The outcome of undettered hope

The solitary sculptor was indulged in an unshaped rock which looked useless, no one expected him to turn the rock into an artefact of beauty. He worked day and night chiseling the formless rock, acquainting it to the sun, snow and rain. He did no other job, touched no other stone but the one which he had before his eyes. No one looked up to his work to as he wasn't one of the best, and there were the better rest. A few days passed, and one or two looked at his piece in hope, he gave nothing but disappointment in their face. He chiseled, chiseled and chiseled with skill and the rock was the only thing he could see. During midnight at his hardest strike, the rock gave way to a lovely bride, the best piece of art which reflected perfection at every stature. He dropped to his knees and stared at it with tearful eyes filled with joy and pride, which would remain forever in the pages of his life.

One letter to salvation

It was pitch dark with not a hint of movement, the fragile and old man stirred on his barely made bed and slowly woke up in the stiffening cold. He had no one to talk to or no one even to spare a smile for him, but every one around the neighbourhood was aware of his presence, though silent and not disturbing. They were always eager to know about his peculiar behaviour of taking a long stroll to some place not known to anyone except him and returning back only after noon. And they were certain that he wasn't working for anyone in the fields. He had his own little farm, 2 scantily fed cows and an almost ruined shack to sleep at night. Yet, he went there each day, in rains, in the darkest of dawns and every other odd day.It was known to a very few in the village, that he did have a daughter who had long forgotten him and deserted him after her mother died. He had not recieved a single letter or a couple of flowers from her, and he never uttered her name even to his closest neighbour. On a dreary and rainy night, the old man had his last breath of life and was coffined in his grave. The very next day, there was a letter, rather a tiny note, addressed to a name which had never been uttered before. It read:

Dear Father,

Sorry.I do not want to recieve any of your letters anymore.

Penelope

It was laid on the new grave and the man was relieved of his last burden on earth.

A date to remember...

It was an Indian summer, sweaty all around. But Hannah had to get out to see someone too important. She wore a thin cotton frock, striped orange and red, the colours of the blazing sun. She brushed her blonde, curly hair vigorously and tied it into a neat pony tail ,used a little blush on her cheeks and applied a tan brown lip colour on her soft pink lips to highlight her face.She wore her charming golden hoops and glanced in the mirror to find herself admiring a svelte and gorgeous woman grinning back at her. She slipped into her matching strappy sandals and took a while admiring her neatly manicured and polished toes. She looked up with satisfaction, thinking to herself that it might turn out to be the best date she could have today. She was too excited even to gulp down her breakfast and stopped herself with a glass of strawberry crush. As she locked her apartment, she softly whistled a favourite teenage song of her's and hopped down each step with a dreamy haze in her eyes. He was just an acquaintance whom she had met in friendster, he was an enterpreneur, successful and charming and she was a budding model in her early tees and they got along too well together. And one day, they decided to meet up and have a date (when he was at leisure, ofcourse!). And it was the Summer Aces he had first come up with, one of his favourite destinations for a perfect day off. A posh but an on-a-vacation theme restaurant to make a perfect impression in the women's heart. He parked his Lamborghini in one of the beach bay themed lots and waded his way to the best table through a dignified crowd. She managed to get into one of the hassle-free restrooms in the frenzy malls to have a good glance of her appearence, in her own state of light-headedness. Unknowingly, she entered a restroom which clearly stated "Gentlemen" on its door and a wild-eyed, jaw-droppeed, freckled teenager looked at her hungrily, thinking that he was in for a treat. She jerked her head in embarrasment and rushed out of the room. She somehow managed to enter the Summer Aces, smiling and mumbling to herself. When she reached his table, he was struck with a string of nerves and she felt huge knots in her stomach, even after they had met in friendster each and every day for the last couple of months. When seen together, they were the perfect happy couple, he recalled his favourite teenage jokes and she was stuck into one of her unending giggles. The sinister LOVE tied them into a bow, lifting them into clouds of pure fantasy and they were surrounded by hazy dreams that made the day memorable forever in their lives.

Acceptance of reality

The punch-drunk roads were loaded with honking wheelers and bustling passengers sheltering themselves from the burgeoning showers since past two days. The narrow and unshaped platforms were filled with steely cycles and scooters drenching in the heavy downpour.There were little kids trying to escape from the cautious eyes of their mothers and get wet in the rain. There were groups of people shielding themselves under the shelters of the tiny shops, standing on wet and dirty rubber sandals. Each and every one had different emotions racing their hearts, either they were worrying about their future or sorrowing upon the past, some muttering under their breaths about the never ending downpour.Among the crowd was a weak and ragged looking woman in barefoot silently staring at the droplets of rain water dripping from the roof of the shop, her face was wet with water and greasy with grime and she looked as though she had nothing to worry about. As the showers slackened and the dark clouds moved away, the monotony reverted back on the roads. The woman walked slowly back to where her hut was on the parallel street. When she reached the slum, she saw several of her neighbours shedding tears of distress, when she neared her hut she found that her tiny home ,which she had built with all of her meager savings, was floating in pieces in the floods of dirty water. Each and every thing she owned was either scraped off her home or floating in the water. She stopped in her tracks, staring at the menace for a few seconds, and she started searching for her son, whom she found staring at the hut and shedding tears. "My books", he cried on seeing her, she gently nodded her head and caressed him,wiped off his tears and they troded past the slum, onto the busy roads of the town...

Caught in the cobweb!

The yellow leaves sticking to the branches of the old tree were blowing along with the evening breeze.There were many happy children in the park, standing on the swings, drifting down on the slides, some fighting with the other, and some laughing along with their cheerful parents. And there were the balloon and ice-cream sellers catching up with their everyday business. A few yards away, there were two kids walking by the platforms of the narrow streets, through cans of trash,sprawling hags and street dogs. They were secretly carrying small packets of white powder some of which had been delivered to a few children in the park. Those children had ,at first been bullied and forced to take such packets which they found to be quite mysterious. But once they started consuming them, they got addicted and their bodies shivered without it. They found that, they were'nt themselves without it and they could do anything to have it, just to see the packet of opium in their hands. Initially, they started stealing a few bills from their parents' wallets and later as their demands increased, they started selling those packets themselves and buying opium from the money they earnt. Initially, they were lonely, without anyone to care, stuck in self-pity, depressed without an outlet of emotions, unable to relate to other people and seemed to be stuck like an ant in the cobwebs of a disturbed life. But in the company of the mysterious little packet, they found themselves to be at ease, they needed not the love of caring hands, the happy company of peers, the fun of play, nor sunshine, nor the whole earth, but only the white powder. It seemed to be, they were the best of friends, it seemed to help them, spreading peace in their lives, but in reality, they are the biggest waves of tsunami, the vilest of enemies and the sole detriments of their lives. Only a very few manage to crusade their way out of such addictions and they are to be heartily cared for and distracted out of such acts. The children stuck in such addictions are not to be shredded or hated, but in reality, they yearn to be caressed by loving parents, they long to be in the company of helpful friends.They are the ones who deserve to be caressed and imparted love on.

Unity in Diversity

The dawn broke in the brightest ray of the sun, and I was taking my usual stroll at the park nearby today. Heavy decorations were being made, the tri-colour flags hung up with the 24 armed blue chakra, plastic chairs were being laid out on the ground, speaker sets were set up, the 1 rupee chocolates to be distributed spread in a neat plate were placed on a wooden stool nearby the chairs. There were a few men working on the decorations and many children and few teenagers looking at the work carried out just to pass time.Tiny pin-up paper flags were handed out to every one in the park and a huge poster stating that the initiative was by "Lions Club of Madras" was hung up on the walls of the green park.

Later a few men who seemed to be the important ones in the gathering came forward with a large framed picture of Mahatma Gandhi who was smiling at everyone with the innocence of a child.They laid a small flower garland on the picture and placed it in front of the chairs at a distance.

After some time, people started to walk in to attend the gathering, people of different status, different age groups, men, women and children, speaking different languages, following different religions, customs and culture gathered together, unitedly to salute the nation and thank the man who made it happen 64 years ago. As the tri-colour flag was hoisted up in the air with all its might and freedom, I looked up to see the vast sky which was at par to each and everyone in the earth, unassuming and ever serene, unlike the many disparities prevailing on the globe. I thanked God with a smile on my face, that there was still unity irrespective of such a huge diversity at least with regard to the nation, however corrupt or polluted it may be. Myself being a person who yearns for integrity and harmony, was happy at heart on seeing the different classes of people under one roof, one nation, INDIA!

To share

As I was walking on the narrow pavements flooded with rain water, near my college, I saw an old man with a heavily rimmed, almost broken pair of glasses just sticking to his nose. He was very feeble and exhausted of all spirits. He wore a tattered and almost brown dhoti and was barefoot, leaning on a stick. He sat on one corner and started to open his packet of food that he had luckily earnt for the day. His hands terribly shaked when he unwound the packet and by the time he opened it, half the food was spilt on the ground and he had just a bare minimum to fill his stomach with. He laid the packet slowly on the ground and started to eat it.

Just as he was beginning to eat, there was a stray dog beside him lying on the hard floor. It seemed to be recently stoned in a terrible way, that it was even unable to move, it kept looking at his packet of food with yearning eyes. The old man looked at the dog, he stared at it quietly for a while, and then to my surprise, his face carried a weak upward curve. He silently laid half of the food he had in front of the ragged dog and quietly started munching away his share of the stale rice.

Tears pounded on to my cheeks as I saw this act of his. I went near him and handed him a 10 rupee note and resumed my pace. There are a very few people with this great nature of sharing. From the elementary level, we are all told stories just to imbibe the goodness of sharing things with each other, but in reality it is inscribed in the hearts of a very few. The old man might have never stepped into school, never been told stories about so many good things that we have learnt. But he had in him, even though unmistakably poor and ignorant, the precious charecterestic, to share anything he got with somebody or some being in his life.

The plight of poverty

The sparrow on the lowest branch of the tree chirped on seeing the dawn break into the sky casting bright rays of refreshing light. It was a chill morning, leaves embedded with diamond like dew drops, a very few people on the run and many snoring comfortably in their matresses. Rajan was one among the busy folks who was on his heels, delivering newspapers to each and every house in town. He was in bed with a high degree of fever last night, but as morning approached , he had no other go but to be up and about to earn something for the day. He sent his little sister to school and came back to work in the mechanic shed nearby for a few hours and then rush to school himself.He never seemed to mind about his ragged clothes and torn pair of sandals, he selflessly worked day and night only for his sister to live comfortably.

Rajan was only 13 years old, but his level of capability and acceptance towards life was immense, every person in town had admired him in some way or the other. He learnt to cook simple food from the house wives and learnt to work effectively, thus by saving time from the people he worked for. He also excelled in academics thus, by gaining the admiration of his teachers. That day was Rajan's school's annual day and he was about to recieve a prize for his exceptionally good work in academics.

He cheerfully delivered the news papers and rushed to the shed in order to pull an early shift and reach the school soon. As he hurriedly worked in his shed, pulling out the screws from the dusty wheels, removing the problematic silencers from the bikes and filling in punctured tyres with air, quite pleased with his job, Balan, the owner of the mechanic shed told him that he had done enough for the day and handed him a hundred rupee note and told him to return the next day.

He recieved the note with a smile on his face and rushed back home to change his dirty clothes and wear the fresh ones he had laundered at home. But on reaching home, he found his home ransacked, his tiny savings stolen, many rice grains shattered and his whole house looted. His sister was crouched in one corner with bloodied hands on her face and weeping sorrowfully about the plight she had to face. On seeing the house being looted, she had tried to defend their things, but alas, the theives had struck her head with a huge wooden stick and made their way with all her belongings. She slowly lost control of herself and dropped to the floor, blood surging from her skull.

He rushed her to the nearby hospital, but on seeing her, the doctors nodded their heads in hopelessness. She could not be saved as it was too late. Rajan knelt down to the hard floor and shed tears full of deep sorrow, after the incident had taken place, he had never returned to the town, to home or to school or to the weary shed.

Life will bring me back to you friends

Life is weird at times, at least to me, because even though time can not be reversed, we come back to the things which we had escaped from or left incomplete. We may not come back to the same school which we had studied, but may experience similar events which had previously happened there, a few years back in our lives. We might have experienced expired friendship or broken relationships and might feel heart broken about the tiny things which we had escaped or missed from enjoying... the silliest things our hearts had yearned to do...maybe for an example, say sorry to mend a broken friendship or say a HELLO to a friend who might be out of touch, or even to chat with a particular friend over a cup of coffee. Well, I personally feel that, if you are in guilt or are missing something that should've happened in your life and did not, do'nt be so because life will bring you back the person or thing or event you miss so badly.(or wanted to happen in case of an event)

I dedicate this to all my friends I miss right now and believe strongly that life will bring me back such people or similar ones to spend fun times with. :)

See what time has done to my companion from childhood

It has been so long since I took a pen to write my thoughts out, in fact, years. I used to write tiny poems about the rain and other lovely things in life when I was a child. Imagination had no bounds and time was no barrier to spill my feelings out to the world. But nowadays as years had passed by like milli seconds, I am tackling a lot of heavy weight problems and crossing hurdles, and the 24 hour time period seems so limited and I am slowly getting out of touch with writing. Writing whatever comes to my mind was one thick companion to share my feelings with and that green old diary and the lonely ink pen used to be my only means to pass time. I had written so many songs, a lot of stories and filled its pages with poems of mine. But now, I have neither got the time nor such level of creativity left to think about things in a beautiful way. Moreover, nowadays if I want to write something, I don't pen it but type it out virtually and post it to my blog or the facebook. Well, thats a part of it! But I dare not say that I feel equally satiated when I type my thoughts out when compared to writing it on that personalized diary in my own hand writing. This might feel really silly for those who are reading this now, but it is my personal opinion. And whatever I write is wholly not my own, I am being constantly helped by 'The Word' in my spelling mistakes, grammatical errors and other complex words and makes my work really presentable and easy to read. Now, you migt be wondering what is the problem in here? I totally agree with you, it is a boon in disguise. But this is the reason I do not feel satisfied like I do after writing a poem or a song in my diary, each and every word in that diary will be my own thoughts and not a corrected spelling mistake or grammatical error or some word which I might have found suitable from my virtual dictionary. I feel sheepish to say this out but I am going to really start over again, give myself some time to think about the beautiful things in life and PEN them down in verses of my very own(not helped by Word). Maybe later, I might post some of them for you all to read. I really thank you for your patient reading if you have come to this point of the paragraph, because you have spent some of your precious time to read the thoughts of mine. :)

Minding My Mind

I was wandering lazily into my world of thoughts, smiling thinking about the silly moments and seriously analysing my sorrowful past. I took my time in reviewing and rethinking what my thoughts were when I had felt silly or happy or sad, and a stunning reality hit me like storm. The previous day, when I was in the beach supposed to be spending memorable time with my parents, I had not really spent time with them, but wondering to my own self about the events of my past, about the people on the shores, about my friends who had insulted me in my past, or about those who had made me happy or the happening of an event which had made me sad or happy or about my future, uncertainities, promising returns , probable events that might not even happen in life. In reality, I was physically "in" the beach, but my mind and soul were racing into a zillion worlds, just like the waves of the sea rusing onto the shores.

And now even when I am lazing around on my terrace, looking at the breezy coconut trees and the blue and red sky, I am into my own world of thoughts. But this time, it had helped me as I had realized that it is not some event in the present which makes me happy or sad or silly, stupid, embarrased, blush, angry, perturbed or anything, neither was it my past or uncertain future, but my own thoughts that had played into my mind and had took me away from the living present. I realized that my mind is the most complex of parts in my body, though it cannot be technically classified as a "part" of my body. It is speedy and even more equipped than my brain, which is a mere storehouse of acquired knowledge and events in my past.

Every moment that I had spent in my life, had been spent with my mind. My mind working endlessly taking in events, registering people, making me question and analyse things in the world, letting out commands to my body to act in a different way for different events, anticipating changes, discarding the unwanted or storing them most safely at times. Even when I had slept, it had never rested, it took me to the world of dreams, making me experience things which I had never done, irrespective of them being happy, scary or sad. Every moment it kept me think, it endlessly worked towards my every progress or at times downfall, it made me dream about my uncertain future or sulk and learn from the mistakes of my past.

My mind never left my present too! In the present it made me breathe, ordered me to be alive and flowing, made me smile or cry or even agitated or angry, dance, sing, observe or write. And all these days, I had never realized I had such a powerful me inside my body called the "mind". But still my mind craves me to think more about what my mind is... Now let me take some time to "mind my mind".