SHE IS NOW LIKE THOSE SWEET SMELLING FLOWERS

From the pen-APN 

While groping through some old image files on my computer I saw a photo of Suhana. I maximized the photo and the charming girl instantly lit up my desktop and my mind as well. During my studentship Suhana was the most charming girl of my class.  I knew Suhana very well and I could remember every little bit of things related to her even though a decade had passed in the mean while.  

In the photo she was standing behind the speaker’s table with a microphone. The photograph had been clicked when she was delivering her speech in a college function conducted for welcoming the new-comers. Suhana was standing tall in the photograph and her beautiful lips were twisted expressively as she was uttering words of friendliness to her juniors. She was an impassioned speaker who could readily touch anyone’s heart. With an endearing smile looking at the new-comers that day she had told, “All say, give respect and take respect; But I say, give respect and take love.” When she had uttered the word ‘Love’ in that gathering, all students had clapped enthusiastically which had continued for more than a minute. After winning everyone’s heart, by her sweet words and charm, when she was getting down from the dais, she had shot a meaningful glance at me. That day I had spoken to that gathering prior to her. However, in my speech like a despotic ruler, in a Hitlerian voice, I had over-stressed the need for being respectful to the seniors. I was serious and authoritative but Suhana was humane and friendly. With smiles on her lips she had flatly contradicted me and had over thrown my stand by spreading the message of love. And that day I had been completely defeated by her wit and charm in the midst of thunderous clapping of the overjoyed audience.     

I clicked upon the ‘close mark (X)’ on the right-hand corner of Suhana’s photo on the screen. And at the same time, at the corner of my eyes tears also came involuntarily. No doubt, I had become nostalgic but I was sure that those tears were composed of both the joy of her appearance in my life and then her resulting disappearance from my reach.

She is now like those sweet smelling flowers at night which remain invisible from eyes but go on spreading its delicate fragrance in the gentle wind.     

Rain, Rain Go Away

From the pen APN, 19.09.2015

It was raining hard outside. Big rain drops were hitting the ground and then they were getting scattered into fine droplets. The music of the rain had filled the environment. The clouds had made the afternoon dim and the sun was missing. 

The window of my room was open and my son was completely absorbed in looking at the rain washing the road that passes by my official quarters. He was silent for a considerable time and was completely lost in observing the Nature.

My wife drew my attention to my son’s deep meditation at the rain with a comment, “Looking at the rain, like father, the boy has also set out into a dream-world.” 

I felt a little proud. After all, my wife recognized that I am a dreamer, writer and poet-like person. Such types of comments are very rarely heard from wives. (The word ‘WIFE’ is made plural to denote all the wives of the world married to persons like me or you) 

I looked at my son; he was really lost in viewing the dance of the rain drops. His serious silence was heralding that he was deeply thinking about some philosophical questions of life. I wanted to read his mind but I failed. He looked like a saint of very high order who was lost in the highest plane of meditation. 

I went near him and slowly touched his shoulder. The young child’s shoulder was indicative of his natural softness. He was still looking at the rain intently. So he did not respond to my touch. I softly asked him, “What are you looking at?” With his eyes still on the continuing rain, he told, “I am looking at the rain.” He described me the obvious and my intention to get into his mind was checked as if by a protective fire-wall. I mellowed my voice and asked him again, “What are you thinking, my son?” This time he looked into my eyes and in a serious complaining tone muttered, “Because of this rain I cannot go out and I have not played for last two days.”  

I suddenly realized how rain could affect a child so deeply. I also understood the veracity of the nursery poem which says, “Rain, rain go away/Little Johnny wants to play/Rain, rain go to Spain/Do not show your face again.”