ŷ������

During a torrid period, my little brother gifted me an innocuous little diary with a message written on it.

Its empty pages beckoned me to write every day. 

I resisted. 

Filtering idea after idea for its worth.

Then, two stories struck the right cords.

One is out in the world as the book ‘WHO IS FRANK TWINE?��.

The other soul-soothing story, half written and undergoing a metamorphosis in my mind, is waiting to be bound to a book to take its eternal flight into the reader’s world.

Simple and small deeds, little moments: We should live for such moments, live in them, reminisce about them and cherish them all our lives. 

Live for such trivial moments with the butterfly effect. 

—–Udayakumar DS

The enormity of irrelevance in our daily life is baffling.
Drowning in the sea of irrelevance are the vital necessities of life.
We surround ourselves with unwanted things that distract us from our prime goal.
Our psychic energy is finite.
We pretend to be in control by constantly trying to exhibit our best selves, wasting most of our psychic energy in this drama.
We can do better without such distractions.
The consciousness of this fact dethrones us from the superior identity we possessed or assumingly donned all these days.
The need to prune such weeds from our thought world is a task worth adding to our mundane daily routine.
When irrelevance is reduced to a bare minimum in thought, speech, and actions, our conscious self will be at its supreme best and lead us to a fruitful life for us and those directly affected by us.

“The best portion of a good man’s life is his little, nameless, unencumbered acts of kindness and of love.�� �� Wordsworth.

I am blessed to live yet another beautiful day. A silent and peaceful morning greeted me, graced by bright sunshine clearing the mist and dampness in the air. As I grappled with the bed to lift myself and get out of it, I remembered a heart-touching moment. I am 85 years old now and ready to embrace the end of a fulfilling life. My memory is like a road in a village with numerous potholes of lost events. However, I spontaneously get these flashes of beautiful incidents from the remote past when I least expect it. As I placed my feet on the floor and grabbed hold of my crutches, I tried reliving the memory that flashed in my mind. It is a struggle. The road back to the origin of the incident is foggy. I slowly got up and walked around the room, breaking the stiffness in almost every joint. I reached the windowpane and stood there for a few minutes, bathing in the sunshine. I felt like a chameleon charging itself with the Sun’s heat every morning. All the while, I was collecting bits and pieces of the memory that reignited. The thought broke by the footsteps of my great-granddaughter Heer rushing to hug me and wish me a good morning. 

“Good morning, Ajoba.”��

“Good morning, my diamond. You made my day insanely beautiful.��

“Breakfast is ready. Come quickly,�� she said in her melodious voice.

Vacations meant I lived in heaven daily with my daughter, granddaughter and family. I felt lonely for two years since my love left me to reach the heavens first. I am grateful she brought our beautiful daughter into our life. My daughter and granddaughter have taken my mother’s role in these two years. And, the little angel Heer has made my days lively and never made me regret a moment I live away from my love. Every night before I close my eyes, I do two things: First, I thank my wonderful wife for the beautiful angels she brought into our life; Secondly, I pray to the almighty to take me in his arms while I sleep to reunite with my love soon. For now, I enjoy the company of my girls. 

After breakfast, I took my customary position on the drawing-room couch. The place where I spend most of my daytime. The time I provide my service to the little angel Heer. I am her tutor when she brings her playbooks. I am her cheerleader, observing and encouraging her ceaselessly playing with the gamut of toys sprayed across the floor. Having seen her mother and grandmother during their childhood days, I could not help but notice the striking resemblance in her activities. Her eyes were the most crucial fact that kept me hitched to her all day. Her light grey-green iris with spots of brown in them descended through the generations from her great-grandmother, my love. 

Something was wrong. She got bored with the toys. This is usually the time she expects me to entertain her. The time I tell her a story during which she will fall asleep. My daughter and granddaughter joined me with a hot filter coffee. 

“Storytime, I guess.�� My daughter Nisha began the conversation.

I sipped the coffee, letting the aroma and taste do the needed cognitive stimulation. The memory slowly rebuilding from when I woke up formed a better picture. I knew where to begin. 

“I am lucky to have such an eager audience,�� I said.

“We are lucky to have you, Grandpa��. Said my granddaughter. She followed the sentence by getting up and giving me a gentle hug, caring not to spill the coffee held in my hands.

“This morning, I woke up with a memory from my childhood, which I should say is a surprise for me. I believed I had forgotten all of them. I have managed to pull back almost the entire incident from my ageing neurons. I will share that story that touched my heart.��

“We are ready, Pa. Are you ready, Heer?�� said Nisha

A smile from Heer suggested we were ready to go. She was already tucking into her mother’s lap, ready to fall asleep any moment. Practically, I was speaking to my grown-up girls.

“The incident happened during the vacations after the fifth-grade exams. It was a hot summer day. We were living in a rented house in a street not far from our house. This house we live in was under construction, and everyone had come here to supervise the work and plant coconut trees around the house.��

“These tall coconut trees we have now?�� asked my granddaughter.

“Yes, dear. Papa got twelve saplings. Ma and Pa had gone to the house and taken my baby brother with them. They left me alone in the home at ten in the morning. I remember them promising to return in an hour and asking me to watch television until they returned. For a while, I watched some movies. Black and white films of good old times. I do not remember having a proper breakfast, which is common during our childhood. Skipping meals due to playfulness. An hour became two, and slowly, I felt my stomach grumbling for food. I walked into the kitchen and saw nothing on the kitchen countertop or the dining table. I waited for another 20 to 30 minutes. My stomach started to burn, and I never felt so hungry. I did not know the way to the new house. The hunger made me angry, and I walked out of the house searching for my parents. It was too hot; the Sun was baking the sand in the street. I walked mindlessly in the street back and forth, crying in hunger and anger. As I reached one end of the street, I saw three kids looking at me through the fenced compound. The sons of our mason with whom I must have played once or twice in the evenings. Their house was a small hut thatched with coconut tree leaves. All three were standing in the shade of the Neem tree inside the compound. Since we did not know each other well, no words were exchanged for the first few times I walked past them. By now, I was incessantly crying, holding my abdomen and must have walked at least ten times back and forth. The street looked deserted as the rest of the inhabitants hid from the heat inside their concrete homes. This time, when I reached the end of the street, the eldest of the three Sudha, gazing at my plight, asked me,

“What happened, brother?�� in a respectful and kind demeanour.

I moved towards them, crying still in pain and anger. I explained my ordeal to them. 

“Do you know the way? We can go to them.�� He asked

“I don’t know where they are. I have never gone to that house.�� I cried.

“Our mom and dad have also gone to work. Do not worry, brother, they will come back soon. You can sit with us here until they come back.�� He continued in his kind and welcoming attitude.

I stood close to them on the other side of the fence in the shade of the Neem tree. I felt some respite from the Sun; talking with them made me feel a little better. As we discussed what we could do, Sudha returned to his hut. After a few minutes, he returned with a steel glass.

“Please have this brother��. He offered the glass filled with water, which appeared part milky.

“What is it?�� I asked.

“It is rice water. I have added some salt to it. We have only this in our home now.�� He replied while his little brothers kept watching me.

I had no hesitation in grabbing the glass. I took it from his hand and gulped down the entire content in a flash. I gave him back the glass. 

“Do you want some more brother? We have some more left.��

I was embarrassed inside. However, I nodded. He went back inside and came back with another glass of rice water. This time, I drank slowly. I felt the rice water quench the fire inside me. The tears stopped, and gratitude filled me.

“Thank you so much, Sudha. I will never forget this all my life.��

“Please, brother. We did not have proper food. We were hesitant to offer you this rice water. We did not know if you would like it or not. You would never have had this before.��

“I was burning with hunger, brother. Why would I not like it? You fed me when I was most hungry. I will never forget this until I die.”��

We stood there together talking until my parents arrived. That day, a family merged with ours. You girls know about Sudha uncle and his brothers. This is how we became brothers. I always remembered what he did for me. A small boy with such a kind attitude. Not only him but his brothers, too. 

From that day on, we were as thick as thieves were. They became our extended family, along with my friends from school. We grew up together and faced difficulties in life together. There were days when we had differences and spent time far from each other. But, we always returned to each other to maintain that relationship, to water the sapling planted in our tiny hearts that day. It stands like a tree, just like the coconut trees surrounding this house. I am fortunate this memory did not fade away.

Remember the persons who helped you in your adversity. Keep your hands free to extend them during their needs. Keep your hearts open to forgive them. Remember and remember the good deed done to you. That shall keep you humble and grounded. 

“A little fragrance always clings to the hand that gives the roses.��

�� Chinese Proverb

A beautiful spring morning in New Delhi, with the golden sunrays kissing the green leaves to find their way through the dense canopy and soft blowing air, making the weather ever so pleasant! I stand before Safdarjung’s tomb on Aurobindo Marg with my childhood friend, Sanju. What brought us here?

Sanju arrived in Delhi two days ago for a job interview with a software company. On the way from the airport, I asked, “Why do you appear for an interview when you are already in an excellent job?��.

“This company offers a better package, bro, and besides that, I am sick of that place,�� he expressed his disdain with apparent signs of frustration creeping over his face.

The next day after the interview, we roamed Connaught Place, enjoying the evening. Then came the news that he was not selected for the job. Everything changed; he sunk into a low mood recollecting all the mishappenings in his life. 

“My father left us when I was just 18. The girl I so dearly loved is married to some other guy. I could not get the job I wanted. Life has been a struggle. Why can’t I just have an easy path?. Why is life so cruel to me?,�� he moaned. 

The sudden gush of my friend’s emotions was tough to see. I was trying my best to console him. Words of support caress a wounded heart. We must never hesitate to offer them to anyone in tears. They cannot be curative in themselves, but they do matter. I asked him to join me the following day to meet a friend.

Yes, this fine sunny morning! And here we are in front of Safdarjung’s tomb, at the junction of Lodhi Road and Aurobindo Marg, waiting for my friend, Rohan. 

“Why did you call your friend here?. I am hungry; we could have met in a coffee shop or a restaurant.�� Sanju grumbled impatiently.

“Let’s meet him quickly, and then we will go to a restaurant,�� I explained. 

“Is he a traffic policeman? Or a tourist guide in this tomb?�� my friend’s mind rushed through the roads of curiosity!

“Patience, buddy! You will get to know soon.�� I tried to pacify him. 

And then I saw Rohan. We both strolled towards the traffic signal along the zebra crossing. Next to the divider along the Zebra crossing was a person who appeared like a double amputee standing in chappals wearing a hooded sweatshirt, old yet clean. We stood right behind him for a while. 

My friend was getting impatient, asking me, “Why are we standing in the middle of the road?��

Then I went near the hooded person and greeted him, “Hi Rohan, good morning. Meet my friend, Sanju.��

What Sanju saw was the least that he expected. A surprised Sanju made sure if this was the friend we came to meet, and I confirmed yes.

We three had a good time chitchatting. With his wit and sense of humour, Rohan had the magical power to draw a sweet curve above anyone’s chin! Seeing Sanju’s carefree smile after the previous day’s setback was relieving. Although I have a very different definition of a setback. We both would never ever understand Rohan’s definition of a setback. It was 09:00 already; we both bid goodbye to Rohan and left for Connaught place, reaching a South Indian restaurant which could pacify our hunger pangs. Sanju was utterly silent all the way. It seemed like he had started getting his answers. No more questions, no more cribbing.

I had my last bite of the soft white Idli and finally broke the silence.

“You know Sanju, I have travelled through that road daily for the past two years, and everyone who goes through that road would have noticed Rohan in the morning hours. Many must have gone ahead with their journey, ignoring him; some might have quietly prayed for him hurriedly, some might have cursed him, and some might have thoughtlessly mocked him. I believe a human mind can look at a situation in “n�� number of ways, a magical facet of infinity. This boy is invariably there every morning, whether it is a prickly cold winter morning or hot and humid summer. Many other generous souls and I slide to the right of that road towards him to contribute whatever we can for this brother-in-alms. When I saw him first, I thought he would be like another panhandler. I saw him every day and every season. His commitment, punctuality, perseverance, willpower, and strength amazed me. When people in their cars hesitate to open windows for a few minutes in the winter, this chap stays, merrily watching the vehicles go by, braving the bitter cold air.

What makes him wake up so early? What makes him reach that place on time every day? What makes him stay there in those adverse conditions? Where does he derive his strength from?

I was intrigued by these questions. I was growing curious for answers. One fine day I finally stepped down from my bike and decided to talk to him. I wanted to know about this person. He was kind enough to let a stranger know about his personal life. Rohan! I knew his name; he was from Ahmedabad, and by birth, he had a disability with lower limbs. He has completed his graduation and is now appearing in Group D exams. He arrives at that Zebra crossing between 07:30 to 07:45 exactly every morning and leaves by 10 am. After that, he prepares for his exams in a small thatched hut near India Gate.

In that brief encounter, this young fellow taught me a big lesson for life. Hope is one of our greatest weapons, and we must tap into its unknown potential. With hope, we can achieve anything. 

When a person is born with defects that disable him for all his life, he or she can easily throw away his life, keep crying over fate, and lose touch with reality, failing to experience innumerable joys that still await them. The strength to fight the problem and to live each day trying comes from within. Yes, we all have that hidden flame inside us, hope! It is the lamp of life. Our responsibility is to keep nurturing it with our conscious efforts and keep it burning. In its otherworldly brightness, all difficulties will hide beneath the shadow. All we can visualise is the brilliance of the light, in which real happiness will appear. Regardless of your cast, creed, colour and religion, we all suffer from same problems that are innately human. After all we are all made of same flesh, bones and blood. Hope is the universal solution serving equally every other human regardless of where you belong or to which race or religion you are born.

When you feel the world is crushing you with difficulties from all sides, keep this little wonder called hope alive. Choose your nth way of looking at any situation; it will always be your choice, my dear. Keep a watch. Choose this ��n�� well; it will guide you to your answers.

I am happy I chose my ��n�� well when I stopped to meet Rohan. It infused goodness in me. I learned to wake up every morning with hope and energy from him. I remember him when any so-called ‘problem�� tries to trouble my mind. Life is more meaningful, and above all the petty worldly affairs we face. All we know is what is happening around us now and what has happened. No one knows what lies ahead. There will always be a doorway that will lead you to a better path. So believe in a better future and keep working hard in the present. 

My friend, I hope I have done my bit to help you get out of what you consider as your ‘bad�� time. We have a far better life than millions of other poor souls. Let’s be grateful and make the best of what we have. Most importantly, let’s not belittle the woes of others by crying for the tiniest disarray in our lives.��

My lengthy talk made my friend ponder. He smiled and shook his head in agreement. 

Everyday life teaches us lessons in ��n�� number of ways. If we are receptive and strive consciously to choose our ��n�� well, feeding ourselves with good thoughts, we will be better human beings than we were a day before. Wishing you all your wise n’s!

“Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere. They’re in each other all along.��

�� Jalaluddin Rumi

On a hot baking evening on platform 4, Hazrat Nizamuddin railway station, I ambled past the pieces of luggage placed on the platform and the people waiting for the train. I was returning to my home after an exhausting year of work in Delhi. I sat on the bench for a while, immersed in the story of the monk in the book by Robin Sharma; soon, I was distracted by the blaring horn of the approaching train. I slowly got up, still engaged in the beautiful narrative of the philosophy of the garden and its significance. In five minutes, I settled in the lower berth of my compartment with people slowly dribbling in the cabins near mine with their luggage. I wondered who my companions on this journey would be. I wished they were a quiet bunch because I preferred to rest on the upper berth and read my book during most of the 24-hour-long travel. Most of the cabins were still empty. An advantage of travelling on a weekday. 

Everyone had settled, and the journey was about to begin, with the horn signalling the last call. I was happy that I was alone in my cabin. I preferred solitude over a talkative companion. As the train jerked violently and began to move, I saw through the window an elderly couple rushing towards our compartment. The train steadily gained pace. I dropped my book to run to the door and saw this elderly gentleman helping his wife board the moving train. He handed the trolley bag to me as he jogged alongside the train, and then with difficulty, he climbed up to enter the train. It was tense for those few moments seeing them struggle. To my surprise, they shared wild laughter as if they enjoyed the experience. I joined them with a smile. They thanked me, and we moved the luggage to my compartment, where they had their berths.

The journey had begun. With the book back in my hand, I quietly slipped into my upper birth. At 8 pm, I opened a biscuit packet, my dinner. The couple were busy below. The old man was slicing cucumber, carrot and beetroot and was arranging them neatly on a plate. He then sliced lemon and splashed its juice over the cut vegetables. The old woman looked at me, staring at them from above, and with a warm smile, she offered to join them for dinner. As the old man finished disposing of the vegetable peels in a newspaper ball, she offered him a hand towel. 

I was amazed by their understanding of each other, an otherworldly communication bandwidth. They seemed to know what was going on in each other’s minds. Every time I watched them look into each other’s eyes, I remembered the quote by Henry David Thoreau, “Could a greater miracle take place than for us to look through each other’s eyes for an instant? We should live in all the ages of the world in an hour; ay, in all the worlds of the ages��. Right after dinner, they settled for a nap. I returned to my nest and read about the monk who sold his Ferrari for a few hours before dozing off. 

The following morning, I woke up to the screeching noise of wheels and announcements made at a railway station. It was half past six, and I was the last to wake up in the entire compartment. I saw the couple sitting close to each other, smiling at something, looking refreshed, and eagerly peering through the window. They were always smiling. I had this thought then; I wish my parents remained like this when they approached their latter days. I wanted to know about this unique couple. I wished them good morning. 

“Good morning, Manu! Hope you had a good rest, kid,�� came the energetic reply from the old man. Looking at my baffled expression, he continued, “Your name is Manu Prakash, as per the passenger’s list. Sorry if I am wrong.”��

In a haze of thought block, I just nodded without speaking. 

“Go and get refreshed, Manu. We will have tea,�� came the loving command from the lady. They both smiled again, now looking at something in the platform.

When I returned from the washroom, they offered me tea and biscuits. 

“We saved it in a flask for you,�� she spoke as she handed over the tea in a paper cup.

As I thanked them, the old man asked, “So, what do you do, Manu? You seem to be a studious boy.��

So, the conversation started. I introduced myself as a research fellow at Delhi University. I asked them how to address them. 

Call us Ma and Pa or Grandma and Grandpa. As you wish, Manu. Again, that ever-present smile on both their faces. They were good with everyone and had already been acquainted with many in our compartment. I was impressed by the energy they possessed and their attitude towards others. Kind, courteous and helpful. They were a unique couple, I felt.

Then we discussed various things, from my education, life in a city like Delhi, and my parents. Then came the question from the gentleman regarding my marriage and love interests. I was dumbfounded as I didn’t expect a straightforward question like that from anyone, even my dearest friends who would come to receive me when I reached home. I was initially hesitant to spill the beans, but they were so friendly with me that I trusted them blindly and went on to tell my story of how I met this wonderful girl in Delhi. How we came together and the plan to reveal it to our parents. I also expressed my anxiety and fear about what would follow when our parents knew.

Then the couple came to my rescue and gave me positive inputs on handling the situation as if they had experienced it a gazillion times. Pa started to tell a story of a couple during their college days, which his soulmate interrupted immediatelyas she wanted to narrate. He obliged with a smile.

“It’s a cute story, Manu! There were these lovers, an intelligent, beautiful girl named Rasika, and an average-looking boy named Shakti, in our medical school. Their amalgamation was a truly symbiotic relationship. Every one of us felt that they exemplify the perfect couple. Even a third person like us could recognise the level of love, care, affection and understanding they had for each other. We, in fact, envied them. Everything went well till they graduated with medals and accolades. We knew that they would rule the medical fraternity because a union of a such kind without any ego and limitations will result only in progress beyond any imagination. But it was not to last, sadly though.

After a year, we learned that they parted ways because their families did not agree to the marriage. Stories like caste, economic status, pride, and the social stigma of having a love marriage were lurking around as reasons. Only they knew what the truth was. But we knew their love was strong enough, making them sacrifice their happiness for their parents.��

“It seems very tough ahead,�� I sighed.  

Ma laughed and spoke, “Yes, Manu, it is tough to leave the person you love with all your heart. But at the same time, it gives you the strength that the separation is only physical. They both knew no one could take away the love from their hearts. They knew they would live with each other every second of their life.��

“Where are they? What happened then, ma?�� I asked with tremendous curiosity.

“Poor love birds, what would they do against their parents. They didn’t marry. They became pioneers in their field, heading the departments as professors in their respective colleges and serving the needy selflessly.��

“Their love is so pure. Some story to derive inspiration from during tough times,�� I uttered.

“Yes, Manu. Realise that you are blessed to experience such love for one another. It doesn’t happen to everyone,�� she spoke deeply.

“Yes, ma, feeling the blessing. I will call her and talk to her. I should share this remarkable story with her,�� I got up to call my girl.

“I still feel they should have tried to make their parents understand their heart,�� said Pa.

I saw the couple looking at each other deeply in their eyes. I went ahead with the call standing near the door and admiring the vast greenery we were passing through. When I returned to the cabin, they were resting in their berths. I climbed to my sanctuary and continued reading the book. 

When we arrived at our destination, I stood with my backpack and luggage in my hand, ready to leave. The elderly couple got up from their afternoon nap and gathered their items. As the train came to a halt, they started to move out of the cabin. Something made me stop them. 

“Ma! Pa! Bless me,�� I touched their feet. 

“Live long. Live free. Live happily, Manu,�� came the blessings from Ma. 

“Remain strong and calm, especially when you are in the middle of a storm,�� said Pa.

With their beaming smile, they left the train and walked along the platform holding each other’s hands. I stood at the compartment door watching them go, and I wished to see the smile on their faces one more time. But they had disappeared among the scores of people on the platform. 

I exited the compartment to a warm reception from my childhood friends. As we moved from the train, one of my friends teased me by saying, “Hey, Manu looks like you enjoyed your journey with cute girls.”��

I smiled and ignored their comments. They kept teasing me when another guy said, “I was eager to meet Rasika, and then I saw the age is 60!��

“What?�� I returned to check the passenger list with the names Rasika, 65/F and Shakti, 66/M.

For a second, I froze in surprise. I was happy that Rasika and Shakti united in their final journey of life. I just smiled and went ahead with my life’s journey.

Good day everyone

An artist wants his work to be known!

Here I am trying to spread the word on the poems and short stories I have submitted for a creative writing competition.

Please find the links below

Poems:

Short stories:

Like and share with your friends and leave your comments.

Happy reading! I am sure everyone of you will find something moving amongst this list.

In the corner of a gloomy, dull room,

A sleepy owl rested in his leather cocoon.

Lost in the computer screen, strumming the keyboard tune,

His eyelids drooped like the leaf in the mid-summer noon. 

In search of excitement to excel in MS Excel,

Long walked his mind in an arduous travail.

In a moment of wow! Like a ship swept by a gale,

His mind went berserk in joy, hard to curtail.

In a place where we worked like zombies,

He alone, ran around like a kid who found candies.

Plucking me forcefully from my niche of daydreams,

He strode along like a man who accrued a thousand victories.

Like a wilting plant turning turgid with the first raindrop, 

His face bloomed with vigour with every coffee shot.

In truth, a farewell is only for the body that parts,

For in memories, we live, laugh, and send our regards.

A dream created in our beautiful minds for others shall be the best of all dreams.

A purpose that relentlessly, single-mindedly drives us to fulfil such a dream by motivating us against all imminent, visible and unforeseen odds is one of the most extraordinary purposes of living, if not the greatest and ultimate purpose of living.

The one who shall embrace such a goal and live to reach such a summit shall surely be the happiest of all humans.

Mrs V (Generation of Orphans)

Where is the fire when we are always heading to a pyre?

Why wait?

Why postpone?

Why neglect?

Why procrastinate?

Why not do it today?

Why not now?

Start the engine now before it’s too late! 

Here and now, always.