Mental Fitness


Past our prime physical fitness is as important as mental agility. There are several ways of maintaining physical fitness like exercises, Yoga, walking etc. But how to keep the mind fit?

I believe there are questionnaires available online which one can answer and come to know how active one’s brain is. This, I guess, needs to be done periodically. It’s not a one time assessment.

Solving crosswords and playing sudoku are also said to help keep the brain alert. I am not very good at either.

However, as a part of my daily routine, I make sure to play a few word games. These are not medically recommended. But I have noticed during my recovery phase, when my body and mind both were weak, I was unable to solve these riddles. As I got stronger I could.

There are plenty of games on nytimes.com like spelling bee, letterboxed, tiles etc. But my favourite is the Strands where you have to find the hidden words related to the given hint along with the spangram which cuts across the word matrix.

Another one is Wordle where you get six chances to find the five lettered word of the day.

Waffle comes next where you get 15 swaps to complete the word puzzle. The Deluxe Waffle is more interesting where you get 25 swaps. It’s longer. And you win stars too.

Squardle is just word building. An Express Squardle is a quick one. There are regular ones too with more words to make.

I started playing these games, at first, for fun. Then it grew into a habit. Now it’s kind of home work ☺️.

Experts say that those who are into creative activities remain mentally strong for long. The best example is our nanogenarian author, Mr. Ruskin Bond, still going strong, writing regularly and getting published every year. He has now started appearing on Instagram as well. Kudos to him.

Another example that comes to mind is that of the Bharatnatyam and Odissi danseuse, Sonal Mansingh, on whom doctors had given up after a life changing accident. But she refused to remain incapacitated and by sheer willpower resumed her career as a classical dance exponent.

My nephew advises me to be out of my comfort zone and start doing things which I am scared of or never done before or for a long time. Restraining oneself physically is also limiting one’s mental space.

My sister, seven years older than me,  has made it a point to learn one new thing every year.  She also travelled to the USA all by herself last year.

Friends, if you have anymore suggestions do let me know by way of comments.

And keep writing and posting.

Remember its a daily dose of medicine.

Cheerio

The Pendrive Mystery


Do you all remember Mitin aka Pragnya Paromita Mukherjee? The first female sleuth of Bengali literature created by the prolific writer Suchitra Bhattacharya?

I come back again with another of her adventures in the Mitin Mashi Series. Mitin’s sidekick is her fifteen year old niece Tupur (sister’s daughter).  Tupur calls Mitin as Mitin Mashi. Mashi (Mausi in Hindi)  in Bengali means maternal aunt or mother’s sister. Hence, the name of the detective series.

Mitin along with her husband Partho and son Bumbum and her sister Saheli and brother-in-law, Aboni and their daughter Tupur are on vacation to Kullu, Manali and Rohtang Pass.

Unable to get accommodation in the valley,  Partho assisted by their resourceful, local driver, Tinku Singh, hires two rooms in a well furnished Cottage on the outskirts of Kullu for two nights.

It is here that Mitin’s son finds a pen drive in the drawer of a computer table. Exploring the content Mitin and Tupur find that the pendrive contains photographs of original paintings by the famous Russian artist, Nicholas Roerich, who spent a number of years in the valley till his death and who is still highly respected by the locals.

That night Mitin and Tupur are also  privy to a heated argument between Bibhob Sarma, the owner of the Cottage and a local painter, Bajnath Rai. The latter threatens Sarma and leaves the premise in a fit of rage. On enquiry, Mitin learns that Baijnath was hired by two visitors previously staying in the same room in which Mitin and Partho are now staying. However,  the visitors have left without paying Bajnath the full amount for the job.

The next day Mitin unexpectedly meets Baijnath in the Dussehra Festival held in Dhaalpur Maidan, Kullu. During a casual conversation Mitin learns that Baijnath was commissioned to make copies of three of Roerich’s paintings.

On Mitin’s insistence the family makes an impromptu detour to Nicholas Roerich’s Art Gallery in Naggar on the way to Manali. On reaching,  the gallery is found  to be closed  as there has been an attempt to break into the premise the previous night. An investigation is under way.

Mitin introduces herself to the Deputy Superintendent of Police, Mr. Ashutosh Shah, who is in charge of the investigation. She hands over the pendrive explaining how she has got hold of it. She shows the content to him too. On Mitin’s request the paintings displayed on the first floor where the break-in has taken place are rechecked and  three of Roerich’s original paintings are found to have been replaced by copies.

A badly shaken Gallery Manager, Kishanlal Duggar, asks Mitin to carry on a parallel investigation for expeditious closure of the matter. Thus a chase ensues from Naggar to Manikaran Sahab back to Kullu to ultimately nab the mastermind.

The USP of this detective story is how the authoress weaves the controversial figure of Nicholas Roerich and the historic Nicholas Roerich Art Gallery into the plot. She also brings in all the places of touristic importance – Kullu, Manali, Manikaran Sahab, Bhuntar – punctuated with apt descriptions of their scenic beauty and historical legacy into the vortex of the chase.

This is an audio story. I have heard it on ThrillerLand on YouTube. The presentation was very engaging. Puja’s voice over for Mitin exactly matches with that of Koel Mallick who has immortalized Mitin on the silver screen.

However on the flip side, audios  always make me fall asleep. I had to rewind several times to complete the story.

Suchitra Bhattacharya’s books  have been translated in many languages including English in case you are interested to read them. They are really enjoyable with contemporary flavour and relevance without being over the top.

The Nicholas Roerich Art Gallery in Naggar courtesy Aditya Mathur

Trivia :

Devika Rani, known as the first lady of Indian Cinema, was married to painter Svetoslav Roerich, son of Nicholas Roerich.

The featured pic is a screenshot from Thriller Land You Tube

Mist In My Eyes


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

In the fabled depth of your eyes

That vague outline of a sky

Peers at me

Your clasped hands

Laboured breath

Quivering lips

Weigh on my soul

I want to believe

You

Your words

Your promise

Is it a path to a dead end

Or

Have my dreams suddenly misted

Into a blur

The mirror doesn’t hold the truth

It fogs

#Wdsy

FF : The Treasure Hunt


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

Word Count: 100

The Treasure Hunt

I have penned many tales in that cozy corner by the window curled up on one of the sofas. One about that frayed map to a hidden treasure which got mysteriously stolen. The adventurers travelled far and wide across mountains, valleys, gorges, oceans, cities, roads… in search. Alas, all in vain !

Till the other afternoon when it slipped out on its own from beneath the other sofa, next to mine, on which you had sat holding my hands for long promising me of an unbelievably bright future together.

89 Words

You can read the other stories here.

Thrill, Fun And Tears


Life without spice is boring. To instill a little drama I always veer towards fiction , movies and series. This time it is a mix of political thriller, light hearted comedy and a biopic.

Hostage

When a group of Doctors Without Borders are abducted by extremists in the French Guyana the target is the removal of Abigail Dalton, the (fictional) British Prime Minster, from the seat of power. In the midst of international summit negotiations with the French President, Mme Vivienne Toussaint, Dalton receives the news of the abduction of her husband, Dr. Anderson (one of the team of doctors held hostage). Torn between love for her husband and the determination to save her country from an acute supply of life saving drugs and other crucial issues, Dalton has to choose her priority before further devastation rocks 10 Downing Street and tears her apart from her loved ones – her kidnapped husband, her distraught daughter and her terminally ailing father.

Hostage, a web series on Netflix, is a gripping, limited episode, must watch drama.

The Wrong Paris

Dawn is a small town Texan girl living with her grandmother and two sisters. Her parents have died in a car accident.  She and her siblings have been brought up by their grandmother, Birdie. One fine morning Dawn is thrilled to be informed that she has been accepted by the Art School in Paris. This has been her dream. However, being short of funds Dawn contemplates not going to Paris after all.

Seeing her sister’s predicament, Emily, Dawn’s  younger sister, coaxes her to audition for a dating show called “Honeypot” which is to be held in Paris. She convinces Dawn that if she gets into the show the royalties received can help cover up her lodging and Art School expenses. An unwilling Dawn is taken by surprise when she gets accepted to participate in the show.

However, on disembarking from the plane, she is dismayed to find that she and the other participants have been tricked as the shooting of the show is to be done in The Silver Spur Ranch in Paris, Texas, a few miles away from her home in place of the actual French Capital.

The bachelor of the show is Trey McAllen III, the owner of the Ranch, whom Dawn has incidentally met earlier in a bar. She tries to influence Trey to eliminate her from the show so that she can pursue her dream with the Appearance Fee. However, fate has something else in store. Moreover, the fatal attraction between the two is what she has not taken into account in her meticulous plans.

After a tiring day if you want to have a good laugh this romantic comedy movie is the one to watch out for on Netflix.

Songs Of Paradise

Based on the musical journey of Padma Shree (one of the highest honours of the country) and Sangeet Natak Academy awardee, Raj Begum, the defining female voice of Kashmir, the paradise of India, this movie on Amazon Prime is the story of Zeba who hails from a very humble background. When Masterji,  the classical maestro, hears her singing in a marriage ceremony, he inspires her to take training under him and later participate in the Music Competition held in Kashmir Radio Station. Zeba wins the competition by her soulful rendition and becomes the first female singer of the valley. Though she has to fight against many odds in a conservative society of the then Kashmir, including destruction of archival records of her entire repertoire in a fire accident, she emerges as a trailblazer for other female talents to come forward and take up a career in music and public performance. The highlight of the film is the soul stirring songs in Kashmiri language steeped in wistful serenity, rich poetry and bearing the fragrance of the captivating charm of the picturesque valley – truly the heaven on earth.

Promotional Posters courtesy Wikipedia

Life Is A River


Quite like the flowing river this book flowed into my hand and then into my mind and now into my life. It may sound poetic but it is like that.

Like most avid readers the first book that I read of Coelho was The Alchemist. Frankly, I couldn’t understand much of it. Wanted to read it once again to get the essence but never could.

Life flew by. Many years later my sister got another Paolo Coelho –  Like The Flowing River – from her school library. I started reading, was mesmerized but couldn’t finish.

Some years later, I got its Kindle version. Read through. Was not satisfied. Got a hard copy. Holding the book in my hand, turning the pages, re-reading I am as much taken by its unusualness as ever.

The book is a collection of anecdotal essays – long, short , sometimes just a para –  tapering down to a musing, a learning, a teaching, a reflection , a realisation as much for the author as for the readers which remain for eternity.

In a shabby Tokyo bar, Coelho meets the impoverished wife of his favourite author, Henry Miller. She sings the song which brought them both together. Its mesmerizing.

When she says, “There was no point in squabbling over the inheritance: love was enough,”Coelho writes “Yes, in the light of that complete absence of bitterness or rancour, I think love really was enough.”

Prague 1981, Coelho buys a drawing from a young man by the roadside. He sees that the artist is not wearing gloves even in that freezing cold. They get into an animated conversation after a while realising that neither can speak each other’s language. They are communicating by gestures, facial expressions, smiles and a desire to share something.

Coelho writes, ” That simple desire to share something meant that we could enter the world of language without words, where everything is always clear, and there is no danger of being misinterpreted.”

Coelho says that every individual is the protagonist of his/her life. Everyone has their personal legend to fulfill and this is their reason for being in the world.

He further adds “Every human being should know two languages: the language of society and the language of signs. One serves to communicate with other people, the other serves to understand God’s messages.” For this, one should keep alive within  the sacred flame of madness.

Coelho writes, “I think we should ask ourselves again: what are we capable of? And then, quite calmly, go off in search of our own immense potential.”

“Sometimes we encounter things on our path, but because our time has not yet come, they brush past us, without touching us, even though they were close enough for us to see them. I thank God for the awareness to understand…that everything that had to happen happened….”

“I cannot lose the one thing that keeps me alive: hope – that word treated with such irony by pseudointellectuals, who consider it a synonym of ‘deceit’. That word, so manipulated by governments, who make promises they know they will not keep, and thus inflict even more wounds on people’s hearts. That word that so often rises with us in the morning, gets sorely wounded as the day progresses, dies at nightfall, and is reborn with the new day.”

Coelho believes in “the alchemical idea that each of us contains the whole universe and that we are, therefore, responsible for its wellbeing.”

“Accustomed as we are to the mountains and the fields, we know that God is everywhere and that there is no need for us to go into a man-made building in order to find him. Often, during our long walks, we pray in silence, listening to the voice of nature, and understanding that the invisible world always manifests itself in the visible world.”

“I can only conclude that worse than hunger or thirst, worse than being unemployed, unhappy in love or defeated and in despair, far worse than any or all of those things, is feeling that no one, absolutely no one, cares about us.”

“However intelligent a man may be, he will soon lose his warmth and his flame if he distances himself from his fellow man.”

I have relied heavily on quotes and passages from Coelho’s essays to share what the book encompasses – expansive learning from personal experiences which allows epiphanic glimpses of universal truths.

A Little About The Author

Paulo Coelho was born in Rio in August 1947, the son of Pedro Queima Coelho de Souza, an engineer, and his wife Lygia, a homemaker. Early on Coelho dreamed to be a writer which was not viewed agreeably  in his austere middle class household. Coelho was admitted to a mental institution twice by his father to make him get rid of his passion for literature. However , Coelho being  a nonconformist and a seeker of the new,  sought spiritual experiences travelling all over Latin America. Coelho rose to fame with his book The Alchemist.  Today, Paulo Coelho’s books appear at the top of bestseller lists worldwide.

On The Quiet


After a sudden shower the sky looks autumnal. Though it’s the monsoons. The daring sun loves to play hide and seek with those foreboding clouds.

In the quiet of the desultory noon a slim sliver of  soft gold drapes the wall. It’s tantalizing slant drifts into my dream.

A hesitant knock on the backdoor. I ignore. But the knock is persistent. A little louder…bolder now…

But no one’s there. Only a piece of paper lazes on the floor. I pick it up. A lone question stares at me :

Do you still wish to live ?

If no, dial XXXXXX9999.

What rubbish!

I screw up and throw it in the bin.

***

Startled awake I check the time on the mobile It is two to one. I thought there was a knock at the door. Perhaps it was just a dream.

The whistle of the night guard pierces the quiet. He strikes his baton on the railing of the park. Tong …Tong…Tong. I muster courage and unlock the front door. All quiet.

The guard has strolled on to the next block. I can hear him blowing the whistle far away. The street is deserted. The giant trees stand still.

A slip of paper lies on the balcony. Curious, I pick it up. Just a question mark in bold black font against the white.

I step out. The cold dark street tiptoes by the grilled gate winding to the right at the far end.

An envelope of fog waltz up where the street bends. The dark of the night blends with ease into the dark of the shady tall trees. So does a lithe figure. Like a shadow.

Latching the door I return to bed.

Tonight again I shall wrestle with myself.

Hours tick by…

http://vanderloost.blogspot.com/2025/09/blog-post.html?m=1

Oh! Please Don’t Ask Me To Change


When I was small my sister, who was seven years older than me, used to subscribe to a woman’s magazine called Eve’s Weekly. The magazine covered the interview of a young achiever every week as their main story followed by other articles.

In one such cover story I remember the interviewee commented that the most difficult task in this world was to be yourself. Though this remark stayed with me I was too naive at that time to grasp its full import.

However, throughout my life it has been my endeavour to be myself which does not mean inflexibility or inadaptability. But not to compromise with my core ethics and beliefs.

Most of the time, therefore, I have found myself at a loss to become one with the herd. Vice versa the herd has found it hard to consider me as one of their own.

Yet I cannot imagine myself making adjustments to be acceptable. Many times I have suffered loneliness because of my inability to subscribe to the herd mentality. Having said that I do not think I would have been at peace had I done otherwise.

The one thing (amongst many)  that I am most averse to is how a particular way a woman is required to be ‘presentable’. How she has to look which becomes a decisive factor in “assessing” her rather than what her potentials and talents are. Many times I find the line between ‘well dressed’ and ‘fashionable’ getting blurred. Most times a woman with a mind of her own is considered problematic. Even if you have one you are to keep it to yourself.

Unfortunately, reforming outlook or the mindset is way more painstaking and at times even unachievable. Rather than lamenting over it or waiting patiently when the right approach will set in one just has to stick to one’s stand not getting swayed by other’s whims and fancies.

In a lighter note, here’s a spoof on my inability to stick to the usual yardstick by which a woman is “measured” in our society. I have resorted to a format which is as unusual and deliberate as my thinking on the issue is :

Oh! Please don’t ask me to change. I know I am clumsy but in vain try to look fashionable and smart in chappals, flats, even walking shoes.  Just imagine ! With  sarees and salwar suits !! And oh that severe knee pain! Weak muscles they say.

But please don’t ask me to change anyway.

I know this poker face of mine will never let you unwind. But no! Keep those grease paints away. It’s not going to make it glow anyway.

Just don’t ask me to change, I say.

I don’t have very many feathers in my cap. A rotten old degree frayed and crapped. It’s not of any use anymore. Neither do I want it to score any brownie points to be sure.

Just don’t bring it up, you know, for heaven’s sake.

But I surely still have fire in my breath. A heart that thumps aloud. Never at rest. A spirit that never ever gives up. If you want some quick hacks I am up for it. Anytime. Please feel free. Ask away.

But oh please don’t expect me to change this and that way.

Love Is


This week Poets And Storytellers United wants us, member poets, to write poems including fourteen words that describe love.

Love is a very big word. Every human relationship is bound by love in some form or the other. We are in love with Nature. We are in love with our fellow creatures. Well, most of us. We are in love with our parents, siblings, near and dear ones, our pets and friends. We are also in love with ourselves.

Is self love being selfish? If we do not love ourselves how can we love others ? Isn’t it being in love that we come to love the whole creation?  Love is indeed a miracle which elevates us. Evolves us. It’s magic.

Our involvement with everyday activities is also an expression of love. We love our job. We love community work. We love to give back to society. We love leisure. We love art, culture, music , literature and every other aspect of life which makes us sublime. Sometimes, most unfortunately though, we also love what is not to be loved. We love to hate. We love to bicker. We love to battle for a piece of land, power, wealth, vengeance.

In contrast, we love to pray. We love to communicate with a higher power. We love to surrender. There are truly various facets of love.

But can love be defined in a sentence or in a few words? I guess it is difficult. Love engulfs our entire existence. How can we limit it in words?

My response to the prompt therfore is :

I asked her what love is

She said it’s not to be defined 

Something pure and refined

That makes you grow

And lets you know

You are too small to be petty

I said that’s quite pretty 

But I thought what you felt inside

Sometimes stormy sometimes calm

It’s like holding the world in your palm

Like a song mellowed with age

Like spreading your wings uncaged

Like cradling the sky in your arms

She laughed out wild , So I discern

It beats within you in your heart

The flutter of a flitting butterfly 

But I am talking of love , my dear

Folded in the blanket of snow

Scorched under the blaze of sun

Blossoming in verdant spring

Frosting in white winter’s chill

Warring against conquests futile 

Embracing all without a guile

A love that lets you throw

Away that is worldly and low

Endure the bitterest of blows

Of life with the serenest smile

And let’s you diffuse your big I

In the isness of your nomadic soul

That is love which you not know

But is revealed in your deepest core

The link to the page is also given below :

https://mindspeak-vanderloost.blogspot.com/2025/09/love-is.html?m=1

Tagore’s Songs


Gurudev Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941) was a poet, novelist, playwright, lyricist, composer, philosopher, social reformer and painter of the Bengal renaissance. In 1913 he was the first non-European to receive the Nobel Prize in literature. He reshaped Bengali literature, music and Indian art with his numerous literary works, music and paintings. He is said to have written and composed around three thousand songs. His poetic lyrics are layered, deeply sensitive and spiritually uplifting.

What is a song ?

Is it just good music?

Is it just the composition?

Is it just the way it is renditioned ?

Or much more ?

A song is also made of lyrics. If we discount the words strung into tune we miss out half the song. The music and the words are twined to create the magical captivation of a song.

Many years ago in a literary discourse it was argued that Rabindranath Tagore’s lyrics should be studied separately as part of Bengali literature. And why not? The profundity of his words entwined with intricacies of his music creates the ethereality of his songs (also known as Rabindra Sangeet). The universality of his songs is manifest in its personalization, contemporaneity and individualistic interpretation. Its uniqueness is intrinsic in its experientiality.

I give below one or two liners from his seven different songs to illustrate how eternal his words are. I do not possess the necessary acumen to translate them. However, I shall endeavour to provide the meaning in a few words.

শেষ নাহি যে শেষ কথা কে বলবে…

When it is endless who is going to speak the last word

হিসাব মেলাতে মন মোর নহে রাজি কী পাইনি

I shall not engage my heart in calculating what I have not earned

তুমি যত ভার দিয়েছ সে ভার করিয়া দিয়েছ সোজা

আমি যত ভার জমিয়ে তুলেছি সকলই হয়েছে বোঝা

Whatever You have hauled on me has been made easy to carry. Whatever I have accumulated has transformed into a burden.

তোমার অসীমে প্রাণ মন লয়ে যতদূরে আমি ধাই

কোথাও দু:খ কোথাও মৃত্যু কোথা বিচ্ছেদ নাই

When I meander into Your Infinity with my heart and mind I fail to find sorrow, death or separation

আমার মুক্তি আলোয় আলোয় এই আকাশে

My freedom is in the light of this sky

মেঘ বলেছে যাবো যাবো রাত বলেছে যাই

সাগর বলে কূল মিলেছে আমি তো আর নাই

Clouds are on the brink of saying goodbye, night has bidden adieu, the ocean says it has found its shore and got it’s identity diffused

মহা বিশ্বে মহাকাশে মহা কালোর মাঝে

আমি মানব একাকী ভ্রমি বিস্ময়ে ভ্রমি বিস্ময়ে

Amidst the vastness of this universe the endlessness of the sky, the expansiveness of darkness, I a lone human wander in wonderment

The beauty of Tagore’s songs also lies in its composition which is a unique combination of Indian classical music (both Hindusthani and Carnatic) and Western classical. Ideally Tagore’s songs are not supposed to be sung with any accompaniment. It takes years of rigorous training to imbibe the gayaki or the technique (the voice throw and application of notes) of renditioning these songs. However, Vishwa Bharati (University established by Tagore) having relinquished its copyright of these songs (2001) has led to varied innovations/musical interpretation – a relaxation of the original austerity – to make them amenable to the masses, especially, the younger generation.

I am signing off with one of his songs sung by a renowned Bangladeshi singer, Rezwana Chowdhury, Bonnya, which is my all time favourite. She has sung this song with western orchestral arrangement which in itself is a novel experiment yet at the same time very much in tune with the compositional essence.