Change is an inevitable part of life. Every moment is a new moment, different from the last moment or from the next moment. No matter how much stuck one feels, still one is changing at a subtle level. If one understands and accepts changes that happen within oneself and that occurs outside in an open and receptive manner without being biased or judgemental about the kind of change then he will be able to enhance his life with every passing moment. The moment one attaches a negative connotation to a change and perceives it with pessimism, it has similar repercussions within oneself and in the life as a whole.

In the countryside of Zakopane, a young boy of 14 years, seeing his father’s mountain equipment and old photographs, some framed and some in an album demanded his ailing bedridden father that he wishes to learn mountain climbing. The father was an acclaimed mountain climber himself but an accident and the death of his wife, while climbing the Tatra mountains for a romantic date on their 10th anniversary shattered his mountaineering dreams and made him close the mountaineering academy, the one he had opened as a young Geology graduate from the University of Wroclaw.

That fateful day came in front of his eyes and he got scared and numb. After regaining his senses, he assertively told his son not to think about climbing at all. But the little boy was adamant and started crying loudly. He tried to pacify him but all his efforts went in vain. His limitations made him agitated and he was about to throw a paperweight at him. But he saw his wife’s photograph on the opposite wall, smiling, bubbly and ethereally beautiful. And he stopped, keeping the paperweight aside. He remembered what his wife used to say “Chris, a true mountaineer never fears death, and if he dies in the lap of the mountains, his existence is blessed”.

His eyes welled up and tears started rolling down his eyes. He called his son with a sense of conviction and grit. Chris asked his son Martin to go and join an academy and learn mountaineering. His son learnt mountaineering, grew up and reopened his father’s academy, where Chris started conducting lectures on the skill of mountaineering and explaining the innumerable stories from folklore, from hearsay and from his own experience and the relevance of the mountaineering gear, fossils and other stuff in the museum built by him long back.

A change is always for the better. One bad and untowardly incident does not mean that one leaves one’s passion and become so insecure that he doesn’t  let his near and dear ones to pursue that same passion. There was a time when Chris had decided to shut down his academy and sell the items in his museum to earn some money and later send his son to a graduate school, so that Martin can get a plush secure job in the flourishing cosmopolitan cities of Western Europe. But destiny had something better in store. And that one sentence from his wife Adina changed his life completely.

Bio: Pradeepti is a banker by profession but she loves words more than numbers. Intrigued by the fine nuances of life, like music, art, literature and love. She loves cooking and dancing. Children make her joyful to the core and spirituality and philosophy define her existence.
 

A big hello to the philosophical souls and all my friends here. I had a penchant for philosophy since my college days. I am highly grateful to a professor of my college who recognized my love for philosophy, when once I was caught reading a book called “Being and nothingness” written by the great French philosopher Jean Paul Sartre while my professor’s lecture was on. The professor had confiscated the book then and had taken it with him. He was an economics professor who luckily for me turned out to be an ardent and zealous reader of books based on philosophy. I came to know about it on the next day after the economics lecture got over, when he called me personally in the staff cabin and said “Hey boy, have you read this book fully?” I said “No Sir, I have read approximately 70% of the book”. He stared at me in an amused way for a while and then asked again “Son, did you nicely fathom the cognitive content written in the book?” I said “Yes sir, mostly”. After that, he spoke with me for at least an hour on the book and on various topics related to philosophy. He was very much impressed by my abstract thoughts and the ability to understand the complex nuances of the subject. Finally he said that son if you have gone up to reading 70% of this particular book and the other books that you have read till now based on this very refined subject which is not everyone’s cup of tea then let me tell you that you will certainly become “Something” in your life and you will always remain happy and contented with it because you have understood the art of staying alive very soon. You have a keen interest and desire to read and learn more on this subject and you possess the finesse to wisely extract the substantive elements from the complexities of philosophy. After that my love for philosophy bloomed further.

I followed my love and interest for philosophy and the masters who followed this mystical and mostly unexplored path of enlightenment by following their own doctrine to discover a cryptic world of their own which later on irradiated in their writings. Many of my friends often tell me that “Bro, if you know so much about this complex subject then why don’t you edify others with your writing prowess? Well, I tell my friends that the reason that I don’t write it more is that many of you may not like the ramifications and the intricacies involved in this. There is a very small section of our society who actually likes this subject and is keen on delving deeply in to it.

Today, I thought about posting something here and share it with all of you regarding whatever philosophy I have read, heard, learnt, experienced and observed throughout my life in a simplified form, as much as possible, so that everyone here can understand and digest it. I am sure that after modifying the complexities, the end result will be much more fathomable and understandable to all my friends. I will try to make it more simplified. In future, I will present many such philosophical snippets by way of short stories too so that everyone can enjoy it and I hope my friends here will like my efforts.

I will sign off with some lines that carry a philosophical touch:-

“Friends, do remember if there is a worthwhile seed in a rotten apple fruit, man saves it. If there are gold coins in a heap of garbage, man extricates it. If there are small pebbles in wheat, a housewife removes them. Similarly, we might encounter or see many untoward incidents in the world, yet we must learn to choose all that is good amidst the bad. We should try to safeguard it and preserve it.

Each small candle in this room shimmers with different colors and radiates fragrance. The antique black telephone on the ancient wooden desk is never busy anymore. Pictures hung on the pale pastel wall are dim and have traces of dust on the frames. The radio belts out old songs reminiscent of the sixties. There are two other rooms, but they are not used. They are vacant. But that was not the case, a couple of years ago. Anybody with an eye for detail could see the depth of dale through the wet panes of the last, lone room. The rain pours incessantly. Sometimes mercilessly, But it was always a soothing balm. And the time flies. Oh, how it flies!

The house on the hill lures drifters. And the lawn behind the cottage is crafted in such a way that people can sit for hours in a motionless state and stare at the magic of the stars. He lives there, in a room full of crystal blue bulbs and lights that flicker. His love for rose flowers and fairy tales are wordless. Not many people know the reason why he lives there alone, though everyone knew that he wanted to settle down in Grantchester Meadows. Something had turned the tides of time in the long chase to the pearl pebble, and that had altered the grand plan. It all happened when he was a child. Syd loved fairy tales. His dream was to be in one. He quite often sits and wonders why the chirping birds never stop commuting. Early morning they come, settle themselves on the window panes and rub the dust over the window grills. Then they leave without expecting anything in return. For small creatures, as they teach us that nature is the best teacher. Here and there they roam, but they are never far away from home. Their resting place under the night sky is upon the turf for sanity. No regrets. No heartbroken songs. Life goes on.

Years fleet by… Nights roll in Days, like sand rolls over the dunes in the desert…Stars loose its charm, though not their flicker… Rose flowers withered away… And then the fine dawn arrived, and the quaint yellow house next door had a visitor, who was a reporter with a leading Television Channel. She was a pretty picture in her long hair and big black eyes and her pretty smile. She was a young girl with a passion for her work. Emily had come to report about this meadow, for it had always lured her in some distant dream that she wanted to find out and tell the world as people often crave to know about the unknown. And then she was always a curious child who wanted to explore the hidden mysteries in life. This was not her first visit; she had been here 3 years ago.

A few foggy days passed and on one fine foggy dawn, she took her camera and went to capture the beauty of this lovely land. As she walked across the green fragrant meadow, her eyes absorbed this pretty house which was build upon stable, hard rock. She was drawn to the jingling of musical bells swinging on the rusty porch. She felt like some fairy was gently ringing them and beckoning her. She was curious to find out about its occupant, for he or she must definitely have a fairytale to weave in a magical place like this. When you desire for more, the curiosity is aroused; the fire is kindled. She knocked gently, trying hard not to break the spell of the moment. None answered the peculiarly carved wooden door. She pushed to see if the doors were on her side and open for her. They were. She entered. Her gaze swept over the room and drank in the mystical posters, the enchanting candles and the soulful songs that were being played for no one. Her eyes wandered all over the place. She walked through the corridor to see the mystery which surrounded the place. No one was there.

Emily had had a strange childhood. She had this strange hobby of collecting pebbles and storing them in a bronze box. The bronze box belonged to her grandmother. She treasures her memory in that heart-shaped bronze box. There are only a couple of letters and silver rings and bangles in it. Her parents separated when she was just six years old. For all the time spent with her grandmother, she was taught to value each and every simple thing in life. Being the only child at home, her grandmother poured all her love on this pretty girl. Therefore, Emily was taught to believe in true love. She was in a relationship with Scott who was ten years older to her. They separated when Emily found out that his only love was addicted to drugs. And that left a huge scar on her heart. She was just 23 when she broke up with Scott. It’s been 5 long years since they broke up. And the trunk that was stationed on the last lone room brought back golden memories. But they were stranger than anyone could ever think of. It had dry rose flowers and reels of old tapes. Some of them even read “E” and the rest – “lvis” was faded. The room where the trunk was kept had scribbling on the wall. And the words were in quotes, like the unavailable resident was speaking despite their absence. It seemed like a drawing room with many words in different shades. One of the lines read “Mother never taught me how to live”. And another line read “Mother never sent me to fight”. But the last line at the corner was more poignant, and it read “Mother never taught me to love”. A curious Emily rambled across the room, trying to delve deep into the psyche of this person.

Syd was a strange, mysterious person. He was an artist who used to paint for a living. His trysts with life and his tales of woe burst forth through his strokes on canvas. He knew the depth of heart. He dealt with silence and knew what it was to feel loneliness. His dreams and his dejections were painted across the wall. Emily was slowly getting closer to his heart. She had come to accomplish a work. Yet, she found herself swept away, lost in Syd’s world; his lone planet. She didn’t know the way out. She didn’t know where he was. But she knew that he was a real character in this fairytale that life had just thrown at her. His feelings were raw, and therefore, genuine. Good always ends up finding good. She slowly walked to his bed room. It looked messy. But it wasn’t. He had arranged even the smallest things in an odd manner. Everything looked messy but they were clean and tidy. As she walked towards his bed, which was draped with white sheets and a majestic maroon pillow, she found a letter lying on the bed with a rose flower on it… She rushed towards it, and…

The letter read, “The rose is red and it is beautiful. You know it doesn’t last longer. You know it doesn’t spread its fragrance forever. Yet we love it. Yet we feel it.

Raven’s claws are set steep on the muddy damp soil. So you stare close to witness the pain in it’s eyes. It lost it’s balance and focus, and finally, pride. No one can ever save the bird, because we are scared to touch or feel its vengeance. The one that you feed with milk will bite back one day, maybe unintentionally. But it does. It hurts. It’s poignant. Yet we don’t stop doing it. Yet we don’t stop loving them. Around the twelfth hour, when you lose your sleep and wander through your dreams, you get yourself lost in a lone land. No one lives there. No one loves there. Nobody wants to be loved there. There is only music. There is only silence. There is only a timid whisper.

Now, this rose is beautiful. But I know it won’t last any longer. And I know it won’t spread its fragrance forever, but I still love it. It’s smell… Its endurance… And I feel all of us should stay as a rose flower…Those thorns might pierce our soft skin and wound our fragile heart. Those thorns may wreck all our dreams and leave us all by ourselves. But you know you are spreading love. And you know it’s worth it.

Raven claws may wound our skin
Spiky thorns may pierce our heart Empty pitchers may make noise
But a life worth living for others
Is all that we have got to cherish…?”
Each small candle in this room shimmers with different colors and radiates fragrance. The antique black telephone on the ancient wooden desk is never busy anymore. Pictures hung on the pale pastel wall are dim and have traces of dust on the frames. The radio belts out old songs reminiscent of the sixties. Now the telephone rings. But she doesn’t hear. All she wants to hear is the bells jingling again, touched by the gentle, lithe fingers of a fairy. Outside the cloud looked heavy again. It will pour. And it would serve as a balm for her, for the fire that burned in her heart. And the fog covers the entire hills. It seems as if a painter is painting his heart out. And then the jeweled drops come pouring down. And the moment he walks into the house, through the heavy downpour, through the haze, his life would change again. For all that he lost, or was never granted in life, would beautifully abound in his mundane life, and paint the clearest picture he had ever seen. She will be there to run towards him and hug him.

Because some relationships are meant to begin with silence and she knows he is the one…

*—-* —-*

Every night gives way to a new dawn…and that has been a universal truth always. It was a truth filled with hope of a new beginning, no matter how troubled the past may have been. Each passing moment may sound like an echo of some ancient bells of a dormant dream. Life is difficult. But that is OKAY. Nothing comes easy. But it is the pain that is unbearable. And the greatest pain is when no one understands the pain the other goes through. Someone must be there, to take a stand beside every soul to touch their heart and give some love. Syd loved fairy tales. He was a man with the heart of a child. His life became a mystery after the 27th of November. He lost the will to communicate through words but that just opened a new gate to unleash his pent-up emotions. ART. And unknowingly, it had begun the healing process in him. The dashes of his brush and the splashes of vibrant colours on the pale canvas spoke volumes of his feelings and gave insight to the man he once was.

On the hill beyond the horizon, the ancient bell of the old church on the steeple chimed thrice. His grandfather was buried there. The man he always looked up to…for help, for guidance and for inspiration. He had taught Syd th essence of life in a simple way – “All good things you do will always come back to you”. Syd now recalled his big, brown, twinkling eyes with pain and sadness in his own. How he wished he was alive and there for him! Today is November 27th. It is a Sunday. And he is at his haven of peace. Yes, there is peace. There is silence. If you can call ‘silence’ as ‘peace’, then yes, Syd had it. No one is around. No one bothers to be around for anyone anymore. You are on your own. You are left to be on your own. The lone place is vast and grassy. The sky above is clear and the sun plays hide and seek with the tufts of clouds. Slowly, like crystal tears down a babe’s alabaster cheek, the little drops of rain began to fall. They fell with a purpose, to touch his soft skin and to soothe his cold heart. The chirping birds watch from the safety of their fragile nests. The green leaves welcome the drops of rain, for it is their only chance to sparkle in a world where they grow, forgotten. Syd loved this place. For as long as he can remember, this was his home, his haven, his safe refuge. Even when tragedy struck, this place understood him like no human could, consoled him like the mother he never had. November 27th. Time flies… His eyes wandered here and there, looking for a place to sit. He walked bare-footed through the wet grass, dragging his long coat to sit on a stone that read, “The Good Never Die… They live on in the annals of memory and time”. He sat there, staring at the unique land and decided to open up his heart once again to the only family he had – the land he called his own.

Syd was not a loner two years ago. He had met and married Rachel. Rachel – the girl with the long brown hair and merry brown eyes. She was not beautiful, but she was a beauty. There was a beauty of spirit and soul, which reflected on her face, and made it quite radiant. It created an aura which surrounded her. And this radiance and this aura had captured his heart. Their love was known to each mortal in the town. She met Syd at a coffee shop when he was reading a book about a painter whom both of them admired. She was a painter too. But she was not a silent character like Syd. She was intrigued by life after death and the tragedy behind unworthy lies. She spoke at lengths about both these mysteries. They started meeting often and finally fell in love. That was on the February 14th. The day the whole world celebrates Valentine’s Day. They celebrated their Love. It is true that all good things must come to an end. But too prematurely, for some. Some reach the skies of bliss, when something unimaginable occurs, and they come crashing down. On the eve of November 27th, as they were driving towards an orphanage, they met with an accident. Rachel was killed. Instantly. A gentle life snuffed out by death’s cruel clutch. Syd escaped. Barely. But he escaped. And that made the difference in his life. Oh, how he wished he had died with her. He was heartbroken. He was wrecked by the absence of her smile, her touch and her laughter. He didn’t cry. He just sat down and recalled all the dreams they had seen together, and the times they spent with each other in each other’s arms. You know you are alone when your loved ones are gone. You know you are alone when you are all by yourselves. And his life was now an empty shell, with no one to call his own. And there was pain. There was agony. But out of agony, hope is born. It’s almost evening now. The crickets are chirping their evening song, telling him to go home. But there is no one waiting for him there. There is nobody to open the doors to welcome him with a tender kiss. Life is dead. Above all the cloudless sky, a star shines at him, smiles at him as if saying “Dear One, you are not alone”. He found love in that glittering star. For he knew it was her, his Rachel. The dusk swept the day into the waiting hands of night. He is still in the same place where heaven touches earth, and womb gives birth to an infant through the doors of Heaven, only to find final rest in the Tomb. Rachel’s tomb shines even at dark like her. On her tomb, the infamous verse was written “All go unto once place; all are of the dust, and all turn to dust again”. Tears fell slowly down his cheeks. The church bells bid him farewell. He walked back to his house. Everyone thinks that life ends with just a story to smile. But no one believes that a life has more than many tales to cherish. Syd is a recluse. But he is a dreamer who never gave up on his hopes and dreams. For out of agony, Hope is born.

The night is still young and he walked under the shade of golden lights that flickered. The narrow lane to his house looked scary, but his spirits were on fire that could set ablaze any obstacles. And when he reached his doorframe and pushed the doors to get inside, a note with a telephone number was stuck just below the bells that were hung so low. He didn’t bother to read it but pushed the doors and got inside. His life was always this way. Every Sunday he went to Rachel’s tomb, prayed and came back, to be lost in memories. This day was no different. He found his bed and crashed onto it. But his eyes caught the letter kept beside his pillow with a fresh rose flower. His hands reached to pick them up and he smelled the tender flower. The rose is beautiful. People always are careful to pluck a rose flower thinking the thorns might hurt them. But he wasn’t scared of anything. He found a different letter along with the rose flower. It was not the usual letter that he writes and keeps while he leaves the house. Because every day when he comes back, he reads it again, and goes to sleep. It is like a strange hobby. Something like an inspiration.

And the letter read, “I don’t know who you are, or where you are from. All I know is the intense spirits that you possess. If I ever get a chance to see your heart, your beautiful heart, I would spend the rest of my life in your arms, in your heart, in your dreams. I don’t know your name, your past, or your present, but all I know is that I am falling in love with you. And if you ever give me a chance, I will spend the whole life with you, in your arms, in your dreams. Every life has a beginning, and an end. And I know you are alive, and real. And I want to say these three words to you that, I love you… Yes, I am in love with you… – Emily”.

Each small candle in this room shimmers with different colors and radiates fragrance. The ancient black telephone on the ancient wooden desk is never busy anymore. But he rushed outside his house, looks high above the sky and saw the same star twinkling at him. And he smiled, took the note that was stuck on the doors and got inside. And all he wanted to hear was the telephone ringing at her end. For he knew, every night gives way to a new dawn and his dawn was just a night away… And the candles were still blazing at the background, spreading fragrance… 

What is success?
Is it to win the rat race?
Is it to get name?
Or to get some fame?
Is it to play mind game?
Is to fake and not let the life to be same?
Is it to earn millions and keep it in the bank?
Is it to fib or lie and never be frank?
Is it to cover up or pretend?
Is it that you are ashamed?
Is it millions of likes or followers?
Or million of people who are trolls?
Is it to live life large size?
Is it to win every prize!
Is it to go abroad ?
Or is it shop till you drop?
Is it what life of others are?
Is it how you have come to far?
Is it you have nothing?
And you are happy and have something?
Is it having all still you have none ?
Or is it you have none still you have fun?

The cobweb of complex thoughts,
Entangles every breath, every moment,
Blurring the very reality,
And assuming the unreal,
Making the cobweb more and more entangled.
Such are the perplexities of being human,
Randomly oscillating, and colliding,
With self, and with others,
Creating a noise, a raucous,
A crass cacaphony,
One that reverberates incessantly,
In places it shouldn’t.
Pause a little,
Take a deep breath,
Hold it and sense it,
Disentangle the mesh,
Slowly and patiently,
Cutting down the noise,
Disturbances of all kinds,
And enjoying finally,
The sound of silence.

As I sit at the window porch
The half drunk coffee on my lap
The little droplets of hope outside
The pitter patter spoke in silence
It drizzled in the hopes in heaps
Promising me in leaps and leaps
When I doubted it said it’s for keeps
Smiles did follow through the peeps
Never will you empty be
Joy will hold on to thee
Smiles will provide the sun and shade
Rains of laughter will not fade
Keep smiling praying and inhaling still
I in positivity shall add the frill
The coffee seemed smoked up riped
Wet tears from the face it wiped..

Yesterday was World Kindness Day. A day to glorify and celebrate being kind. O really!! Has the world come to this!! The little acts of kindness that we do, can go a long way is what my grandpa used to say.  I have had a beautiful childhood spent with my grandparents. They taught me the ways of life which seem alien to me nowadays, but still as hope stays strong in the eternal breast, I move on in life expecting the magic and the miracle to work someday.  

My Grandpa used to say “if we can bring a smile on someone’s face and give someone hope to move on in life then that’s being kind”.  So I did that very often. I tried bringing smiles even when my heart was bleeding inside, thinking maybe the gesture would be returned in full or may be more or may be a little less but nevertheless it will come back to you for sure. 

As I treaded through life for the last 39 years, I saw heart breaks, I saw broken relationships, pain, struggle at work, failure, poor health, mentally distressed individuals in leaps and in abundance. Kept me wondering that may be the world has been an unkind place and we need to celebrate a day of kindness. Right?? 

My grandpa had also said that “lend out your smiles” (well, you see its free and doesn’t cost much) and give someone hope to carry on… “.

And today, while the social media has invaded our lives, we don’t mind flashing that smile on a photograph or posting a take care comment but if we look deep within… Do we teally care?… Do we really act kind in this way?…

Kindness is an act of Godliness. I sometimes get a different kind of happygasm when I can inspire someone or give hope by sharing a word or two or by assuring someone that they are capable and can do a lot with their lives. Sometimes, when I see someone sad, I try to sip a coffee with them and make them feel special and loved. The glitter in their eyes when they know someone is there to hear them and love them, bring them back to life or assure them that they are not alone, gives them so much happiness. I guess it’s not too difficult a thing to do but it can really give some hope and bring smiles to them.

Hey world…do it….Go ahead…Share a joy hug, a tear, befriend a lonely soul, love a pained one and then see the happiness that you feel inside…Bet you gonna do it more and more my darlings…. Let’s make this world a happy place…Take some time out from your busy life. And you never know, may be you are the only one who is doing so…To give some kindness to the world….

Spread hope and smiles like confetti… 

We have heard that often-repeated saying: Some people come into our lives for a reason, some for a season, and some for a life time.

It was late evening and I had decided to take the local bus to go home. The bus was quite crowded, but I didn’t want to be late. So I got in. And there, at the entrance stood a young girl (let’s call her J). She resembled someone I had known in the past, and we had parted ways rather badly. So the sight of this girl J immediately put me in a negative frame of mind. I brushed past her and found a place to stand. A little ahead of me, I noticed a small-built, delicate-looking girl (we shall call her S). She suddenly fainted. I went to help her. At the same time, another pair of hands came to support her. It was ‘that’ girl, J. Someone gave S, a seat. We asked around for water, and gave it to S. I asked her where she lived and offered to drop her home. Her place was four stops before mine. As I debated in my mind if I had done the wise thing, J offered to come with me to drop her home. I agreed. So, we got off the bus with S and walked her home. She lived in a PG. We informed the inmates that S was not well and had fainted. After ensuring that she was in safe hands, J and I left. We had exchanged phone numbers. We took an auto rickshaw till a common point, after which J had to travel further. I had a short walk home. I offered to wait with J till her bus arrived. As we spoke, I realized how charming and pure-hearted she was. And I had been so prejudiced about her on first sight! I promised myself to never think on such lines ever again. 

Years have passed by since this incident. J had come to India for studies, and she went back to her country. We were on Facebook for a while and would chat often. Then J deleted her account and just disappeared. S is still in touch….She is now married and has a beautiful child. But I still miss J sometimes. She came like a breath of fresh air to clear some negativity in my mind. That’s life, I guess.