Straight from the Heart

Many years ago, when I was still a child, my father had read me a story from one of my story books. The story was as follows : Once there was a fight between the sun and the clouds. Both were out to prove that the other one was inferior to it. The sun boasted about its power and glory while the clouds spoke about how it was the preserver of life on earth and how it could provided much relief to everyone when the sun was at its tyrannical best. To sort out the matter amongst themselves, they decided to test their skills and see whether one of them could out-do the other. As they looked down from the heavens, they saw a frail old man walking down a road. The man wore a coat that covered him all the way down to his knee. The sun and the cloud decided to target this particular man. Whoever could force the man to remove his coat would be declared as the more superior of the two. Both Sun and the Clouds agreed. It was decided that the clouds will try its luck first. It suddenly turned al...

The setting was absolutely perfect! Just like Raj Kapoor and Nargis when they had met, under a single umbrella,on a rainy night. The sky was streaked with flashes of lightning. The rain that feel in torrents Were blown waywardly by gusts of wind!   Under a tarpaulin shed we stood, Battered by winds and the wayward rain. Our clothes wet in patches And rain water dripping down our faces. Suddenly a corner of the tarpaulin gave way, Forcing us to come closer! It was a moment worth waiting for!   But wait!!! Something is wrong it seems. The script unfolded in sharp contrast to my dreams! The lady with whom I was sharing the shelter, Was old enough to be my grandmother’s elder sister!

He measured barely upto my knee, in height. Standing at the Zebra crossing, striped black and white! Waiting patiently, though impatience was written all over his face. Waiting for a gap in the evening traffic, so that he could race! I was waiting too, so looked at him and smiled. A boy he was, merely eight or ten years old. Ragged clothes, matted locks, he sure was a boy from the slum. His smile though was radiant, and his face, certainly not glum! Bright were his eyes, sparkling like the stars. He hummed a tune, poverty, for him, was not a bar! Held tightly were plastic packets, in his little clenched fingers. Daily ration for his family, some potatoes, rice, salt and ginger. So it was the prospect of food that made him happy, I thought. A lone meal at the end of the day, served piping hot! “Where do you stay”, I asked him, just to make some talk. “On the pavement across the road, he said as we began to walk. “I live with my mother, and my little sister, on a cot...

He slowly retracted his footsteps from the place, after making sure that the last person had left fully satisfied and happy. With a smile on his lips right from the time the first guest came in, he had gone about the task of receiving the guests, imploring them to enjoy their meal and finally bidding them goodbye after checking whether they had indeed enjoyed themselves and have had their full. Not that everyone was happy. A few special ones made it a point to find faults and bring them to his notice. Whatever they said, he bore it all, with a smile, and a promise to see if it can be corrected. After all when the heart is heavy with grief, probably there is no room left for the heart to feel more pain. Beyond the point of saturation, its like a feeling of numbness and any further hurt doesn’t cause much reaction. The footsteps were laboured, each one slower than the one before. Fatigue was beginning to overcome him, the toil of the whole day making his body ache and his old bones scr...

It was an intoxication of a different kind! Am not sure whether it can be called anything other than intoxication. Just like any other intoxicating substance this also began to with a slow sort of feel good factor. In the beginning, it was just that….a sort of feel good kind of state where the mind and body begins to relax and get ready for going to the next stage. Then comes the feeling when one realises that one is losing control over the mind and body. The drug begins to dictate terms, the mind loses control and the motor neurons that are responsible for carrying instructions to different parts of the body begin falling asleep one by one. Starved of any specific direction from the central command, the parts of the body start to behave on their own free will-the foot starts to tap, a finger swings in a certain rhythmic motion, the head begins to nod. Finally, like one huge sweeping gesture, the drug takes full control and makes the body enters into a trance like state! This is preci...

The island is a raised platform of earth in the middle of the Sarobar lake. From the banks of the lake, the island looks like heaven, stuff that paradise is made of! The size of the island may not have been much bigger than a circle of approx. 20 meters in diameter. On days when the surface of the lake is ruffled by the wind, the island appears to float freely, a dense mass of greenery amidst the bluish-black waters of the lake. I don’t think anyone has ever set foot on this island. The serenity of the island proves beyond doubt that it has escaped the attention of humanity. The creepers that grow on the trees and fall into the waters of the lake below have a darker shade of green than the green of the leaves of the Gulmohur and other trees on the island. If the island had witnessed the invasion of mankind, these creepers would have been the first to bear the brunt of the human invasion-torn from the trees to make way and trampled under the feet of the humans. Instead it grows wild an...

Peals of laughter, sometimes a soft parting, Of the lips of a lover. The cries of a child or the emotions of a sister or a brother. Scenes of a battle that talk of all those who bled. Or a macabre ghost that fills the heart with dread. The characters stare on the face. Making us laugh, cry or, with adventure, our hearts race! A doctor for the heart, a teacher of the mind. The treasure of knowledge is free for all who can find. Ruskin Bond’s stories that talk of the Dehra town. Chetan Bhagat’s story of grown up years of his own. Life in Rome during days of Cleopetra and Ceasar. Or smaller Indian towns like Badayun or a town in Bihar. When heart is heavy due to a tiff with the lover. Or tense with office work pressure. In timnes like these, a good book has a role, To provide instant relief for the mind and the soul. As the wise men doth say, Be it rain, hail or be it bright sunshine. In melancholy or in joys alike. Books are a man’s best friend for life.