A Draft...

A story emerges out of life or a life emerges out of a story is still an enigma. People share their views but this puzzle is yet to be solved. Many a times, a story is based on sheer myth; festooned with fantasy and revolving around frictional characters. 

 

 

Some of the stories are based on real life experiences; often enhanced by an underlying reality. There are other stories, which have been inspired by people around. The folks, with whom we interact, adore, know and occasionally mess up with. These are beliefs, which run amid life; as it is. The subject matter in the stories is simple, yet poignant and inspiring.  It has the power to illuminate the heart and soul. Often while reading the stories, one wishes to be an inevitable part of that extravaganza (the story of course)

 

There are instances for which we feel bad; moments that make us feel guilty. 

 

 

Being human we never wish to face such predicaments in life. However it’s a universal truth that happiness comes in small packets where as the grief has its own set of maneuver. There is another dimension to life…nostalgic moments; the moments with which many have spent their entire life. 

 

 

Well, stories evolve too. It takes a prodigious trajectory from a naive first draft to a marvel accomplishment. In real life, most people are vivid by nature and sometimes in an astounding way they act illogical. Perhaps it’s the privilege of being the most complex being in the world. Amongst the complex of beings, a writer always tops the hierarchy. Because consistently s/he attempts to add novelty to his/her work and transform an ordinary stuff into an epic work of art…like a thought, a legend; the list can go on.  Being a writer, a ‘feel good’ factor is what I always search for. It calms down my ever-jangling nerves, provides peace… the most craved-for feeling these days. 

 

 

It's an attempt to incorporate some of the broad dimensions of life in the form of stories. The glitter, melancholy, solace, sacrifice and last, but not the least; love…at times all these peeps in. 

 

 

As T.S. Eliot said “There is no absolute point of view from which real and ideal can be finally separated and labeled”

 

Happy reading folks!

 

 

The Amulet

Chinmoy sat there looking at the sea, the cool sea breeze blasting his face. 

He took in a deep breath. The wind is a little strong. It might rain he thought. The sea looked murky as dark clouds gathered above and big waves crashed at the shore. He loved coming to the beach every evening after work. It soothed him after the endless data crunching and the long client meets. He mostly came alone to just sit and observe; the sea, the people, the multitude emotions and the random activities.

He could see an old couple sitting together sharing a joke over a plate of bhel a little distance away from him. A boy was selling balloons to the kids who were gathered around him. He saw street urchins running behind the mobile ice cream van, the vendors selling various street food ,the elderly taking their evening strolls and people like him rushing back home.There was nothing unusual or interesting, but he was enjoying the humdrum.

It was then a little girl ran up to him and begged for some money, "saabji kuch paise de do, khana hai". Chinmoy absentmindedly took out a five rupee coin from his pocket and handed it over to her and looked the other way. He found it very awkward when kids came to him begging. He somehow felt guilty.

Some five minutes later he found the beggar girl coming his way, this time accompanied by another girl.The new girl was older and must have been about twelve or thirteen years while the younger one seemed to have been about eight. Both of them walked up to him. The younger one looked lost and sorry, and the elder one looked cross. They were sisters.The older girl asked the younger one to return the coin but the kid hesitated. 

The older girl then slapped her sister and took the coin from her hands and handed it back to him. "Saabji maaf karna, par hum bhikhari nahi hain." (Sorry sir, but we aren't beggars) They then turned and walked away.

Chinmoy was taken aback by the suddenness of it all and couldn't react. But more, he was impressed by the small girl's self respect and honesty.He kept observing them. They went to the nearby traffic signal. The elder girl pacified the younger one. She took out some lemons, chilies and strands of copper wire from her bag and started weaving them into amulets. While the little one waited at the side sobbing, the elder girl took to the streets selling those amulets as a good luck charm to the cars. She sold each for five rupees and by the end of an hour she had sold some nine to ten of those charms.

She then bought ice creams from the mobile van for both of them and then both the kids happily licked away the ice lollies.There was a smile on his face and a warmth flooded his heart. 

He got up and walked to them to get his amulet.

P.S. : At times one needs to revisit places as memories are tagged along with. Indu thanks a lot for drafting it so beautifully! A Long time ago though :)

 

Feet and shoes

Feet don't wear shoes these days,
Instead Huss puppies,Sketchers wear some feet

Some pair of shoes doesn’t get apt feet
and some feet don’t get a perfect pair of ‘em
Perhaps those feet felt so mortified,
They couldn't build the courage to get into a pair

All of a sudden some feet became so great
Many searched shoes for them...alas! they couldn’t  find any.
Some shoes turned out to be obsessed and egocentric
Hence remained confined within a glass selling for life

Some feet were running on road
They were restless, tired and desperately needed a pair of shoes
Well...they ran...ran a lot, became still and rested forever
Probably they ran with a hope to get a pair at least!

A few feet were blessed with a pair of wings
They learned the hard way to fly and they flee
Rarely they used to step on ground
But they possess utmost no of shoes

 

A mime

I saw my audience from the greenroom

Gentlemen, graceful women and ecstatic kids; 
see themselves off; 
dancing their lives through the world

 

My eyes became cold and intense,

Gazes both void and esteem;

My look was scabbard in shades of diffidence,
perhaps they were searching for a familiar face

 

My lips became hushed and dead, still, unmoved, unmet;

The sound of my smile was left unsaid,

And touch of my voice was unspent

 

My white mask demeanour a sham

Tried to be as mischievous as I could

Well…I didn’t use any phrase;

Yet the mute mime remained an epigram

 

Neither had they seen the unsmiling lips and icy eyes, 
nor my silence killed the fun

They all looked instead as the mime hypnotized...

After a long wait they all burst into laughter

 

 ‘Bravo’… ‘What an act!’

An enthusiastic audience shouted from the corridor

The show got over with a round of applause,

A pinch of denigration and self-satisfaction

 

I went back to the greenroom

Removed the costume and I looked at the mask

Well…I wore masks that always smile;

To hide my feelings behind a ploy

 

One after another the audience left the hall

“Adieu my friends...

You may never again be at my sight

Merry part to merry meets again”