Wednesday, 11 October 2017

Crane on Turtle Candlestick Holder

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 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, captured time that never fades.



 Picture Courtesy - Google 

Saturday, 7 October 2017

The Journey

Amongst the clouds… yes, this is how the journey began. Mushy clouds, mushy dreamy clouds all around her. Whether she walked or the white dreams floated around her isn’t something the music ever revealed. The music was busy playing and she was busy colouring. The sky and earth colours participated and turned rich.

Meanwhile, in a parallel universe, someone took a flight, landed, took a cab, halted for a coffee break, laughed with her friend and continued the road trip.

Warm waves of velvety starry blanket covered the existence and hushed those who listened into happy silence. She stayed awake for a while just to witness it all. A simple melodious note filled her ears and she swam to sleep.

That someone talked to her friend, they ate pastries and called it a day. That someone, with ‘oh’ look, got up to brush her teeth and then went to bed. Phew!

She opened her eyes, awakened the self and stepped out to see the end of a long search. Birds and buds, earth’s aroma and touch, giant trees’ humble smiles, the sun’s vocals and the wind’s compositions, other human beings, all dancing, and of course, the bicycles… everything she laid her eyes on glanced back at her, welcomed and sang to her. Tring, tring… tring, tring, she replied to them. Crossed leg sitting inside an apple she relished it, sweet, sour, juicy and fresh. When she jumped outside, she gave the left-over bit to a dog. Questioning her about nothing the dog finished the apple. Tring, tring… she went ahead and met a mathematician’s spirit, who gave her the map that took her to the grand golden lotus with twelve petals. Its beauty struck her hard and she kept standing there for ages in admiration. Primary and secondary colours, in circles, pyramids and cylindrical shapes all passed by her. She blinked and found herself inside the grand golden lotus. Earth, Fire, Wind and Water were there, she saw it, just a glimpse, but they were there in absoluteness. She blinked and she was back outside. Oh! The joy! She danced all her way, lal-lal-lal-laaa, rotated and laughed, climbed the musical rainbow and listened to what the colours were playing and then surprised herself with her quiet self, quiet but not low, because her eyes were beaming and her soul still dancing.

By the hourglass the journey continued for that someone and her friend, click-click-click, pictures taken, tring-tring-tring on the cycle path, resting, eating and laughing. That someone’s friend like a darling blue bird sang and danced… unable to resist that someone also joined her. Together they collected memories and both filled their hourglass with it. Smart! Now time reminds them of those memories all the time.

Auroville
O journey, when did you start and when will you end?
O journey, can I stop and meet my friend?
The beginning is hazy, but true and the end will be a new beginning for you.
Don’t stop if you want to meet your friend, for she is on a journey too.

Monday, 2 October 2017

बहानेबाज़

ठहर कर कहने की जल्दी मे,
मुझे ज़रा देर हो गई।

बात याद भी रह गई,
और भूल भी गई। 

दरअसल मामला सुलझ कर और भी पेचीदा हो गया है,
ख़ुद को जानने की पहल जो कर बैठी हूँ।

उस दिन जाने की जल्दी न मची होती तो,
सब जान ही गई थी, सब पहचान ही गई थी मैं।

अनगिनत अफ़सानो मे एक और अफसाना सही,
बस कलम ढूंढ लूँ, फिर और कोई बहाना नहीं। 


Translation -

The Excuse


In a hurry to share it later on,
I delayed it further.

I still remember what it was.
And I also think I have forgotten it.

Indeed the matter has become very simple and thus, very complex,
Maybe because I have decided to know myself.

Only if I was not in a rush to leave,
I would have understood everything.

Amongst all the tales, one more tale will be added
If only I can find my pen, I won’t delay it any longer.

Sunday, 10 September 2017

A Grey Building

In sickness I lay staring out from the window. All I could see was a few small trees and one big grey building. Shades of black, pataches of dirt and the peeled paint made it look more like a sketch of a building...

A sketch of an old building that has seen eras pass by. An era that changes almost nothing, but still does. Change that life awaits. Life that holds colours. Colours combine to form black, if it's light they combine to form white. Remember the prism experiment? Black and white...and grey. Grey characters say a lot. A grey building says a lot.

Saturday, 9 September 2017

These Red, Blue Jeeps Are The Same Or Are They Not?


The Red Jeep said to the Blue Jeep that it was late. What is the point of hurrying if you don’t know where you are going, replied the Blue Jeep.

Sure the circle is round and the track is wide, beautiful vistas stretched within and beyond me, prints are taken, but the journey is not free.

What is the price you ask? It is different for everybody. Though ultimately all agree to pay, and thus the journey begins.

But someone must know where I have reached. This guy in blue safety helmet might reveal.

Hey! Hey! Hey-hey! The man replied not, real the man was not, it was all plastic, just an image. It bounced off voices and that was enough for many. Still is.

The Red Jeep asked the Blue Jeep that if it followed the echoes or not. What is the point of following an echo when you can’t hear your own voice, replied the Blue Jeep.  


Picture Courtesy - Aditya Thakur  

Friday, 8 September 2017

टूटा हुआ चश्मा

टूटे हुए चश्मे की दास्ताँ 

शुरू होने से पहले ही खत्म हो गई 

अब और क्या कहूँ ?

Translation - 

Broken Spectacles

The tale of broken spectacles
Ended before it could even begin
Now what else can I say?

Wednesday, 6 September 2017

A Voice That Is Silenced Is Not Dead

You shot her and now hiding in your dingy room, scared in your dingy little heart, you fake a loud laugh. Pathetic! You, who have sold your soul in exchange for a new house, new car, new phone or possibly for a position, will suffer… and there won’t be an end to it.

But less about the hypnotised, dizzied and lost ones and more about the majority, observing and quiet ones… the ones who look, often address, but slowly learn to ignore. It must be due to some personal tragedies that they choose to stay silent. Sad, yes it is. But then such a lot forms the majority, yes they do. The majority if stands together will become a nightmare for the old selfish rich rulers.

The majority will definitely unite because there are great leaders who are already working for this, the great leaders who won’t ever fall, the great leaders who will always be heard by millions, even if their voices are silenced, their words will live forever... and so will they.


Crane on Turtle Candlestick Holder

Our blacksmith picked up the mould and studied it. His expressions were not discernible, but the sweat on his forehead highlighted his pre...