Tuesday, 12 March 2013

THE DISTANT STAR

                                   Starting to write a post after such a long gap really gives me a feeling of walking down those lanes of past which are seldom traversed but for a sudden,unwelcome event I have to resort to such alleys or means.Of course, as is clear from the mood of the writer one such event did take  place in her life ... and I'm pretty sure my readers' are already in a mood to know what it is but to them I would say feelings are more significant than the event itself.
                                   I was sitting in my hostel room with the doors and windows opened widely for the wind to gush in.After the harsh wintry wind the spring wind is pretty pleasant and welcoming.It makes me think didn't this harshness itself conceal the softness which it manifests now or did a heart so harsh mold into a soft one?The thought dragged me towards the open corridor which was moonlit and the soft breeze caressed my cheeks.
                                 I looked up and saw a distant star beside the bright silvery moon through the bending boughs of the peepal tree.A few moments of stare brought in few reflections.
                                         "That orbed maiden with white fire laden
                                                Whom mortals call the Moon,
                                         Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor
                                                 By the midnight breezes strewn;
                                          And wherever the beat of her unseen feet,
                                                 Which only the angels hear,
                                       May have broken the woof, of my tent's thin roof,
                                                 The stars peep behind her, and peer;

                                    And I laugh to see them whirl and flee,
                                                  Like a swarm of golden bees,
                                      When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent,
                                                 Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas,
                                       Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high,
                                                  Are each paved with the moon and these."
                             People near us who make our lives twinkle like stars at a certain point of time; their  value is understood only when they have gone too far.Times and situations have made my heart harsh I presume but there is softness within it and I do realise stars around me but fear to express my feelings for I am always disturbed by the thought of it being the distant one.

Saturday, 8 December 2012

December

                                      
                                    
                       December being the last month of the year surges in me a blend of happiness and sadness.Happiness because I get to celebrate my birthday,christmas and 31st night.Sadness because ,well that is what I've tried to pen down:
                       They say, “change is the only constant ”. However, when this change is quite sudden and unwelcoming then it leaves one amazed. About life and its uncertainty there is only very little to speak.
                        My grandfather, a man in his early eighties, like everybody’s grandfather was so terribly old that he could not have turned older. What was unlikely was that he never looked so old-with few wrinkles, few grey hairs, concealing his age. Yet his “gravity ruled our hands”. At an early age life for him was no less than a struggle, which I gather, taught him to be a hero in the strife!
                        He was like a father to his four brothers. He was a rail employee and with immense pain and labour, he had managed to build a beautiful house in  a small village in the outskirts of Durgapur. (It was only around last year that we left this house and came over to our place, here in Bidhannagar for reasons pertaining to my studies.)
                     He was like the farmer nursing the curling leaves of the newly grown grape vines-so loving ,ever caring-his presence was all warmth .Whenever  he was around I felt positive vibes gripping me,  eroding all gloom. My summer evenings went by gently and happily sitting in the veranda and taking grammar lessons from him. My brother (cousin) and I never bothered to learn much but loved his fervor to teach us. We remember how he would resort to his old fat favourite grammar book by P.K. De Sarkar and would deny looking at the modern versions of British English. And he would remark”grammar-er abar ki change re?” .Though antiquated yet genuine was something that added a feather to his hat. I have heard from my father that he had been a brilliant student .And the love he bore for learning showed up even in his old age.
                      As the senior most person of the house, he never stopped worrying for the younger ones-be it my father (who is quite old to take care of himself!) or my brother or me. Whenever my brother would be late from his tuitions grandpa’s restless heart would not let him stay at home. He went and sat by the national highway (just beside our village home) waiting eagerly for brother to return.
                                   “empty roads seem longer and darker
                                          Even more silent your empty room
                                     The evening sun did set but…
                                           It did not rise with you again.
                                   ‘ I dream I am at the ghat of the only world
                                          Today it’s only me and me alone…
                                   No old hands to hold ,no time to look back 
                                         The bed is laid for me
                                   Now all I want is rest in peace.’        “
                      Now that he is not amongst us, I can feel how vast the void is. Christmas is near with no bells, no cherries, no stars, no cakes, no mirth and no grandpa… he didn’t like my mother wearing salwar. That day when my mother was dressed in one I was about to tell her “grandfather is not going to like it.” All silences silenced for I realized there was no grandfather! His death makes me realize once again that we are humans who must die, but should not live like cowards-“cowards die many times before their death, the valiant never taste of death but once.”
                   It’s only when we truly know and understand that we have limited time on earth-and that we have no way of knowing when our time is up-that we will begin to live life each day to the fullest
As if it was the only one we had.
                     December kind of knocks me asking :' Did you live each day to the fullest ;not partying or idling but making life more meaningful?' ...Did I?