Wednesday, December 31, 2008

HAPPY NEW YEAR



“Students, its new year!” the teacher said, “And I want all of you to write down five blessings that according to you would help you live this year to the fullest.”

The teacher, next, observed the students open their notebooks with intent. But as time passed half of them didn’t have a clue and the others, scratching their head from time to time, kept thinking. By the end of the class only two students came up with a complete list.




Little Danny’s list:


1.) Our new i-10 car.

2.) My X-Box.

3.) My pet dog Sammy.

4.) Dad has increased my pocket money by 300 bucks.

5.) My Adidas shoes.


Little Johnny’s list:


1.) Two hands.

2.) Two legs.

3.) Two eyes.

4.) Will power.

5.) A dream. (I want to stand first in class this year)



By: NovoneeL ChakrabortY

Wednesday, December 3, 2008

Escalator

Day before yesterday I was standing on the second floor of a shopping mall with my friend. We were discussing nothing and everything.

Sometime during the discussion my friend suddenly pointed towards the first floor. I looked down and saw a middle aged man trying to get onto the stairs of an escalator. The funny thing was the stairs were moving down towards the base floor whereas he was trying to move up to the second floor. Yes, I did laugh along with my friend and so did all the others witnessing the bizarre attempt. But the public attitude didn’t deter the man from changing his intention. He kept on trying. It was comic – the scene – but only till the moment he climbed the downward-moving stairs, successfully, and reached his destination; the second floor.

While he was passing by us my friend cared to stop him. “You could have taken the other escalator. The one which-”

“I know.” The man cut him short. “Actually, all these years I never took on life. Every time my dreams urged me to climb up I found the stairs of my life moving down. And, each time, assuming it all to be impossible, out of fashion and something that’s not normal I, in the end, allowed my conviction to die. But today, in my own way, I wanted to kill the guilt inside. I know what I did just now is stupid prima facie but…”

“Never mind” my friend said, “We got the point.”



By: NovoneeL ChakrabortY


Monday, November 24, 2008

Love Story


They were the most insignificant creatures around. Probably. But still, when they saw each other, the most significant thing happened. The male ant fell in love with the female ant.

On their first date they shared a cube of sugar and got bonded forever. Life, living in one corner of the house, was tough. They were forced to feast on the leftovers. Yet they were happy for their point of alacrity was not the food but each other’s presence while having it. Then came a time when even the leftovers stopped coming.

“But I have to go. There is no other option.” The male ant tried to explain his restless lover.

“Then take me also with you.”

“Try to understand, please. Some places might not be secured for you.”

“Why did God do this to us? We were so happy together.”

“Don’t worry. When I come back we’ll live together till eternity.” And so the male ant went away in search of food.

Dawn to dusk the female ant kept waiting for her lover to return. But there was no sign of him. If an ant was missing for more than two days, history said, only the inauspicious could be the reason. Though the male ant had already gone for five days still she chose not to get affected by the thought. Not even when she started starving.At times when she closed her eyes she was convinced they won’t open again but at the slightest of noise the strength returned.

This went on till the seventh day when the male ant appeared with five cubes of sugar. She couldn’t believe her eyes.

“I missed you like anything.” The female ant hugged him tight. “You know, no matter how much history haunted me, not for a single second did I believe you could die before me. My love for you gave my faith a vision.”

“Even I” The male ant took over, “While traversing the unknown territories, in search of food, was skeptic at every step. My parents had taught me not to cross the line ever. But I did it this time … and in doing so realized your love for me helped me reach not only the food required for our survival but it also allowed me to dare my fears and while coming back something important haloed my conscience. I not only covered the distance to the food alone but, for once, also the distance between me and myself. Even human beings fail at that throughout their lives!

They kissed and then started feasting on one of the sugar cubes, just like old times.



By: NovoneeL ChakrabortY

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

Slippery

To Raghu’s utter disgust it happened for five days straight.

Moving across the hotel’s lobby, to provide the hotel staff with tea and snacks from time to time, Raghu always slipped and fell down. Every fall brought him thorny teases from the staff and a bite of embarrassment from within. In the end it was only Akbar chacha, the older security guard at the entrance, who used to offer his help.

As the first week got over he asked Akbar chacha about it. “Why do I fall in the same place every time? Though I repeatedly remind myself not to but still …”

“You fall because you don’t learn from the floor. You only focus on the fall while walking and thus a part of you always remains ignorant about the slippery floor. It’s always how-did-I-fall for you whereas it should be why-did-I-fall. Do you get me son?”

He didn’t get him completely but since his practice of what Akbar chacha told him Raghu never slipped again either.



By: NovoneeL ChakrabortY


Saturday, October 4, 2008

Plus - Minus

"Today" The teacher said, "I will tell you about the mathematics of life." He immediately turned around and drew a horizontal line on the black board. "What's this?" He asked aloud to the class.
Since it was a mathematics class the students were pretty much clear about it. "A minus sign."
"Right. It indeed is a minus sign. Each one of us has or will experience a minus, or minuses, at some point in our lives. What then?"
A boy raised his hand and after a nod from the teacher said, "Screw-time."
A wave of laughter touched the entire class.
"Exactly!" The teacher continued, "And I presume nobody likes that. So how do we turn the minus into a plus?" Blank faces gaped at the teacher.
"Let us suppose 'I' is an individual and 'I' chooses to confront the minus by being at the middle of things then lets see what happens to the minus." He again turned around and this time drew an 'I' vertically over the minus.

"That's a plus!" He heard the awe-struck voices and instantly knew his job was done.


By: NovoneeL ChakrabortY

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

The Zip

"How can I help you sir?" The attendent asked me with the typical plastic smile of a salesman.
"I need a pair of jeans."
"What is her waist size?"
"Her? Excuse me...I need it for myself."
"I am sorry sir but this is the ladies section."
I instantly cleared my throat, thank you for embarassing, I thought while he continued.
"Please follow me this way sir."
I did.
After perusing a heap of jeans I finally got what I wanted. The texture, the cutting, the color, the fitting everything was just perfect. I knew my shopping was done. Out of curiosity I thought of checking it out one final time. And that was when I found the zip was not working. Believe me had it been anything else I might have still thought of buying that rare looking jeans but the zip ... no way was I ready to go public with my stuff.
"Could you please give me another of this thing?" I asked the attendent.
"Sorry sir we got only one piece."
"But the zip isn't working."
"If you give us two days we can provide you with another piece of this type."
A sighed deeply, when was the last time I got something without having to wait for it? "Alright. I'll come in the week end."
"Thank you sir."
Dejected I stepped out of the shop and as I took a taxi for home a thought ocurred to me: No matter how good a pant is if the zip doesn't work ... nothing works.
Something inside me immediately replaced the word pant with person and zip with character.


By: NovoneeL ChakrabortY

Wednesday, August 20, 2008

The Lonely Billionaire

Life and death: the inevitable eclipse continues to elude me.
Today is my birthday. It’s also that one lonely day - in the otherwise treadmill three-sixty-five - I spend in my native place with the candles of nostalgia illuminating those surreal corners within me where someone resides being the warmth of my memories. Her permanent absence is as important to me as was her temporary presence. And sometimes I feel I am more about her than about myself.
As for the rest of the year I breathe in, I breathe out and yes I work. That only helps add more to my already billionaire status. But honestly, it was only when I was young, with my pockets empty of bucks, that I felt truly rich. One needs money only to be rich, not necessarily feel rich. Now, at fifty five, I have earned enough to buy half the world but I am yet to have that one currency note that would help bribe my conscience not to accuse me of being a beggar. Money really jumbles our attitude but love simplifies it irrespective of the altitude. More so a love lost. Trust me, I am an example.

It’s well into the afternoon and I wish I could have come at the intended time. An urgent board meeting got me late. But when a destination is reached, ultimately, the impediments along the way are often forgiven.
I direct my pensive walk towards a lake while an ineffable innocence, awake in every spool of this place, whispers her presence to me. And I don’t even have to close my eyes to hear it. Though she continues to hide behind the opaque curtain of oblivion with a terse mood of fate but nevertheless, whenever I come here everything around resounds with the immortality of her once-upon-a-time touch.
I stand facing a lake. Its ironic stillness reminds me of the way it used to smile – its face stretched with a myriad of zealous ripples – from the moment it tasted our youthful bodies. In fact I was the one who helped her understand the ballad of water. She had seen me swimming one day, from behind a tree, and later requested if I could help her learn the same. That was why we met and that was how everything started. Everything.
Whenever we were together – mostly during afternoons – the perfume of our impeccable camaraderie would intoxicate the air enough to compose an exhilarating choreography. Our favourite pass time was to swim together for hours and also dry ourselves later in the sun. We were teenagers then so happiness, rather being the raiment of a dolorous search within the dark catacombs of our existence, was more about experiencing the sublime serendipities that nature beheld for us to appraise; only us - she and I.
I doff my Armani suit on the ground and loosen up my Jacques Didier tie a little. I take a sip from the bottle of Champagne I brought along and sit down on the bed of dry fallen leaves. They crackle with my weight helping me to surmise the first time I had made love to her. Neither of us had professed our feelings till then and yet she dared to surrender her treasure to me. I was scared for I wasn’t sure whether I would be able to preserve her trust forever. I am a man after all and straying is as easy as falling prey to the torque of destiny. One curious touch led to another and the rest just followed. On one hand, the kisses, the caresses and the friction of our skin seemed like an oblation to life. While on the other, the concoction of pain and pleasure that shrouded us when we got consumed into each other was a sure thumbs-down to ecumenical suffering. Our desperate movements, to devour everything the other offered, made the leaves crackle with an ardent lunacy. By the time our innocuous instincts got daubed with the colour of satisfaction we thought we could never get up again only to feel the urgent ache of passion mounting, the immediate hour. I believe the entire process of corporeal completion, with the one person you ever felt was born as your gift from nature, is probably the lone silver lining in the otherwise black cloud of life.

Few children are playing on the other side of the lake. They throw a pebble or something that disturbs its mystic trance. The turbulence, though mild, makes me wonder. How does one assure himself of a festive future? By embracing the love of his life, I answer myself. Tighter the embrace, titanic the assurance. I sigh and look above at the group of birds flying into the sparkling distant horizon. They look tiny and half a minute later vanish from sight. I avert my eyes to the sky and appreciate the fleece of white clouds that spare the blue infinity of humiliation as its nude form rarely inspires any soul. I hope it knows what the clouds are doing for it.
I turn my head and see the maple tree on whose bark we had written a mutual promise – Neil loves Angie – fenced by a fledgling romantic heart with a cupid’s arrow at the center. I get up and amble towards the tree. I see the promise still there. The emboss has sure flattened since last year but not the imprint. Trees are better than life; at least they help us bank our promises over a period of time.
I traipse around. With every alternate step I try to finish my Champagne, sip by sip. I notice some of the trees have been cut. Was it so the last year too? I don’t remember. A minute of loitering and I reach the spot from where her house is visible. It has aged. The gate looks real rickety now. The gate! Oh the gate! Standing beside it, a year after our first meeting, I had proposed her.
“One simple nod from you and my life would be blessed for eternity. I hope I don’t sound crazy.” I had said, after rehearsing it for two nights straight. I had also given her two nubile apples; stolen from a nearby orchard. But all she gave me was a stare. It confused me. Seconds later when she spoke, her eyes had tears. “The sea invades the life of a shore with the waves of love and then leaves it thirsty like never before. Certain things happen not to stay with us forever but only to ebb away in the end. Our story has no scope Neil.” Whenever she took my name, I swear, my existence felt worth a thousand gold. But at that time I felt nothing. Her words kept echoing, with an obnoxious resonance, within my suddenly turned hollow self. Neither did I speak nor did she add a syllable more. I could have pushed harder to squeeze out words that would have asked for an explanation. I definitely could have done that only if I knew it was the last time I was seeing her in my goddamn life. I sigh. Did anyone say life is short? I guess the person never lost out on things that mattered.
Alright I did saw her one more time but that was in the form of a body shrouded with a black cloth. That’s just a fact though. The truth is, no matter how much I craved and cried after that, I could never tell her those three words which constituted the Bible of my intentions, ever since. How would have the history of this world altered had I got her? How would have anybody’s sleep be ruined if she lived? And how would have our story denied anyone anything had it not suffered such a cruel climax?
Several times, after her funeral, I thought of killing myself. Anyone who leaves, after all, is only a death away. And death is always kinder than life for it happens faster. Much faster. But the moment I was about to slash my wrist I realized suicide is an insult to love and only a Pyrrhic victory against life. Had I committed the insult then I would have not only killed myself but also the austere feelings she flowered within me; feelings which hollered their desire to share a life with me. And who was I to thwart them? Thus I chose to wait for my end and not plot it myself.
I continue to traipse and once in a while pick up a pebble and fling it towards the lake. I don’t really care where it actually drops. Instead I wonder, what do we mean when we say I love you to someone? Apart from the literal meaning is there no other allusion to it? Doesn’t it also involve a no-turning-back kind of a commitment? Like the lessons taught at the junior classes: never compromise with your morals. Don’t the three words, once they are spoken, assume the moral lock of our feelings for that person? I sigh. There are so many hidden unscrupulous races within the human race that it is difficult to surmise any kind of answers.
Dusk is slowly blearing the noon ambience and the scene makes me feel as the only one alive within the purlieus of a powerful painting. I am now approaching the kids on the other side of the lake. They are playing and talking to one another. Few words from one of them nudge my ears. “What will you do if you get it back?” What will I do if I get her back? I ponder for sometime. What will I do if I get her back?
I don’t know.
At times, when I repine at her absence, I feel guilty. How can her distance from me be more significant than my love for her? And at times, when I rejoice over her once presence, I feel stupid. How can I overlook the obscure reality? But thankfully all the emotional polarities are about her. Thus, in the end, I manage to feel blessed.
Though I have few close friends but they are always full of themselves. Either they are plain bad listeners or may be my stuff simply bores them. So whenever a certain indomitable need to talk, in order to help my stagnant emotions flow, whirls my interior instead of calling the close ones I bang walls, break showpieces, tear bundles of blank paper or sometimes even deliberately injure myself. But nothing works till the need, perhaps out of pity, chooses to subside. Everything comes at a cost. And luck comes under that everything. I guess.
Previously, each passing day used to frighten me for it presented itself as another brick adding to the wall of separation but now the passing of days excites me for every moment lived is actually about conquering time, inch by inch, to reach her.
I suddenly realize a full circle around the lake is complete. I pick up my suit and at first think of wearing it but soon relinquish the thought. Flinging the suit over my shoulder I walk up to the tree. I sigh. I stare at our promise. I sigh again and keep the now empty bottle of Champagne on its feet. Though I know I won’t find it there the next time but that’s beside the point.
I look at my watch. Time’s up, it reveals. That’s it for this year. I slowly amble towards my private jet with a heart that reminds me of the thought I cater to, each time, before leaving this place. Will I stay alive for one more year to experience what I did today?
I rub my eyes. I hope yes but pray no.
Though an imminent tale of birth and death separates us but forgetting Angie, I believe, is beyond me and creating someone like her again, I know, is beyond God.


By: NovoneeL ChakrabortY

Wednesday, August 6, 2008

BELIEF

They were lovers but they had never met.

It was by chance, while logging on to an online chat room, they bumped into each other and within three months of daily exchange of views, perceptions, likes and dislikes realized love between them was imminent.

With both confessing their love for the other the relationship advanced to the next stage where they started conversing over the phone every night. They desperately wanted to meet up but since they lived far apart they reluctantly had to wait for the right time.

“You know there is a tree in front of my house.” The girl once told the boy.
“Which tree?”
“I don’t know its name but it sheds a lot of leaves. And while watching it yesterday I thought of something.”
“What?”
“If our love for each other is true and pure then we will meet before it sheds all its leaves.”
The boy was silent for a while and then replied, “I hope so.”

Eight years went by and then there came a day when the boy happened to visit the girl’s place.
“I can’t believe we are meeting at last!” He was jubilant.
“I am glad we held on.”
Traipsing along hand in hand they reached the spot where the tree stood.
“Is this the tree you always told me about?”
The girl didn’t respond.
The boy checked out the tree but as he did so a cloud of gloom covered the sky of his emotions.
“It has already shed its leaves, isn’t?”
The girl looked at the boy and smiled. “Look closely…there is still one leaf present.”
The boy carefully perused the tree again but found nothing.
“Where?”
“Here” She pointed towards her heart. “It’s called Bleaf. And in the last eight years it never fell from the tree of our love.”

The boy looked at the girl for a moment and then hugged her as tightly as he could. His eyes were wet. And so were hers.


By: NovoneeL ChakrabortY

Sunday, July 20, 2008

Its cricket!

~NOTE~: This is one of my first write ups written way back in 2004. Hope you'll like it...


If there is any game which is a true reflection of life, it’s cricket.

Each one of us is born within a ‘stadium’ (house, surroundings etc.) which is unique in its own way. At first we watch our parents and then comes our turn. The pitch (life itself) given to us is some what related to the ‘stadium’ in which we are born. Whether the relation is directly or indirectly proportional depends upon the 3rd umpire (God!). Other than the 3rd here also there are two umpires on field. The first one stands facing us - Mr. Destiny. Second one stands at square leg - Mr. Time. Consider them neutral but only at your own risk!

The pitch given to each one of us is generally different (no matter what your skills are or what kind of person you are.). That’s the monopoly our ‘3rd umpire’ has.

There are pitches which are flat. On such pitches every ball (opportunity) comes on to the bat (in our life) quite easily. The batsman only has to touch the ball and it goes to the fence like lightening!

Then there are pitches where it’s very difficult to play in the beginning because of its slowness. But steadily and surely as the batsman, with dogged determination, gets used to the pitch (life) he starts scoring and more often than not goes on to play a good knock.

There are also pitches which initially look flat but later become cumbersome to bat on. Immense pressure builds up and ultimately the batsman perishes. These batsmen are like Mirages – they promise a lot initially but rarely deliver.

Lastly there are pitches where every ball right from start is sharp and dangerous. It’s a pitch where every out-swinging ball eventually in-swings and the stumps (hopes, aspirations) goes for a toss. But only this kind of pitch has the potential to produce memorable innings. Such a pitch improves the batsman’s skill, makes him more focused, concretes his determination, develops his patience and cultivates in him all the right ingredients to make a legend! This is the pitch that teaches us a simple fact: sometimes staying at the ‘crease’ and facing the heat is also important.

Life is a One Day International (ODI) where every ball (opportunity) counts. [May be life in a metro is a 20-20!]. We cannot afford to defend unnecessarily as we are never sure of the number of overs allotted to us. So it becomes all the more mandatory to make every ‘over’ (day/opportunity) count and KEEP SCORING!


By: NovoneeL ChakrabortY

Friday, July 18, 2008

V-I-B-G-Y-O-R

“Alcohol has taught me one truth”, the drunkard said aloud.

A young man, standing on the edge of a cliff, about to end his life, and thus far absorbed in his own world, suddenly wanted to hear the drunkard complete the statement. But nothing happened for a minute. With impatience boiling inside him he shot the question directly to him instead, “What truth?”

“Happiness is opaque.” The drunkard replied promptly.

“Really?” The young man mocked.

“It never allows the light of our congenital talents to express themselves.”

“Then what does?”

Half a minute went by in silence.

“The prism of adversity allows us to express our true colours. Only after going through it does our V-I-B-G-Y-O-R, the one reflecting our core, is visible to the whole world.”

The young man – as the drunkard’s words made a nest in his conscience – found himself standing with his back at the cliff…already.



By: NovoneeL ChakrabortY

Monday, July 14, 2008

Protection is Bliss

videoHi...

"Protection is Bliss" is a short film made by me and my friend, Arindam Dey. Though the idea struck me an year back but we ended up making it this March only.

We used a Nikon CoolPix L6 camera popularly used to click still photographs. :)

We didn't pen a single word before making the film (contrary to what we usually do) and yet managed to finish the shooting, editing, mixing and publishing within five hours straight...

I hope you'll like both the film and the thought behind it...

- Novo.

Sunday, July 13, 2008

The Shape

The writer, as usual, was sitting at a corner on the last bench of the road side motel observing everyone from the cook to the customers. That was important for observation excited stories within him. But today was a rebel. He was there since morning and by evening he still was clueless about his next story.

Irritated, he panned his neck for the umpteenth time. And he saw a white ghost! A moment later he realized, to his relief, it was the same helper (now totally covered with flour) who had been giving shape to the flour dough since morning. He observed him closely. The man smiled faintly whenever he flattened the dough. Also, to the writer’s astonishment, each shape was an exact copy of its predecessor. Working without rest how can he be so perfect at it? The writer first asked himself and later to the man.

“I am the only bread earner for my wife and two kids.” He replied. “And when I joined this place last week my employer told me if I don’t falter at my job he would never wash his hands off me.”

“So?”

“So I try giving shape to the flour dough assuming it to be my destiny. Till the shape of the dough is intact, my destiny is intact.”

The writer, a little taken aback by the allusion, asked, “And what about this constant smile on your face? Don’t you get bogged down by the pressure of producing a perfect shape each time?”

“That is always there – the pressure – but honestly how many of us get a chance to shape our own destiny?”

“True.” The writer replied and a second later asked himself, “Don’t we all do?”



By: NovoneeL ChakrabortY

Thursday, July 10, 2008

The Basket


Henry’s job was that of a helper at the fruit department of the city's most popular supermarket. But instead of doing his job he always stood, wearing an invisible yet heavy cloak of frustration, at a corner looking indifferently at the customers. Not that they cared for him. The customers were always busy selecting and putting the fruits, one by one, into their baskets according to their liking.

Today was no different. Only that instead of looking blank Henry was observing a kid who was fighting hard to push few more apples in his already filled-to-maximum basket. And a while later, as imminent, all his apples were on the floor, rolling to various corners. Couple of workers from the other side came forward to help but Henry stood his ground. His focus by then had shifted to an old lady on the adjacent section who was slowly putting the mangoes inside her big basket. And instantly, with an instinct of creation, he heard a stentorian voice inside him speak.

What about your basket? The one you have been carrying for so many years now… your big basket of failure. Come on Henry you were given the basket not to carry it around like a fool all your life but it was your chance to collect, using the common sense of hard work, more and more fruits of success compared to the ones who don’t get that basket ever. It’s high time you get this into your head…failures are a gift!

Henry, with a faint smile of realization, ran up to the kid and along with the others helped him place all his apples in a bigger basket.

“Next time” He told the kid, “Remember to take a bigger basket from the counter.”

Bigger the basket of failure, greater are your chances of securing more fruits of success, Henry now knew.


By: NovoneeL ChakrabortY

Sunday, July 6, 2008

A Thing Beyond Forever






THE BLURB...

What happens when life plays a trick on two innocent lovers? What happens when your first love – much against all possibilities – comes back to you in the most bizarre and astounding manifestation ever?

Dr. Radhika Sharma, for the world outside, is an aberrant and arrogant feminist. But inside, she resides in a far-away world like a vulnerable first sketch of an artist. One night an innocuous enquiry by a nine-year-old patient coaxes her to open someone’s personal diary. And, as she reads on, a bygone era comes to the forefront taking her through a cavalcade of exclusive events that life, love and friendship offer at the noon of adolescence. By the time she finishes reading the diary, it’s already morning. And by night time she finds herself face to face with a question that defies logical explanation.

Is falling in love a random act or a planned coincidence? Is attraction the missing link between souls? Will the light of true love outshine the dark shadow of destiny?

Even when Radhika gets the copasetic answers there are still two more chapters to go…


~ THE REWARD FOR EVERY TRUE LOVE IS NOT LOVE ~

A Thing Beyond Forever :::

ISBN : 8188575674
Cover price: Rs. 100
Extent: 212 pages
Format: Paperback
Published by: Srishti Publishers & Distributors.


* Now can be purchased online @ :

http://www.landmarkonthenet.com

http://books.rediff.com

Life's Own Punctuation

The boy, from his small window that helped frame the outside world, was watching the beggar lying still on the street, a stark contrast to his otherwise daily hue and cry. The boy, with a question thundering in his innocent mind, immediately ran to his father.

"Daddy, why is the beggar lying still today?"

"May be he is suffering from some disease." His father responded, flipping a page of the morning newspaper he was reading.

"Is life a disease daddy?"

The query made his father shift his focus from the newspaper to his son. "No. Who told you that?"

"I have heard the beggar say often that life is full of suffering."

His father thought for a while and then said, "Tell me have you been taught punctuations in school?"

"Yes."

"So what does a comma stand for?"

"A comma is used to bring order to a statement."

"Right. Likewise, suffering is life's own punctuation. It is the comma in the statement of life. When we encounter a comma in a statement we stop momentarily, absorb the sense and then move on. The real significance of suffering is also the same - wait, absorb the sense and move on." The father caressed the boy’s forehead and continued, "It’s the statements with proper punctuation that appeals the most."

The boy thinks for a while and then asks, "Then shouldn't the beggar be the most appealing person?"

The father laughs out. "Son, only the blessed ones have this punctuation at the right place. Though they don't realize it at first but once they look back at their statement of life it surprisingly reads better than the most…and in perfect order too."


By: NovoneeL ChakrabortY

What Are You Looking At?

"It always happens this way." The Sun told the Wind. "What does?" The Wind was as usual

curious.

"Thorns and roses - they always co-exist."

"But there outer self is in such irony to the inner self."

The Sun gave the Wind a blank look. Surmising the hint the Wind chose to clarify further.


"Yesterday when I was blowing I overheard the rose talking to itself..."


THE ROSE:


I don't know why the hell people smile when they see me. I look so pathetic. All my life

I simply exist being a sharp and pointed thing good for nothing except hurting

people. Or may be they feel better about themselves after seeing my silly and ugly

existence!


The Wind sighed and continued. "I overheard the thorn too..."


THE THORN:


I don't know why people are afraid of me. Some even ask their children to maintain safe

distance from me whereas I think I am one of the most beautiful thing ever created. My

petals, my design, my colour, my softness, my aura, my romance...where else would they get

such an austere mix? And yet...still, I thank God for the way he made me and no matter what

others think or do to me I would rather prefer to remain happy forever as in the end there

are so few things in this world which are as beautiful as I am.


"So", this time the Sun sighed, "the rose is unhappy for it assumed itself – probably

looking at the thorn all its life – to be just a thorn and thus ignored the happiness that

it deserved all these years. While on the other hand the thorn assumed itself to be a rose

and thus enjoyed happiness ever since."


The Wind nodded.

"It always happens this way."

"What does?"

"Happiness can definitely follow us wherever we go and whatever we do ... only if we

know what we are and what actually we are looking at."

By: NovoneeL ChakrabortY

The Complaint

"The sea was much better," the traveller complained. "Whenever I got tired it at least had its currents to push me forward on my journey but you," he looked at the vast desert surrounding him, "you are of no help."

He went down on his knees, dead tired. When his breaths restored back to normalcy, a while later, he heard the desert's voice.

"I agree. I am of no help like the sea and thus I often depress people. But do you really think people will remember you for crossing the sea? Never! For the sea doesn't allow you to leave any mark. I, on the contrary, do. Thus, if you cross me, I swear, you will in turn immortalize yourself with the imprints you leave over me!"

The traveller got the essence and got up to walk on. "It's always about the imprints," his heart echoed.


By: NovoneeL ChakrabortY

The Seed

Once upon a time, there was a seed and because it was only a seed, nobody cared to notice it. Thus, gripped by a sense of inferiority, the seed gave no importance to his existence.

Then one day, a wind picked him up - randomly or otherwise he didn't know - and threw him mercilessly on an open field under the sweltering sun. He was confused. Why would anything do such a thing? But instead of any copasetic answers, he was provided with rain (in addition to sunlight); sometimes in drizzles and sometimes in torrents.

Meanwhile time flew and years later he saw a traveller sitting by his side. "Thank you God for this. I really needed some rest," he heard the traveller say.

"What are you talking about?" The seed promptly asked. He thought the man was making fun of him. Sure, he had witnessed many people sitting by his side - more so in recent years - but no one ever spoke to him like that.

"Who is this?" The man was startled.

"This is me. The seed."

"The seed?" The man looked at the giant tree. "Are you kidding me? You are no seed. You are a tree. A goliath of a tree!"

"Really?"

"Yes! Why else do you think people come here?"

"What do they come here for anyways?"

"To feel your shade! Don't tell me you didn't know you had grown over time."

A moment passed before the traveller’s words struck the chord of realization within him.

The seed, now a prolix tree, thought and smiled for the first time in his life. The years of relentless tortures by the sun and the rain finally made sense to him.

"Oh! That means I'm not a tiny-flimsy seed anymore! I wasn't destined to die unnoticed but was actually born to strip people of their lassitude. Wow! Now that's a life worth a thousand gems!"



By: NovoneeL ChakrabortY