80 kilometers to Koraput

The gods live in the sky and peep at us through the clouds-such is the widely-held belief of the people who live in a country like India. I am no more an exception. I also look skyward when I feel myself reconnecting with some invisible power that we give the name GOD.

Gazing at the sky I forget my tiny height and my limitations. I expand my hands and close my eyes breathing in some fresh air of godliness to simply remain as a sensible human being in a world that always pulls you, grabs you, and blows you apart. The sky gives me the balance, the poise to live my life. And in night we can also point at the distant stars giving them the names of whom we loved so much and are no more with us. This is relation among the sky, the stars and the man who stands on the earth but looks upward into the sky.

That day I was commuting on a friend’s new bike from a considerable distance. I had already ridden the bike for 8 hours and I had still another four hours’ journey. This biking-journey was kept secret from my family because the route, which I had to pass through, was infamous for Naxal violence. And my family members would never have allowed me to undertake such a journey alone. But at the age of 35, the whims of a teen-ager are not totally dead. And I drove ahead in the speed range of 50 to 80kmph without any care for the risks involved in such a journey.

It was the month of rain and thick clouds were chasing me. They were my companion and now I climbed a steep ghat road. I scaled a considerable height and I found myself talking to the clouds. From the top of the mountain I looked downward like God and saw great patches of green paddy fields and tiny houses all looking like small segments of lines. I was overjoyed. I stopped my bike. A misty rain was spraying all over. I stood on a rock and from that height I embraced the beautiful view with my gaze. I blessed the beautiful earth. And I felt that I am amply rewarded for undertaking the secret and adventurous journey all alone.

I thanked the beautiful place and crossed the milestone that said: 80 kilometers to Koraput.

A Mood Swing

The mood is set. And I feel life interesting. The common things now appear in uncommon colours and superb brilliance. I touched the mud and soaked my new leather boot in the steaming coffee-coloured waters on the road. And I walked the distance to my work place carrying an umbrella. It had been a long time when I moved under an umbrella through the market. My walk was interspersed with a natural question from the locals, “Where is your motorcycle today, Sir?”

I realized that the petrol-run machine had now become a natural outgrowth of my existence and when I went without my motorbike, it raised a concern. But those people did not realize that at the cost of soaking my new leather boot I had come out to enjoy rain. And I am walking proudly enjoying the God-gifted height of around 6 feet. Also, I save some petrol for the next generation.

The leisurely walk is a boon in life when all rush madly after worldly things.

The atmosphere was charged with all the elements of romance. The world looked fantabulous. Had there been Raveena Tandon (the sizzling hot actress in the song ‘Tip Tip Barsa Pani’), she would have gone for the re-enactment of the remix version of the song even without asking for the payment. And such was the charm of that rainy day.

I was walking and I was humming that song- “Tip Tip Barsa Pani”

A vehicle came waving its wipers on the front glass. The wipers perfectly danced rhythmically to the tune I was humming. The vehicle moved past by me and one of its well-built tyres splashed around two-buckets of water from the muddy pool formed on the road I was walking. The splash gave me a second bath and Ms Raveena Tondon, the sizzling hot actress, and all the romantic imaginations accompanying that figure, the song and all boundless love for rain instantly got dissolved in the splashing water. The attack was not from above the umbrella; it was from under the umbrella and so its range was from tip to toe of my 6 feet human form. Now the humming of the song was replaced by a uncontrollable shout, “Bloody rascal.”

I turned back angrily and discovered equally angry and hot fumes being discharged from the exhaust pipe of the vehicle. Now I questioned myself how the heroine enjoyed rolling on the water and mud and could sing so enchantingly. I concluded that rolling in reel-life rocks but in real life it shocks. The mood was utterly lost…..

The school is a temple and the teachers are God

The school is a temple and the teachers are God-this is the faith in which students are brought up in India. But school-going children love the play ground most among all things in school. The love of children for playing surpasses everything. The running in the field, the merry-making and the physical activities on the ground make children fountains of joy. Many children forget many essential activities like eating, taking bath or even watching their favorite cartoon shows when they get to know the charm of the playground and the excitement of playing with their peers.

The main motivation for me to go school regularly was my love for the health education periods allotted in school. No sooner the bell for play-time rang, I would run into the field. I was never unreasonably absent in my school because my love for my play mates and play-time was such a pull. I was active in the playground and in the same manner I loved indoor games too.

But in class 7, for a traumatic period, I was robbed of that innocent joy so unmercifully that till today I remember those pangs.

I had a math teacher and we, his students, used to think him as the wisest and the most intelligent man on planet. Despite working for hours, we would miserably fail to work out some of the mensuration problems in our Math books. But he would instantly solve them and we would look at him in great awe and wonder. We were impressed by his deep knowledge.

One day he came with a chess set. He wanted us to learn the game. But I was smarter. I used to play chess from class 5 with my grandfather. After describing in detail about the movements of different pieces in a chess set he invited me to play a game. I played with the teacher and to my amazement I defeated him.  He could not believe what happened. He was my teacher and I was his student and that had given him a license that he would win in the game. And a deviation from this normal supposition silenced the class. He played with me once again and I could still retain my title. I mean my teacher was vanquished. This two wins did not make me feel happy rather they made me feel guilty. I felt as if I had committed a crime by defeating my teacher. My teacher praised me and packed up the set. I helped him in the pack up. He went away but most of my friends, now, turned their face away from me. They asked me that how I could become so heartless and arrogant and had the temerity to defeat one who is our teacher. Some of my friends reminded me the story of Ekalavya and went away leaving me alone. Their condemning words seared my heart and filled myself with a guilt feeling that often accompanies in post-masturbation ruminations. I saw my eyes were tearful.

Next day, my teacher called me to play chess. It was the play-time in the school. I wanted to run and play in the field with my friends. I did not like that indoor game of chess but I wanted to become like Ekalavya. So I killed my likes and sat with the teacher for the game. I sacrificed my play in the field for the teacher. For his fancy I sat with him for the game and I deliberately behaved foolish as much as I could and my teacher now chuckled and had a sigh of relief when my king was imprisoned. His face beamed with joy and mine too. He asked me, “Did you learn something?” Most respectfully, I answered, “Yes sir” and then I asked him, “Can I join with my friends in the ground?” He allowed me and in the ground a friend while kicking the football at me seconded, “We must respect our teachers.”  To which I noded.

In the evening I prayed with my sister……..Guru Brahma, Guru Vishnu, Guru deva Maheswara……Guru sakhsyat Param brahma……Tasmai shree Namoh Namaha.

A Fall in Love

The girl was recently married to a handsome & cheerful guy. She was now a proud wife and he was his loving husband. They stayed together but they could not know how deeply they loved each other. They shared a house, a bed but both of them were unsure of their feelings for each other.

Most often the means and manners to express our love fall short in capacity and range and depth. Many a time we love so intensely but we cannot or will not express. And sometimes we express but we express reluctantly and the natural spontaneity of our feelings of love gets curtailed. So it is always a perplexing question-“How to make someone feel your love?”

‘The deeper the love is, the dumber it appears’- And so it happened in their case. The wife loved her husband intensely but she did not know how to communicate her love. Likewise, the husband also loved the wife more than he loved himself but he did not know how to express all his feelings for her. A thin wall of some hesitation was perhaps there.

One day, they went on a motorcycle ride. The wife sat behind the husband. The road was extremely bad with a good deal of potholes and crumbling edges. So the guy had to maneuver a lot to maintain the balance. The situation still worsened when the clouds above gathered their fury and a violent and sudden rain lashed at them. The speed of the bike reduced considerably but the young couple did not stop. Now the potholes on the road were filled with water and made biking more dangerous. Before they would stop, there was an unfortunate slip and the bike lost its balance. And the wife, who was sitting behind, did not care a fig about herself but held her husband tightly and helped him to maintain his balance. The bike had now slipped to a distance and was laying flat with one wheel still rolling. And the wife was fully covered in mud and somewhat injured. She suffered the injuries because with her soft hands she wanted to hold her husband in balance and, as a result, she fell on the muddy and rough road more severely. The husband was saved from falling down but her wife was still on the road looking like a deity made up of mud. She smiled most complacently when she saw the man uninjured and unhurt. But the husband was on the verge of crying. With his both hands, he lifted his wife from the muddy road with utmost concern and deep love. He asked, “Hey! Are you alright?” The wife had crossed his hands around his neck and gave a nod and a smile with contentment and serenity. The husband felt that there was a violent explosion of love and he was lost in the deepest sense of gratitude for the lovely lady. It was a public road and the mini accident had already gathered a good number of onlookers but he did not care. He had forgotten himself in the avalanche of love. He held his wife tightly in his arms. His eyes were now closed and his voice was chocking when he uttered, “I never knew that you loved me so much. Now, I cannot live without you. You are my life, dear.” The wife heard those words, with her eyes still closed. And her face beamed with a heavenly happiness.

One fall from the bike had resulted the most beautiful fall in love.

N.B. Boyfriends/Girl friends/Husbands/Wives are advised not to adopt falling from moving vehicles to intensify their love-lives. It may prove dangerous. All the actions described in the story are conceived under the all-powerful and expert intervention of a writer. Real life may not provide you that SAFETY-VALVE.

A Mad Poet.....

Goddess Saraswati played the veena and the poet’s room which was profusely leaking because of a dilapidated roof and sinking walls was now effulgent with a divine glow. Waves after waves of supernaturally beautiful melody gripped the environment there. And the place now looked temple-like, pure in spirit and glowing in divine. But the roof was still leaking and the walls were still sinking

.

It was true that there was no splendor of wealth but there was the conscience and the splendor of wisdom.

The Poet who was so frustrated and who had withstood all the kicks and death-blows of the mercenary world for so many years now felt a divine calmness of the supreme order. It was the flower of his life-long pursuit of connoting the transcendental. His quest to realize a new direction of thought and life’s movement was at last garlanded with a divine spark……..And he sat with his pen with a view to signifying the transcendental vision that had now awakened him. But he stopped his restless poetic pen and became absolutely silent because he could sense very well that any display of a transcendental spiritual experience was utterly valueless to the world around him. He put his pen in a plastic case and felt more liberated and blest. 

It was raining for the last 20 days and the sun was caged in thick clouds. The day looked like the evening. Gloominess prevailed all over. And the poet now strongly felt that his inner spiritual wealth had qualified him for a higher world. In other words he had now learnt to live by the standards of a divine world. He now felt that he was a member of another world that is ever pure and esoteric.

With all these inner changes, he suffered many outward changes too. Now he felt everything so intensely that he would cry often……He would feel happiness so intensely that he would smile, then giggle and then roar in laughter. He got a spark of divine knowledge and that was beyond the comprehension of people around him. He would see that the world is transitory. And he would cry at the modern men’s frantic and breathless run for material comfort…….His feelings and emotions were now unpredictable just like the forces of Nature …….. He tended to become a part of Nature. Moreover his very nature attained Nature-hood. He became more and more like the waves of a sea or like an unpredictable river or like a sudden/violent gust of wind. And he achieved that state of consciousness-TO BE ONE WITH NATURE……….AND he was amazingly happy in his inward world. He now belonged to the nature and the complicacies and the anxieties of a modern man were no way traceable in him………He lived by the standards of a divine world and the people around him now called him: A MAD POET.