The Fish Who Does Not Know How To Swim


This is in response to Esther’s Weekly Word Prompt.

This week’s Prompt is Fish

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The Fish Who Does Not Know How To Swim

Of late, I am consciously trying to fight with my reclusiveness. I am not exactly unsocial but I don’t go that extra mile to be friendly either. I have always been like that though my work profile necessitated me to change a bit superficially.

I remember when I was in my teens my mother would ensure that I went out of the house to play in the evenings. I preferred to stay inside with a book. I had a lot of complaints against mother on this and thought that she did not understand or accept me as I was. But I was wrong. I now believe she knew me more than I knew myself and that’s why she made it a point to make me realise the importance of stepping out and mingling because though we may dislike we have to mix in society be it for work or for leisure.

I wonder from where I got this trait of enjoying my own company. Both my parents were very friendly and social though my father receded into a shell after a life changing shift. My elder sister has always been very outgoing and extrovert. The other day she told me that I should move out a little more. My mother belonged to a large family of socially and culturally active people. On my father’s side both my aunts and uncle loved travelling and were well connected. One of my uncles remained cut off from the rest of the family so I don’t know much about him and his family. But my sister does talk about warm relations with my aunt (uncle’s wife).

I am not exactly a fish out of water in social gatherings. But I am definitely not a party person either. At work as well as in family get togethers I prefer to get into the role of an observer sitting quietly and watching others. I hate public speaking and had to rehearse several times under my breath if I were to deliver an extempore speech at farewells and other such occasions.

However, in like minded company I am not only quite open but also talkative. But that company is again very selective.

My sister wishes every other person she meets during walks. I have tried to adopt the habit but I disapprove of people who try to be inquisitive or familiar after two meetings. An elderly lady in the park whose walk time coincides with mine has started asking questions like why there is a change in my walking schedule, where is my sister and why  she is not coming along with me etc. Though I reply to her politely I feel uneasy giving out so many details about my private life. More so, because I don’t feel the urge to ask her back so many questions. Quite a few times I wanted to know where she lived but I have not been able to and the query has remained on my lips unuttered.

Having said all that I still feel I am a people’s person having successfully delivered for more than four decades in public service wherein I had to deal with a variety of people from a cross section of society and serve them the very best way I could. Living in aloneness and living in isolation are two very different things. I like having people around but I don’t like them to be too personal. How’s that ?

Well, that’s me. A fish who is struggling to be in the waters. Hopefully some day I will learn to swim. At present I am just afloat.

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A Place Called Unknown


What is your favorite place to go in your city?

Well, I have never liked a place away from home that I can call my favourite. Especially, in this chaotic concrete jungle where every ride is kind of having head reeling zoomies sans the excitement.

Add to it a ladle full of smog, pollutants and construction rubble quite enough to choke you in your masks.

But of course, we are humans who live in desperation and love all kinds of destructive designs to spice up our existence.

Amidst this self imposed frenzy there is , surprisingly, an oasis of silence and quietude right in the middle of this unliveable habitat.

It’s the Yogada Satsanga Dhyana Kendra or the Yogada Meditation Centre where you can rewire yourself for any length of time provided there is no Group Meditation Program of the Ashram scheduled for the day. Generally there are specific days in a week for these collective experiences.

I often visited the Center when I was working because it was just midway between my office and home. Post retirement I have not got the opportunity to visit the place which is a pity.

Though the Centre has its own Spiritual Course and Meditation Practice the visitors are not required to follow any prescribed style of meditation or prayer there. You can just sit quietly, pray, unburden, listen to the silence and enjoy simply being there.

The best thing is that you need not be a member of the Organisation to visit the Centre. They have a Retreat in NOIDA (in Uttar Pradesh – another State)  as well but that is quite far and not as cosy as this one situated in the heart of the Capital.

Pic Courtesy Amit Pratap Singh

This haven of peace is lesser known which is run on voluntary service. As soon as you enter the premise it feels as though you have entered a sacred space – an out of the planet zone. The quieteness of the atmosphere acts as a balm on your body mind and soul.

It is usually very less crowded. In case you happen to come across a fellow devout you are greeted with a wordless smile and a bow.

I liked to visit the Centre in the summer. The high ceilings of the hall provided  a cool respite from the scorching heat. Though it’s situated on one of the main arterial roads yet the noise of the traffic does not invade the pious silence inside. The soft aroma of the incense burning before the portraits of the sages , the hushed environment just right for an inner conversation and the ethereal presence of Swamiji , his Guru and other higher souls have an  invigorating effect on the senses.

Yogoda Satsanga Society of India (YSS), the Organization was founded by Paramahansa Yogananda in India in 1917. The YSS operates this Ashram which is known among its devotees for its high almost palpable vibrations conducive to spiritual progress.

Incidentally, I looked up for the YSS Centre after reading the life altering book Autobiography Of A Yogi by Paramhansa Yoganandaji.

A must visit for those who wish to have a truly elevating experience.

Pic Courtesy Nitin Suri

Miracles


Opinions may differ but miracles do happen. It will not be an exaggeration if I say my life is full of instances which baffle, relieve and fill me with a sense of awe and  fulfillment at the same time. How humbling these moments are ! We can call them by many names – Miracles… Blessings….Divine Intervention. Choose whichever you may. They are simply extraordinary eluding definition!

Frequent incidents of drop in my mother’s saturation level prompted me to buy an Oxygen Concentrator. During her last hospitalization doctors had told me her entire body was infected. Medical treatment had its limitations. “There was no point in giving her the trouble of getting admitted to the hospital again and again. Medication can do little for her now.”

Instead, I converted her room into a hospital ward with all the requisite machines. Some I bought. Some I took on rent. Soon after Covid paralysed our lives. Oxygen Concentrators became the most sought after medical equipment hard to get, their prices sky rocketing with increasing demand. I thanked my lucky star that I had purchased it at the nick of time. It was an impulsive decision. An expenditure which bore a hole in my pocket. But I was so relieved I had one.

However, what the seller did not tell me was that the Concentrator required an additional power backup during load shedding. Had he informed me I would have made provisions though in our area power cuts were very very rare.

But one bleak black thunderous night the lights suddenly went off. I had to switch off the Concentrator for the time being thinking the power supply would resume in no time. It was always a few minutes affair if at all the electricity supply was cut off in our Block.

But that night was an exception. The sky roared and  thundered and poured like never before. The home inverter had stopped functioning due to overload because I had run the Concentrator for some time on it. I did not even have a candle at home. Only the flashlight in my mobile which was going to shut off anytime now because of low battery.

I kept on checking mother’s oxygen on the Oximeter and each time it showed a decrease in the level. As the hours ticked by from 99 it dipped to

98…97…96…95…94…93…92…91…90…

Given my mother’s condition the ideal level of  her saturation (oxygen) should have been between 90 and 96.

My heart beat faster as the level dipped below 90. I distinctly remember that stormy night sitting in the dark the only tormenting question that niggled me was how to save the situation. How to make amends. How to give my mother relief. I knew I was fighting against Nature… against Time. It was an unequal battle and my chances of survival (forget about winning) were an undisputed zero.

In that epiphanic moment of realising human vincibility the last conversation that I had with God was : “Is that it then?”

Holding my breath I checked the Oximeter one last time. It flickered between 87 and 88. I knew it would soon touch further below. It was at this point that my mobile breathed its last. I held my hand near my mother’s nostrils The lukewarm wisp of her shallow breathing was a thread of hope so fragile. I put my ear to her chest. The pulsating rhythm of her heart rose from some deep cavernous hollow.

I closed my eyes helplessly listening to the howl of the wind and the mad dance of the rains. Every passing moment was choking me.  The night sounds became more and more ominous. I covered my head in my hands and whispered, “Please Help!”

And it was the very moment that the lights came back.

I rushed to put on the Concentrator.

Crimson Sky


This is in response to Rochelle’s Weekly Photo Prompt for Friday Fictioneers

Word Count: 100

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Crimson Sky

He loved her passionately and wanted to marry her. But before that he had to complete his education,  get a job and a place to live. For that he had to leave the city and go away for a while.

“We’d keep in touch. Will you wait for me?”

She nodded silently.

As they longed to be together the cityscape held its breath.

And then…

One fine day he made it and they vowed to be one forever.

That day the city sighed with relief. The crimson sky at Sunset Boulevard glowed and blessed them with eternal joy and fulfillment.

***

You can read the other stories here.

Let Me Believe


Even if the world is a web

of lies and deceits

I would like to bask in

The warmth of your embrace

And believe in dreams

As the eyelids droop

On the cushion of your chest

Hold me tight so that I fight

Away the melancholic vibes

And  still cherish the guile

Of nurturing faith … Of trusting love

Of hoping that the earth is heaven

And humanity is not yet dead

Even if the world is a web

Of lies and deceits

Let me take a deep breath

Of tranquil rest in your arms

Feel the serene beat of your heart

Against mine and close my eyes

To everything that is fearsome

Fragile and  false and fake

This is in response to Sadje’s Weekly Photo Prompt on #Whatdoyousee

Grey


I like the colour grey

Its neither dark nor white

Pushing past the extremes it shows hope

Like night offers dreams

Days the bricks of reality

Grey neither hurts nor breaks

Nor pretends life is a bed of roses

Grey is just grey – simple, unpretentious

If you wish to embrace it…its there for you

If you wish to ignore…it doesn’t mind

It has its moments…its corners…its safe haven

Its on its own even if you take that a mistake 

It does not weep…and if it does the tears 

Don’t show because it’s just grey

Neither too dark nor pristine white

It doesn’t laugh either if you pat it with care

Because it’s a shade which does not have

A shade …. It’s just there… not too deep

Not too shallow…not  disablingly dark

Not too blindingly shimmering white

Its that colourless colour  you may love

You may choose to hate…or you may just be

Indifferent…it’s absolutely up to you

I am that grey , you know

That unapologetically unperturbed grey

Stroll In The Park


I had a stroll in the park midday. A detour returning from the Clinic where I had been for a physiotherapy session for cervical spondylosis.

It’s a big park with walkways and benches inviting the strollers to rest a bit.

Humans and canines taking a nap made a restful picture.

The lone flower blooming in the bed reminding this is the month of November – harbinger of winter.

The park is dotted with gazebos where one can sit to avoid the scorching heat of summer.

Right in the middle of the park the National Flag sways gently in the air.

Old men sitting and chatting. Sometimes they play cards, discuss politics, read newspapers or just have a friendly chat.

At times you may also find a walker sitting quietly sunning and enjoying his own company.

An ancient peepal tree dominates one of the entrances of the park.

The park is well tended by the Municipal Corporation Department.

The walkway leading out of the park.

At the exit I met these two kids halting for a second to be clicked.

Am I Phobic ?


While looking up for the word scopophobia i.e. the intense fear of making eye contact with people, on the internet, I was quite taken by surprise by the number of phobias which humans suffer from. While not in the extreme but I can relate to some. Though I am not scopophobic and dislike people who cannot look straight into the eye while interacting, I have a distinct uneasiness of strangers. I also avoid crowded places even on religious occasions. I’d rather go to a less frequented temple and pray quietly than be a part of a huge feverish group of devotees.

During my recent experience of prolonged and frequent stay at the hospital and multiple surgeries I have realised that I am fearful of physical pain which stems from long and undiagnosed illnesses and the amount of excruciating pain and discomfort I have had to endure thereof. Though it’s hard for me to relax during medical procedures but I wouldn’t say I am tomophobic i.e. suffering from the intense fear of surgical procedures or medical interventions. Come to think of it does anyone enjoy such experiences ?

Hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia is the irrational fear of the number 666, often associated with the “number of the beast” from the Bible. I remember the film Omen has a reference to the number 666 as the sign of the devil. I watched Omen all by myself on TV late at night while my mother slept in the room next. It’s the most nuanced horror movie I have ever seen without any spooky background score or unnecessary melodrama. What is predominant about the movie is the lack of all of it. But it’s the silence and subtlety of the scenes that are killing. I realised this when all of a sudden the lights went off in the middle of the movie. In those days we did not have a generator or inverter at home. In that absolute darkness I just froze. I don’t think I’ll ever have the nerves to watch it or any of its other parts now.

I am intrigued to learn this new term – Gynophobia which refers to the fear of women. With the shameful number of rape cases making headlines I wonder whether the rapists are actually gynophobic or its just power play.

Athazagoraphobia is an intense, irrational fear of being forgotten or of forgetting someone or something. It can involve the fear of being ignored, replaced, or of losing one’s memories. Since I have seen my mother suffering from profound dementia for more than a decade I know what it is to not remember. After the surgeries I have had spells of retention deficit which tormented me as much as my physical ailment. Having fought with conventional as well as unconventional means to get over the memory losses I strongly feel everyone past their prime should become conscious of and actively work against the tendency of the brain to give in to forgetfulness.

Nyctophobia includes becoming nervous in any darkened environment and being reluctant to go out at night. I am nyctophobic and feel positively nervous and anxious if I am alone outside home after dark. I guess it’s because when I was a child I had strict instructions to get back home before dark. My mother was a strict disciplinarian and wouldn’t tolerate even a minute’s delay though I would be playing in the park right in front of the house. Mother’s strictness with time was not without reason as Delhi during those times was not at all a safe place even in broad daylight let alone after dark.

I was good at studies. If I worked hard at a subject I brought in good results. However, I don’t know how and when I developed this diffidence for Arithmetic. But I don’t think I am an acute case of Arithmophobia which  is the extreme fear of all or specific numbers, but I do get intimidated by figures and make stupid mistakes. I am not good with money either.

Kakorrhaphiophobia is the fear of failure and specifically  extreme anxiety when unable to achieve goals. People suffering from this phobia lose confidence in themselves and experience low self-esteem. I guess in today’s over competitive world most people suffer from this trait. Even I was a prey to it when I was working and had to meet monthly deadlines or finish an assignment within stiff timelines.

I guess all these phobias have genesis in either experiences in our formative years or later in the course of life. They are definitely not congenital or rooted in past lives or karma as many may take them to be. We may more or less suffer from some form of  inexplicable fears and anxieties which we should try to trace back to their roots. Self analysis may not be a permanent cure but it definitely lets one know the reactions to be expected in certain scenarios and take preemptive measures. If one can get rid of them on one’s own nothing like it. But at least, hopefully, it cannot grow in intensity with self awareness and self check.

The Feel Good Factor


Lately I have not been very active on WP due to health issue. My heartfelt apologies to my co-bloggers whose posts I have not been able to read and comment. 

During this time I heard quite a few audio stories – cozy mysteries for children and young adults! If you are wondering why kid stuff the answer is that they are great stress busters!

These days I am focused on the feel good factor in books, movies and series which are comforting, happiness giving and hope raising.

Romantics Anonymous is one such Japanese Serial on Netflix which is very refreshing. A young girl who is a talented chocolatier is compelled to lead a life of a recluse because she suffers from scopophobia or the inability to make eye contact with people. However, as is fated, she comes to be employed by the scion of a business magnate, who is psychologically challenged as well – he abhors physical contact and avoids touching others or be touched by anyone. The Serial is about how two imperfect people make a perfect pair and thrive together.

And what else can make you feel incredibly optimistic than the Christmas Movies. I have been able to watch only one till now – Christmas Catering again on Netflix. Molly Frost gives up on her Christmas holidays to cater to the Christmas Gala hosted by the Harrison Foundation. The Foundation has done humungous services for the townspeople and they look up to the Harrisons with awe, gratitude and respect in return. For Molly it’s a dream come true to prepare a feast for the attendees of the Gala under the charming stewardship of Carson Jacob, the handsome nephew of Mrs. Jean Harrison. We all know where the story is going but it’s still so captivating to see romance budding in the Season of Hope.

I am hooked to Dipanwita Roy and listening to her intriguing stories on Sunday Suspense Series of Radio Mirchi on You Tube.

Borro Maar Baksho or Great Great Granny’s Box and Dwimukhi Buddha or Two Faced Buddha are both Mysteries braided with History.

In Borro Maar Baksho we have Bito or Bitaan and Reno or Rennessa accompanying Reno’s maternal uncle and aunt to their ancestral home in a remote village of Birbhum District , very close to Tagore’s Shantiniketan. Bito and Reno are childhood friends and neighbours. Both have a nose for sleuthing. This time it’s the odd case of Reno’s maternal uncle getting sick whenever he visits his ancestral home. Doctors say it’s Mercury poisoning. But who wants the retired and peace loving uncle out of the way ? And how is it being injected because no one else in the household is getting affected but him ?

This story reminded me of  Christie’s Tommy and Tuppence Series. The connection with the great Bengal Renaissance Artists Abanindronath and Gaganendranath of the Tagore family adds a mind-blowing dimension to the whodunnit.

Dwimukhi Buddha is one of the Digonto Deb Series. Nilima Ghosh, an octogenarian, is found murdered in her flat. She was an extremely cautious woman who did not let any stranger enter her home. Then how was she killed and by whom? The reason for the murder is also not known to the Police till her son, Pinaki Ghosh discloses that a Jade Buddha in possession of the family is missing. The Jade Buddha was given by a Tibetan Lama to Pinaki’s late father for safe keeping. An evil monk, an international smuggler and a greedy businessman are after this Buddha. It’s for Digonto, Roy’s self styled detective, to find out who has got to the Buddha first.

PS : I am a little better now and hope to catch up soon with you all.

Cheerio

House And Home


This is in response to Rochelle’s Weekly Photo Prompt for Friday Fictioneers

Word Count : 100

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House And Home

Once upon a time there was a happy, glittering, chattering house  – children playing, parents smiling, friends coming over, family get-togethers, barbecues in the manicured lawn, flowers blooming in the beds, birds chirping on the trees, sprinklers watering on time.

Then the children grew big and left for uncharted journeys. Parents grew old and shifted to Assisted Care Centres. The house became sad and silent.

As I look at its morose facade I realise what it is for a house to be a home.

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You can read the other stories here