A river. Calm, serene and still. Always living in this moment. It takes people from one place to another but it goes nowhere. People sail across it to reach somewhere but it flows not to go anywhere but to be here and now. Gusts of wind blowing over it cause waves on it but it has no form. Fishermen get home in the evening sailing on it but there’s no home for the river except the river itself. Nowhere to go, nothing to do. Just flowing in this moment. Being here and now. It reflects the sun setting this moment but it does not gather any memories of the sun that rose this morning. Neither does it dream about the unborn stars of night. Corpses are set afloat on it so that their souls can go to heaven but the river does not die, nor does it hanker after heaven because the very state of flowing is heaven for it. People meet by the river, create memories by the river, make promises by the river and break or keep them. People part by the river. But the river parts from nobody, neither does it meet anybody, nor does it make, keep or break promise.  A river! A miracle! A great teacher!

Candle-lit Way

When I was going become a moth and burn myself to ashes jumping into a flame of a candle,
she lit my way with thousands of candles.

Being Love

What a lovely evening!

The sun sinking in the sea and boats sailing back to the shore.

Let me fall in love once gain.

But oh no..!

How painful is this fall..! It makes me bleed.

Better to just love some lass.

But then I have to embark upon a long journey to find a lass.

No.

Not tomorrow and somewhere 

But here and now.

Falling in love is nothing but suffering.

Finding a love is nothing but chasing a mirage.

Then what to do?

Let me simply become love.

Alas, becoming needs efforts

And efforts are affectations.

Then, now what?

Let me just be love.

Being love here and now.

It was a Saturday evening and I was proceeding to carry out my last duty of the week and looking forward to some fresh air of the following Sunday that could blow monotony and banality off me. There was sort fervour in my steps while I was going upstairs to the first floor of my school. There was still some time before the prep duty started. So I stood leaning on the balustrade of the balcony overlooking lush green farms adjacent to meticulously manicured tennis courts.

My roving eyes caught a sight of a little girl standing on a balcony upstairs. She was holding on to a thread tied to a big butterfly-shaped balloon. The balloon’s anti-gravitational pull amused the girl.

I said to her, “Leave the thread. And I’m sure you’ll enjoy watching the balloon disappear in the nothingness of the infinite sky.”

She hesitated initially. But while the battle between her unwillingness to lose the balloon and her tickled fancy to know where and how it will go if it is let loose was raging on, she felt something smooth flicking out of her slack grip. And there appeared her fond possession floating freely in the sky as if scoffing at her attempt to arrest its flight. Her gaze got fixed on the balloon floating in the air. It also arrested my attention and soon I realised that my eyes were chasing the unusual bird— the wingless but not flightless bird, the bird that does not build a nest anywhere but spends all its life in the endless sky and when life evaporates from it, it embraces gravitational force of the earth that it has been ridiculing all its life.

The unbridled flight of the balloon began. Two pairs of eyes were avidly following its spontaneous path. Initially it kept hovering a few feet near the balcony so I thought that it would not go and where and ultimately it would land on the school’s play ground. Doesn’t a faint hope that our loved one will stay with us linger in a corner of our mind when we are aware of his or her imminent departure? Yes, for a time being hope gets victory over harsh reality. After some time, the balloon floated higher in the sky— above the school building, over the tennis court and ultimately beyond the school’s compound. The lingering hope for the balloon to fall on the campus died away. Like an ephemeral moment that comes only once and never returns, the balloon embarked on its journey never to come back.

My gaze remained fixed on the balloon, which was soaring high now. It pitched and then spiralled farther and higher in the sky and stirred in my mind an optimistic thought that it would land on a nearby farm and could be retrieved easily. After it travelled almost two kilometres in the sky, it became difficult for my eyes to discern it because my eyes lost track of it. The wingless bird was now on its wings sometimes hiding in the clouds that the sinking sun had painted crimson and dark scarlet. My eyes got riveted to the beauty of the sun sinking beyond tall ashes and the horizon displaying colourful clouds that kept changing into various shapes and turned into some abstract paintings. There came into my view a line of birds arranged in such a shape as resembled the front of an aeroplane.

The calm of the evening was ultimately punctuated by mellifluous cries of birds returning to their nests; mysterious shrills of crickets heralded an evening that was gracefully lit with lamps burning in houses and was a bridge between momentariness and eternity. Priests were saying prayers in Gurudwaras. Their lilting voices led a listener to deeper mysteries of life. Flapping wings of bats added a new rhythm to the music that pervaded the evening. The evening breeze was giving me its last caress as if promising to come back the next day with same enthusiasm. But I didn’t do anything except taking a plunge into the present moment. I just wanted to see where it was to lead me. And when I opened my eyes after reaching the other end of the present moment, there was the sun poking its head out of the thick blanket of the eastern sky. The birds were getting ready to go on search for food and were leaving their nests. The priests were singing songs of God in Gurudwaras. And the eastern sky was ablaze with bright golden clouds that were murmuring: “Life is here and now.”

My jaw dropped and I was overwhelmed with gratitude that I was alive.

“Ah this..!”, I said.

Token of True Love 

The first thing that preoccupied Shalini’s mind when she came to Baroda after her long stay in a small non-descript town called Palanpur, three hundred-odd kilometres away from Baroda, was to pay a visit to Narhari Amin Hospital and ask after her pregnant friend Savitri. Therefore, as soon as Shalini reached her uncle’s home, she had a cup of tea, unwound and hoped an auto-rickshaw to Narhari Amin Hospital. The familiar streets the auto-rickshaw passed through and the popular haunts she watched passing by sent her mind racing back to her university days when untrammelled by marital vows of fidelity and far away from parental scrutiny she ventured into hobnobbing with the most coveted studs of the university. The journey down her pleasant past left a wistful smile on her face and rueful tears hiding in the corners of her eyes.

The rickshaw stopped at Narhari Amin Hospital. She got off it and walked to the hospital. She had a glance at the list of patients and hurried to room number 143, where her bosom friend Savitri had been admitted for last two weeks. Savitri was lying on a bed. Her gaze was fixed on the snow white ceiling of the room, as if she was watching her colourful heyday against the drab whiteness of the ceiling. Her crestfallen face got livened up by a much awaited smile when Shalini’s appearance distracted her eyes and set them free from the entanglement of reminiscence.

‘Hi, how are you?’, asked Shalini.

‘I’m fine. And what about you?’ , said Savitri.

‘Though my life does not lack anything that a happy marriage needs, I feel a disturbing vacuum somewhere in my life. I don’t know what I should call it but I know my life was much better during the university days than it is now.’, Shalini spoke.

‘Yes, dear we know that there were dreams in those young eyes and an inexhaustible zest for life in us those days. But we must pass through such a rosy phase remembering the truth that nothing lasts forever.’, Savitri spoke with a consoling tone.

‘And how’s your husband?’, Shalini enquired.

‘Arun is a man of great understanding and a very adaptable human being, I must admit. Though it’s been a year since we got married, we both get along very well and accommodate each other. In spite of his hectic schedule, he manages to steal some moments away from his professional life and takes me to the cinema and posh restaurants every week. He’s a man who loves springing pleasant surprises on me. He takes care of each of my needs.’, enthused Savitri.

‘Do you meet or talk to your old flame Mohan?’, asked Shalini.

An awkward silence ensued.

‘You know everybody has his share of happiness in his life. But, unfortunately, sometimes this happiness is nothing more than a flash in the pan. However short-lived the flash is, it certainly lights up everything, I assume’, said Savitri.

The lines forming on Shalini’s brow indicated her whetted curiosity.

‘Please tell me whether you’ve broken up with Mohan or you still meet him furtively without your husband’s knowledge?’, Shalini enquired.

‘Yes, he met me once. I can’t recall exactly when. There was an abyss of indecision I was helplessly falling in before my marriage. And ultimately, I decided to meet him before I was going to marry Arun. When I was getting married to Arun I knew that I was going to live in limbo swinging between life and death, between pretence and essence, between fond past and uncertain future.’, Savitri said.

‘Dear, you’ve got to forget your past and flow where life leads you.’, spoke Shalini.

‘Yes. I agree. But sometimes past leaves its indelible marks on you and they live on as a reminder of your golden days and like the fragrance of flowers still permeating the air they remind you of the memorable spring that has gone by.’, Savitri said.

‘Do you miss Mohan?’ , Shalini asked as she was trying to decipher the  words spoken by Savtri.

‘Yes, I miss him very much and wish he were with me at every moment of my life.’, said Savitri.

‘What do you do when you miss him?’, asked Shalini.

‘I simply look at the token of his true love that he’s given me.’, said Savitri pointing her finger at her stomach.

Fire of Love

What fire was it between your columns that

I started melting there between those two pillars

And found something thawing in me

Lost the time,

Lost the “I”,

Lost myself,

And became yourself.

No footprints have been left

On the pathless path.

Having arrived here,

I know not where I came from

And how I can go back.

Gone the traveller,

Gone the way,

Gone the destination.

Gone my very being.