Juggling thoughts

The Dancing Pen: The Message on the Paper. : Not even five minutes after I leaned my head on the chair to rest, Our office peon came to tell me that someone came in search of me and...

Not even five minutes after I leaned my head on the chair to rest, Our office peon came to tell me that someone came in search of me and gave me a paper that has something written on it. At the first glance at the paper, it read like this: “We are Deaf and Mute Couple from Chennai. We need to stay here (Room). We need to spend quite time with the Lord, meditate the word and pray.  Maybe for 2-3 weeks and after completing our fasting, we will go back to Chennai. Please let us know”. That confused me because I still had no idea why they came to the office for that. We have a reception just at the entrance of our compound for guest room booking. And I tried to use the little sign language I know to communicate with them but failed terribly, the wife asked for a pen & paper (which I was able to figure out) and wrote to me, “Please write to me what you are saying. He is having a low vision and cannot see you clear.” And I started to write, “You have to go to the receptio...

For all that you have given to me.   With so much love and patience, discipline and tears.   Casting all of your dreams into the sea.   Although consumed by fury,you always loved me more than I deserve.   Even before I know myself,you made me.   For all you have done for me, for you bound up the wounds I cannot see.   And gave me hope and passion all new.   I can return not half but love with all my heart.   Mother of my heart,you loved me till I turned to love.   And I became the soul I would.   Taking heed of neither pain nor price, love against all odds.   I need your fierce,great love,and will I need ever after.   I often wonder the depth of your love.   I know it can’t be ‘just because’,or simply to be nice.   The faith with which you mold me up,with prayers you shaped me.  Your faith,my caravan.   Ere love supply, the grace well earned   So let...

It was twenty past five in the evening, as I await for the arrival of the train at platform no 1.Something got my eyes, while I was trying to snap shot the many activities and movements in and out of the station. That day the train station didn't seem too crowded like it always have been. In one of my turn around look, I snapped a man with a taqiyah (skullcap) suddenly stopping by the corner of the platform's footpath. He started unfolding a plastic mat. Hmm..that interested me and I kept observing him from far. Then the screech of the rather long calling of "Alah" resounded from the distant masjid's (mosque) loud speaker. I did not divert my attention to anything besides this praying man at the corner of the platform. I began to count the number of times he knelt down and bowed on the ground during his prayer. On the first count, he was on his knees uttering some words and than he bowed down twice. He stood up doing the same act and knelt down the second, t...

Very often I keep noticing these two mothers sitting at the rushy foot path in the city's most crowded market, selling our locally grown vegetables and some tribal eatables. I keep thinking I will definitely go and buy something from them instead of shopping in the City malls. It keep striking my mind but at the end of my office hour when I happen to go down, they'd be on their return back home. I made a point to buy something from them and interacted with them last noon. I  was told that they come from a far fetched place, hundreds of kilometer away from the city with their stuffs loaded baskets. I saw that they do not carry any lunch box with them too, they sit no matter how long it takes to sell all their goods. What touched my heart was their generosity, they sell their heavy weighing cabbages with just twenty rupees per kilo. I got three cabbages for twenty, you can just imagine how much their small baskets could carry and they are selling it off too cheaply. With what he...

THE FORGOTTEN _an ancient tale retold. A Story by  lichanbeni   An oral traditional story I once heard.   Every evening the young son comes back home from the Morung (Chumpo) shouting grumpily to his father and tells him that the men-folks at the morung were gossip mongering of him and were criticizing him.  The son gets peeved to hear his father as the "talk of the village".  Days passed through but for his father was still the talk.  Each day he comes back and narrates the "whole-hog" to his father who calmly listens with a smile.  Gradually, the squeaky-wheel began to squeak lesser than yester- week.  The father began to wait for his son's return and inquired if he was apart of any discussion. And the son almost contentedly answers back that nothing much of him was picked.  Days passed through and little was heard and less complains and lesser to no more .  One day he asked his son, " was my name picked by a...

Every bit of what I am  began from her. I recall everything of her and the way she nurtured me as a girl to grow into who and what I am today. If am a woman today, am what she shaped and molded  me. I vividly recall the first teacher of my life. My mother, the greatest inspiration of my life. My first written alphabet before pre- school, her hand shaped beautifully. My initial education began at home with her home schooling every day. My first school with her as I attended every class she took. Every word I write is how and what she effortlessly taught me, owe to my great mentor. Closer to God she brought me with and in prayers. Life and relation value she instilled in me. My first best friend, my best mentor, my love and life. Of all she is my greatest inspiration in the whole wide world. The daughter who always epitomize her mother with love and will always. I love you, Mom!