Golden Leaves Art. A painting by Jose Tonito. [Source – Deviantart]
*
In this second when I think about the bluish green, maroon flower and the wavy lines, I am reminded of the golden thought full of bright light and a rush of sparkling trail which, if I follow, and I do follow, I reach a melodious moment, it is certainly true as I feel its charm and floating I land back, touching the soil I understand my presence and the leaves sing together a hymn of the past, I smile and feast on the warmth of this meaningless meaningful journey that quietly adores the skylark’s secret and freely shines, glad to be and not be, everything merging in this second.
Happy dandelions with yellow friends in the sun. [Source – Pixabay]
This bright light that surrounds, that has soaked, that is soothing is one with me. This cottony soft memory is a truth. I breathe, I hear it.
A melodious tune played on the lyre flows in the air. We are all dancing to it.
A sea of dandelions… Running as if I have wings, golden wings, I cross the sea. When did I start swirling? A gush of harmonious wind surprises me and I fall down, laughing loudly.
The dream continues every time I quietly see this bright light.
Keiji comes running to his elder brother Ryoichi and tells him about the bullies. Ryoichi, a great son of a great father, stands up and assures his brother not to worry. Keiji trusts Ryoichi. They can handle the bullies, they are confident. The next morning their father walks with them half way to the school and then leaves for office. Keiji and Ryoichi, near the school gate, find the biggest boy amongst the bullies challenging them. They then look at each other, deciding with a nod what they should do. They run away and don’t attend the school that day.
Yasujiro Ozu’s ‘I Was Born But…’, a 1932 silent film, will remind you of your childhood, the challenges you faced as a child – winning some and losing some, the faith you had in someone great and the dream of becoming someone great. Children’s world comes in contact with the adult’s world. The innocent child doesn’t understand hierarchy or hypocrisy, though he understands power as he finds it in his world as well; power to not to be bullied, power to bully the bully, power to be the group leader.
How in the adult’s world dreams become unreal, fantasies die and realities are numbered, given a name, a social status and bit by bit life is compromised, is what we see in the film, but from the children’s point of view. Children are lively and so is the film. Its comical timing is fantastically perfect. Slowly with the shifts from this to that world, the tone changes, yet maintaining the rhythm throughout.
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Keiji, Ryoichi and their father, Mr Yoshii. [Source – IMDB]
Understanding anything, anyone is a tough job, some fail to and some refuse to do it altogether. This film takes up this job and finishes it successfully, understanding the child’s dilemmas, beliefs, hopes and displeasure, understanding the adult’s demeanor and how they accept a denouement, understanding the familial ties and the need of tuning it, understanding the melodies of life and how it makes everyone laugh all the time.
An amazingly marvelous film, it must be watched by all those who want to feel the magic of cinema. ‘I Was Born But…’ is one of my favourite films of all time. It is introduced as ‘a picture book for grownups’ and rightly so. The fact that it’s a silent, black and white film doesn’t make it a difficult watch at any point rather this masterpiece flows so wonderfully that colour or sound seems redundant.
All you have to do now is to watch this film, appreciate and thank Yasujiro Ozu for making this superlative work of art.
Samira was walking briskly. Her thoughts followed her where ever she went, in shade and dust, amongst the crowd and throughout the dim alley with matted hoardings. Life in its minute detail, including the folded chit in a jeans pocket, spoke to Samira. Thoughts dappled with plaintive acceptances and mellowed retraces were highlighted.
Everything was perfectly normal when Samira turned in slow motion, her hair flying dramatically, her eyes looking for… Alas! There was nothing filmy to see, except something comic – pigeon droppings dropped on a man’s head. Samira grimaced as if she knew the pigeon or the man.
It started to drizzle. Samira smiled, almost chuckled, why, because she had an umbrella. And then came the moment – heavy, pouring rain made the pedestrians hide in shops, except a bunch of few who had an umbrella. Samira shined with a beautiful pink umbrella.
La la la laa laa, la-la la la laaaa! She was reminded of the grand music score from Chariots of fire.
But all this for a few minutes and she was back in shade and dust, amongst the crowd and on the rough road. She looked at the people around her and wondered about their life, sufferings, dreams and hopes. Gosh! In a puddle, Samira saw her gloomy face and noticed her laces. Now, just like the others, she looked for a corner and sat to tie her laces.
Umbrella on a side, down on her knees, Samira got drenched as a rusty, rickety roof pipe broke brazenly. Pedestrians saw it, ignored it and then saw it again. Sheepishly Samira got up, then acted brave till the road curved to the left. “It is over”, she said.
Samira walked, deep in conversation with herself when a little girl, a beggar, came running towards her and started to walk with her. She thought, now she will ask for some money, now she will beg, now. But the beggar smiled and said, “I just want to go till there”. Samira nodded and looked at her pink umbrella happily. The beggar giggled as her little brother joined them. Samira looked at both of them and saw the two most radiant smiles she had ever seen.
Gladly she walked with them, not thinking anything, quietly and happily. Giggles overpowered her thoughts.
My funky umbrella that I forgot in a bus and so I had to buy a silly raincoat. [Source – Pixabay]
*
It’s a foggy day and I am walking to somewhere all alone, carrying a green umbrella pendulum-like. Rain shower won’t stop me. The blinding whiteness won’t scare me. I check my watch, it assures me time is good.
Hearing footsteps following me, I try to hasten, only then I realise it is no one, but me. These gumboots I tell you. It is all very funny, but still I cannot take a chance to laugh aloud.
Never knew the fog could trick. The fresh green plants and giant trees that till now looked painting-like, now seem spooky.
Suddenly I hear fresh footsteps running from a direction towards me. Numbly I tell myself don’t move, still I turn and find someone in a funny raincoat running towards me.
Then a voice, “Smarty pants, give me back my umbrella, don’t want this silly raincoat of yours’. It is my friend Marcia. I smile and say, “But you look good in it.”
We fight and then laughing aloud walk ahead together.
Walking ahead, though the past was slightly askew, she unlearned many things for good, sighing and laughing at her funny plans, she heard the silence completely and asked herself to stop feigning.
Tiresome, but still hopeful, she accepted the confusion. Forgetting fear on the way, she dreamed about the mountains with her eyes wide open. Dense fog passed by, saying nothing, approving nothing, just making her smile a little.
The tall pine trees reverberated with continuity and change, thus affecting her. Rocks, stones, pebbles all are very jolly, she wrote in her notebook.
And now she sees the stairs. The question arises… not whether she will or will not, but how truly. Walking, but how truly?
This is to be realised on the way, she tells herself.
Stopping, as her mind was moving too fast, she breathed… the air deftly hushed her talkative self and so she listened… listened truly, completely.
Now is the time to live, now is the time to act, now is forever, at least till I am.
Point taken, she walked ahead humming a soft tune.
Endless footprints following footprints/
When suddenly a few of them rise/
To bloom like a flower.
Greetings!
A storyteller, following the ancient tradition of cave chroniclers, standing in vrikshasana (the tree pose) on a hill top (it is sunny, but windy), breathing in and out stories (relishing it all, but at times overwhelmed), declares animatedly that she will continue to – tell stories, share rare story gems, and connect with the pacy universe while also keeping the website ad-free.
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Ya-hoy!
Chiming Stories (formerly Home Chimes)
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A Tribute to Jean-Luc Godard, the Film Philologist who Reinvented Cinema.
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Silver cascade shimmering the night sky, music to the waves and surreal beauty to the eyes, the Moon loves the art of discipline.
It may be difficult to believe for the Moon’s splendour defies time, it stupefies the clock, it follows the path of a dreamer, but how could this be possible if the Moon knew not discipline?
In this moment, I am a little bit of this and a little bit of that, I am complete and incomplete, I am pleased and uncertain, I wish for nothing and I know I have to wait.
Because the distance covered reminds me of the hurdles I have crossed and the ones I could not, it reminds me of a throbbing past and a dreamy future and it reminds me of how much time is left.
Meredith and the Green Lake
Illimitable Splendour
A joy so complete without any rise or fall, so free without any time corners, so real without true being false, false being true.
