FF : The Guitar


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

Word Count : 100

The Guitar

I was turned into stone by the curse of Satan and stood rooted at a spot. Gradually a shop of glittery stuff got built around me. I was hung on a hook. Years passed. Those who visited the shop not even  glanced at me once.

Then one fine day a young boy came to the shop. He looked around. Then his eyes settled on me. He touched me with his soft nimble fingers. And lo! My strings pulsated and music erupted from my core.

Now I sing to my heart’s content in the arms of my beloved prince.

99 Words

You can read the other stories here.

Prayer


I have made prayer mandatory in my routine. Be it chanting shlokas in Sanskrit or the Hanumaan Chalisa in Awadhi or reading the holy book in Bangla prayer in any form is satisfying and calming. When I was working, due to a packed schedule and consequent time constraints, I used to do all my paath (readings) while commuting to and from the office.

Growing up I have seen my father sitting in dhyana in front of the deity regularly. My mother would sing bhajans or prayer songs every evening. My sister is deeply into meditation. I believe all these have an effect on me.

I have friends who are atheists which is quite okay. Investing in good thoughts and good deeds is the essence of holistic living.

Praying is not about being religious. It is acknowledging a higher power who is guiding our lives. Chanting mantras and chaupais are supposed to put in place the laya or rhythm of the body by dint of their inherent cadence. When we recite again and again our minds empty out and the focus on unnecessary thinking is shifted for the time being. Chanting a number of times a day is like a mental exercise facilitating declutter and silencing the mind.

Early morning prayer is starting the day on a sacred note. Like yoga does to the body prayer puts the mind in positive momentum. As we pray the mind is purified of negativity, if any, of the previous day. Praying at night before going to bed is meditative and induces sound sleep. Gratitude is also a prayer wherein we thank our guiding light for all the endowments in life.

Prayer, therefore, is also a form of healthcare and can be called one of the  ‘best practices’ of maintaining personal well being. That which calms the body and mind also helps in improving clarity of thought and purpose. In every religion the significance of prayer is the highest. In Islam it’s doing the namaaz five times a day, in Christianity it’s reading the bible and thanking the Lord, in Hinduism it’s reading the scriptures and prayer books and listening to spiritual talks.

Singing is also an excellent way of praying. In Gurdwaras we hear the gurvaanis. Being educated in a convent, singing hymns was part of our daily assembly. I have heard nuns singing in Carmelite Church which is an ethereal experience. I love the sufi qawwalis sung in Masjids and classical music concerts. Singing prayer songs is a regular ritual amongst the  members of Brahmo Samaaj. The prayers sung in Ramakrishna mission in dhrupad style are just transcendental. In our neighborhood temple ladies often sing together in praise of the Lord.

I have heard of ‘modern’ rituals of cleansing body and mind like aura cleaning, distant meditation and even past life regression etc. I am not sure about their efficacy though many indulge in these methods. Moreover, for these processes one is dependent on somebody else. Prayer, on the other hand, is a direct communication between you and your being.

Having said that I know many who consider prayer as an activity to undertake when one is old and in the last leg of one’s journey. Do you think praying is old fashioned? How important is it for you to pray? How would you like to have communion with the divine?

Let me know in the comments.

Who Am I To Say No


I always share and recommend binge worthy dramas, serials and movies which I have watched. But today it’s a bit different. I will share those which, according to me, are supremely avoidable. But take it with a pinch of salt as even I don’t know when I will make a U turn.

As you all know I am an ardent Pakistani drama watcher. As the controversial serial Main Manto Nahin Hoon (I Am Not Manto) was announced alongwith teasers I was all set to watch it. Moreover, a mention of Manto raises expectations. Saadat Hasan Manto was a celebrated Pakistani writer known for his powerful, stark , unflinching short stories. He is a greatly admired writer in Indian as well as Pakistani literary circle. The serial started with spectacular cinematography, uncommon to serials, and an ensemble of a stellar star cast. But the context was depressing. Family feud. Reference to gang wars. One family swearing to avenge the wrong done by the other. Death counts. And a pledge to kill to ensure the debit credit balance – if two sons of one family have been gunned down then the other family has to repay by allowing two of theirs to be killed. Against this bloody backdrop is Professor Manto, seemingly innocent, upfront and soft hearted,  pitted against the daughter of one of the dons who wants to continue with her University studies. Interesting till Manto misspells hierarchy and Maslow’s on the whiteboard. I lose all hope 😭. But then yesterday I happened to watch Humayun Saeed’s (enacting the role of Professor Manto) interview in Fuchsia Magazine. Since I like his dead pan face I am having second thoughts.

Currently I am watching Big Bang Production’s Biryani. Its about two students of two diametrically opposite milieu coming together in college. The girl is blackmailed by her Professor to tutor the scion of a powerful and rich feudal lord whose family has donated the land on which the college building stands. I find that novel. The chemistry of the lead pair, Ramsha and Khushaal, is an added attraction. Flipside Khushaal does not look like a college student at all.

Searching for more of their serials, I landed with Duniyapur. The maiden episode felt as though I was watching the 70’s super duper blockbuster Sholay (a dacoit movie ) once again. Noman Ejaz can sleepwalk through the role of a ruthless-turned-Robin Hood kind of overlord. His gun toting hot headed elder son Ali Raza – quite a surprise after the gentle and understanding lover of Dastak – does not see eye to eye with him. And  Khushaal Khan, the youngest son hates the blood and gore. Reminds me of Godfather. Again vengeance. Two warring families. Violence. Bloodbaths. A lot of war commotions. Everybody shouting at everybody and nobody knows who is saying what, I have not gone beyond the first episode.

When Metro Inn Dinon was in news I perked up. It was said to be a “spiritual sequel” to the sensitively made movie Life In A Metro dealing with emotional complexities and relational issues in urban life. Its USP was its super melodious songs. But the sequel is a bloomer. Five couples whose personal lives are intertwined scrambling through extra marital affairs, boredom in marriage, personal space crisis, sexual harrassment in office, choosing the Mr. Right, wrong choice of career and freedom from familial burden. Its over the top. Nonsensical. And a big let down. And who gave this idea to the Director to make a musical with scores that make you rush to the loo (sorry, bad example) as soon as the characters open their mouth to croon with a constipated expression when you expect a serious exchange of meaningful dialogue instead? I dozed through the film since I did not have much to do.

Two Graves again seemed exciting. Young and beautiful Veronica and her friend Marta go missing. A few days later Marta’s dead body is found underwater. Its a violent death with confirmation of sexual abuse. Veronica is still missing. When the police closes down the investigation due to lack of evidence Veronica’s grandmother decides to find answers to some disturbing questions on her own. Everything is going in the right track with me feeling sympathetic and understanding towards the poor, old lady when she suddenly becomes murderous in a fit of rage. Now how will you react when an old lady starts hammering her student (she teaches piano) who has  purportedly seen her granddaughter last before her disappearance and has not disclosed the same to the police? Do you think that is something logical and sane ? Its a three episoded serial but I am hesitant to continue further.

Well I did watch some good ones too but that will come in a detailed post later. I have come to believe very strongly that one becomes what one consumes. With that view I am very circumspect about what I watch and read. But lack of excitement in life is a big bane which may lead you to immerse into narratives which are completely antithetical to your mundane existence. Keeping that in mind I may revert to Two Graves or Duniyapur just for the heck of it. You never know.

Survival Of Folklore


Folklore has survived thousands of years carried over by word of mouth. They have ancient wisdom embedded in them and also the message not to meddle with Nature and fellow creatures.

I recently came across an article on folklore from different parts of the world published by Hindustan Times in its Sunday Magazine section. A gist of a few are given below as I found them really share worthy :

From Andaman And Nicobar Islands

Myths have depicted trees as wanderers and transporters of weary travellers. However, once a group of villagers dug up the forests for riches and asked the trees to carry the excavated precious resources to their homes. The trees rebelled and refused to move. Since then they are rooted at their spots.

From Arunachal Pradesh

It is said that there was a time when death did not exist. The old suffered and withered away painfully whereas the young fought for food. Raja Kachu, the local king, decided to secretly bury himself in the forest to leave more for his people. A loyal subject  looking for the king found a bird and a hornet weeping over his grave. Moved , the subject carried back some of the soil from the grave and along with it the ability to die and mourn over death.

From Khasi Tribe Of Meghalaya

In Khasi the peacock’s feather is known as Ummat Ka Sngi or Teers of the Sun Goddess. It is said that all peacocks were once dull grey. One day a vain and ambitious bird named U Klew flew all the way to the abode of the lonely Sun Goddess, Ka Sngi. Thrilled to have a companion, the Goddess showered all her attention on him neglecting the earth. Seeing this a clever woman sowed mustards in the field in such a way that it looked like a golden woman. U Klew was tricked and flew back leaving Ka Sngi. The grief stricken Goddess shed copious tears which fell on the peacock’s feather and created vibrant spots. Since then peacocks cannot take long flights but they greet Ka Sngi spreading their feathers every morning.

From Puducherry

In Puducherry it is believed that mermaids dwell in the Bay of Bengal calling out to local fishermen in captivating tones. Treat them respectfully the fishermen will be lulled to sleep and wake up to find their net full of fish. Disrespect them you may never be seen again.

From Bagia Tribe of Madhya Pradesh

A man called Latiya used a magic spell to conjure a tiger and tigress out of a tree so that they could eat his unwanted son. Instead the animals adopted the kid and raised him with care. When they became old the son started taking care of them even learning to hunt so that he could bring food for them. As a result of this unexpected bond between the animals and the tribe to this day Bagia will not harm a tiger.

From Tripura

A man was so busy playing the flute that he neglected to watch over his child who was taken away by a bear. The devastated wife cursed her husband that he would be born a bird with a beak like a flute with a harsh tone and that he would be responsible for caring and gathering food for his family flying far and wide. To this day the male hornbills forage for food while the females watch over the nests and keep the chicks safe till they can fly.

From Himachal Pradesh

On a scorching summer day, a selfish and cruel woman overworked her buffaloes and abandoned them to attend a village fair. Parched and exhausted the buffaloes died cursing her in the final moment.  As a result, she was born as Jackobin Cuckoo or the chataka, crying out for water throughout summer quenching her thirst only after the arrival of rains.

The message of all these folklore is to take care of Nature, family, fellow human beings and  fellow creatures so that an everlasting bond of kinship is forged not only between humans but also between humans and animals and  humans and Nature.

Let me know how you like the stories. Also tell me about the folklore of your country and what they teach.

(Source : Weekend Page of  Hindustan Times – 24.08.2025)

When You And I


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

When you and I sit for chai

Overlooking the mountains

Clouds glide by

When you and I sit for chai

When you and I sit for chai

The misty blue sky deeply sighs

The bushes bloom roses smile

When you and I sit for chai

When you and I sit for chai

The chiffon-y breeze caress by

It’s quiet hum song like

When you and I sit for chai

When you and I sit for chai

No words are spoken, tears dry

The heart knows the heart well nigh

When you and I sit for chai

When you and I sit for chai

Moments tick by  so fragile

A tale is writ stealing time

When you and I sit for chai

When you and I sit for chai

You and I know well nigh

Tomorrow may be another day

Another city another sky

Yet we hold hands today

Yet we let a memory get carved

Yet we let the throbbing hearts

Sing together a wispy croon

You and I like the sun and moon

Never to meet never to part

Yet we let the chai get cold

When you and I sit for chai

#Whatdoyousee

#WDSY

Just Not Happening Sunday


For the past few days nothing seems to be happening right. I am unable to read, write, do things which are important and also those things which I want to do because the things which are mandated must dos are nagging my brain. I am also not happy with what I am posting. In short, life is bothersome.

This week Poets And Storytellers United wants us to write on something good. But I cannot think of anything good which is not good. Gratitude should make me feel good by making me remember and value all the good that has happened to me.

Has nothing good happened to me ?  No, that’s not right. I have had plenty of good in my life. But the problem is I have not held on to them. I am just caught up with the bad.

I guess, this is my learning today. That is why things are not happening so that I realise what I have to work on and mend.

Having said that let me post the link to my response to the prompt with a promise to myself that I will every moment from now on memorise all the good things that have happened to me.

With that

Au Revoir

Have a Happy Sunday 😌💖

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

Remembering My Teachers


5th of September is celebrated as Teacher’s Day in India. It is the birth anniversary of the eminent scholar, philosopher, educationist and statesman, Dr. Sarvapalli Radhakrishnan, who served as the second President of India.

On this occasion, I am reminded of my favourite teachers who made the subjects they taught easy and interesting.

Renu Aunty, a lady in white, who introduced me to Bangla alphabets and Atashi Aunty who taught English. Their formative training opened the gateway to informal learning –  reading outside workbooks and lessons.

Mrs. Martin who made math fun in middle school and Mrs. Mehta, who encouraged writing in Hindi.

In high school, the plain and simple Ms. Jayanti Das, who never laughed, made a difficult and dreary language like Sanskrit top scoring. Credit goes to our Domestic Science teacher, Ms. Bharati Banerjee later Das, an ace mountaineer, who quite naturally encouraged us to take up extra curricular activities – a world beyond classroom studies.

In college,  Mrs. Haseeja and Mrs. Subramanian made complex and abstract papers like political thoughts and theories captivating.

It is said that one learns till one’s last breath. What is not included in the academic syllabus is taught by life itself. The lessons are hard but the wisdom gained is lifelong.

I am still learning. It’s fun and gives a purpose to life. Knowledge is oceanic. Knowledge is power. As much as we empower ourselves life becomes that much easier and worth living.

Thankfulness


I have recently joined a yoga class online for a fortnight. Our yoga instructor is a young boy. Each day of the week  is devoted to each part of the body – upper  , lower ,  shoulder, hip , spine and core. The session starts with warm up and ends with breathing exercises.

I am not allowed to do many of the exercises that involve movement of the abdominal muscles.  But those I can have increased my strength and spirit.

Every session ends with either affirmation, gratitude or laughter. Yesterday, it was laughter. Today our teacher told us to thank at least five different people.

I thanked my elder sister for being my friend and role model. She has always been  there for me in my highs and lows. I thanked my brother-in-law for being immensely supportive and encouraging as always in all my experiments and adventures.

I called my younger nephew and niece-in-law, who live in another metro city, and thanked them for the love they shower on me. Especially my niece-in-law who was there with me in the hospital in the post surgery phase. She did the night shifts while all along attending  office online. I have my elder nephew to thank who is very caring and has always been concerned about my health. Since he is working in the US of A,  I will phone him over the weekend.

I am yet to call my friends, my school buddies, who have always been there for me and with whom I can discuss anything under the sun. Since, they are all working I have to choose appropriate days and time to speak to them.

Last but not the least, I  thank all of you, my co-bloggers and well-wishers, who have been through my raves and rants, understood me, given me good advice and wished me well.

I realise I have many more to thank who have some way or the other extended help and provided support, in various phases of my life. I feel lucky that I have been rewarded with kindness, love and friendship which has seen me through adverse time.

Above all I thank the Almighty for his divine blessings.

I realise thankfulness is therapeutic. Thanking others we acknowledge their contribution in our lives, which in turn, fills us up with hope and courage to face life.

The Stunt And The Saviour


When we were small father insisted that me and my sister read the Newspaper everyday. If not the full article then at least the headlines. It was considered a General Knowledge booster so much necessary for competitive exams.

Well, I was never a Newspaper person. Neither did I sit for any competitive exams nor my General Knowledge was ever enviable. However, now that I have retired it’s one of my resolutions to read the papers diligently. But of course, I fail. Not because they are boring. In fact, they have become awfully interesting nowadays.

The first page is devoted to all the mudslinging that goes on in politics. Along with how ingenuously somebody murdered somebody. Real Christie stuff! Then there is invariably an article on how pollutants are numbering our days on planet earth. The latest is how state after state are taken by the floods which pointedly proves that nothing has so far been done to manage the climate change which is to be blamed for all the catastrophes according to the respective State Governments. These disasters every time remind me of Gulzaar’s cryptic lines:

उफ यह भीगा हुआ अख़बार

पेपरवाले को चेंज करो

पांच सौ गांव बह गए इसबार

(Oh! This soaked newspaper /Let’s change the vendor/Five hundred villages have been swept away this time)

To distract us there’s always the Page 3 full of colourful photographs of over made up faces half of whom I have never heard the name of.  One thing that I have realised is once you have that ticket to fame the paparazzi follows your every visit to the loo in the morning to the number of dates you bungled.

More baffling is the fashionistas – the handkerchief sized dresses they call high street fashion !!!

I guess  the Chief Editor of Daily epitomises the pinnacle of  diplomacy. He can give the bureaucrats a run for their money. The poor chap has to always do the tight rope walk between what he actually feels and what he is allowed to. Most of the time the editorial starts with the abject misery that everything and everyone is in and ends with a Utopian dream of  a rainbow streaked horizon in the very distant future.

At last the sports column which I don’t bother about because I have all my life religiously avoided all forms of physical exertion.

Now having said all that today I was really fascinated by a microscopic article that appeared in the magazine section. It was about how the city firefighters rescued a crow tangled in a tree while the public stood around with bated breath. How multiple bird rescues have been possible with the help of the hydraulic trucks of the fire department which can reach over 30 to 40 feet. How the Delhi Fire Services usually carry a 100 foot pole with a blade that helps cut through branches without hurting the birds. And how hundreds of calls have been received by them last month to save animals in distress.

Now this is what I call news which reinstates that we are still human. We still care for the birds and bees. We are still there for the poor animals, our fellow creatures, who cannot call out for help or dial the emergency helpline number when in need.

Above all the saviour of humanity discharges  duty without the crave for accolades or an eye on how many votes the act is going to earn.

And that is what I call a true hope raiser.

FF : The Forest


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

Word Count: 100

The Forest

The car broke down suddenly.

Since there was no way to get it repaired anytime soon we started walking deep into the nearby forest though we were scared of wild animals, poisonous plants, the thorny outgrowths, the half-light half shadow and the overwhelming silence.

In some time the forest gave way to a clearing. Out of nowhere we had the sun filled sky , the lush meadow and a prancing brook to ourselves. We widened our arms and embraced the vastness of the blue, the vibrance of green and the rush of silver.

In gratitude we bowed to our destiny.

100 Words

You can read the other stories here.