When life dreams to live..

She was a singer, a composer, a poet. But no one knew her name and she never got any fame. She tuned her thoughts and hummed them as songs. As her soul danced to her voice, she knew her talents. Echoes rippled in her home and garden and reached back to her own ear. Except for her pets, no body heard her sweet voice.

Life had designed for her, a small shop instead of a big stage. In her dreams she moved up the steps that lead to the stage, floating in the applause of her fans. Reality brought her to this little shop where she ironed cloths from morning till dusk. Her soft voice and swift hands took her through each day. In the evening after her prayers, she used to sit at the corner of her room to create a new melody with her new born thoughts.

She never knew that he is a journalist; the man who used to come so often to get his dress ironed. He was so curious to know about her unique tunes and styles. He asked a thousand questions and showered her with praises. She was as casual as her songs were, she answered him in short phrases or in a smile. One day, he came with a newspaper and showed her the article that he wrote about her. He was so happy that it got published on the Sunday's best column and was enthralled by the popularity that awaits him. In no time he would become a hero!

She was excited too. At last, she thought, 'I am going to step on to that huge stage.' He had no time to listen to her words. He didn't even wait to get his shirts which she was about to finish ironing. As he disappeared from sight, she was at a loss; a feeling of cheating? using? She wasn't clear, though.

For a few days she couldn't write a thing nor hum a tune. The stanzas of her songs published in neat lines in that white newspaper filled her thoughts and her eyes. She learnt one more lesson and felt, a loser. She gathered herself back and continued her life. Her words became more powerful and her tunes, melodious. Her pain and struggle refined the artist in her.

As she ironed the cloths she thought. 'May be one day I will become a writer or a singer and I will go on that great stage and my life will change its path and I will become a celebrity.' Years passed, she tried her best to be what she desired to be. Except her, no one thought that a girl with a little shop by the wayside has dreams to fulfill.

A dream is a dream is a dream! She sang under the pine tree in front of her house; with her violin to accompany her, with no one to clap. Every day she envisioned a large crowd of music lovers who would surround her with praises and compliments for her work. But she knew that the way to the big halls where artists perform is out of her reach. There would be thousands to scream as those artists walked and everyone applauded for anything that they sang. Not because they were better singers than her, but they had a name, fame, and money to be on any stage.

Nothing big happened ever in her life. None of her dreams became real. She understood that talent alone won't suffice to be where she wants to be. She remembered her school days where girls got chances to perform on stage only if they were rich, fair and pretty. There was something that she blocked her popularity; her poor lifestyle, her poor cloths, her poor looks? She sighed on reading the lines of the famous poet Thomas Gray, written in her notebook:

"Full many a gem of purest ray serene

The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear:

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,

And waste its sweetness on the desert air." 

'May be I will reach only this far.' She closed her book and pen. Tunes played all over her being, raising her to the platform of joy. The stage may not be for all, but no one could take away the source of creation. Her heart conceived powerful thoughts and they were delivered as words and they played in the tunes of her songs. She felt a smile lighting her face. She hummed the new tune and her violin repeated it to her delight. Her room became the stage and her soul formed her audience. She was more than happy.

The day broke bringing a new beginning. A new dream replaced the old one. She dreamed of her happy being, to fly free to the paradise of happiness, to feel the freedom of her soul, to bring life to the lifeless through words and sing to brighten the darkest depths of Earth; this was her new born dream she held.

She finished her prayers and household chores. She gave her father his tablets, her mother, a kiss. Like a brave warrior she took her steps to her little shop a few miles away. People started coming and she started ironing. As happy as she can be, she did her work in the melody of her songs. She felt fresh even at the end of the day. She went back home with the most beautiful thoughts. 

Days and months went by, seasons changed and years rolled; her dream became her life itself. She made her life the Big Stage that she used to dream of. 

'Are these your compositions?' asked the stranger on the block. He had heard about her from his neighbour, the journalist; everything, including how he became popular after the real life article that he wrote about her. She wasn't skeptic about the stranger. She smiled and made her answer short, 'yes', and she continued her work. To his request, she agreed to show him her poems and sing a few, playing her violin. In her home, to a one man audience, she performed her soulful performance. He had no words to thank her or to appreciate her. His eyes twinkled with joy and his smile spoke more than any word could. 'Beautiful!' he tried to put his emotions into words, but they got chocked before he spoke.

He remained a stranger in her life; a stranger who would be eager to see her new works and hear her new tunes, a stranger who would bring her flowers to compliment her, with his one and only word, 'Beautiful'. That's what she was; a beautiful soul who lived in a beautiful world beyond the little shop she had, the menial job she did, the humble house she stayed. 

She sat near her pets with her papers and pen. Her thoughts were ready to occupy the empty spaces on the white sheets. She wrote the title neatly on top of the page. It read, "Beautiful"

A quiet Easter morn!

Just a bit more than three months back, the world went through the longest celebration on Earth, Christmas. Every year witnesses this; from the beginning of December to the end, lights and sounds everywhere announcing Christmas season. Heavy shopping and parties, people falling into the traps set by industrialists, buying everything on Earth as if there is never a tomorrow. Crowded malls and eat-outs with huge Santas welcoming you! All social networks filled with wishes and quotes and pictures of any kind to represent Christmas season! 

What was that all about? I wonder if anyone even understood what Christmas is! Christmas is the day on which Jesus Christ was born as a Saviour for all mankind. And Santa is a person who shows the importance of giving, which Christ taught the people; to give without your left hand knowing what your right hand has done. Christ was born in a midnight in a manger forlorn, in Bethlehem. Santa is said to come through the chimney, to keep gifts for the kids, in the late hours of night. These days Jesus is left to the midnight mass in Churches and Santa made to stand for a month at the doors of shops!

That little baby who was born on Christmas was nailed to the cross at the age of 33, on Good Friday. He took up that death as the will of His Father in Heaven and died for the sins of mankind, so that we can enjoy salvation. Today is Easter. The stone kept at the entrance of the tomb was rolled away, leaving it empty. To the few ladies who went to visit His tomb, He appeared in His human form; He resurrected. He defeated death and lived again till He ascended into Heaven after transfiguration. 

I don't see anything special today, except a few calls and sms. Churches will be full and Christians will end their 40 days' fast and as usual have Easter parties with friends! Each celebration adding wine and glamour to the lives of people making them popular. In the Catholic Church, we proclaim the mystery of Faith "Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again". We leave the Church, leaving behind Jesus, never a topic to discus during Christmas or Easter parties.

I remember the words of Swami Vivekananda who was an admirer of Jesus Christ saying that he would rather fast on Christmas to celebrate the birth of Christ. Beyond religions and faiths there stands true wisdom; to acknowledge the Truth, to respect Births and Lives, to honour Sacrifices and to nurture and value the purpose of Human birth.

May the meaning of Easter touch our hearts and redeem us from the ways of sins and keep our body pure to make it the Temple of God. 

At the Crossroads

Fear echoes in the hollow of my heart 

Forlorn, forsaken, forgotten

Silence shouts into my closed ears loud

Will I exist or will I exit?

A word found in no dictionary

A name unheard, a face unseen

A ghost within the walls, enclosed

Will I live or will I leave?

Without an identity, without a grip

I stand at the edge of an open cliff

A dry tree almost fallen on the wayside

Will I smile or will I sleep?

Voice crushed inside, no more to speak

I stare at the old shadows of fading memories

I touch the empty spaces that fill the present

Will I persist or will I perish?

Somewhere I hear the footsteps dear

Of my beloved Friend still near

Kindles the dying light of my spirit

Will I love or will I lose?

Will I resurrect? A soul's pang before Easter!

Life is a labyrinth where I make hardly any progress and I know the folly only when I reach the starting point again and again. It's tough to make a choice..but any choice is better than another round in the labyrinth. 

No matter how I try to make a drop of happiness, even if it overflows, there is always something or someone to make me dry. 

Yet nothing can make me empty as long as I have a source. But if I get contaminated, it is neither good for me, nor for anyone.

I am a vessel which is filled and emptied, a well that fills then goes dry. Sometimes filled plenty with showers or just enough with the drops from a deep source.

I am a being of choices and I make them out of my habit and most of the time they prove wrong with lots of bad effects.

I don't want to look down on my falls and failures. I know that I'm trying. Perhaps all my life I tried.

So, isn't there an escape? Isn't there any hope? 

I no more look up to find a way; all I see is the labyrinth of life waiting to trap me into its foolish paths. That is the way of the world.

My soul prompts me to look at my being than my going. Wherever I go, I live inside me.

I need not find a way. I must ressurect. I must die to myself to make it happen.

Yea, die to my sins, my desires, my ways, my passions, my plans, my everything. I must humble myself down to earth so that God can lift me up.

I have to die as a grain of wheat to produce much harvest. All I have to do is to die to myself.

Melting of ego brings the worst hurt in my flesh and letting go all my desires is like plucking off the feathers of my wings.

It is not with my strength that I have to fly. It is not by my power that I have to conquer.

My soul is ready but the body looks back at the labyrinth of life. A second thought? No, just a sigh!!

Jesus said 'The one who wants to be the greatest must be the servant of all.' And that's what He was.

Surrendering to the will of His Heavenly Father turned His sweat into blood. He pleaded "Father,if possible,let this cup be removed from me", immediately adding, "Yet not my will, Your will be done"

"Father, forgive them, for, they don't know what they are doing" was His prayer in the darkest hour. Though His body groaned in weakness "Father, why have You forsaken me?", His soul screamed "Father, into Your hands, I commend my Spirit"

He died to pay for my sins and took the curse to give me life. Each Good Friday reminds me of Easter. Will I die to my sin and ressurect as a New Creation?

Now I'm lonely. Darkness surrounds me. My soul is dry. My sight is lost. I'm hanging between Earth and Heaven. Earth waits to bury me to its depths. I can't lift myself up to leap towards Heaven.

Will I ressurect? Will the stone kept before the tomb move and will my soul come out renewed? Somewhere near; or is it far..I hear clearly someone saying.."For God, everything is possible."

Good Friday?

Can a Friday be Good if it commemorates a death?

What is so good about death if it is the end of a life?

Jesus was accused, sentenced, led off to die

He was bruised, whipped, tormented, tortured

Though innocent, He endured the suffering of sinners

He was disfigured and bled and was treated as a criminal

They spat on the face, dragged him on the streets

They nailed His body on the cross and mocked at His pain

He prayed on the cross for His enemies, "Father, forgive them'

They know not what they are doing'

And into the loving Father's hands, into the Divine Will

He commended His Spirit and died for us

The Earth shook and rocks split apart and graves opened

Those who killed Him stood horrified

The Friday became Good Friday as that saved human kind

Their Saviour died to redeem them from sin

Because of His wounds we are healed, His death gave us life

He paid for us in full, on the cross of Calvary

Friday is Good as it kills our sins and leads us to Resurrection

A chance to perfect cleansing of soul

Friday is Good as it reminds the world of a man Divine

Jesus is not a story that's told, He's a history that lived

Take heart, noble hearts!

You, poor soul! Victim of theft and deceit!

Yet never take a damn measure to destroy the culprit!

When the best is lost and the worst endured

Still ready to pardon, just for a 'sorry'

Mostly no apology ever comes to soothe 

Left in the trauma of inaction, tormented by rage

What is not stolen? What is left untouched?

Reducing noble folks into fainting wicks!

The pain of construction and joy of creation

Do they ever know the worth of what they’ve snatched?

The rose that bloomed after days' wait is plucked

The smile that came on your lips is frozen  

Happiness, the moment you churn it out of your life

They wait to play havoc to see you are hurt

If a ray of sun passes your window pane

They plan their way to darken your spirit

The fire of joy you conceive within

Is dampened before it takes its wings

You are born as a free soul on Earth

And you know not the art of manipulation

You can’t even think of diseased souls

Walking in human form but to kill

You open your doors and windows wide

And even your kith and kin can swindle

Hurt, shocked, surprised, bewildered

You react, you respond, then, you let it go

You think it’s over and now, out of danger

But never there is a safe place here or anywhere

This is Earth, where everything exists

The creator, the killer, the angel, the demon

Don’t you ever ask ‘How’ or ‘Why’

There is no answer except harsh reality

Let your soul fly to a height in its might

Where you won’t feel the pain as you’d feel now

And from there as you look down below

You’ll find the Truth that comforts you much

Thank God that you are a soul

Who’s not a slave to the passions of the world

And Thank God that though you’re human

You’re not the moron who steals and slays

And as long as you live, as long as Earth spins

You will create and your soul, delight!

Why Wait?

By the wayside is a sad sight seen

Someone waiting long so keen

No one meets him, all in moving

Never stopping, all but staring

Wait goes on till glee is gone

Masking his desperate lonely tone

Just to share his pangs withheld

To a friend he waits, in hope withered 

No one lives for anyone, never

That's the way of the wayside ever

Many a waiting quench the last flickers

Reduce to ashes, the endless follies

I asked a poor soul who lingered alone

The reason for his stay here forlorn

'I thought he'd come, my friend' he uttered

Hiding his tear beneath his mask

I told him my tale, of long years' wait

Like a wayside flower, how I was wilt

And the words of wisdom, a passerby spoke

'Live your life and wait for no folk'

'Friends may come, may not as well

May be they aren't your friends at all

But life must move on and you along

Love will take you each furlong'

Mask was thrown to the wayside bin

Gathered courage to march and win

Long and firm each step ahead

With grit and peace, alone he pressed 

I Quit the Queue to Join a Journey

Can I make a day without my Maker?

Can I save myself without my Saviour?

Will I stand against the tides of the day?

With sounds and lights around me circle

In spiral movements spin my troubles

I lose my steps and fall by the wayside

A leap towards the sky in hurry

A plunge towards the depth in despair

Never I reached anywhere I wanted

Thought I may be good at something

That I could reach somewhere before death

Still I find myself as a no one doing nothing

Days announce winners as they choose

News spread like fire bringing them fame

I remain at the back of the long  queue waiting

They say, talent and perseverance work

But I still have my doubts on this answer

And I lose hope in the making of myself

Ignoring the crowd, I give up my efforts

Turn to the empty space hardly crowded

A little is the number and no one waiting

The paths seem narrow and dark to walk

And long to reach at the end so fast

But a guide and light was gifted to reach the goal

I have to choose, here or there, in haste

Don't turn back, Master says, firm

I look at the Guide holding the Light, calling in love

I choose to leave the crowd where I was none

And take the sure way, with an identity confirmed

Hard was the path but sure are my feet and my heart

As I finish a mile or two I realize to myself

That the way of the world was a mad trance

And the days without Him was a hollow dance

Red-nosed Clown

I painted my nose to make you laugh

And you surely missed the tear in my eye

I looked at the glass to fix my looks

And I nearly missed the paint on my nose

Reflection spoke the truth so harsh

Tears weirdly washed the make up

Two more hours I must bear this plight

I cleverly  coloured my face again

Between Earth and Heaven

Into the air I threw the letters

And down they poured as million words

Into the space I splashed the colours

And up they stood as mighty rainbows

My heart swings on the swing from Heaven

Touching almost horizon's edge

My spirit sores on its wings to Heaven
Daring ride on the fastest sledge

Long Live Love!!

Sunday evening: vehicles queued down the Ghat road downhill from Yercaud. Drunken driving is too common on weekends and it reaches its zenith in the evening. Two guys in a bike rode swinging and swaying along the way, making it dangerous for others to overtake them. As we didn't want to take any risk as one wrong move from them could provoke a fatal accident.

Almost till the end of the journey there was a couple (probably in their 60's) in a TVS 50, between the swaying bike and our car. The man tried hard to overtake, but couldn't. Suddenly, there was enough space on the right and he thought he could make it. Alas! The drunkards swayed again, hit the couple and drove off. As we succeeded in stopping the car on time, the couple were saved. 

We got out of the car and rushed to help them get up. A few other people who followed us stopped their vehicles and rushed to the spot. But before anyone could do anything, in a fraction of a second, both of them got up, ran to each other and checked frantically if the other one was fine. And in front of the onlookers, without even realising where they are, they kissed so fervently on each other’s lips, crying and smiling, just happy to be saved.

We were fretting and fuming with anger towards those irresponsible senseless guys. But both of them didn't show any rage nor commented nor criticized the reckless youth. They were just grateful to God that they are alive.

The lady was shaking of fear and crying over the bruises that her husband had. He was consoling her and trying to make her feel okay. Though we offered her a lift till her residence, she was so adamant to go with her husband. We gathered their slippers and other things that were scattered by the wayside, helped them with the twisted vehicle and waited there till they started their journey. Clinging to her love, she sat at the rear, and off they drove to the land of love, to their home sweet home. And we continued with our journey, carrying the image of the most extra ordinary love scene, gifted by that ordinary couple.

What comes to my mind is the beautiful oath that the Bride and the Bridegroom take during the Church wedding...

I, (name), take you, (name), for my lawful wife / husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.

Long Live Love!!

Freedom's Flavour

I long to stretch outward to sky

And bend downward to the humble Earth

Smell the rain and touch a flower

Sensing my spirit dancing in fire

I have to fly beyond the clouds

And dive beneath the roaring waves

Feel the sand and hear a bird

Singing a new song from my soul

I wish to climb each mountain top

And pass the tunnels in farthest low

Dare the devils and meet the angels

Freeing myself unto the light

I crave to face the blazing sun

And get drenched in the summer shower 

Run the miles and hum a tune

Believing in the best could be

I hope to reach the land of lilies

And sit a while among the wise

Make a wish and splash the hues

Creating a fresh world within

I dream to dash to Heaven's womb

And hide forever in my Maker's care

Soar the heights and trust my God

Flying in His Spirit's hold

Make your own days, women! And be Happy Everyday!

Newspaper brought a strange face of women

The few lines read said much about today

The candlelight vigil and a promise from UN "A promise is a promise: Time for action to end violence against women"

Half-veiled face with a gloomy regard

With a child in obscure she stands
I see no hope in the way world portrays
In black and white so sad she looks

Who can stop violence towards her?

Who doesn't know that the answer is far?

If anyone knows that Women are humans

That's enough to clear this mess

She is not an object to focus, nor a topic to discus

She is your Mother, Sister, Wife, Daughter, and Friend

Do not promise that you'll take care

For she is the one who took care of you

People must learn to respect the kind

The female species who are called Women

Better to learn the basics well

And put themselves within the limits?

Focus and discuss about virtues

That can be sown in everyone's mind

That physical strength is not enough

To prove that you are a human kind

Promise that we'll not be denied our space

To pursue our dreams and decide our goal

Promise that you'll not act as our care takers

But leave us to walk our way alone

Stop calling a woman 'Poor', she is 'Power'

Don't sigh for her, she is too High

Don't look down to find her, she is Equal

Don't cry for her, she is Joy

Women, find the way good Lord has planned

Don't get chocked or clogged in dread

Grasp the guts to draw the lines

Give yourself a chance to live

No mud can stop a lotus bloom

No cloud can stop the sun shine

Stay away from women, all those who slay

Someday, some way, she'll be fine in her own way 

Life is Beautiful!

She waited for him in her hut

Her eyes scanned the wayside for his face

When she knew he's gone for good

She sensed their past blowing her down

She grabbed her journal 

And ran to her dear spot

To pour out her heart

Through the ink to the page

Man of the mansion had raised a big wall

For little people, if climbed up, to fall

She bit her lips tight to stop tears flow

She knew it is futile to write the junk down

A tiny petite girl with flowers born this morn

Made a lovely sight by the wayside near

The sun and the sky, the flowers and birds 

Announced the new start on a new born day

Her journal filled with nature so pure

Colours splashed on the page instead of tears

An otherwise tearful day had changed

To a heavenly cheerful day of hope

Life is to hop and to jump and to fall

Again to get up in laughter and glee

Never to be trapped in the web of our thoughts

Ever to find love in our little world around

  

Silly Day!

It was a dream, it came to an end

Nothing remains of the hours past

Left in some memories almost fading

With my eye lids ready to close

A stage is over, all have left

And I have come to the edge of my bed

No past or future, nothing matters

Another stage with eyes both closed

This morning woke me up with a target screen

Displayed before, before I got up

I wondered if I can drag me through them

Till the sun sets and till the day is done

Out of all plans only a few I met

But now, even those things don't really matter

And what would've mattered the most I didn't do

A little prayer, I forgot to say

Every night, when I wait for my sleep

As I plunge to the hours long sleep

God alone stands without a wink

And I regret my day without Him near

 Switching between days and nights

Changing scenes and trying garbs

Forgot the story and dialogues made

Acts and actions, so futile proved

  

No time to feel bad, no strength for guilt

Another start, if another day breaks

Before I wear make up for the day long play

God, help me be wise to kneel and pray