WHILE SIPPING THE TEA WE DIVE INTO EACH OTHERS EYES.......

FROM THE PEN APN 

I am a man weighing more than 90 kilograms. So a cup of tea is not sufficient for me. I need an extra dose. That is why my wife gives me a half glass full of tea when I ask her for tea. But I feel that a glass does not go well with such refreshingly hot brown drink. Moreover, I feel it rather unfashionable to take tea from a tumbler. So oneday my wife ordered a mug with a beautiful photograph of hers printed on it. The mug was also stylishly lettered with the words: WHILE SIPPING THE TEA YOU DIVED INTO MY EYES, THEN INTO MY HEART AND FINALLY YOU ARE IN MY SOUL. 

If, by mistake or inadvertently, I have praised another lady’s beauty (even if that lady is a serial actress whom I have never seen in real life) then my wife will stop my afternoon/morning tea as a way of punishing me. After mustering all courage if I venture to ask for my tea once again she will angrily burst saying, “Go and ask for tea to your new wife.” 

I do not know why in such cases I readily accept my defeat and comply with each and every dictate of my wife. I smile and then do my level best to convince my wife that she is the most wonderful woman I have ever seen in my life. And except her good feelings I will be like a rootless tree. Is it simply for getting that half glass full of tea or for the bonding between tea, myself and my wife that I eagerly change my stand? I have always been convinced that TEA IS JUST A SUPERB ADDITIVE IN SOCIAL LIFE THAT ADDS HOTNESS, FRESHNESS AND SWEETNESS TO OUR RELATIONSHIPS.

I would have stopped writing with the end of the 3^rd paragraph but I extended my ideas to one more paragraph because the sips of tea which I am taking now activate me to go an extra length. And my wife who sits before me while I type this article is really experiencing that WHILE SIPPING THE TEA WE DIVE INTO EACH OTHER’S EYES.......

A SINCERE POET VS A SMART SPEAKER

FROM THE PEN APN
21ST SEPTEMBER,2014

In college he was famed as a gifted poet and I, as a gifted speaker. He was the gentlest and soft-spoken boy in the college and I was a vibrant flashing character.
The election time neared. All the college convulsed with election fever. Pushing cards, banners, posters and such election materials dovetailed with vigorous campaigning of aspiring student leaders and the voters were lured by all possible means. That year the hustle and bustle of the college in that pre-election time was unprecedented.

I was made to stand as an opponent to that gentle but talented guy. While on a campaigning move on the corridors of 1st floor of the college I was introduced to him. In a few minutes I could feel that he is a better candidate than me. His abnormally normal and greatly simple personality made a profound impression in my heart. I was conquered by his genuinely modest behaviour and sincere friendly smiles.

I learnt from him the quality of sincerity in one’s approach. He was endowed with a poetic heart and that made him glide with effortless ease into the minds of his fellow students. He used to speak from the heart.

He was contesting for the post of LITERARY SECRETARY and so was I. I campaigned with smart, quirk, witty and pleasing remarks like the smart TV anchors. But he moved like a stream of poetic sensibility with definite rhythm and beautiful bends. He was like an ART FILM and I was like a full entertainment comedy film. He had enormous depth but I had a flashing surface. He was real gold but I was a shining piece of imitation. I had a brilliantly shining surface but he had a deeply matured inner faculty. He had depth but I had outward show. Te whole college was agog for the results.

The election was over. Then the counting was also over and an authoritative voice announced on the loud speaker which declared that I was the winner. I felt “REAL GOLD WAS ONCE AGAIN OVERSHADOWED BY GLITTERING IMITATION.” The majority of students stood by my side being lured by an empty flash of charisma but they missed who really deserved the post..............

14 years after, in the social networking site one day I discovered that same old face with the same sincere eyes and the same all-conquering smile receiving the “Best Young Poet’s Award of the state” from the hands of the honorable C.M of the state. I looked at the piece of news and commented below..... REAL GOLD HAS LASTING VALUE.

When a teacher took a pause....

DEDICATED TO THE TEACHING FRATERNITY

FROM THE PEN APN

The whole class was silent. All the 128 students were silent because the teacher who was supposed to deliver his lessons was seen to be lost in a prayerful posture with his eyes closed, heads down and hands resting on the table. The silence continued........In the depth of silence the teacher tried his best to come out of the state of absorption but it was impossible on his part. The more he tried, the deeper he sank into his thoughts.

 A quote, which he came across, while teaching a text had struck a chord in his heart. The quote said, “Teaching is not a lost art but the regard for teaching is a lost tradition.”

He was a teacher in an institution but today in the class while reading the quote he experienced a flashback of his numerous teachers starting from the one who had taught him the alphabet to the professor of his last attended institution. All of them appeared in a circle as if they were playing marry-go-round keeping him at the centre. The teacher felt himself like a student and was lost in intense feelings of gratefulness for those persons who had taught him the ABC’s of life.

The silence was broken by a front bencher’s question, “What happened, Sir? Are you alright?” The teacher replied from a state of heightened emotion, “Yes boy, I am always alright in life because a few teachers had flawlessly shaped it. And you may take another 20 years to realize why I went speechless today.” The students could not understand what happened to their beloved teacher.

With a smile the teacher turned to the white board and wrote a sentence in capital letters to eliminate his students’ wide mouthed expressions. The white board was glistening with the words:

“A TEACHER AFFECTS ETERNITY; HE CAN NEVER TELL WHERE HIS INFLUENCE STOPS.”