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Wednesday, 17 July 2013

Chariot walks!

Sheetal looked around in merriment. She had got admission into the course of her choice. She kept wondering for days and nights over why she had wanted more out of her life. The girl with dreams, did pray to her God; to grant her strength and dreamt of getting into a college that came daily on her way; while she was visiting the city's hub. At times, shopping stationary and at the other times, few textbooks. From childhood she had heard that getting into that college was to get decent marks. Now that she had been admitted to that college, she wished to get admission into a college of greater esteem. Then she murmured, is getting name and fame, the only basis of life? She still tried, to get the other college as it was bestowed with a greater reputation. Sheetal anyhow couldn't get into the other college and kept studying in the college that remained her dream from childhood only to be answered when she finally grew up.
In the beginning, the days were very soft in the essence of the word. Softness rolled all over and she got love and affection of the teachers. Sooner, Sheetal was apple of everyone's eyes. Boys stared at her and she smiled back with grace and charm of a young woman. She had known that youth was the step into the real world. In fewer days, she felt inclination towards a boy in the class named Saumya; who studied the least. But he was honest to the core.
Both of them talked while they walked through the courtyards, to the play fields. Love resounded as the friendship faded its taste. Different emotions calligraphed and they felt closer to one another in the residual of the passing time.
Sheetal uttered her likeness towards him one day; "When I see you in the morning, my mood sets upon. I want to come closer to you. While looking at you, I am closer to you. I keep thinking of you and with that I sleep and I wake up with the same freshness. Life wasn't like this ever before. Your forthcoming to my life brought back the actual me. The me, that was hidden, I met myself."
He replied very generously; "When I look at you, I feel like embracing your charm with my dreams. You are a flower, the one that flourishes and doesn't dwarf, but rises with more glitter every other day. The spark in your eyes, reverberates in my heart the call of love for you.."
They had known that it was love. The world had given them a chance to be together. They could feel the winds that passed, the rain that fell; at times drizzling, at times unceasing downpour. The reliance that accustomed on either of the soul, embarked a journey of comfort they shared. The priceless moments brought to them the meanings of their lives. Saumya, expressed his thoughts and definition of love, "Love makes you free of the worldly problems and lets you live every moment with a meaning behind it."
Sheetal had felt that it was for good that things happened. She thanked the Almighty spirits that occurred to her; those vibrations of love. She felt great joy on knowing, that she had got into the college to meet her love.
The two souls connected with the rhythm of day and night. Clouds in the greyish skies could bring to them imaginations; the moonlit skies could glorify the silence with memories of each other.
Life was special, they felt its' composure in the play fields they walked; the courtyards they passed in bliss and merriment..
Direct link: www.gagansvaid.blogspot.in Thanks

Sunday, 14 July 2013

Passion and Placements!

Robin was a young boy who had completed his high school and was willing to opt for Sanskrit(H) as his further subject of study. From childhood, he had developed an increasing interest to know the language and its history. Being born in the twenty first century he was accustomed to face the harshness and bruise to his mental enigma. His thoughts and aspirations were drawn towards what he dreamt usually in his day to day life. But his interests were referred as the most unusual of the lot. His friends were for the namesake of friendship instead of the amicable bond; they shared a bond of separation. Wherein, those so called buddies, had made Robin and his liking's as the butt of all jokes . How can anyone think of studying Sanskrit in college? This was the laughable anecdote that became customary in the school campus but now that he had passed his high school; he looked further to what he had wanted from long, to become a Priest.
Robin was seldom beaten up and thus hurting his amiable temperament he was made to sob all alone in a land where no one respected the calling of his life, "His Identity". To be broken up is one thing, to kill is another. In both the places, what differs is the intensity of the suffering. At one place, Robin was left shattered and slapped by his family members, mostly brothers. At the other, he was told that his dreams were of no noble use. This young boy from the hills had been sound at his studies. In English, Urdu, Sanskrit and Finance studies, he had accumulated a good percentage score.
Now, in life we must be earning adequate funds to sustain our passion, said one brother. The other brother brought to Robin's knowledge his point of view who also stated that it was the reality. "Your dreams are orthodox. How would you create your Kingdom, with little income. Would you go from home to home, collecting pennies? Or would you like to flaunt in cars like us. You nincompoop, open your sealed mind. Otherwise, it would be very late. Take up courses like "Finance and Marketing". You will grow up your skills to befool people. Otherwise too, you will be making fools out of them. Haven't you an idea; what the priests say we tend to believe. We don't indulge to understand their words and the intense meanings." The youngster was let dwarfed like the sun that he thought had risen, seemed to drop. The decision was made on Robin's behalf by his brothers. He was pitted into the land unknown to his scarlet imaginations. The sweetness with what he dined every night and day in his dreamland was kicked with inadequate manners. The innocence could no longer pervade in the heart that had Sanskrit in it's core and all nerves that connected it's presence to his body. Robin studied "Finance and Market", at the "Rani Chauri Institute Of Finance(R.C.I.F)".
Mr.Robin Kumar started spending uncountable hours every day to study Marketing and couldn't get the desired results. This made his family scold him even brutally. They had plans to send him to Delhi once he completed his three years graduation. He could send back lakhs of rupees back home. He was mentally disturbed as in his slumber he saw his love of life. He chanted Sanskrit Shlokas. The shades of childhood remain in you, once you grow older. The phases in life that you lead from your beginning are evident enough to form the person out of you. The way you lead through these phases, that you eventually and thoroughly become. It's like forming your opinions. If you are reading enough of matter, then you form your opinions. Otherwise, with little knowledge, you follow others' opinions and thoughts. Now, the question was; whether Robin could form his identity or not? Could he form his opinions or not. He was ill, fragmented with tears when he woke up with the sound of the birds outliving in their nest in the adjacent tree to Robin's room in the lush green valley of "Rani Chauri".
After pretending all this while, that he could study the subjects he didn't want to. He ran away from his home. Robin was well searched in the surroundings. Police was informed about his sudden disappearance so grave. This boy had left for Leh(Ladakh). He had set his feet in the Noble place, where Buddhist monks live, carrying on their rituals. With peace of mind and living. The monks walk past the temples, seeking the nourishing of the Buddha. While he was away, his family was left unhappy and angry. They had a slight interpretation, that he had run on will; rather than being kidnapped. He had nothing, that could be taken away from him. No materialistic property of any kind allured him. To him, the name of God and his study of heart and soul stood the utmost.
Robin started living at a far off land from his homeland. Although he hadn't become a Monk, yet he remained a silent man. After running for his calling, he spent time reciting the "Shlokas" that came out with joy and utter relief. He earned money too, by holding prayers at temples and places of ritual. He sent the little he did accumulate, to his family. Describing to them, the meaning of his life. His brothers met him soon and left his life in his hands. He was set free and could sense the growing sun once again.

Friday, 12 July 2013

An Actress!

The embers that seek out from her eyes. The eyes that look at me with that gentle stare and eventually pour out more and more sublimed thoughts, feelings. She falls near my foot, she calls herself as an actress. Stimulates enough space in my mind and body, that I know not if any other world exists other than in her. Her eyes move elsewhere, while I sit and keep at my book that I read. I know I can't read it anymore, so I see her images in my soul. My Poetry is life, she sits in it. I make her sit there, make her know that I care. I go away, far from her eyes. She gets mixed up with her friends. I still dream about the part of her that she had cultivated in me. The roads that I see, I follow. It's her gentleness that I intake. Her delicacy and vibrancy of manners decompose my thoughts about the world and put me sidelined thinking just about her. The roads offer the perfume through the roses that I hear are around. I am abound in her love or was it merely likeness? What kind of an inclination did it arose, I ask myself. Like never before had it occurred, it did feel that it had appeared. From a land of nowhere, in a person who didn't dream of love happening to him. It happens deep somewhere. The clouds offer rain in sometime, the wet clothes bring the sensations of coolness. I sit wanting to know her more, I feel more. I want to get into this deep well and not come out of it ever. Such peaceful I am, the rough passages in me cluster with spring and floweriness. I am her's and she's mine.

Saturday, 6 July 2013

Preaching my soul!

It hurts you rather than obliging you. A sand cliff falls at you when you are enjoying your stay in the river shore wearing the life jacket getting the best safety equipment. It makes you feel low. Your intense is plastered with dissatisfaction and remorse. To no avail, the condition deteriorates. The person who had no matter to speak on, has found an ocean full of grief to share. His misery shall not lessen whilst he tells others about his fallen condition. It's about accepting ones fall at the time when it was certain to be your victory.
Most of the understandings in life come at the stage when unwanted happens to you and inflicts you with more and more pain. The scale of disharmony increases and you fall into the pitfall that formed itself to take you in its trap. At this very phase, you are alone in your own world. You are accountable to yourself and none a person other than you. Your life is a stream of comfort at one phase and when the bad occurs then it is another state of unhappiness. People seldom state, that what we feel is just an emotion, a state. It's made by you and may not be good or bad. It gets the very form of good or bad by your own restricted opinions on life. It's about the limitations that you are stuck in. Like, what people will say if I don't get a good job or if I don't complete my college after school. What if I do what I like regardless of what others want out of me. A lot of circumstances trouble from the day to day living.
You will not be given a chance to do a job even if you acquire more knowledge over the subject. This world isn't the one of good men alike. There are people from all walks of life. Few have materialistic developments in their thoughts and few are working to enjoy their lives by following their dreams and working towards them;for them money isn't the sole translator of life. The life that exists in you, is about your soul. Don't let it disappear into bushes and find it once, it's too late. You will fall at one stage and you will come up the next if your interest attaches you to what you like the most. If you don't have faith in what you read or write day and night, then there is no need to say that you are living. You are struggling with yourself and not struggling in the world. This is the thing that hurts you late.
Never go by the opinions of only others. Form your own thoughts and decide about what is right and what is wrong. Your world is to be led by you. So, having a say in your actions is the foremost priority for you. It is but you, who knows what you are seeking most importantly. No one other has got that right or mind to well understand all that you have held in you.
Keep moving and listening to your intense as it speaks volumes. Just live yourself, your life. It's your greatest possession.

Monday, 1 July 2013

Is it my first love?

Her name was Geetanjali, and she was new to school as I was. I had gained some inclination towards her; the way she presented herself was just unique from the other girls of the class. She was sweet, she was beautiful and an angel whom I could greatly fantasize to meet in my childish yet lovers' dreams.
But yet finding myself nearer to her, I couldn’t really talk to her in person. As I lacked the righteous abilities to speak to her, the way I felt for her. This was something more than a friendship, this bond at first made me remember how I felt on my first crush, but I couldn’t deny that I had a crush on her already, when I was at that age. I was a 12 year old and so was she. Her birthday came 18 days before mine, therefore she was taller by a micro second, I can put but can we see a micro second or does it matter. This was what I found to talk on. Yes, I will tell her, how we mutually shared on facts. I said to myself at that time.
Geetanjali and I were born in the same month, and I got to school fewer days before she did. One fine morning I had entered the class and found her there alone. My thoughts were of a friend and desirous to talk to her, so that these thoughts of mine could get a soothing touch of realization. As I moved closer to a seat where she sat, I was asked a question. What's up? To me, English was a decent language, spoken in aristocratic circles, and yes our friendship was attributed to be so; aristocratic in itself. Meeting her, smelt to me royal experience where I could define myself as a Prince and she being my Princess. My command over the English language was amazing, if one had asked my father or family. But in the league of my buddies, it was old fashioned and what other joke could be created than the one, which defines your style. That was about speaking English in a Punjabi accent. It was so because I was a Punjabi boy, hailing from Punjab. She lived in Delhi’s, Mayfair Park. Hey, I am good was a reply I gave without hesitation, because in front of a girl, a man should act as best looking and attractive at first sight. Oh! She gave a sweet smile that was carved on her dimple face always, but its magic glorified within the sphere of our interaction.


Later days that scrolled by, I learnt what really was meant by "What's up?" and what appropriate reply was festooned mostly. The answer to this question was to tell about your present situation, like "Nothing much", or "I got a new watch", that I heard once. It was then that I felt, that I needed to really enhance my standards, and to become a prince in a kingdom, I was to well understand the rituals of its. In addition being an ardent reader of newspapers, I was in league with the news of the world. I would often remember then, thinking about the days when I was even younger in class 2nd or 3rd, over how I used to fail miserably in my English tests in school, and if ever I could cross the passing percentage, the feeling of destitute kind still enthralled my being. One fine day, it was my beginning. It was the real dream of my father, who thought it a desperate need to take hold of my condition. He was sitting on the bed alongside me, and next day was attributed to be my final exam to move a grade higher. Dad did teach me the literature lessons, read them to me, and asked me to do the same. The grammar part of dad has been the strongest, and he told me again and again to not forget the "Parts of speech", and the "Tenses" ruled the language, and dear Digvijay, this is a very rich language. Now tell me the second form of "Talk"? The class went on, but I did seek a break, that he gave me. The festive season, held "Holi", the festival of colours, and I went away with "gubaraa's" (balloons) flushed with cold water to hit boys of nearby neighbourhood, namely "The Hills Park". I was late and the next day was my exam, daddy was frightened and put his anger wholly on me. How come you cheat me and yourself, you "murakh"(fool). I studied the remaining part of the evening and I scored in that exam 52 marks out of 150. Guess what, I had passed the 33% mark and my marks were written in blue ink than the red ink that covered my scorecard every time. In the days to follow, dad brought newspaper cuttings for me, of "Know your English", the weekly column in "The Hindu", on every Tuesday. I learnt somewhat, and forgot what I had learnt the next day but I was trying each day to get that smarter to stand in front of an Englishman and hear his praise of me, when he would hear my command over the language. These were childish as well as innocent dreams streaming into my mind every now and then.
It was the hard work that landed me into "The Contemporary School", in Delhi's green "Panchsheel Park". I was from "Sweety Public School", and so the name of sweet boy was bestowed upon me by my teachers and boys and girls felt nascence to call me this tag too. I was more of overwhelmed, then what they might have thought, if I was embarrassed, that I wasn't anyway. There were curious parents who would leave no stone unturned to get their child admitted into Delhi's renowned, “The Contemporary School”, hailing from the Mughal era, you can guess it to be more then 400 years old at least. Undoubtedly it stood as oldest school in Delhi.
Neighbourhood schools could learn from the legacy of this institution. Urdu was taught alongside Hindi, and like any other schools, elementary education as well as higher school was well equipped with experienced teachers, who often used to set the exam papers for competitive exams at the All India Level.
The cultural inheritance that abided the building of the school, with the principals' desk embodied with Navratnas, and gave a powerful imagery of the “Mughal architecture”. The emerald stones lay showcasing the luck that stood manifold in the school. I would often stop by the principal's room, trying to peek into the glass door, and get a glance of what stood like the king's palace. Once I got a chance to officially enter principal sir's room, for I was being awarded the 1st prize for essay writing competition held by our school's computer club. I was touched to see, the Kundan work and could easily gaze at the craftsmen spirits that were tempting. I was moved by the luster of grace that founded its place in my heart, and I wanted to have my own supreme place, where I could rest and hear gramophone, the ghazals of Jagjit Singh, and of Ghalib's sung by Ghazal connoisseurs. I accepted the trophy and praise and touched the feet of prinicipal sir, and gushed thank you, I am pleased. I moved out of the room that seemed not less than a treasure hunt. Wow, if working that little hard could get me a walk into that room, I promise I will try to keep my work in similar speed. I loved that place and went into day dreaming, in aspiration to find my room accustomed in those shades.
I wrote in my diary getting back home, " Through my slumber to my wakeful hours, if any voice I can hear, then it be naught other than of my Princess destined in our palace, with pearls and navratna's surrounding her. When her anklet bears the "chun chun" voice, and her wristlet tantalizing as a diamond. " I was referring my princess to Geetanjali, who seemed appropriate to be my princess for I was already looking at myself as a prince, after receiving the honour from the head of the school.
When we get awarded, then we feel enriched, and the moment is priceless. Then do flow the dreams unaltered, where you have all right to think of what fancies you, allures you.
I was high on spirits, as if pride casted its essence so prolifically in me. The very next day, I was to be applauded in the school assembly, for I had won a contest beating 100 odd students, who assembled variant talents like I did in poetry- in my case. All thanks to my father, who scolded me right in my tender years for my failures, and I remembered my English teacher who taught me consistently from class 2nd till class 7th. You can easily judge the predominance of her teachings in the songs of my glory. Thank you Sona ma'am, I uttered, unknowing where she had gone away, after ushering her flowery aroma, of munificence so grave, on my childish imaginations.
The very next day, was I prepared to step the stage, where for the first time I was to be clapped for. There was little a fear of stepping the podium, for my hours of labour, asked for their recognition, and there stood no fear at all. I left home, before sunrise, for cricket practice to start; followed by a studious day up fore. The sun grew up with me, and as the rays forecasted, I was merry in all respects to make my own name, hence finding the treasure that I seeked. The boy in me ran towards the change room, where I appareled my school uniform.
Soon, I found my line, wherein we were supposed to sit on dari's(carpet), the teachers took hold of their lines, and were accustomed to take morning attendance. Dr.Feroz Khan our principal, stood on the podium holding the mike alone and no lectern appeared. I felt as if it wasn't the day, when I was to be called upon the stage. The news was read, the announcements made and it was clear that assembly was about to be over. I was sentimental that Geetanjali, couldn’t see me while I was to be patted for my good work- for she was going to remain absent for the next week, as she was to go for her Badminton trials for the national team to Bangalore. But to everyone's surprise, there was another talk for the day. Two girls, came themselves while not announced, to the stage and asked our sir, to hand away few certificates, and prizes, other than the trophy I already received in the room of glory, Principal's room. I knew it was what I had come. My nerves were curious to take charge of my possessions, the prize that belonged to me. And whatever was wrapped in the cover, was destined to be my greatest gift. For these gifts, having won, make us cherish them, the occasions of our school life. It's so beautiful, to think about them later in our life.
Dear students, Our surroundings are all that we should care about. As a citizen of our country, it's our duty to not litter around, but provide for enhancing the glow of our nature. We should feel closer to our mother earth. We have come into a technology age, and we have started using high power consuming machines, making tasks much easier than ever before. It's good, but we should know our duty. I suppose, is it right to call it merely a duty to enjoy the sight of fresh breeze? Today, it's my privilege to announce the winning entries that I have myself gone through, amongst lots of others from all you talented students. I first of all congratulate all of the participants, because you actually feel the need for conserving our resources, while acting as willful citizens. Dear children, be cautious on your moves, in a way that we don't harm our future, by following sustainable development. Now, the winners are; I was ready! All the students from 10th prize onwards were called upon the podium to be honored and I stood up when 1st prize was announced by the two girls.
Many of my friends were thoroughly amazed, and my good friends knew how I wished to better my standards in English. Soon, I received tags, such as "Writer", "Lover", because my other articles were read by a large audience now, when I uploaded them on blogger, a website. But Geetanjali didn't turn up any how, but was present in the hall. I was upset, for I was waiting for her warm attention. I questioned myself whether she did care about me actually or not? I felt as if she did, so I myself went nearer to her, to seek my real gift. This time she said, it's nice, you are good, in her dignified a manner as I can define. We parted soon, for there was nothing else to say than one or two lines, or two-three exchanges of facts, like what happened in the earlier class meeting between her and me. Her face depicted the beauty of her love, of her inclination towards my patience. By the time three-four months passed by Geeta had many friends, unlike me, but those who could speak to her about anything, ranging from any daring topics and she was nice to them too. Her friends, who weren't interactive with me much, mainly ranged from ladies of the class or girls to put in childish spirits, who had a distance from me, in talks. The boys who befriended her were mostly the fighter club members, that even had its member in me, but I lacked the fighting part, but was blessed with good football touch, something what made my name common in groups of both girls and boys.
One day after recess was over, she sat on her seat, and few boys playing with the rubber ball, hit her. It did hit her hard on her tummy. The shame was the boys hit the ball deliberately, after finding, how sweet she was. I was annoyed and droplets of those tears emerged in astonishment and embarrassment from her eyes over what had uttered its displeasure. She sounded in grief, and could speak not a word after later. Geetanjali kept silent, and boys started screaming, over her character, that I think was inappropriate. She looked at me, as I looked into her eyes, and within few seconds, our meeting of eyes, shared grief and turned her back to the comfort zone. She knew how gravely was I crying alongside her, or more then her pain ached, my heart troubled, but I couldn't stand by her, for her girlfriends made the situation in control, screaming at the boys and gently whispering words of love and compassion. I was happy to see her smiling again, but I was filled with wrath over the boys who brought that pain to her.
Few days later, a friend of mine proposed to her, and to my astonishment what happened was, that she accepted his proposal. The doors of love hadn't closed, but that moment gave me a new awakening. I got to talk to her, through our eyes, because we meant a lot to each other, even if she uttered a lie that she loved that boy more than she could love me. Those days define my first love, and I know not where she is today, but I hope and pray that she embodies the same shine in her smile, that she had long time back. It's been 5 years since I have seen her, but I feel she's comfortable in her own world, enjoying the seasons that occur in the nature, and beautifying them too with her nectar of love, the way she made me smile and love her.