"There are people who believe that dreaming is an insanity. The sad part is that others who have dreams, do not show enough confidence to trust their own dreams."--Anu.
4
My dreams exist, in insomnia.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Here is one of the comments I received for the post titled "A true Story" through facebook, from Ms. Rosanna Bruno:
"Tieni sempre presente che la pelle fa le rughe,
i capelli diventano bianchi,
i giorni si trasformano in anni.
Però ciò che è importante non cambia;
la tua forza e la tua convinzione non hanno età.
Il tuo spirito e' la colla di qualsiasi tela di ragno.
Dietro ogni linea di arrivo c'è una linea di partenza.
Dietro ogni successo c'e' un'altra delusione.
Fino a quando sei viva, sentiti viva.
Se ti manca cio' che facevi, torna a farlo.
Non vivere di foto ingiallite...
insisti anche se tutti si aspettano che abbandoni.
Non lasciare che si arruginisca il ferro che c'è in te.
Fai in modo che invece che compassione, ti portino rispetto.
Quando a causa degli anni
non potrai correre, cammina veloce.
Quando non potrai camminare veloce, cammina.
Quando non potrai camminare, usa il bastone.
Pero' non trattenerti mai!
Rose.."
Translation: (with the help of Google Translator)
Rosanna's Facebook Link:
http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1664359255
Thank you Rosanna for your word pearls.
My sincere thanks to Terri Gauthier for helping me out in translation.
"Tieni sempre presente che la pelle fa le rughe,
i capelli diventano bianchi,
i giorni si trasformano in anni.
Però ciò che è importante non cambia;
la tua forza e la tua convinzione non hanno età.
Il tuo spirito e' la colla di qualsiasi tela di ragno.
Dietro ogni linea di arrivo c'è una linea di partenza.
Dietro ogni successo c'e' un'altra delusione.
Fino a quando sei viva, sentiti viva.
Se ti manca cio' che facevi, torna a farlo.
Non vivere di foto ingiallite...
insisti anche se tutti si aspettano che abbandoni.
Non lasciare che si arruginisca il ferro che c'è in te.
Fai in modo che invece che compassione, ti portino rispetto.
Quando a causa degli anni
non potrai correre, cammina veloce.
Quando non potrai camminare veloce, cammina.
Quando non potrai camminare, usa il bastone.
Pero' non trattenerti mai!
Rose.."
"Keep in mind that the skin makes wrinkles, hair becomes white, the days turn into years. But what is important does not change, your strength and your
Your spirit and 'the glue of a
Do not live in yellowed photos ... even though all insist they expect retirement. Do not let it rust the iron in you.
Make sure instead to let compassion take you over. When you cannot run because of the years, walk fast. When you cannot walk fast, walk. When y
Rose...
Rosanna's Facebook Link:
http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1664359255
Thank you Rosanna for your word pearls.
My sincere thanks to Terri Gauthier for helping me out in translation.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Grandchildren are indeed a temptation for any of us; their curiosity, eager questions, and excited eyes. It is for them we create history; to satiate their curiosity, answer those eager questions, and to fill those bright eyes with more excitement. Every one of us desire to leave such a story behind that would later around a campfire or an armchair inform what we were and in what proud siege we had conquered all the worries and occupied success even after shattering ourselves in the storm of failures. Ajay Sangeeth is one of them who had revived history. He recreated the age old traditional boat service across the Anjarakandy River
The river, known by the name Anjarakandy River Anjarakandy River
The river, known by the name Under the auspices of the people’s committee, Mr. Sangeeth, the convener, had re-established the traditional boat service. The jetty was in use for over forty years until six years back. “Our attempt was to renovate the old jetty. I have an emotional attachment with it. It is part of my history, our history, the history of Muzhailangad,” Sangeeth said.
It was December and the time for he annual maintenance work for the boat. Even though, the financial benefit from the boat service was meager, the committee wanted it to be run efficiently. On a Tuesday morning second week in December, Sangeeth received a phone call. He identified the person on the other side as the worker assigned for taking the wooden boat out of the river. What he said was a terrible thing that Sangeeth did not want to believe, but had to, because it was reality.
Sangeeth was confident that the threat that was dreaded all along from the day of re-establishing the boat service, would never approach their boat—the sand exploiters. The river, especially the part of the river where the jetty worked was under their ‘reign’. They mined sand from the river, illegally.
A jetty working there with people crossing the river in a boat every now and then would be a serious threat to the privacy the miners enjoyed. So there were chances that they could interfere into the boat service. They could even burn the boat down. They had thugs and money and political holds in respected positions of government, as well. Every one knew this in the village. And that exactly was the reason for Sangeeth’s confidence. When every one knew how grave a threat the boat service was causing to the sand miners and how badly the miners wanted to destroy the boat, they would not do anything in the fear of being exposed publicly.
“The boat is missing!” the voice from the other end said.
“What? What happened? Did you check every where?” Sangeeth enquired back.
There was a silence and then: “The boat has been missing for the last three days. I came here on Saturday and could not find it. I thought you or some one else from the committee might have taken it out from the river along with the Friday night’s up-tide. Then the next day I was busy with something and could not come around. I searched everywhere on the river shore on Monday but the boat was nowhere to be found. I am sorry. What shall we do now?”
Another silence.
“He was right. We usually take the boat out from the river during the up-tide. On Saturday, he was appointed to take it out. But why did he think someone would have taken the boat out onto the share on Friday itself? For sure, I think, it might have been the thought of the up-tide. You have to rely greatly on tides, because at his time of the year the water flow in the river is usually high,” says Sangeeth in his interview with me.
“The boat service was a wonderful tourism possibility, too. Tourists used the boat to explore the river as well as a small island situated between the Ajarakkandy River and the Arabian Sea, a piece of earth floating on the blue water, unique with its possibilities and open to explorations. One could also oar across the juncture where the river meets the sea. And all for an amount equal to nothing.” Sangeeth added.
The boat had been moored safely to the shore so that the heavy flow of the river could not take it away along with it. The question was how it disappeared. To find that out they needed to find the boat or at least the remains of it.
There was no search party, since the people’s committee who was in a financially depleted stage. So they could not spend any more money on another mission.
“We had a fund for the renovation of the boat; I mean its annual maintenance. We could have used that money to find it. They asked me to use it. But I said no. I had a feeling that we would find the boat safely.” Sangeeth said.
Wednesday morning dawned with a phone call to Sangeeth. That was the same man, the maintenance worker who rang him up the previous day.
“We found the boat! It is near Dharmadam now; on the beach. It almost reached the sea by the heavy flow in the river. I heard that somebody had found it near the bridge and tried to moor it there, but it again was washed away by the current.”
So the boat was now on the beach, and may be safe, though he did not say anything more. Sangeeth and the oarsman of the boat reached Dharmadam. There he noticed, on the pristine white sand, rested like a grey, dead whale, their boat.
After a close scrutiny they realized that the boat is let loose manually from the jetty. They found the rope attached with the boat’s bow, slit, with its knot with the fastening rope intact, which was used to moor the boat to the shore, giving ample evidences to prove Sangeeth’s worst fear materializing.
“They had been there, in it—the sand exploiters. For sure”—Sangeeth said.
The boat was almost ruined. “It was a better idea, practically, to leave it there than to pay another amount to bring it back to Muzhappilangad kadavu, to the jetty. But if we brought the boat back, it would be a reply to those who committed this sort of an anti-social activity. It was a commitment to the people of Muzhappilangad, who paid money for establishing the boat service from the meager income they get. And so we brought it back, with the help of a fishing boat.”—Sangeeth said.
Sangeeth had one final request, too. “We want the world to know this story; this story of pride, of hardships to keep the tradition alive for the younger generation to carry forward, of commitment to people and of an endless struggle. We cannot use that boat anymore. It is all ruined. We need to buy a new one. And for that we request support and donations from all over the world.”
For more details on visits to Dharmadam, Muzhappilangad, and to this land of proud struggle, contact: ajaysangeeth1@rediffmail.com
Also read:http://open.salon.com/blog/side_walk/2011/01/04/the_boat_chase
For more details on visits to Dharmadam, Muzhappilangad, and to this land of proud struggle, contact: ajaysangeeth1@rediffmail.com
Also read:http://open.salon.com/blog/side_walk/2011/01/04/the_boat_chase
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
1
The journey towards my dream is painful,
But I am happy,
For the pain is the sign of me, being alive.
I present to you “Dreams”: The New Series of My ‘I-Poems’.
Somebody reminded me of my ‘i-poems’ today. And it was then I realized how I missed them too. So in the first month of this year, I have decided to start a new series of i-poems.
Whoever you are, whatever your aesthetic temperaments are, we surely have one thing in common—Dreams. We all have dreams even though, each of us signify them in our own terms. For some of us dreams may be the only reason to remain alive. But for some others dreams are the extraordinary moments that help them to skip through the hell fire of daily worries and the tortures faced in the struggle for existence, smoothly.
It seems to me a better way, to disclose one’s dreams rather than to define what dreams are, to understand someone’s idea about dreams. But if you ask me what my dreams are, I would say I do not have any. Because I believe that if we disclose our dearest dreams to others, they will never be fulfilled. One can only reveal them when they are materialized; fulfilled.
The concept of Dream holds endless fascination for me as a writer. So through this new series of i-poems, I try to understand the mystery of what dreams are, and share it with my readers.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
"Life is like a novel. It's filled with suspense. You have no idea what is going to happen until you turn the page."-- Sidney Sheldon.
December Story-7
Anu.
 |
| Courtesy: citynoise.org |
The Girl and the City
My teacher had told me that each day is an opportunity to learn new things. But today I learnt nothing; it was too tedious and boring, the young girl thought. She was a student of theatre. She learned drama from a man called Pavan. They had their classes in one of the cities in North India . Now it is vacation and they are here in this hopeless part of the world, Kannur, South India , she thought. She felt there was nothing new to learn from here. Her teacher had advised that as an actor one should observe the surroundings, the people and the nature and learn from them. That is where inspiration comes from, her teacher had said. She knew her teacher’s wisdom never failed. She had personal experiences from other cities of confronting inspiration in the form of people, events, and a sort of invisible presence near her. But this city is very much dried of inspiration, as if the people here lost their souls to ordinariness, and they have no desire for anything new.
She reached the hotel where her teacher and she stayed. She knocked the room. The teacher opened the door. Sensing her distress the man asked: “how was your trip?”
“It was no good. I wandered around the city but met nothing new, may be due to the fact that I am born and brought up here. But even after my staying all these three years away with you, I could not find any change to the city. Every thing is the same, the same people, the same streets, the same dry weather, and even the same events every where, as if the city is caught within a cycle of endless repetition.” She said while settling herself in to a sofa, situated at the centre of the room.
The man came near her, and said: “you might be right, dear, but you failed to notice one thing. You missed an important lesson. This city taught you that there are places from which you learn nothing. Be grateful to the city for teaching you this wisdom. This happens in every turn of our lives. We meet people, travel to distant places, expecting greatly from them to teach us some worthwhile lessons, but sometimes they disappoint us by communicating nothing but silence and filling us with boredom. And we curse ourselves and the decision that we had made to travel such a distance, ignoring completely the greatest lesson they teach us: there is not a place, not a person that cannot teach us anything. But what we learn is completely upon ourselves, on how we learn it, and on how successfully we interpret the lesson for us.”
THE END.
Dear reader, this is the end of my December Stories. Hope you enjoyed all of them—the series of seven individual stories.
This story is my new year present, too. Let us not forget in this New Year that even if our expectations are not met with, what occurs in each of our lives would be nothing but what we interpret them to be, and remember, the best lessons would be hidden behind the veil of desperation. Therefore, ultimately, there is no place for desperation and sorrow. Let this be our New Year thought.
Happy New Year 2011!
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