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.

They say that I'm falling in love, but I can FEEL something rising in me.

A spectrum of versions of celibacy:

1. Celibacy Version 2000- A celibate (Sadhaka) is not even allowed to look at a girl. And if any girl happens to be coming in front of him, he has to change his way, close his eyes and chant Hanuman Mantra 1001 times. And even after speaking some words- for example words of girls and other words that are often used in the game of amor, the Sadhaka has to wash h

is mouth. If a thought about a girl crosses his mind, he has to recite Hanuman Chaisa 500 times.

2. Celibacy Version 2008- A celibate can look at a girl and further not only can ha appreciate her beauty but also touch her.However a celibate is not allowed any physical contact with a girl, except hand-shaking. Besides, if both the parties wish to have a nice time together, they may go to a restaurant and have a candle-lit dinner or they can go for a long drive or may opt for any other type of socialisation that does not involve other type of physical touch.

3. Celibacy Version 2010- A celibate (Sadhaka) can have a girlfriend and he can take her on a date and furthermore he is allowed some physical contact such as osculations, amorous embrace, getting his girlfriend on his lap. However, they are NOT allowed any further carnal pleasure except this.

4. Celibacy Version 2012- Desperately awaited by all libidinous  celibates.

From Becoming to Being

First, I thought I'd become a drunkard. Then an idea came to me: why not to become wine itself? Then I thought, where does wine go? In the glass. So I thought of becoming a glass. Then a question came to me: from a glass where does wine go? It goes in my mouth and makes me mad. Therefore, I thought of becoming a madman. I pondered and wondered: BECOMING a madman..! Nonsense..! BEING a madman is better than

 becoming a madman. ..........................................

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And ultimately a ray of wisdom glittered in me: Just 'being' is far better than being 'this' and 'that'.

My Hometown

They say,"Hiren does not love his homeland and has no respect for it either.". And I say,"Palanpur is a place where clerks in colleges are respectfully referred to as 'saheb' (babus) and despite being utter bumpkins and miserably married, clerks exhibit their audacious libido by propositioning/proposing girls of their colleges..! And college principals are so much worried about about their students that they allow and encourage them to cheat in exams. It is a place where nepotism has grown rampant. For example if you want to work at some dairies, you have to be a Chaudhery. It is a place where folks are so much inquisitive that they are even desperate to know what kind of underwear you are wearing. Nonetheless, I do love Palanpur-- I love serenity of the track that passes by my farm, the calm and peace of Shashivan/Jahanara Baugh, the beautiful architecture of the college where I studied and later taught and last but not least an exquisite place called "Hathidara" where the beauty of nature abounds and hillocks hold an intimate conversation with the sky and a playful gale scribbles its signature on farms. Yes, I do love Palanpur."

8:42 a.m.
26th August, 2012,
Ludhiana.

Caught in Creation

I painted a painting in a spree of passions long ago. But now that I'm sober and the tempest of passions has passed, in my conscious calm I look at the painting and feel that I am one of the faces  in the painting and my being outside the painting is nothing but just an illusion. Will you please pinch me? So that I can know what is reality and what is illusion.

10:41 p.m.
23rd August, 2012
Ludhiana

Sin

Despite all the sermons that we listen to in solemn silence of a church and all the great books that we read under a shadow of a silent tree, we are tempted to commit a sin. Notwithstanding all our arduous efforts, we slip down the slippery slope of 'original sin'. I guess our sins must be an envelope wherein lies hidden God's message. And sins must relate us to our origin.

Losing a friend.

Write a chapter for your own autobiography in which you describe an achievement or an embarrassing experience or a sad occasion. (600-900 words)

Showers of rain come with monsoon and disappear as leaves turn yellow on trees and herald autumn but rain water seeps deep inside earth and enriches reservoirs of rivers. Similarly there are some experiences of life that shine for a moment like lightning and enlighten many things. Though the thundering and dark clouds that accompany such lightning may intimidate us for a while, we certainly reap a very rich harvest of wisdom during the calm that follows the tempest.

I can still vividly recall the moments of alluring ecstasy and enlightening agony in my camaraderie with my friends.

I was studying at the University of Baroda and staying there in one of the hostels. And the zest for life was in full spate in me. I was ambitious to scale new summits of success and eager to grab whatever gift life was to offer.

The first Friendship Day during my stay at the hostel came to me as an opportunity for me to express my gratitude to my friends for their friendship that I was privileged to. And I had decided to express my gratitude to my friends for their company that makes my life livelier. A good number of plans crowded around my mind and I was in a real dilemma about which plan I should go for, as I had plenty of friends whom I was indebted to for their friendship. Ultimately, I planned to first greet and meet my friends Kwinal, Asit and Bunty, who lived with me in the same hostel and treat them to a very sumptuous luncheon at a posh restaurant of the town and I scheduled my candlelit dinner with Niki in the evening. An incredibly rosy picture about the friendship Day appeared before me.

A cool night with soothing sleep was over and a new sun of hopes was shining bright on the horizon. I got up at 6:00 a.m. and was getting ready to execute my plan. But my hostel friends were still snoring in their beds. As I had decided to have lunch with my hostel friends, I called at Udupi Restaurant and told them to reserve a table for four people. Then, I went outside to get some gifts and Friendship Cards and hoped that by the time I was back my friends would be up. It took me more than an hour to get the things and come back to my room. I came back to the hostel opened the door of my room and saw a bit disheartening scene. Bunty and Asit had gone somewhere   and Kwinal was still sleeping though it was half past twelve. I woke him up and asked him, “Where have Asit and Bunty gone?” “They’ve gone to Rita’s home. And will be back in the evening.”, he answered.

“Get up, bloke. We’re having lunch at Udupi together at one this afternoon.”, I said.

“Sorry, dear I can’t join you. I’ve gotta go to my uncle’s place.” , he replied.

I was beginning to realise the verity of an old adage -- man proposes and God disposes.

I rang up Niki.

“Hi, where are you?”

“I’m in my room in the girls’ hostel.”

“Some friends and I are going to have lunch at Udupi restaurant at one. I thought you could join us.”

“I’m afraid I can’t. But we are going to have dinner together this evening without fail”

“Ok, not a problem.”

The void loomed large before me and my heart was beginning to sink. How lonely I was despite a myriad of friends around me! But the prospect of having candlelit dinner with Niki was such a promising prospect that I forgot all my loneliness and dejection and started harbouring hope of having the most memorable evening of my life.

It was half past one and I was very much hungry but I had no other option but take my lunch alone in the hostel mess. I quickly had lunch and went back to my room and had a rejuvenating siesta. It was ten past four when I woke up. From my closet I took out the gift I had bought for Niki and placed it in the paper bag in which I had put the Friendship Day card for her and started waiting for the clock to strike seven in the evening.

The door opened and Kwinal appeared there. He asked me, “Can I borrow your bike if you do not need it now?”

“Ok. I do not need my bike now but I will need it at 6:30 in the evening because I am going out with Niki at seven.”, I said.

“Don’t worry I will be back before five.”, said  Kwinal.

From the window of my room I saw him disappearing on my bike. I had two and half hours to kill. So I went to my friends’ room and talked with them. I glanced at my watch. It was half past six but still Kwinal had not come back. So I got a bit anxious and called him but I got no response. 

I went into my room. I looked at the paper bag wistfully. The minute hand of the clock in my room was inching towards twelve and it was five to ten when I rang up Kwinal a second time. “I’m on my way to the hostel.”, he said. It struck seven but he had not come back and I needed my bike desperately because I had planned to take Niki out for candlelit dinner.

The sun was setting and it was getting dark. The local shops were getting lit. People were thronging nearby restaurants. At last, Kwinal came back at eight. I was fuming with rage.

I told him, “You told me you’d be back by five. Look at the watch. It is eight o’ clock. I was to meet Niki at seven.”

“But there were scores of problems. First, I got stuck in traffic and as I moved ahead the tire got punctured and I was held up for more than an hour.”, he explained.

“Whatever. I don’t want to listen to this rubbish. And you’ll never ever borrow anything from me.  You’re a big liar.”, I screamed. Kwinal’s face fell as the last word escaped my mouth. With surprise my other friends, Bunty and Asit kept looking at me. And Kwinal placed the key to my bike on my palm and walked away very much shattered. With my glassy eyes I saw him going away. A very embarrassing silence pervaded me and my friends.

“Though I got my bike back, I lost my hope to have a candlelit dinner with Niki. And above all I lost a friend who always stood by me.”, I admitted with shame and remorse. Tears welled up in my eyes.

A Soliloquy of a Solitary Sage

 

[ The parking lot of the University of Baroda. The parking lot and the place around it look deserted as classes are over. Asit, a young boy in his early twenties with his unshaven chin and ruffled hair is sitting on stairs and brooding over something of great import. His gaze is fixed on an Ashoka tree. Gloom loomed over his face.]

Asit: [ Stands up, walks to the Ashoka tree and touches it] A year ago my life was a beautiful garden that was always green and was visited by an angel. It was a garden where fabled flowers danced and chirping birds crooned in tune with rustling wind. It was a garden that was perpetually blessed with spring. But today the same garden has been laid waste. Since the angel has left the garden with a vow never to return, autumn has been the only season that pervades the garden and an unending yellow shroud has been eternally cast on it. Trees stand bereft of leaves and intimidating silence has superseded songs of birds.

[Walks back to the stairs and sits there]

I still remember the enchanting monsoon evening when I stood with Jalpa under this ashoka tree, we both had a tete-a-tete baring our souls to each other and for the first time I plunged into the ocean of her eyes, which betrayed her most cherished feelings that she was so determined to keep to herself. I remember the beaming smile that frequented her lips, while she talked to me. But, today I am alone here waiting for a moment that is never going to come back as a cloud that never revisits the town it has passed on its journey. I am dying to relive all those sweet moments when I sat next to her holding her warm hands in mine and no words escaped her or me.

I devoted all my love to her and doted on her, but, I confess, I could not rein in my fickle heart. Never did I think that my dalliances with other girls of irresistible charms could prove so much fatal. Now I am left with no business but ponder the only question—why did she jilt me?

I find an answer when I look into myself. Only I know, and perhaps she also knows, how desperately I was trying to pretend to be talking to my dentist while Nikita called me on my mobile and Jalpa was standing opposite me. By seeing embarrassment on my face and hearing me stammer, Jalpa could have easily concluded that I was talking to Nikita, a girl who people believed I had lost my heart to. And I still remember that poor girl Nikita, despite her dismay, congratulated me over mobile on knowing that I was talking to my newly found love Jalpa. Unfortunately, Jalpa also knew that the person I was talking to over mobile was not my dentist but Nikita, the girl who I was thought to be crazy about. I could see a ripple of disapproval on Jalpa’s face then and therefore I cut Nikita short and resumed my talk with Jalpa. Though Japla knew everything, she overlooked it.

Each of my lies that I told Jalpa long ago still haunts me. I remember I was with Nikita on the university ground on the first night of Navaratri and the next day I told Jalpa, ‘I don’t like this festival and so I don’t go out at night’. I remember how tactfully I avoided Nikita in college so that Jalpa should not suspect me of being besotted with Nikita and thus she should not be aware of the fact that I was cheating on her.

On the contrary I never bothered to hide it from Nikita that I was desperately in love with Jalpa because I never feared losing Nikita but the possibility of losing Jalpa sent a shudder down my spine. I know one evening I was sitting next to Nikita in a garden, and talking to her very affectionately and paid all my attention to every word she uttered. But then my mobile started ringing and I read ‘Jalpa calling’ on the screen. Very quickly I went away from Nikita, leaving her alone and talked to Jalpa for a quite long time. I could see all Nikita’s hopes getting shattered and tears rolling down her cheeks. Now that I have been abandoned I realise how much pain she might have gone through.

I still have a fickle heart, a heart that being as light as a feather keeps drifting with wind and does not have any power to determine its own course. In a society where only strong resolves are respected even though they never materialise, sensitivity of a feather to wind is generally misunderstood to be a weakness.

 

A Song of Time

A Song of Time

I, Ishmael, am a child of a city of banyan trees, a city well-known for its cultural, aesthetic and historical richness—a city called Baroda. But today I am miles away from this city which has influenced my life to a great extent. At present, I live in Ahmedabad, a city with lots of hustle and bustle that render my woe inaudible and cause it to fade away.

It is a leisurely Sunday evening and I am heading for a cafeteria called Blues, where youngsters hang out with their friends and couples linger at the coffee tables for hours. I enter the cafeteria, sit on a chair that has been engraved with the king of hearts and then start looking at the menu.  While I was going through the menu, a muffled but familiar tune over the babel of people in the restaurant catches my attention. As I zero in on the tune, I stumble across one of my favourite songs—‘ Look into my eyes and you’ll see what you mean to me. ...search your heart, search your soul...when you find me there, you’ll search no more..’

Ultimately, I have been caught by what I have been escaping from—blues. The song, which I once used to associate with bloom now reminds me of nothing but an unending gloom. I was sitting with Niki under a banyan tree when I first heard this song. I remember I and she used to go to a garden and spend some time together there every evening when I was in Baroda. During one of my initial trysts she crooned this song and bared her heart to me. The happiness I felt at that moment was too big for me to contain and it made me delirious. Suddenly, everything seemed to be more exciting and colourful to me. I was able to hear her name in chirping of birds; I saw her face in various shades of trees. I saw the existence obliterating every possible boundary between me and her. My days started with a call from her, her endearing voice— ‘Good morning. Let’s go jogging.’ And my night ended with her ‘good night’.

However, being totally engrossed in elusive happiness, I did not know that the sweet feelings and the delirium of joy would turn out to be short-lived. One evening I wanted to meet her. So I called her number.  Her caller tune—‘Look into my eyes and you’ll see..’ first  seemed to promise me that she would come and meet me. But to my dismay, nobody answered my call. Then, I got anxious and kept calling her again and again, but instead of her voice, I heard the caller tune. Now this caller tune was enervating me and I was beginning to lose the hope to see her again.

For three months I kept searching for her but my efforts were in vain. Through a common friend of mine and hers I got to know that she has left Baroda for good and all. She left the town. She left the pleasant dreams. She left the garden forever where I used to meet her. She had made some promises but she left them unfulfilled. Leaving behind some memories that will keep echoing in the deep recesses of my mind, she left Baroda with a tacit vow to never return.

Now it is almost two years since I last saw her. In my loneliness I ask myself: what do I have now that she has left forever? And an answer dawns within me—even though she has gone, she is no more with me, her memories, which are my only solace, throng my mind and make my life somewhat tolerable.

My attention shifts back to the song ‘look into my eyes’, which is playing in the restaurant. I gulp down the tea on my table, pay  the bill and leave the Blues with a spontaneous realisation that every spring is followed by autumn and autumn itself heralds spring. Still the song ‘look into my eyes’ is echoing in my mind but it infuses gratitude in me and makes me feel the beauty of those sweet but ephemeral feelings.

Dreaming About You.....!

 It was seven o’ clock in the evening. After wading through a lot of paper work at my workplace, I was heading home. On my way home, I was enthralled to see the crimson sun, which was bidding farewell with its golden rays piercing through foliage of the tall trees that survived the onslaught of urbanisation. The leaves and twigs of the trees, which were shaking owing to gusts of wind and the backdrop of the crimson sky created such an abstract painting that was really difficult to fathom. Moreover, the chirping of birds was the icing on the cake. But I was surprised to realise that people had been so much deafened by the rattle of coins that they could not hear the enchanting music of birds.

Anyway, I plodded home. After getting home, I had a cup of tea while I was flicking through a newspaper. Then, I talked to my children and tried to know how they were getting on in their studies. I could smell the aroma of delicious food and I heard my wife calling me for dinner. Then I sat before the television and took dinner chatting with my wife. After taking my dinner, I spent some time rambling around my house until I started feeling sleepy. I looked up at the sky and was startled by the formidably dark sky flecked with twinkling stars.

I entered my bedroom and lay down on the bed. In no time , I succumbed to the power of sleep, which took me to the realm of dreams, a world that mockingly but mysteriously defies the logic of our conscious world and opens new vistas. Now, what follows is an entangling vista unveiled by the dream I had that night.

There were numerous beautiful fragrant flowers in the jungle and a small brook was flowing nearby crooning its own song. I was a butterfly fluttering from one flower to another and penetrating unchartered areas of the jungle. Bright red berries were dangling from the branches. I flew to a bush dotted with a lot of blue flowers. I perched on its stems and noticed a pool below me. For the first time I saw the reflection of my own body. My irresistibly lovely wings, tinged with a variety of colours were delicate but they were able to challenge the gravitational pull  of the earth and keep me hovering in the sky. Then I thought that I should not indulge in narcissism, so I flew off the stem and enjoyed skimming over the brook. Then, as I got hungry I looked around and found some cherries on a tall tree. I flew to the tree, sat on a stem and started savouring the berries. They were really delicious. I was totally engrossed in savouring the berries and did not know what was happening around me. All of a sudden, a bulky branch of the tree came rushing and fell on me. I was almost smashed. My wings were broken and my vision became blurred. I became unconscious.

With a start I woke up from the dream and looked around in my bedroom. It was half past four  in the early morning. Then I opened the door and quietly went out to the garden. I sat in the garden and started pondering over the dream I had just had. In the darkness, I saw the plants around me in my garden. However, this time the things were not the same. I was able to see the life glowing in the plants and hear the peal of eternity in the timeless moments. The dawn broke and a mysterious question dawned within me—“Am I a human being who has just dreamt of being a butterfly or a butterfly, in fact, dreaming to be a human being?”

When we are dreaming, the reality seems to be false and the dream appears to be real, whereas when we are awake, a dream seems to be false and reality the only truth. it is high time we transcend this duality.

                                                                                                                    

My fingers intertwined in your fingers. My eyes fixed on yours. No movement at all. Neither in you, nor inme. Just eyes speak. Sometimes yours, sometimes mine. And a gust of chilly winter wind tousles your hair throwing some of your tresses on your eyes. And your eyes piercing through your tresses penetrate my heart. Engulfed in a mysterious silence we both reveal ourselves stark naked to each other and merge into each other.

She asked me, "What would you do if I were with you at the moment when the world is about to end?" I said, "If you were with me during the end of the world, I'd penetrate you through your eyes and my lips would utter, 'My world starts when you open your eyes and ends when you close them. Though we live in two different bodies, annihilation will divest us of our bodies and make us naked and in that pious nakedness we two will lie together for eternity.' ".

Those who're ostensibly sobre accuse me of being inebriated and condemn me as being lost in my own dream world.Behind their apparent hatred for me I can see how much fascinated they are with my nonsense chat. They, for self-deception, proclaim that there is no world except this one, but I've also seen them taking a plunge in the "non-existent" dream world through their backdoors. And there they hold me in high regards as their precursor.

Aging Angel

With wonder in my eyes I kept looking at her beauty blossoming in her teenage. I still remember her coy face and a blush sweeping across it. And her eyes full of dreams are still lingering in deep recesses of my mind. However, millions waves have risen and fallen on the ocean of time since then. I cannot help averting my eyes from her when in a vain she tries to obliterate the indelible lines drawn by time on her ephemeral body- the body that has housed plenty of loves and yielded with thanksgiving shining stars of dark nights of love.