Deluge

D E L U G E

It was an inexplicable darkness while I was standing on the terrace. Looking at the graceful and the mighty firmament and the far off luminosity on the mount, this brought a thoughtful wobble in my heart.

Suddenly lightning struck in the outer space and it started to rumble. Gradually a wet stench of earth refreshed each one of us… a renaissance of plants refurbished, a fresh cold zephyr started to flow and here it was… first rain without a customary season… Salutation of the rain to me…I become alive on such occasion, all of inner thoughts starts to secret my neurons, which expire so often in a sultry heat.

As the rain is in progress, subsistence on the street start vanishing, austerity fills the path. I for a moment surmise about each individual’s compassion, how they fall into place and how feeble for a time, a person is, in face of his or her own feeling.

Similarly, down pouring of rain is a time, when you amuse yourself in the sludge, getting drenched in the drizzle and for a while on such occasion, look at the person you love, getting squelched in the downpour, how one tries so desperately, to hold on, to this moment for eternity, but a moment like this deceives you and leaves, to slither into another moment and you stand imbibed wondering, it was here and where did this disappear, yes it was replaced by another moment, but does remain in your reminiscence, waiting for it to be recalled to make you insane or perhaps fall in love with that thought.

I often loved to promenade in rain with my hand in her hand, implore that none comes into our sight for her rescue, and continue to give me a moment sublime, to live for this moment even if it is for short while, allow this quixotic fall from the sky, to drench her and feel the water fall from her streak of hairline, to watch the droplets of water collect on her eyelids to make her eye flicker and make my heartbeat quiver too in identical accord and harmony, watch the embellishing skin seize droplets of water midway refusing them to flow aimlessly.  I  want to live, breath, and imbibe all of this into me, like a picture enclosed, ever to attenuate and enliven me at a time of desolation.

Life has such moments with different imbues and frames, neither it has all the grief nor of all the delight, all comes to you in dimension and magnitude sometimes too protracted some times too undersized, but yes a downpour is a motive to arouse the obsession, restore the earth, stirring again with a new heartiness, sparkle and bloom, and while all other defuse and leave and become indifferent….this empathy is undeviating all along.

An Angel

she will be,

in dedication she will preserve

my sensitivity

one day,

to confer

in this light rain.

Conversely in delight

I will subsist and exist

delicately

hereafter.

 r

Posted in My Life | 23 Comments

Small Things

Small Things

A single rain drop,

may seem too small,

but somewhere, for that rain drop,

a flower awaits its fall,

A small word unspoken

seems too small to say

but somewhere, for that small word

a heart may pray.

( Anonymous )

This is the influence and ascendancy of minute diminutive apparition. One, so often, has a propensity to disregard or fail to notice, but these small things over and over again bring consciousness and also a vision of all things beautiful in our everyday life. 

It has become conventional of parting wisdom, if it is perception or it is not, very few imbibe, but a lot continue to communicate reasonably or mistakenly, but so often it is frequently accomplished, perhaps I am not at all imparting any avowal…….what I am inscribing are the thoughts which enclose and enfold me from time to time.

In order to break free and cut loose I print it here in amalgamation. 

All of us have the inner instinct of showing to the world, I am superlative, but very few accept they are, but still don’t campaign. Those who don’t crusade in my view have this wisdom more graceful and courteous than those who want to drum up support, habitually. 

So is our life which also is made up of small small things, all connect and woven together to formulate or construct into a bigger happiness or despondency, but nothing is in huge in magnitude to begin with, all is a result of small things woven together to connect and to form a bigger proclivity and predilection or perhaps a penchant. 

Isn’t it a sight of contentment observing a drop of perspiration running from a farmer’s forehead to the side of his ears after a hard days work? A row of soldiers marching in unison or the smell of fresh aroma of different delicacy coming from the kitchen and the smell of the mud from the showers of first rain, or bringing back a smile to a weeping child, all of these are the smaller things which bring joy and charm in smaller imbues and silhouettes, the best part here is our liking of such smaller things are so similar, alike and analogous. 

Our lives too begins with smaller minute dimensions, it is we who make it complex, sever and complicated as we grow, the result and the follies we perhaps might or will detect in the older age, however little will we have time then, to put it back in performance or in place once again. 

If we could understand and imbibe these lines of celebrated Urdu poet Nida Fazli, we perhaps will win our proclivity , Nida Fazli has written very famous shayarii, most of which is sung by Jagjit Singh in his gazals.

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S m i l e . . . .

 

 

 

smile . . . . .

 

 

 

  

I will assuage your sensitivity,
and sluice your suffering away,
allow me to look into your eyes,
and hold your hand someday.

 

Heed, when you converse,
swab your excruciating tears,
segregate trepidation if any,
facilitate your stressful fears.

I will always be closer to you,
even in,  sad and miserable time,
conciliate a broken breath,
respire each moment sublime.

Never feel alone, I am here,
to mend that sorrow for a while,
when your anguish is simpler,
I’ll mock, to see your charming smile.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Life, this and beyond

 

 

Life……this and beyond

 

 

 

Every now and then one originates with a fleeting look or ogle or come across miscellaneous complexities in this world with an inquisitive perspicacity, normally when one is unaccompanied and thoughtful…..Where does one go from here, from present state to the next, in life and after life.

 

In present, one often flogs and beats, germane to make a name of oneself, without ever realizing that there is nothing permanent or eternal.

 

Where we have arrived, someone else is fighting hard to swap you from there, and thus, all sluices away with moment of time, but still one fights day in and day out to make a name for himself…….does somuch to accomplish this and during each of this progression and process one harms, deceive, deprive and falsify countless, as none accomplish a feat without this, in short span of time.

 

Accomplishing success through hard work and strive is celestial, but how many pursue this, there are many who value achieving success, but very few know how  ? all often vacillate in responding to this and they imbibe chaotically perhaps, this is why in their view this is all what is life’s meaning, perhaps not for me..

 

Life has more solicitous measure and appraisal, than, that to live and being alive…….to live life and being alive are of similar corollary, but has distinctively dissimilar connotation.

 

What I identify with life is, that it does not take more than fifty years, and believe you me mere fifty years for all to be wiped out of our normal existence, to one from distinguish living into oblivion perhaps nothingness ……In my observation it is all a mirage, a delusion and nothing more and nothing less.

 

We all know Babar, Humayun, Shahjahan, Akbar, Mahatma Gandhi, Abraham Lincoln, and many more, do we also know one person from their entire sovereignty and realm, who was closer and next to each one of them?

 

Infact none of us know all of this, and so will be our world after fifty years, all will also cease to remember our very existence, our worries, our anxiety, our happiness.

 

In actual fact you travel fifty miles from your house, little will you remember, what you have left behind. The present what is in front will preoccupy you.

 

Consequently, contentment and gratification you will get by making one solitary soul smile each and every corresponding day, this will bring in immense exuberance and optimism, to self and to others around you.

 

 

Little do we take out time, to see what nature has given to us, little colourful insects, a fragile petal of a flower, pine trees, height of mountains, depth of a ocean, under current of a river, green forest, and somuch more…….

 

Allow these fleeting moments to revolve around all of this and feel the magnitude and enormity of Happiness.

 

This is life and this is one realism none I hope will deny.

 

 

 

 

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I N T E R M E D I A R Y

I N T E R M E D I A R Y

 

 

There are times when you want to be all by yourself, and so often come closer to words which pull towards you………it is often the ink and the white sheet of paper which assign what you want and what loyally and truthfully you don’t want.

 

So often the black ink and a white sheet of paper does to us, does to the people, to the nation and to the world.

 

The war, the agreements, the marriage, a property, all what is so crucial to our very existence is by black ink and white sheet of paper.

 

The words we express so often to make an impact on others are all through this medium, without which this world would have been so blank, perhaps non existent.  

 

While keyboard is to a computer, so is the white sheet of paper and the black ink is from self to the world and from the world to self.While the keyboard awaits command, the black ink has well acknowledged the white sheet.

 

It all begins with a Birth Certificate and ends with Death Certificate. Without which our life journey does not begin nor does it end.

 

A child’s exam, a teacher’s remark, a report card, a school leaving certificate, a university degree, a professional achievement, it is all and nothing but a white sheet of paper and the black ink.

 

A newspaper, an agreement, a poem, a story, a fable, a child’s cry, a sweetheart’s smile, smiling eyes, a close encounter, a bank’s robbery, a fake currency, a win and a defeat, a judicial judgment, an ordinance, life insurance, your bank deposit, your finance is all conversed and told by black ink and the white sheet of paper.

 

And yet we feel we are the most powerful in deed and kind, but what if there is no medium to express, inspite of you know all languages of the world, but without this medium how will it be told, and what if all communication fail what is a medium to prove?

 

How will you identify your proof of existence?  Think hard Can You?

 

All what is required is the White sheet and the Black Ink.

 

You are nothing this world is nothing without this intermediate.

 

An ink which is made so colourful on a currency is nothing but a delusion of identification, but in true sense is the Black ink and a white paper……which also makes our money…..again.  

 

 

We would have been born and died, without being known, like an ant is born and dies……we are creatures…..merely this medium makes us feel and express….We are different, we are not creatures, but human.  

 

Happy Times.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Retreat

Come, reprieve, lazily stray
in sparkling hills, far away.

Fall in my arms for a retreat,

to hear my song calm and sweet.

Echo’s of my words to your listening ear,

­is also the melody of a flute you hear.

In single step where dewdrops enclose,  
in cuteness of the lilac and rose.

My songs, our fable, will loiter in gleam,
in rarebits and lonesome so seldom seen.

In recent times you have ignored my smile,

So please come in my arms for a little while.

 

 

 

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Banana Feast

Banana Feast

 

 

This page is written after reading Writer’s post. There is also a funny story on what she has inscribed. In Iran Banana is a rare fruit as I am told, I had good number of friends from Iran while I was in college. One such friend was Jamsheed and his wife Parwane, from Abadan Iran, we are still good friends.

 

One day this Iranian friend Jamsheed came to me and very innocently with a banana fruit in his hand, asked me “how do you eat this”.

 

At first I thought he is making fun of me but later he told me that he has really not eaten this fruit as it is very exclusive in Iran.

 

Going on his words, I edified him after peeling the skin off and gave him the fruit to eat. Having done this he burst out laughing, I just looked at him in anguish what was he up to…..after getting a little placid on his laughter he had his part of story to tell me. I amalgamate for your comprehension so have fun with this, without taking it too seriously.

 

Actually their were a whole bunch of Iranian boys and girls who had invaded India in pretext of higher education, this was the time when Iran was under the rule of Ayatollah Khomeini, with consequence of political uncertainty in Iran many flew to India. My town was also not spared and they took admission in various colleges they found feasible.

 

Quiet a few of boys and girls took admission in my college as well. They were rich and had money the reason being their currency was stronger to that of India. All what was behind concealed doors in Iran they had found new born freedom in India. They were very friendly, I was always an invitee to their Hip Hop parties, and the fun we had was just hilarious and also uproarious.

 

Girls with smart pink delicate faces, but nerves of steel, exceptionally beautiful, by saying exceptional beauty I really mean exceptional, like many Persians and yes I did have the privilege of having them as good friends. Boys and Girls both found liberty and console with me, may be I did vibe well or may be I did communicate well, whatever the reason, they came to me for all assistance and I was always enthusiastic to help them out. Few of them still correspond with me till date.

 

Well, I was telling you what happened with the peeling of Banana story, well here it is. This friend Jamsheed who had a big laugh on peeled banana had this story to tell me.

 

As banana was an uncommon fruit in Iran, having found this fruit so cheap and in abundance in India, few Iranian friends could not resist their temptation of relishing this fruit. They went and bought the whole bunch of three or four dozen banana’s and invited all their Iranian friends for this “Banana Feast”.

 

Iranian normally ate food on “Dastarkhan”, it is Persian cloth laid out very neatly on the carpet and all the food is kept on this, all surround this spread and pick their delicacy from here. So on this day there was nothing kept but bananas and all of them surrounded the great platter.

 

The host, did pick one bunch and started serving the banana one by one, the other friends ate the peel from the plate and kept on throwing the actual fruit in another plate, kept for dissipate, while doing all this innocently also howling aloud……

 

“This is good man but what a big seed ”

 

In reality they all were relishing the peel of banana and throwing the actual fruit referring as a seed.

 

While my friend Jamsheed was describing this about what happened with only of its kind “Banana Feast” I too had my share of delight and fun.

 

 

 

 

 

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rambling . . . . .

   rambling

6 am…. 

 

Hot coffee begins to work on me, and I feel now very distinct from the calm condensation, a creature of warmth, feeling my eyes shifting tenors, I awake, becoming brilliant, ready to congregate with people and communicate my liveliness in whatever expression it is attainable. 

 

At the back of my eyelids lay the lingering memoirs of what was felt in my sleep, it touches me, deep inside. 

 

Not too long ago, I’ve felt unwise, edgy and stirred, emerging into new sections, savoring factual adoration and watching it slide into detachments as living’s thicker currents, upholding suggestions, I went along that extended forlorn path… surrounded by countless souls but my heart rambled alone in seclusion under moonlight, luminousness that observe every instance and all chronicles of my strides. 

 

I am feeling and also trying not to forget my laughter, how much longer am I going to loiter like this, stare unwisely at some twisting sparkled shifting shape that would never emerge. Will it or will it not ? God has never been so kind to me.

 

I can be so gratis, I can be so blank. I am falling off from a collapsing precipice.On its periphery, I have been sitting to formulate the landscape, taste variations of high breeze, pretend that my serene sanctuary is all that is, while erosion takes its course and I can’t afford to linger longer. It is sun-drenched here and I won’t deny its tenderness, but I have been raising my eyes to a new perception.

 

There is grassland under my feet, an enthralling flow of quixotic groove to fall into, but it almost wants to make me forget, so I have roses in one hand and the ruins of extinct past in the other, get stripped and chafe them as one in the wilderness and give them to the sky so something therefore huge will see me, something which I envisage as Lord above.

 

My recent appeals to God above are like haiku, 5,7,5 syllabi, small but potent, content  of my inner deliberations, graceful and bedecked in allurement to woo God…..yet an iota of thought continues to remain, will he overhear something this time or will he not. 

 

A simple desire to overcome despondency…….and possibly solitude.

 

 

 

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My Ambiguity…..Please Respond.

 

 

 

Do you have the answers?

 

 

Why is it that people duck in the rain, do they

really think the rain won’t hit them?

 

Why do "cool" and "hot" mean the same thing?

 

Why do they say "an alarm going off," if it is

really going on?

 

Why is it, whether you sit up or sit down, the

result is the same?

 

Why is it called ‘after dark’, when it is really

after light?

 

Why does flammable and inflammable mean

the same thing?

 

Why do we wash bath towels? Aren’t we clean

when we use them?

 

How can the weather be hot as hell one day

and cold as hell another?

 

How can something be new and improved?

if it’s new, what was it improving on?

 

Why is it good to be a Daddy’s girl, but bad

to be a Momma’s boy?

 

How come thaw and unthaw mean the same

thing?

 

Why doesn’t Tarzan have a beard? 

 

 Why when people ask you "what three things

would you bring with you on a desert island?"

no one ever replies, "A BOAT"  

 

Why do you click on start to exit Microsoft

Windows?

 

Why do people constantly return to the

refrigerator with hopes that something new

to eat will have materialized?

 

Why is it called lipstick when it always comes

off?

 

 

 

I have more questions if you answer these then

I would look for answer for them as well.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Marvel

 

 

 

 

The Best of Kishore Kumar, I am sure you must have heard them before, listen to them once again and take pleasure from this marvel……..the one and only Kishore Kumar.

 

 

 

 

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