mountain Philosophy Pierrot Le Fou Question Reading Stories Two Dogs

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So after I watched Godard’s Pierrot Le Fou I went for an evening walk with a question in my mind.

Why did Marianne call him Pierrot? I left without an answer.

The Poster of Pierrot Le Fou, a film by Jean-Luc Godard

It was getting dark as slowly the fog from the mountains was covering the valley from all the sides. The clouds made a thundering noise at some distance. It was surely going to rain and I still didn’t take any umbrella.

The two dogs with me were extremely excited, they rarely worry. Rain or not, they are always up for a walk.

I have a habit of calling them not by their names. Funny, they always wag their tails. I guess I call them so because of what their personalities reflect as a dog.

So happy!

So excited!

Anyway, Pierrot Le Fou…what a ride! From eccentricity to understanding it, from the society to clashing with it, from love to killing it, from life to getting killed. It was about Pierrot…a single individual and the incidents that occur one after the other in his life.

Criss-cross, criss-cross we climbed down the mountain. My mind was quietly dealing with the same question – why Pierrot?

Was it because of his personality, did Marianne know him more than he knew himself?

It seems so, in fact, he was aware about it but was reluctant to accept this fact and that’s why he reminded her each time she called him Pierrot that his name is Ferdinand not Pierrot.

Suddenly, as I was busy thinking and talking at the same time, it started drizzling. We decided to go back. The dogs were as happy to return as they were when we left the house.

I started running and so did the dogs, it was raining heavily now. Climbing a mountain is tough. I was short of air soon and I stopped to get some.

The dogs also stopped, we were getting wet. Breathe, breathe, I told myself and started walking briskly. And then when the cool fog was all around and my nose felt very icy, the question in my mind escaped.

Panting heavily, trying to catch up with the two dogs, I felt truly in the moment…I was in the present.

As if someone was behind me with a gun, I ran so fast. The dogs were running next to me. It was downhill now and we increased our speed. ‘Thundering typhoons, run, run, run!’

I am sure about one thing, Marianne didn’t lie when she called him Pierrot. She was being honest with him.

But I don’t blame Pierrot either. After all, he was busy reading and contemplating all the time. Someone’s philosophy ruled him.

Pierrot, busy reading.

This is what he was reading.

We reached home, wet. I was smiling. I sat on the chair and looked at the view. The young tree in front, with green leaves, was playing ‘raindrops’ tune. I listened.

Then I felt that I know the answer to the question, finally, but couldn’t put it in words.

Oh! I remember one word though – emotions.

I Wish to SEE Tibet

Posted on March 30, 2015 by Jagriti Rumi Buddhahood Buddhism Culture Dalai Lama Free Grandeur I Wish To See Tibet Monasteries Mystical Peaceful Peaceful Land Picturesque Valley Pilgrims Spiritual The Last Time I saw Tibet Tibetans

Book Review

**The Tibetan Plateau.** **[Source – Pixabay]**

Certain things are meant to be, but while we are living a moment, we rarely understand this beautiful phenomenon.

I am calling it a beautiful phenomenon because sooner or later we are able to gauge its magnanimity and purity. Everything simply falls into place.

Early last year, I bought a book from a second hand street bookshop. The cover page captured my attention and reading a few lines here and there, I told myself that I am in for a treat. And happily, I wasn’t wrong.

‘The last time I saw Tibet’ took me to the land of the gods, to an eternal pilgrimage, to witness the serene beauty of the pious land and gave me a humbling experience.

Yes, the book is magical. There were times when a mere description of the icy winds blowing in a small village, Thokchen, at a height of almost 15,700 feet, made me quiver and a few lines about the picturesque valley that the author gazed upon left me in a trance.

His visits to the ancient and grand monasteries – Drepung, Sera and Ganden, to the fabulous Jokhang temple in Lhasa, to the royal palaces – Potala and Norbulingka – of His Holiness the Fourteenth Dalai Lama and especially his journey to the Kailashnath and Mansarovar offered me a spiritual spectacle, a chance to feel the presence of the Supreme One.

**The Potala Palace. [Source – Pixabay]**

This fabulous travelogue by Bimal Dey along with presenting the reader with the wonderful scenic beauty of Tibet talks about its rich culture, about the mystical Lamas, about the simple, poor but happy people of Tibet.

What makes his journey to Tibet an immensely special tale is the fact that he traveled in the year 1956, when he was only 16, along with a group of lamas and theirs was the last group of pilgrims to do so until the dawn of the 21^st century.

**The book cover. [Source – goodreads.com]**

The glory of Tibet, the land that accepted Buddhism wholly and spread its enlightening knowledge everywhere in the world, is now a tale of the past. With the Revered Dalai Lama living a life of a refugee in India since 1959 and the maximum number of Tibetan lamas either living in India or abroad, the spirit of Tibet has weakened.

Tibet, under the rule of China, is not what it was. Can development now seen in Tibet be acknowledged when the soul of the land is quietly being crushed every day?

The number of monasteries destroyed in the past, the so called Cultural Revolution that took place in Tibet, the bloodshed of countless monks and nuns, the sudden disappearances of the religious leaders, the number of Tibetans who have given into self-immolation will shock you, it will dishearten you.

I was aware about the plight of the Tibetans before I read this book. Reading about their on-going fight troubled me as I felt helpless. But slowly something brought a change, my efforts to understand Buddhism through whatever means possible, made me realize that Buddhahood is present in everyone, it cannot be conquered, it cannot be oppressed.

Rather, if one starts recognizing it, such a person can achieve complete freedom. And I concluded and told myself that Tibet is free.

‘The last time I saw Tibet’ was meant to be read by me because after finishing this book I again felt that Tibet is free. How lovely this feeling is, how empowering! Such is the positivity with which this book has been written.

All the facts will defy this statement at the moment, but Tibet, its culture and its religion is not about facts, it is about the spiritual connection with the Ultimate One, with the Lord Buddha, the enlightened one, whose blessings are always there with every free mind.

Caught in the political drama some may not be able to understand this, Tibet –the roof of the world, where gods reside- is, was and will remain free.

Time, no matter years or decades, will seal this thought with grandeur that the peaceful land of Tibet deserves.

**Tibet… picturesque, peaceful and pious. [Source – Pixabay]**

Also, read about the history of Tibet here.

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My Words Are Happy

Posted on March 27, 2015 by Jagriti Rumi Alphabet Handwriting Living My Words Are Happy Quality Question

Conversation

**Dance and sing and twist and turn and joy and love!**
[Source – Pixabay]

I enjoy my handwriting these days. Rough, crude yet in a smooth flow is what I can term this style of handwriting. Each letter in the alphabet and every word in the sentence appear to be living to the fullest.

The ‘I’s and the ‘E’s gleefully try to tell me a funny story but cannot stop beaming. And all the ‘T’s look so tranquil as if they know everything. The ‘W’s and ‘B’s are acting fancy for some reason, they happen to be doing the twist. The ‘H’s don’t seem to be any different, they look just as happy as they always did to me.

Really, every word gives an impression of being happy with itself.

I am not reflecting on the fact that whether my words are happy every time I write or not, because I am simply very glad that it did happen. Quantity doesn’t matter, quality does.

It has also got something to do with the writer’s relationship with her words, her style of handwriting, her ideas, her life. Every little moment of connection is worth cherishing. And why not, when we all give so much attention to the little things that irk us, little things that make us smile should also be acknowledged.

Pour down your thoughts and then read them, you will get an answer. Yes, that too without knowing the question.

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Sitting Calmly, Eyes Closed

Posted on March 24, 2015 by Jagriti Rumi Love Meditation Mind One Seeing Soul The Buddha The Mandala World

Poem

**In meditation, in love!**
[Source – Pixabay]

The image that once rose

The lotus, the dandelion, the rose

Feels it very clearly

Like the wind brushing past dearly

An aura shook the land

With the touch of a hand

It was the enlightened one, Buddha

Seeing right through the Mandala

The universe looked just like a sphere

A sphere just like the world

A world just like the mind

A mind just like the soul

A soul just like the One

Slowly and at once he won

Changing into a lotus there

The Buddha permeated the air.

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The Mystical Mountains

Posted on March 18, 2015 by Jagriti Rumi Look Within Meditate The Mystical Mountains Time Traveller Vanishing Flowers

Flash Fiction

Beyond the valley of the vanishing flowers and the green lake where nymphs are still said to be seen, lies the grand mountain range known everywhere as the Mystical Mountains. The journey for anyone to reach these mountains starts from within.

The traveller has to meditate for a long period of time, centering his attention on the Mystical Mountains. Then when it is destined, the traveller has a vision and what one sees becomes the first clue. Usually it is an animal that one sees; a dragon, a wolf, a snake or an eagle, it can be anything. The traveller then has to face the animal; if victorious, the animal becomes the traveller’s ally and shows the path ahead. Sometimes it takes a few days, a few months, a few years to cross the valley of the vanishing flowers and the green lake and sometimes one isn’t able to cross it at all. But the one who does reach the Mystical Mountains meets ecstasy.

Every individual is meant to be there and for each one the mountains hold a miracle, a mystery to be solved and a reward worth spending a lifetime for. Those who return from the Mystical Mountains come back with a task in hand to finish it in a definite period of time. Such a person is like a Samurai, a Monk, a Yodha, untroubled by the material bonding and full of the life force. The magnanimity of such a few selected ones attracts the like-minded and gives them the idea about the spectacles that awaits them in the Mystical Mountains. Thus, a new mind, a new traveller set for a new journey to reach the Mystical Mountains, taking the first step to look within.

Reflection

Posted on March 10, 2015 by Jagriti Rumi Circle Life Reflection Revelation Stories Time Travel To Kill a Mockingbird

How brilliant it is that we can time travel? The art of storytelling can take us anywhere we want.

Recently, I met Scout and Jem in America; it was the unforgettable 1940s then. While I got to know their daily routine and the way they spent their summer holidays, I realised that it wasn’t much different from the way I and my brother spent ours.

Of course, the fact that we were brought up here in India, our games, and our ways were a bit different but the spirit was the same.

And who cares about the dry, old facts when feelings rule high?

‘To Kill a Mockingbird’ is wonderfully written and is a complete circle. The events start and hold your attention throughout.

You reach the end and find that you, along with Scout, have drawn a circle, a perfect one.

Though you wish to read more and know more, after keeping the book down you are left to ponder upon a great number of things just like one feels after a revelation.

Time flies so fast and gives us an impression of change but what changes and what doesn’t remain uncertain.

To me, this novel shares a feeling that things might appear to but they don’t actually change.

In fact, things just shift from one level to the other.

But wait, all of this is more powerful than one can think. We still want to hear what Scout has to say.

Her story remains as engaging as it was for the people back then.

This is what a soulful story does, it continues and flies and sometimes even time travels.

**First edition cover. [Source – Wikipedia Commons]**

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The Thought

Posted on February 25, 2015 by Jagriti Rumi Meditation Nature Soul of the Universe The Fool The Thought

So that the brush strokes are fine, so that the rhythm is right, so that the planet follows its trajectory, so that the Universe meets the end, everything has to be done perfectly.

Not the type of perfection that binds you, but the one which leads you to Nirvana. For perfection, concentration is a must.

One requires such a level of concentration that unites with the soul of the Universe. It then works wonders.

What is otherwise the glory of nature, the majesty of the mountains, the thunder in the sky? And evolution?

Perfection is nature, nature is perfection.
Image – Pixabay.

Meditation is the key, the answer to everything.

In a quiet mind, the peaceful colours of the Universe shine and bring along the eternal power.

Just a touch of this energy makes the mind sublime and supreme, no matter if only for seconds, the experience is life-changing.

If this is not Love, then what is? Loving oneself purely and believing that we all are one. The golden thread is common, it is absolute, it is present.

I remember a folk tale about a fool who once stated that he could see a bright light in everything, in everyone around him. The fool found the brightness overwhelming, he danced until he died.

People did not bother much, after all, who believes a fool, though they later started worshipping the fool.

Death of the fool became the foundation of a belief. The fool was a juggler, a perfectionist in his art.

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Carved and Alive

Posted on February 20, 2015 by Jagriti Rumi Bells Carved and Alive Flowers Harmonious Meditate Permanence Rock-cut Cave Temple

**Meditating in permanence.**
**Image by Jagriti Rumi.**

Centuries have passed and I have witnessed it elegantly, quietly.

Countless diyas have washed my feet and brightened my space. The lanterns took my shadow along and I crossed the steps to reach the temple.

I have enjoyed my permanence. I have blessed them all.

The sound stays forever and if you try to hear honestly, I have so many stories to tell. The echoes are playful and I vouch for this fact.

But there is nothing like the music of the bells. The small bells try, always, to tune with the bigger ones. Every time the result is harmonious.

I like flowers, both fresh and old. The fresh ones are fragrant and the old ones make a wonderful husky sound. And I collect sound.

All kinds of prayers, musical, non-musical, the chants, the whispered wishes and loud blessings are there in my collection.

I am different from the ones who come to see me here. They are opposite to what I am. I stay still and collect sound. I was made to meditate. While they can move all around and express. It must be their way of meditating.

She comes here a lot. Somehow, I can see a resemblance between this lady and me. She is mostly as quiet as I am, she reads a lot, maybe she collects through her eyes.

She is the one here who can listen to my collection, my stories. But maybe not now, she is busy collecting.

I’ll wait, nevertheless, and collect the sound of ruffles when she turns the paper.