Time

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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Crossing The Bridge To Complete The Circle

Posted on July 5, 2018 by Jagriti Rumi Crossing The Bridge To Complete The Circle Forgive Life Remember Time

…to bridge the circle.
**[Image by David Mark from Pixabay]**

He who cannot forgive breaks the bridge over which he himself must pass.
George Herbert

For it is a circle and you must learn to remember.

The stored memories, the cherished ideas, the endless thoughts, the proud emotions, the stubborn beliefs, the intuitive steps and the unknown, all of it nurtured by time. You learn to watch for the twists and turns, you accept the changes, sooner or later. You experience the journey.

And when those eyes are old enough, when that smile is true, that is when you are able to see another’s journey and that is when you are able to forgive… for life is a circle and you must learn to remember.

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A Simple Prism

Posted on June 29, 2018 by Jagriti Rumi A Simple Prism Colours Conversations Memories Time Vision

Poem

**Colour blast within!**
**[Image by kitti851 from Pixabay]**

Conversations and time

Old ones like wine

That which is far

Or locked in a jar

Called by memories

And sifting through the debris

Through patient hands

Holding back and

Letting go in a rhythm

Like a simple prism

That knows its colours

Always leave me coloured…

And I walk ahead

With a better vision.

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Not Alone

Posted on April 7, 2018 by Jagriti Rumi Guide New Faustus Not Alone Peaceful Piece Rise Take The Way Home Time

Poem

Forever glowing, the light within.
Image by Pexels from Pixabay

You are not alone.

Know this and take the way home,

Not to the concrete walls,

Or to those fairy dolls,

For Time is playing an old game,

New Faustus, but the end will be the same.

The dim light that you see within,

Which is wavy, translucent as linen,

Is there to guide you through it all,

To help you rise when you fall.

Forever glowing and reaching,

The peaceful piece in you.

So remember, you are not alone,

Know this and take the way home.

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Fear of Fear

Posted on March 9, 2018 by Jagriti Rumi Action Approved Pathway Death Fear of Fear Flower Grand Truths Life Nature Night Sky Nothing Water Wind

In Conversation

**The sparkling mystery**!
[Source – Pixabay]

The parched land did give me an answer, but how? Doesn’t it fear barrenness? It answered me though I had to wait for hours and hours as I walked ahead, crossed that skeletal shape of an animal and at last saw a cactus flower blooming.

The falling sky did give me an answer, but how? Doesn’t it fear horizon? It answered me to just look up at it and smile. I felt like I was falling back or was I flying… The night sky presented me with a mystery, with the sparkling mystery. I smiled and realised that I have been smiling the answer all the while.

The elixir of life presents itself to me, but why? Doesn’t it fear absorption? It answered me by flowing and gushing and filling up the planet and mankind alike. By giving itself up, it prospered in all forms and all life. Every glass of water now tells me why.

The sun’s fire doesn’t burn anyone, but why? Doesn’t it fear the cold end? It answered me ferociously by reaching every nook and corner and nurturing every universe. The epitome of supreme action and fiery hope, it burned all the questions and answers, leaving a pure residue alive.

The wind carries all life on its shoulders, but how? Doesn’t it fear burden? It answered me not, rather played with kites, the dry leaves, someone’s scarf, whistling in the woods, chiming music all around, lightly o lightly giving life, life.

The grand truths, moulded in Nature, by Nature, don’t know any fear.

They support answers and questions, I support fear. Silently walking down the approved pathway, I never dare to face a fear. Walls of doubts, plastic wallpapers, radio playing endless talks in a loop, I sit and I walk at the same time in my automatic red shoes. When I stay absolutely quiet, I count it as a good conversation. Fear of everything rules a life.

But when death strikes, in the end or the beginning, it surpasses everything. Death comes without any motive or desire.

Fear of fear confuses me, shackles me, blindfolds me, stupefies me, breaks me… but oddly, never stops me to act.

If fear fears anything, it is action. Action requires knowledge. Knowledge gives you experience, experience makes you wise and a wise person fears nothing.

P.S – This post is written in remembrance of Gin Gin Bandri, a little kitten.

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Crane on Turtle Candlestick Holder

Posted on October 11, 2017 by Jagriti Rumi Blacksmith Capture Childhood Contorted Crane on Turtle Candlestick Holder Flamboyant Frame Friends Hai Hai! Japanese Vintage Memories Molten Metal Never Fades Old Random Thought Time Two Kids

Flash Fiction

“We are old friends.”
“Hai-hai!”
**[Japanese vintage candlestick; source – ebay]**

Our blacksmith picked up the mould and studied it. His expressions were not discernible, but the sweat on his forehead highlighted his precision as he poured the molten metal into the mould.

Whilst he worked, many frames, metal shapes – some contorted, some flamboyant – stared at him, acknowledging and appreciating in utter silence.

Our blacksmith, on his way back home, saw a little kid who was standing against a wall along with his friend, wasting time, living.

That little kid whispered something to his friend and they both started following our blacksmith, copying his gait.

A silly game, a random thought, a reason to smile.

Dear reader what does time say?

Time says it is next day.

Every frame, every metal shape was eagerly waiting for our blacksmith. Roller shutter made its habitual noise and our blacksmith entered his workshop, and along with him came his two buddies, those two kids we saw earlier.

Quickly they went and stood next to his grand table, jumping with excitement.

Our blacksmith finally showed them what was now ready in the mould – it was a crane on turtle candlestick holder.

The two kids laughed and so did our blacksmith. He said the crane and the turtle were friends and the kids inquired if he had seen something like that in real.

Our blacksmith nodded and said that when he was their age he went with his father to a lake side and saw a crane standing on a turtle’s back.

Childhood memories capture time that never fades.

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Ellinikí Glóssa

Posted on September 2, 2017 by Jagriti Rumi Dreamy Ellinikí Glóssa Flash Fiction Greek Language Message Paper Secret Sunflower Time

Flash Fiction

**Cherubic bookmark.**
**[Source – Pixabay]**

A crumpled piece of paper, resting in an old library book, smoothened by time.

Intrigued by it, Bakul quickly rushed to a corner. She read the words loud and clear ‘Ellinikí Glóssa’.

Unsure of what it means, she fabricated a story– it is a secret message meant for someone. Yes! Beaming like a sunflower beams on seeing the sun, Bakul crossed the corridor, then the stairs. Students saw her and thought, ‘ye to gayi firse’ (she has lost it again).

Bakul looked at you, yes you, the reader and said with dreamy eyes and a wide smile – “Let us find out what the secret message is.“

A turn and Bakul bumped into her teacher.

“Sorry Sir”, “Bakul! Be careful girl! And what’s in your hand, what are you up to this time?”, “Sir, Rekha Ma’am is looking for you”, “Quiet Bakul, show me… eh… Ellinikí Glóssa… so now you’re interested in Greek language, hm?”, “Sirrrrr… this is in Greek?”, “Don’t waste your time and submit your assignment by Monday, okay?”

Bakul nodded. Sir turned to leave, then stopped, “Where did you say Rekha Ma’am is… in the staff room?” “Hee-hee-hee”, “Bakul, wait, you silly girl!”

Alone in the corridor, she looked again at you, yes you, the reader (don’t you remember?) and said with starry and mischievous eyes– “Am I interested in Greek Language?” She then winked at you.

Well, she must have found out the answer to this question by now. What do you think?

Anyway, peace out!

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MUSIC In A Silent Way

Posted on August 19, 2017 by Jagriti Rumi Double Bass Drums Electric Guitar Miles Davis MUSIC In A Silent Way Organ Soprano Saxophone Time Trumpet

A Dedication

**Sweet *sneakin’* melody!**
[Image by Lucas from Pixabay]

Trumpet

The room was dimly lit, the colours were all crayon textured and old… they all easily submerged in it. More footsteps could be heard and voices… voices were telling each other tales only known as a secret before by some selected few. Voices were joking, but just for a while. Soon they were talking MUSIC.

Soprano saxophone and electric guitars

Rhythms were played verbally and details were given through gestures. People gathered around knew it was time… time to create. Like a charm, everyone flowed, everyone flowed and synced to reach the MUSIC.

Organ, double bass and drums

Time stopped to bask in the musical waves… the musical waves were powerful enough to capture time. It danced, yes, it did. The room stayed dimly-lit, crayon shades also didn’t change… the room and the colours were in awe like little children looking through a wire fence… even the floor swayed… in a silent way, everyone did.

Trumpet, soprano saxophone, electric guitars, organ, double bass and drums later reminded Time to move.

This post is dedicated to the studio album In A Silent Way by Miles Davis, listen to it now –

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LINES WRITTEN

Posted on August 12, 2017 by Jagriti Rumi Awaits Lines Written Meaning Moment Seeking Life Time Transformed Unimaginable

Observation

**What you seek is seeking you. – Rumi**
**[Image by Michael Treu from Pixabay.]**

Lines, full of an era’s touch, were written. Some read and understood. Some followed. They tried. And then, lines were drawn.

Lines drawn were stone-solid, iron-hard. But time can always seep through and can rust till it is dust. Thus, lines started to fade.

Lines started to change. Change bloomed. They so rightly say, whatever is unimaginable is imaginable.

Lines are narrowed down to a box. A box in the head. The head awaits to breakaway, not realising that because it awaits, it awaits.

Lines are pruned to look similar, to look contemporary, to look right.

Lines are shredded. Words crippled, meaning transformed.

Lines like a guide help a seeker. The one who is seeking life meets the mid-way end. The end is the beginning.

Are you seeking life? In this very moment?

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That Black And White Photograph

Posted on August 1, 2017 by Jagriti Rumi A Story An Era's Voice Click Euphoria Liquid Time Memories Storyteller That Black And White Photograph

Flash Fiction

**Ready, steady… say cheese!**
[Source – Pixabay]

Faded and hazy… old eyes can nevertheless make out who is who. They are all standing awkwardly still for the photograph. It deserves a lovely laugh. It achieves so every time. And moist eyes…

Black is disappearing into the white and the white into the off-white. Will the memory die soon? Or will it live as an anecdote?

An anecdote that is passed on, with number of ears listening to it adding flavours they find must be incorporated, by one storyteller to another. It becomes precious, a small piece capsuling time. Golden time…

Her old, wrinkled smiling face was so young once. Gush of euphoria hits my mind for a few seconds, while she stays as quiet as serene scenery, softly caressing the black and white photograph.

Your memory, liquid time solidified by a click, an era’s voice captured in the photographic paper stays alive… first in form, later as a story.

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