The ‘Arisa’ cake-maker

From the Pen-APN

A few months back when I was talking with that man, he seemed to be a dexterous entrepreneur. He used to sell ‘Arisa’ cake in a tin box laden on the carrier of a bicycle by the road-side of Bhanjanagar Market. He described me a lot about many Odia delicacies. And then he offered me a piece of his Arisha Cake (a type of Odia traditional cake made from jaggery) and at the same time, he extolled the speciality of the cake from the viewpoint of Odia culture. He had a pleasing smile and appealing communication skills. That day I was very much impressed both by the taste of his ‘Arisa’ Cake and his way of presenting the cultural value of the said dish. 

That day I had bought 6 pieces of the said cake and I went home to relish it with my family.

Today I met the same man in the same place in the same fashion but this time the genuine smile was eclipsed by some inner pain. The man seemed to be defeated by some unknown troubles.  I could not find the previous enthusiasm in his voice. He told, “Sir I struggled in this market for one year but I failed.” I was surprised because the taste of his ‘Arisa’ cake was unique and it obviously puzzled me why the classic product could not take off. Reading the expression of my concerned face he went on explaining, “Sir, people now call themselves modern and junk food with ‘China Salt’ (Monosodium Glutamate) is more appealing to their taste buds. And now in the name of culture, my business can no more stand. People have made junk food a fashion although it is unhealthy”

I realized the truth. At the same time, I could see how the youth of the town were swarming to a nearby fast food centre at the other side of the road and hanging around the heated pan on the oven that was frying earthworm-like noodles with lightning fast hand movements of a sweating cook. And I was the lone customer of that Arisa cake maker standing with him and trying to figure out the pains of a struggler, with his traditional know-how and values, who is fighting hard to overcome the blinding ads, a glamorous restaurant set up and the endemic junk food culture.      

I paid him Rs 70/- and carried my parcel of 7 pieces of cakes with no words to speak as I had no consolation to offer. And I left the cake seller alone in the busy road imagining and feeling sad about how my culture meets a dead end under the pressures of an invading culture like Chinese noodles, soup and other junk food.

Your Smile is not Fairy like Anymore….

From the Pen-APN

Your smile is not that much fairy-like anymore. I had linked my soul to your happily beaming face. But to my surprise now you go on showering your beauty and charm lavishly on any co-traveller you encounter on your way.

I get perplexed at your indiscriminate treatment of them who could never be serious lovers like me. Although you say, “All my beauty and youth is only for you,” you offer your beauty and youth to others packaged with lucrative smiles and inviting talks. You say you are all for me but when one day I found you are conspiring with a new comer to share your womanly love, I was utterly confused about my place in your life. You labelled the new guy simply as an acquaintance but you treated him more than your husband.

And I am hurt today because one day you had treated me more than your husband who is still alive and now you treat the new entrant more than me when both your husband and I are alive.

I simply say, “Oh! Shit,” because I am twice removed from you, first by your husband and then by the other guy.

Completely broken and deeply hurt I knock my house doors. And my pious wife opens the doors with oceans of true love in her eyes for me. She hugs me lovingly and does not know that she hugs a cheating heart that has been cheated recently by some other crafty woman.

DREAM BIG, FEEL THE URGE, WORK SMART AND LEAVE THE WORLD A BETTER PLACE

From the pen-APN

In some moment of my life on some rough paper I had once scribbled the following lines:“To speak to the public is my passion. I instantly connect the inner flow of my life when I am to speak before an audience. A well-decorated stage in a big open field under the limitless sky and an excited audience and my heart to heart talk with them over a public address system added with digital delay technology are my unalloyed joys of life.   As a stage anchor I speak out my heart before a joyous public and these acts of public contact give me a sense of self-actualization because I am really good at this.  With each public programme, I galvanize my dynamism and self-confidence. Such public festivals or programmes fill my heart with a lot of positive and spiritual energy. But now for over a year, I do not attend any programmes. I maintain a low profile. I tell myself that I do not need such publicity. I have started neglecting a beautiful aspect of my personality. Like a flower which does not get proper nourishment my talents may die out.”This is a case which most of us suffer more or less during different stages of our lives. Most of the time, we give up or gradually we withdraw ourselves from making efforts to realize our gifted talents. As a result, we die before we realize our uniqueness and the tremendous potentialities that we are endowed with.What is the answer to such a malaise?   DREAM BIG, FEEL THE URGE, WORK SMART AND LEAVE THE WORLD A BETTER PLACE.

The joy of walking together

From the pen-APN

When she appeared before me, adorned in a snow-white outfit, with her characteristic smiles of elegance and pristine beauty, she looked like a moving temple in human form. I looked at her without a blink of an eye. I did not know how long I stood spellbound at her amazing beauty. And I only regained my consciousness when she slowly and lovingly approached me with a smile and held one of my hands in hers and started walking with me.

That day we walked to a lovely place where God was believed to reside. That was a temple of unparalleled beauty. People believed that it was the temple of a lively deity where everyone gets whatever he/she wishes. So, with a heart full of rosy wishes, we started walking towards that sacred place of joy and serenity. From a distance, the temple looked like Lord Siva’s gigantic snow-white Kailash Mountain. And the colossal flag that fluttered gleefully on its top looked like the guardian of universe glancing benignly over a patch of surrounding verdant woods.

That day we just walked together in the same direction to a common destination. Neither I spoke any words to her nor did she spoke anything to me. But, in the life-enriching silence of the sacred place, while walking the walk hand in hand, we felt the depths of our beings mingle together in deep feelings of harmony and trust. With each step, our souls got closer and closer. I felt her fingers fill the gaps between my fingers. I clasped her palm in mine and a strong bond for all times to come was consummated. We knew we loved each other truly and by the time we climbed all the steps of the temple we were convinced of our relationship to be everlasting and unbreakable.     

I am not dead in spite of my beloved’s deadly blows

From the pen-APN

You hammered my heart with a blunt useless lie and then you laughed at me. You cruelly laughed at my excruciating pains with your enormous ego of being physically beautiful. But you failed to realize that you could bring pain to me only because my heart was made wonderfully soft for you in deep feelings of love. As a result, I did not have plan ‘B’ to safeguard myself from your venomous attacks. I remained unarmed in your love. So I was easily devastated and I was made to lose my mental balance by your cruel jokes. I soaked my cheeks in my own tears and stepped out of my closet, embracing the cold winter night with lonely footsteps. In my lonesome marching on the pavements of the city’s wide street, as a forlorn man, I realized what I am.

Yes, I am a heart-broken man but I am still alive. Although I am immersed in the saddest songs of a painfully palpitating heart, I dream of a life of Enlightenment and of Lord Buddha’s serenity. Although my heart is stabbed by my dearest person, I do not submit myself to death. The wound given by her is deep and fatal but I do not die. Just my inside gets cleansed by the flow of the spurting blood from the wound. And I find that I am not dead and I am still capable of dreaming of a new morning with grasshoppers jumping merrily in the sunshine of a golden sun in the cloudless sky. My joy knows no bound when some butterflies are hovering around me and at the same time, I am meditating on the shortness of this human life and the littleness of my passing sufferings…The movements of coloured wings of those hovering butterflies hint at something sacred and in the fluttering-music of their wings I listen to an eternal voice which speaks assuringly, “I am not dead in spite of my beloved’s deadly blows.” 

Embrace life with a sunny smile!