Random Cell Pics
The genesis of fiction is in the experiences of life. But life, as they say, is stranger than fiction
I needed a breath of fresh air.
The suffocating aroma of incense, the unintelligible drone of chants, the humungous crowd and their frenzy of devotion were overbearing.
I stepped out of the sacrosanctum and inhaled deeply holding onto one of the ageless pillars at the arched entrance of the temple. It’s then that I came face to face with the mighty bearers their eyes down cast, expression reverential, carrying with ease the load of the figure seated on the throne intricately engraved in gold and silver.
A mass of dark tangled tresses – some tied in a huge knot on the top of his head and some cascading down his back and the rest lay curled on his powerful shoulders. His complexion, a mix of rose and milk, had an unmistakable sheen which emanated from an unknown source within. His broad forehead adorned a glowing red trident which bespoke the repository of his faith. A drape of fine red silk was casually flung over his sinewy torso. A well pleated garb of the same tone and texture covered the lower half of his body and crossed legs. A string of blackish brown wooden beads was wound around the protruding blue veins on his muscular neck. But it was his crystal clear lotus shaped eyes which held an unnatural brilliance. The eyeballs were fixed afar till it circled the sacred premise and fell on me and stayed there forever.
From somewhere through my auditory tunnel reverberated grandpa’s booming warning, “Don’t you ever make eye contact with them. It’s dangerous.”
With great difficulty I compelled myself to look away.
But the (mis)deed was done.
A sudden flash of blinding light enveloped me magnetically pulling me towards its vortex. I was levitating on glittering clouds.
When my feet touched the ground I was at the river bank. There was a boat swaying recklessly on undulating waves. Placed on the boat was the throne on which sat he motionless his electrifying gaze fixated on me. I could feel it’s hypnotic intent bearing down even from a distance drawing me towards him – closer and closer.
And then a sudden jerk back. An alarmed, almost petrified, voice , ” Where are you heading Di? The river is rough here. The currents can take you miles away in a jiffy. And you don’t even know how to swim!”
My cousin Ravi.
He was holding me by the arm.
I blinked.
Was I dreaming?
I pointed a finger at the river, “Who…who is he?”
He followed my gesticulation uncomprehendingly.
I turned back.
The river flowed with deceptive serenity. It’s waves forming watery mounds crisscrossing each other merrily.
There was not a trace of anything afloat.
The boat had vanished!!
Ravi gave me a gentle nudge, ” Let’s go home Di.”
A few feet away from the ghaat he swerved back pointing at the opposite bank, “You see Di! On the other side of the river is the ancient cave – where Lord Shiva meditated for ages before marrying Parvati. You wanted to visit.”
Did I!
At that moment, nothing made sense to me anymore.
What I simply wanted was to rush back home – my cozy cocoon of comfort.
That’s all.
Perhaps the river had an inkling.
It gurgled away in its own rhythm playfully.
This is in response to Sadje’s Weekly Photo Prompts on #Whatdoyousee
We build nests
On moss laden branches
Like birds peck the wood
To carve in a hold
Anchoring on slippery grounds
We embroider emotions
On a barren, rugged canvas
And empty out our souls
To imbue meaning and memory
Until the day comes when
Dreams spread wings onto a
Vaster horizon of quests uncharted
The nest remains where it used to be
On mossy undergrowth and
Sloppy terrain like a clumsy
Thought once overwhelming
Now merely a fragile, futile urge
What cities do you want to visit?
When I think of my own city there are many places I have not seen yet only read about and many I would like to revisit because with time and age the perception of a place changes.
There are a few other cities which hold a fascination for me in and outside my country. I will cite just a few of them with reasons why I’d like to visit them:
Lucknow for its historical, cultural and culinary heritage.
Pondicherry for its Spiritual heritage
Kolkata because it’s my birth place , my relatives whom I wish to connect with are there and it’s a city which has developed so much since the time I left, specifically, the underwater Metro!!
Jaisalmer (and all the other cities of Rajasthan, to be honest) to experience the famous sandstone fortress which sparkles like gold in the sun (made irresistibly watchable by Ray’s cult movie “Shonaar Kella”)
Delaware because my nephew stays there and because I have heard so much about it like it’s replete with Nature – forests, the Brandywine River, the huge public library within walking distance from my nephew’s, the friendly locals, the canine park, the deer who are found crossing the streets sometimes, the scampering rabbits….weird ? So am I…
Bikrampur (Dacca)/ Faridpur/ Mymensingh because my roots are there
Lahore because my father started his journey from there and I grew up listening to many stories of that city.
As I have said these are just a few of the cities ( which comes to mind impromptu) I’d like to visit and the list may change with time because do I know where I am destined to be in future or which other unplanned venue(s) can become an unforgettable part of my memory?
And talking of destination: is it just a place you wish to be or is it a journey (even if somebody else’s) you want to live and relive till you make it your own?
I wonder…
The last I visited Bangalore was around fifteen years ago. It was, if I remember correctly, in the summers. The day would become very hot and sunny and then it would suddenly pour cooling the city. I was amused to see Bangalorians pulling out their sweaters as soon as it rained. Overall, climate wise I found the city pleasant.
But this time it was winter. There was a continued chill in the air. The early mornings were foggy, midday pleasant and sunny and by the evening the chill would settle in again. Sometimes it would rain and be very windy. In short, absolutely unpredictable.
My body which was suited to extreme summer and extreme winter found it difficult to acclimatise with this constant change in temperature in a day. Coupled with that was the surprising dryness which affected the skin, eyes and throat. I’d wake up in the middle of the night with an absolutely parched throat, gulp half a litre of water and then realise it was cold outside.
At times, it was sweaty. A walk in the windy weather would suddenly make me perspire profusely. In the night, it was customary to put on the fan, in low or high speed as the case may be, and sleep under a quilt.
But in clear weather the sky was a dazzling blue, the moon rose without a hazy halo around it – one we were used to seeing in the capital – and the fluffy clouds would keep it company.
This is in response to Esther’s Weekly Word Prompt.
This week’s Prompt is: Respect
***
Respect-fully
In our culture we greet elders by bowing down and touching their feet to seek their blessings. This is the way we show our respect to their age, experience and seniority. This is also a gesture to imbibe their wisdom, virtues and all the good and positive that they embody.
The elderly can be part of the close or extended family, friend’s family or any senior member of the neighborhood, community or society.
We even touch the feet of our teachers because they are our gurus , educators and groomers. Teachers are an integral part of any child’s upbringing. After our parents they are the ones who shape our overall personality – physical as well as mental – by imparting knowledge, instilling morals, showing us how to conduct in society and guiding us in various aspects of life.
We also bow down and take blessings of towering figures who we look up to, consider our role models and who inspire us by their ideals, leadership and contribution to society.
Bowing down, touching the feet and folding both hands in salutation, are gestures of respect , reverence, courtesy and also signs of humility and submission. In temples we bow down and touch the feet of the idol to humbly acknowledge the presence of the Divine.
Likewise, we also touch the feet of priests, monks, sages and sadhus.
We don’t address our elders by their first names as in our culture it is considered as a mark of disrespect. First names are only for equals or juniors.
Elders are addressed by the relationship we have with them. Since we have separate nomenclatures for relationships on paternal and maternal sides our address depends on which side the elders are of.
Not only in human relationships but a show of respect can also be seen when a factory worker touches his forehead to the body of the machine and says a silent prayer before beginning to operate it, when a farmer lays prostrate and kisses the land he tills, when a pilgrim or bather takes water of the river in the cup of his palm and splashes it over his head chanting mantras, when a soldier smears a daub of earth of his motherland on his forehead, when performers kiss the stage or dais on which they are about to perform. All these gestures show that respect is not merely an act but something far greater and more humbling , almost like devotion and worship.
The signs and symbols of respect differ from culture to culture and are deeply connected to tradition and ethnicity. Every gesture of respect is beautiful, pure and noble because they emanate from the deepest core of the human heart.
***
Today early morning I received a notification from WordPress.
It seems I registered with WordPress this day 15 years back.
Today is the 15th Anniversary of Paenaecea on WordPress.
How time flies!
This was serendipitous because I had not kept count of the years I have been blogging.
However, given the number of years my blog stats are not that impressive. That’s because I did not take blogging very seriously in the beginning.
I started posting regularly right before my retirement and soon after. But there were phases when I had to take breaks to meet the exigencies of life.
And now here I am.
Though it may sound cliched but I am really because of you all. The encouragement to write on, the good advices which have pulled me through my low spells, the humorous jibes which have made me overcome my self doubts and the pure, unadulterated friendship that have made me believe in the strength of the blogging community have become integral parts of my life. Unexpectedly, blogging has given me an identity which I did not ever think possible or aspire for. It is an invaluable gift uncoveted yet received and now hugely cherished.
While going through the posts of my early years I also realise how my writing style has changed over these 15 years. Blogging gave me the opportunity to hone my skills too!! Along with it, the urge to connect and communicate with you all from every part of the globe has reinforced my faith in fraternal bonding – how it evolves and nurtures personal growth!!!
I feel enormously empowered through this association on the creative platform that WordPress provides.
I hope with time this bond will become stronger, more creative and empowering.
With lots of Thanks…
Happy Blogging!!
Cheerio!
This is in response to Rochelle’s Weekly Photo Prompt for Friday Fictioneers.
Word Count: 100
The Interview
Where is this ? I asked a little uncertainly to the gigantic figure.
“Diagon Alley.” Hagrid replied. “Of course! We have given it a makeover with picnic tables, plants and lights.”
I was here for a cover story. Professor Dumbledore had agreed for his maiden muggle interview – a milestone in my career!!
With a pounding heart I followed.
But the Alley kept winding into bends till a bucket of ice cold water hit my face.
And then that angry, rasp of a voice, “You are late again for your job interview. Get up you lazy head!!”
You can read the other stories here.
Random clicks someplace else.
This is in response to Sadje’s Weekly Photo Prompts on #Whatdoyousee
Deep in brooding meditation
Engages the majestic mountains
Citadel of an overcast sky
Emanates an ominous silence
Must we revisit winter in its frosty
Banquet of isolation – grim and gripping
Estuaries of glacial cold suffer a melt down
Resonating a sonorous hum of grief ‘n gloom
Ravishing can also be these months of
Epical hibernation if we choose to see
Becoming how the season drab can be
Maudlin your muse may not after all be
Effervescent moods and colours gay
Crisscross parks, streets and pathways
Even though you may argue otherwise
December is actually happening, fun ‘n bright
Although the extreme cold weather of our home city can be depressing and dampening but this is also the season of warm colours, mouthwatering food festivities and back to back fairs and exhibitions.
This is the time of the year when families vacation in hill stations to enjoy the snowfall/sport or take a break to trip down to sea sides. This is also the time of the year to go galavanting around the city if you are not going outstation, visit the trade fairs, shop till you drop, bask in Nature’s glory in the sprawling Mughal Garden which opens during the latter part of the season and savour the yummiest of delicacies – from street foods to gourmets.
For art and music lovers the season holds a string of exhibitions and concerts. For the bibliophile there is the unmissable World Book Fair. Oh! How can I not mention the month’s culmination into Christmas Galas and New Year Eve bashes.
In spite of the teeth chattering and pollutants filled smoggy days there’s no stopping to life, laughter and love of the finer things that make existence worthwhile.
So winter is delightfully eventful down our part of the globe. Name it you have it. You just have to plan your enjoyment itinerary, pack your bags and fly down to absorb and embrace the colours, gaiety and frolic.
Inspired by Luisa Zambrotta’s invite to pen a double acrostic.
DECEMBER – REBMECED
