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The Tree with Yellow Flowers

It was Sunday and I didn’t have quite much to do. So I sat listlessly on the sofa and looked outside the window. There was a rose bush and few marigold plants sunbathing. And a part of the big tree trunk that remained there also could be seen. I never knew what were the flowers in the big tree called, but there were big yellow flowers on it throughout the year. Yellow being my favourite colour, the colour of sunshine, of happiness, I had been fond of the tree since my childhood when I planted it in our garden with my mother.

There were sweet memories associated with the tree. I fondly turned the pages of my memory to look back. I had always been fond of my natural environment. Much before I had known what global warming was or what the importance of trees in our lives was, I loved them. There was no knowledge involved in it. Something like true love, where you just love, not knowing why. This fondness might have something to do with my mother’s knack for gardening. Every winter our garden used to be filled with blossoms of many kind and colour. Some of the names I knew, most I didn’t,so I kind of gave them my own name.

So, the pink clustered flower bush was named Pink-Pink, some sort of a funny sound effect of a horn I guess, and the yellowish white flowers near the rose bush was named Sunshine, and such innovative names flowed from my childish imagination. While I saw my mother nurture the plants and the tender shoots with the motherly care so innate of her. It was as if they were my siblings, the gorgeous plants. I took pride in our garden, the handiwork of my mother. The tree I was talking about had no such name. Perhaps it grew when my stock of names was exhausted or may be it looked so like my imagination-filled mind that I never really thought of having a separate identity for the tree. It was my best friend.

I could see the tree from my study. From amidst the boring pages of my history book and the terrifying pages of the maths book, looking at the tree made me feel good. At Diwali, the festival of lights in India, we lit candles and lamps under the tree and it looked decked as a starry sky at night. My mother used to pluck out the flowers from the tree and bestow them in the feet of God at our home. It might be my imagination, but I felt that every morning the tree shed it’s flowers, welcoming us with the best gift it had…a palm-full of bright yellow flowers.

We grew up slowly as per the rule of nature. Whenever I read Wordsworth’s  well-known poem “Daffodils” I used to picture the tree in our home in my mind at par with the poet’s imagination. Then one day the tree was cut down. It came in way of a little construction work going in our home. So it had to be removed. Had it been a mere shrub, it could have been planted elsewhere, but it was a full grown tree, firm and strong, so it couldn’t be moved. I was no more a child, giving names to trees and thinking them as my best friend, so I never thought of crying at this, it would’ve been so funny and unbecoming of my matured self.

It was night and I slept in my study. The weather was warm and I had to open the windows. I couldn’t sleep so I looked outside and saw the sky. But it was different. You never could see the sky from that window, there was the tree, the tree with yellow flowers that had always come between my view of the sky. But today I could see the sky perfectly. The vast sky, starred numberless, not a cloud anywhere. But I didn’t like it. Suddenly I felt a part of my world missing, a witness of my childhood gone. Now all remained was my grown-up self and the vast sky outside. I dip my face in my pillow and silent tears rolled down my cheeks. I missed the tree. But then the beauty of nature is not perishable. It is just so Divinely beautiful and full of love that I had the tree in my heart now. A much more safer place where the flowers shall still blossom and make me more beautiful each day.

 

 

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A Leaf and the Stream

I have often thought of the streams that rush by amidst the rocks and stones and the lush green bushes. It seems to me that their journey is so beautiful, proud and modest at the same time. Proud because it seems that their course weathers away the biggest rocks, smooth-ens all rough edges in the way. At the same time it is so modest as it silently flows on, without much clatter and in a moment reaches beyond our vision.

Once when I was travelling to a mountain destination and the roads winded up to the horizon. It seemed like the rounded staircase reaching up to the distant clouds and I fascinated that therein lies all the fairy tales I’ve read as a child and believed it to be true.So there was an unknown stream that accompanied our journey and as the bus turned bends in the way, my eyes chanced to catch a glance of a leaf, dark green,fresh from its fall flowing in the stream. I didn’t quite guess the origin of the leaf, I can’t much identify a leaf, my knowledge of plants being poor. But it looked so beautiful.

I thought about the sight much after, suddenly, when one day I was in my study and reading Shelley’s “Ode To the West Wind”, I read the line, “Oh, lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!”. Though in a complete different context, it somehow brought back to my mind the sight of the leaf I saw floating in the ripples of the water. I felt like writing a poem then, so I kind of pictured the sight I saw during the day amidst the distant slopes of the mountains, in the colours of night. Thought of sharing the same over here.

A Leaf and the Stream

Whispering streams,

Gliding by,

And the moon,

Lighting up the Heaven above.

While cloud-lets like angel-wings,

Cuddling beside the silvery orb,

It traces a maze on the rivulet below,

Shades and glow-

The glittery water whispering tales along the way;

And if you look in a glance,

There might be a floating leaf,

Boating itself down the rustling water

Amidst the sneaky stones, that clogs its way;

And then again resuming its float,

Sometimes in a whirl,

At times in a twirl,

Floating by.

“No wonder it has lost its road-map,” I thought

But then the leaf is a part of the river that way…

Endlessly united,

Rather united in their endlessness.

Then I was at peace.

As I knew at once that

Amidst all impermanence

I could still stay the same

Still united, still close

A leaf in the stream…together, even beyond our vision goes.

Do share your own little snippets of random poetry that would sure be a good read

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All About Love

I just googled for an image to symbolise love and I picked a certain relevant one that you can see above. The hearts always symbolise “Love”. Whenever someone is in love, he often expresses his feelings. Some write poems, some try to write poems and those who really cannot, sing songs and some listen to songs, some paint, some draw and some live on emoticons in the popular social sites…: )

But whatever be the expression “love” hums the same tune in every ear. I feel somehow that when you fall in love it slowly ignites your heart unknowingly. And then one day it sets your heart ablaze…that’s how love creeps in. True love is a blessing in our lives…it just drags you by your collar and it’s like “Baby I’m here now”.

When I think of love there are many songs that I often rely on that justifies this special feel in my heart. Christina Perri’s “A Thousand Years” is surely one among them. You can hear it for sure. The link to the lyrics of “A thousand Years”.

Love for me feels like the scent of the first shower of summer, when the air brushes against your cheeks and the water that drenches you. It is so pure just like the unpretentious laughter of a baby. As Divine as the endless sky. As majestic as the mighty sun in the horizon and as profound as the ocean. Just like the softness of the flower in your palms, is the feeling of true love, that which you can feel but words can’t well express.

William Shakespeare in one oof his celebrated sonnets (116) talks about the worth of true love. He tells us that it is an ever fixed mark he also tells that love’s not time’s fool he aptly manifests the power and beauty of true love. I loved this sonnet from when I was a student of Literature and read it for the first time. In the world, so transient, it gives me a lot of hope when I believe that there is something that stays on forever, that which we call in the words of the poet true love .

Would be great if you share your feelings of true love…☺

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My First blog post

 

This is my very first attempt in writing a blog. But I seek to employ all my learning and creative instincts in the digital pages of the blog. Each start is special and therefore this blog marks a start of my journey in recording my literary attempts in the ways of technology.

So readers…be prepared to feed your soul with the comfort food of creation. That which nurtures the subtle aspects of your mind and heart effortlessly. It is just like enjoying a bowl of ice cream at midnight…delightful and exciting at the same time satisfying. My blog shall be such a literary treat to the passionate readers who love to read.

There may be various topics that I shall try to reflect upon, preferably literature and the creative aspect of human mind and trying my abilities, hoping to write some worthwhile content here.

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Light and Shade

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What is light? As I lay on my bed turning the pages of my physics book, a decade back, I read the well-known definition of light. It defined light, but if I closed my eyes and pretended that I didn’t know what light was, the definition didn’t matter to me anymore. So now, when I walk the streets and wear a sunglass protecting my eyes from the ‘light’ of the sun, it seemed to me one day, did I really find my answer to the question” What is light?” With years comes experience and with experience comes perspective, with perspective comes maturity and we gradually grow until one day someone suddenly pauses and looks back. Suddenly it seems to be a necessity to bring out the unanswered questions from the dusty old memories and answer them, now that we are all grown up.

But when I tried to search for an answer to my question, it confused me. Light is what dark is not. There was a blind beggar in our neighborhood where we used to live as a child in India. He used to sing songs of Gods and Goddesses, some he made himself, some from folklore. He had a beautiful voice. I saw him in his mid-sixties always wearing the same humble clothes that people gave him, always singing. I never saw him beg though. He sat under the huge banyan tree in a nearby Shiva Temple and sang hymns of the God. Sometimes I saw him chat with the elderly, who came to visit the temple every evening with their playful grandchildren. There used to be coins scattered around him, given by those who came there, sometimes there were sweets given by the temple. He used to sit in the same position whenever I saw him, the left leg folded and the right knee pressed against his breast.

I didn’t know whether he was blind from birth or not. What made me wonder was whether he knew what it was to be on the other side of his blindness. One day when I was coming down the stairs of the temple, I heard him speak to one of the devotees. I didn’t hear, what he was asked, though I heard what he was saying. He was saying, “I don’t need eyes to see the light babu* , it is inside my darkness. There is light all around me, I know and that makes me happy, that makes my blindness go away.” I paused for a moment to hear him speak and without much thought hurried back home. I forgot that incident right away. It stayed in me somehow though.(*Indian wordA respectful title or form of address for a man, especially an educated one.)

Sometimes when I walk the streets now, I remember the words of that old beggar I heard as a child and I just keep wondering. It makes me thoughtful, how, a person who is denied the sight of the world outside, who can never see the sunrise or the sunset, the rain, the spring-bloom, the sight of people around, how can he feel happiness? Every little thing that we often take for granted are the things that he could never see, still content, still smiling, still singing.

 

The First time ‘Dessert’ was not dry

I have a fetish for anything sweet. It is a guilty pleasure in itself I know. Sweets, carbs, calories, they are enough to raise brows in all fitness oriented persons. Not that I don’t like health foods, but ice-creams are something that I can never say “no” to. I think many of you would agree with me on this.

I have had a cavity in my tooth that I had to fix and I was so hell angry on sweetened products that I quit them…and turned my back on them. But not for long though.

When the first time I tasted “tiramisu”, and it melted in my mouth like butter on hot pancakes, it was as if nothing could have tasted better. The small ice-shavings they put in there, the chocolate and coffee dippings, the creamy centre, it was enough to get all my attention. I glued myself to the spot for an hour, tasting every drop of ice cream on my palate.

It was as if I was somehow transported in the enchanting fantasy world of Willy Wonka and his chocolate factory as I have read as a child and saw in the movies. The taste of the dessert made me feel that charm a child feels in front of a candy store. It was a bit of an innocent pleasure that made me feel happy and satisfied. Though afterwards, I really felt a bit conscious for all those calories I took in. But then I could work-out and shed those. After all sometimes in life you got to be a child and feel excited for a piece of candy or an icecream cone…just to not forget that little child in us.

The Sun on my Roof

Summer evening in Vancouver
Summer evening in Vancouver

Did you ever try to make a jigsaw puzzle with the numberless stars in the sky? If not, sometimes may be give it a fair try, in a clear summer sky, winter nights being chilly. Its mind-boggling for sure.

Summer nights are quite warm where I used to live, in India. Here, in Vancouver, it’s quite cold though. But, thanks to global warming all the seasons rush passed by like unruly children in a queue and we are left to notice just the first one and the last one, namely just summer and the winter. While it is the rains that always used to put a smile on my face no matter how grumpy I might be feeling, the summers used to drain away the curve from my lips. And it used to leave me looking at the sky to see traces of black clouds forming a niche amidst the clear blue and sunny sky. But if summers are not here, then monsoons would be lacking in charm for sure.

As a child, given to hearing so many stories, some from the children books and some from the fertile imagination of my parents and grandparents, there was always some food for thought. And while summer would be in its full-sway and one felt really bored with the homework that you got from school for the summer holidays, I retired to the open verandah we had in our home that looked towards the street and reclined on the straw mat resting my head on the lap of the story-teller, that was either my grandparents or my mother and looked at the vast sky above. It is one such memory I have that I would treasure forever, and perhaps in the future when I shall have children of my own, tell them those stories under one such star-lit sky.

There was always a game that I played in my mind. In it I actually tried to imagine a familiar object unfamiliar. It came to me naturally. Later on when I was studying world literature in the University then I came to know that I was not the only one having played this innocent little game. Great poets from Wordsworth to others, also saw the world in a Kaleidoscopic light, just like a room lit up by the same sunlight but in different ways. But anyways, this was my one little game.

As I lay down under the star-lit sky and watched the white fairy-winged cloudlets pass by, sometimes shielding the moon, I imagined that it was a vast ocean above me, and I was underwater, a complete new world underneath. The clouds were the ripples on the ocean. The big black sky was the ocean that had another earth under its veil, and what if the sky is an ocean, and the earth is just a world below the ocean. It all seems gibberish, but to an artist’s mind it seems a fair one to paint it on his canvas, isn’t it? Sometimes as my grandfather identified the various shapes in the sky linking the stars calling one as the ‘Hercules’, another the ‘question mark’ (I always called it so instead of its scientific name) and many more, I used to make my own starry figures. Somehow in an invisible canvas I tried to connect the stars and made a boat, or an umbrella and I even tried to find alphabets in the stars. It was a game that kept me and my sister busy until dinner was ready.

Summer was all about ice-creams for us. I always tried to make ice creams at home. I never understood why the shops which sold ice creams were so creamy and perfect? Since those I tried to make at home with the help of my mother in summer afternoons were not the same. We took out ice trays from the fridge and filled the small cups in them with milk and sugar and again put it in and expected the ice cream to be ready in about a fortnight. But I, being the curious one, always had to take the tray out at fifteen minute intervals to see whether it had been ready. Those came out to be some kind of frozen milk cubes, but since it was completely our handmade innovation, it tasted divine.

So there goes some of the happy memories of summer that I really wanted to share. Each season has its own like share of memories. Just like the scent of a new book, or the tune of your favorite song or a fresh cup of coffee in a lazy morning, evokes many shades of happiness in our minds, each season, of whatever we get, associates our minds with different memories. Memories, that lay scattered as pebbles on the shore. When we thus travel afar, getting busy with life, and while tiring ourselves in the daily schedule, sometimes we might pause to take a breath and might come to the window side and watch the same summer sun playing light and shade on the ground. The grass swaying in the light. And then the mind whispers a song so dear, that reminds me of a lazy summer afternoon at my home, trying to make ice creams, the small fridge we had, the curious eyes impatient for the frozen delight, and then my heart fills with the sweetness of that half-formed wobbly cup of ice-cream, the afternoon treat, when there was sun on my roof.

While On a train…

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A glimpse outside

 

Well this is the first time I am trying this. Writing my blog while on a train. Well…if you think that it is not a big deal then you gotta know that there is quite a bit of an expertise needed to pen down something…while jostling your elbows with the fellow passengers in a crammed up compartment.

Whoa…the train has gained speed. Indian Railways have always been my favourite. I love traveling by the train seeing the scenes past by just like a flip open reel in ‘motion pictures’. The slides change so fast. Right now I crossed a rivulet…a sandy grassy one and now I’m crossing some unknown village on the way…Oh well the train reached a halt now. The hustling bustling passengers getting down. The rattling of wheels and the screeching of them while it comes to a halt…its not cacophony to me…but a bit of mechanical rhythm. I seem to love it quite a bit.

Now the passenger opposite my seat is kind of ogling me down her spects…probably thinking…what is she busy writing about on a Saturday…its a holiday. But I am enjoying her enigma. A kid is just being a kid next to me…I understand the fascination a child has for moving objects, let alone a whole train moving including her…amazing right. It is also quite entertaining that I am right now doing a live commentary of my journey…amazing right. By now I guess you are thinking that well she has used the word ‘amazing’ quite a bit. But I really cannot help it…!!!

Oohh…snacks on the train. Wish I could have them, but I really feel full now. I don’t know whether it is a good thing or not…but people are all engaged socializing them on their cellphones…barely noticing the bright sunny weather outside. In my childhood we had all the unknown passengers talking among themselves…a little socializing in person, but is different now.

Well now some one is quarrelling over their luggage. Why do they have to quarrel over each and every trifle…? Guess people are annoyed, grown ups are. I am a grown up for sure…but the forest passing through my window entices me, just like the child staring out of the window. Rushing past by distant paddy fields now…the greenish yellow checkered squares…a man made…natural chessboard. Its quite pleasant today though. It had rained yesterday so the breeze is still fresh and the sun mild and warm.

I remember asking my father so many questions while we travelled along with my mother and sister to places while I was a little girl. “Where does this river go dad?” and “Dad look we are leaving the houses behind” and ” Dad, what makes the train run on tracks?” and “Do the fairies live on that side of the sky that I see from my window?” And my father answered each one of them with so much patience. Hope I will have that same patience when I have my own kids.

We crossed a tunnel now. Tunnels used to always scare me and it still does. It is just like entering the entails of the horrid and big creature. How the sun went off and the sound of the wheels echoing…it always made me scared…as if it is a different world…not under the sun. Darkness without light scared me then…it is quite scary for me even now. A monster train…a cute little monster, all huffing and puffing that zig-zags through the tracks to my destination. It seemed interesting as a child to imagine that everyone is traveling together and they still have different destinations…sounds familiar right? Well I’ll tell you why…it is the same with life…don’t you think?

A Warm cup of joy

 

It was raining outside heavily. It was all grey and white and black and brown and all other colours that you miss in a rainbow, in the gloomy sky. I was there in my study biting the edge of a pen I held in my hand till I realised that I had created quite an impression on the pen if not on the page.

However in that drowsy moment as my senses lulled to the soothing sound of rhyming raindrops on my roof, I felt nostalgic. It was as if I could hear the sea waves gushing and swooshing like the frills of a silk dress. I always had loved the mountains more, but then I had always loved to watch the sun rise and set in the salty waters.

That rain-kissed evening brought to my mind the first time I saw the sun rise from amidst the waves of the sea. It was quite dark a winter morning in December. It was just as cozy and cherish-able like the cup of coffee I held in my hand. My parents and my sister along with me covered in layers of warm clothing and we were looking quite funny in layers of winter armour, all prepared to battle the cold winds, witnessed one of the most beautiful pictures nature had to offer us. And I saw the sun rise not through the lens of my camera, as I might have done now, but through my eyes. The world seemed so beautiful.

An imaginative child that I was…the mighty sun was as if a little child peeping up from the bed and into the arms of the vast sky. I could have dreamt longer but the chill in the wind stopped me from soaring high. That was the first time I saw sunrise.

For long I could never compare anything to that splendid and beautiful moment until now. As now I know something that’s beautiful and majestic as that sight that I saw that day. It is none other than the beauty of true love. Love, that warm cup of joy that makes you feel alive, makes you dream, makes you beautiful, makes you write a poem however inefficient in writing one maybe. You are born anew when you find that true love in your life…just bright and majestic as the fresh morning sun. That little cup of joy that tastes heaven-true Love.

WINGS

 

With the soft dew caressing my bare feet I used to love roaming about in our grassy meadow early in the mornings, feeling like a little princess in my own rights. Nature sure didn’t mind my my early morning vigils and my swooning imagination rather helped me in my early morning escapades. Each moment in my little kingdom passed with gentle obedience from my loyal subjects- the sleepy rose-buds, the drooping dahlias, the yawning chrysanthemums, the noble mango tree, the fanciful orchid and others. But there was a golden-heart pansy which usually tried to hide its face amidst the bushes until I discovered the red drops in its golden heart. I felt pampered, felt that I have ultimately found my own little world. A little handful of my imagination thriving in this big world of ours, the other world.

So while I was roaming one day with my naked feet feeling the cold gravelly garden soil, I waited for the sun to peek through the cobwebs that hung around the leaves of trees, fresh dew clinging from it. I had always curiously imagined the cobwebs to be the handiwork of ancient women, old with white-cloudy hair  messing with their dreamy eyes, like the childhood story which tells about the old lady who spins wheel out there on the moon with silver threads from the moon. My world filled itself with fairies and ancient folk-tales as dreamy as the pages from Coleridge. Suddenly I saw a small butterfly, purple-hued. It had two drops of gold on its fragile wings just like two small leaves from an unknown plant fluttering near my palm. I opened my hand and it perched on it just as a brave knight on his horse-fearless.

We brushed off dew together, the sun lighting up its face, my wings- I recognised myself in it. I flew amidst my world- a world so dear to me, untouched by reason. The orange, yellow and red blossoms prepared the carpet on which I felt the wings in my heart, my creative psyche.

Time ticked on from my little cartoon wristwatch to an elegant metal-designed watch with neatly arranged time, so unlike the abundant-timeless childhood fantasies. One morning while I breathed in the fresh morning air and basked myself in the immature sunlight, I felt something missing. I brushed my palms on the drowsy flower buds and disturbed their sleep. But I couldn’t guess what was it that I missed. Suddenly it struck my mind, ‘the butterfly’…I missed my little butterfly. I waited and searched for it everywhere. It was nowhere- not in the sunshine, not in the rain, not in the shades of the drifting clouds, not amidst the rusty evening sky, nowhere. I got scared, I’ve lost my wings amidst nowhere.

I ran down the way and jumped into my bed crying silently. I felt the cold sheets wet under the warm tears that drew its course down my heart. I felt the pain. I missed my wings. I missed ’em. Without the wings who would tell me under the impossible circumstances that everything will be alright? How could I believe endlessly in my dreams now? What would ask me in sad sleepless nights to carve a fantasy in the starlit sky? What would make me wish innocently on the shooting-stars? I missed my wings.

But I guess, I didn’t really lose my wings. Otherwise, how can I still feel the fresh sun on my body like the warmth of love? How can I still feel purety of bliss when everything seems annoying…or how can I possibly believe in my fairy tale even when the mature world dwells in ‘practical’ thinking?

 

Unwritten Verses

 

It was morning when I first tried to write a poem. But it resulted in millions of paper atoms being wasted-no kinetic words came out from the nib of thought.As per human nature that tries to blame other reasons for being inefficient themselves, I first tried to blame the paper and then the blocked-ink and then the pen responsible for my dearth of words. It seemed to me that the words flew from my brain or maybe the heart as I’m not sure as to where the words reside in and then it travelled all the way to my fingers but somehow receded from paper.

Keats told me that ‘poetry should come as naturally as leaves to a tree’. So I looked at the tree near my window, straining my eyes for a while, seeking for inspiration. But apart from the dusty leaves it failed to inspire me. There is no less poets who could inspire me. So next I turned to Sidney with some hope as he asked to “look in thy heart and write” but I guess he wasn’t seriously asking me to do the same. There was an abundance of feelings in my heart but I could pen down none of them. I turned the pages of well-known poets and somehow wanted to gain a little help from thousands of pages of English literature, but all of it resulted in me biting my pen in vain. I wanted a muse, like that from the old days of literature but I never got one, however much I sought for.

In the meantime, unnoticed due to my random efforts in writing verse-it started raining in the evening sky. The clouds murmured and the reddened horizon seemed to be washed by the fresh water drops that stuck to the fading light of the sun. The rusty evening sky stuck to my window pane with tiny pearl like water drops trickling down the cheeks. I put my pen down silently. Well outside was the very inspiration, the subtle dream of every poet that had inspired poets of all ages and all climes. Well, Nature was writing poetry for me, I need not write anymore this time. I realised that poetry was all around me, whether aware or unaware it weaves a mesh of delight all around us. It de-familiarises our humdrum existence. Just like the air we inhale, so is the poetic inspiration. We got to feel that and I think that’s what literature is about.

How I met my Computer

Computers used to terrify me. Like some Frankenstein tale, coming towards me with gibberish and horror all over it. One of the greatest inventions of mankind was yet an untamed beast for me. I saw the machine for the first time in first standard while at school. I very well remember the glass panes through which my curious eyes caught a glimpse of the white coloured box with a screen like t.v (this was mid 90s I’m talking about). It had tentacles emerging from on all the sides of it. Somewhere the tentacles led to a rectangular tray with alphabets and somewhere it connected itself to a cute little white toy (popularly known as the mouse, touch-pads weren’t there then) and then my glance shifted to the underneath of the table. Whoa!!! there were a hell lot of wires and boxes. It seemed to my creative imagination some sort of an alien spider. “Star Wars” was what I was thinking about then. I could almost visualize myself battling the tentacles of this dangerous beast with laser swords like a hero. Every child wishes to be a superman of some sort in their fertile imaginative hemisphere and so my first opponent was the   “computers”.

Later in my junior classes we learnt about the first counting machine called an “Abacus”and the course of its development till it resulted in Charles Babbage’s innovation and ultimately one of the most important invention of mankind. However when the world made a new companion as in a mechanical companion, I curiously kept myself away from dealing with them. So it was not at all ‘love at first sight for me’ when I met the computers.

My grades in that subject was quite high though when it came to the theories. However computer practical classes always filled my tummy with butterflies and trust me…lots and lots of ’em. Often before my computer exams I dreamt weirdly. However all of them had one thing in common,  there was a whole swarm of bots after me and I always was running away from them. I never tried to confront them at all. Now, when I am typing on my laptop writing my blog and updating my website, I really feel amazed. I have come a long way since the time when I used to think I would actually catch a computer virus, like one catches a cold. Now, here i am blogging about it.

It finally seems like i have somewhat tamed the beast. That hasn’t been without help though. Google and my husband always lent me a helping hand. However, i am still in the process of learning “How to train your dragon”.

Sunrise in my mind

 

Life is sure a gift. It’s also a roller-coaster ride. There are moments which make our minds soar but at times the tidal waves subside leaving us on low tides. But then we gotta be sure that the next tidal waves are not far, they will be here soon. The thing that matters truly is not giving up but having faith in yourself, having firm belief in the power of your dreams. Having said so, it can be opined that, if nothing can shake your faith, you are sure to succeed, half way there already. And when you realize this simple fact, that’s what I call “Sunrise in my mind“. It lights up your personality.

And when sometimes my faith wavers in me, I close my eyes and remember a beautiful story I heard from one of our teachers at school. I was a kid then and even after so many years, the story remains with me, in my heart, makes me regain my courage. I would like to share the story here. It is a short story, more like a snippet of the actual one that I remember. Parts of it might be missing, but I shall try to put up the essence over here.

So here goes. One day a man reaching God asked Him that since God promised man to be on his side forever then why at difficult times when he reached the lowest of his spirit, he didn’t find God? His question being said, God smiled kindly at him and bid him to come with Him and see the journey of his life. So there was the man seeing the course. He found that throughout the way, there were two pairs of feet going side-by-side. One of them was his own and the other was God’s. But suddenly at one point he found only one pair of footprints while the other was missing. He exclaimed and got so sad as he told God that…well, those had been my toughest times and you left me all alone…Father! your footprints are missing. His eyes were sad and his head drooping.

Then God spoke. God smiled gently and placing his hands on the man’s head told him kindly…”What you see are not your footprints son. It was I who held you in my arms, when time was tough. Those footprints you see, are mine.” The man was speechless at the same time overwhelmed by the love of God. His eyes were filled with tears while his heart was calm, as he knew now that God loved him endlessly.

I guess there is a part of that loving God in every human heart. That is what we call love. Love so pure that it is devoid of any reason, love for love’s sake only. He who is so loved is blessed, as he has found his God on Earth.

Well, whenever I feel low or sad, this story somehow gives me strength and fills my heart with love. Hence, I shared the story over here. Hope you like it.

Do post comments if you find the post touch your heart.