The Night-smile and day-time vestiges

He smiles through the dewy night, the night blooming jasmine, Har Singar. As the day opens its eyes, I find the vestiges of fragrant night scattered under the tree. The first thing I do these days is to collect the tree's offerings and keep it as a fragrant trophy on my desk. It makes my day. Keeps it smiling and fragrant. Thanks brother tree! I just put some water around you, and here you are with a shower of unconditional love, life, beauty and fragrance. The weather has turned amazing and your gift makes every day better than the previous one.

Refurbishing an old nest and the story of birdie care

Well, not all abandoned nests go unnoticed. While the rains lashed in August and September, a scaly-brested Munia pair (spice finch or nutmeg mannikin) set up an irregular, globular, oval nest of grass, straw lined with feathers and strands of cotton wool. The cycle completed and the hatchlings flew to take their chance on life on the tightrope of creation and destruction. The parents however are known to use the dormatiry off and on while on the way in their birdie sorties. So I have seen them a few times sneaking in for a restful night. The nest stands jolted after more than a month since the nestlings left. The rains and wind shook it. But then the old house is still fit enough to catch the eyes of a pair of white throated munia (Indian silverbill) who are a bit lazy and sociable little beauties who are open to move into used house. They have white throat running from beak to undertail, brown plumage and blue grey beak. So letting swift chirrup trill, the lady on house hunting is inspecting the rainlashed nest, evaluating how much of refurbishment might be required.

Quite incidentally, the original houseowner, scaly breasted Munia, also happens to be there on a nearby branch. Perhaps it has came for some noontime nap. The silent and peaceful bird with bright cinnamon head, full brown plumage and scaly patterns on breast just looks on pensively. Possibly it understands that laying eggs by someone is better than her sleep. So guys, no fight. It just looks at the would be mother with a strange detachment and allows the inspection. Hope we humans can learn something from these birdie guys.

Self-fucking moron or a happy go lucky filly? The choice is always ours!

The adventure and fun of life decrease in proportion to the distance between the point of your craziest, wildest urge of your heart and instincts on the one hand and the low point where you chose to be, driven, rather checked, by your fears, overvaluation, inhibition and assumptions, all of which stopped you from saying 'yes' to the moment and the choice which had all the possibilities to change your life miraculously. Never underestimate the consequences of your endeavors. A butterfly flapping its wings in Africa is linked to the causes which drive a furious hurricane in America. So no action is small, only our fears and insecurities turn it puny, belittled piece of failure. Coming back to that choice which could have seen you soaring in a sunny journey at the highest height, but which you missed through over-analysis and chose to crawl on earth, cursing yourself at every step over the so called missed opportunities. Long after that choice is gone, and you cast a helpless look at the sweeping miles between where you could have reached if you had the guts to say 'yes' to your heart and the poor point where you chose to be, you just can't help but find life almost meaningless. Destiny isn't a cheater altogether. There are moments passing through our lives when, with only a little bit of daring 'yes' we can change the entire course of our lives. Say yes to the liveliest, loudest, craziest, wildest cooing of your heart. If not the destination (and there is no destination by the way), you will love the journey for sure. A little stroll impregnated with your heart's agreement is far more substantial than hundreds of miles of sweating run if you have forced yourself into it. Those miles after miles are not the rewards to your self-punished self. That is the punishment for not being true to yourself. So listen to your heart, shut off all haggling by your mind which is tricking you by forcing you to compare your worth through the scales of others journeys. You have to have your own scale to measure the worthiness of your journey, how many miles you have to go, at what pace, at what stopovers and many more. Use others' scales and all you do is just self-fuck at the cost of lot of pain to your ass. So we always have the option of being a happy go lucky person instead of a self-fucking moron.   

A real journey entailing the mirage

Life isn’t just sailing in calm, composed waters. Mostly, the waters are stormy. That is the law of nature. It simply cannot leave things static. Things will turn static only at the moment of the cosmic crunch, the opposite the Big Bang when the universe will implode to start exploding again in the next spell of activity. So till then enjoy the activity.

Overall, our character is defined by the manner we captain our little boats to enter the peaceful waters, the doldrums, for a time. Sailing in calm waters is not the reality though. The storms lurking over the horizon is. Keep an eye on it as you are cooling your heels after the last battle. And while you drop your knapsack, like a battle weary soldier easing her of the metal armour and weapons, and look at the dreamy destination she has toiled to reach which unfortunately doesn't look the way she expected it. Don't forget this destination which you find short of expectations at least gave you a journey and made you richer by adding positives to the man and woman in you. Irrespective of the destinations, love your journey, for there are no destinations, only journeys. There never was a happy person who didn’t enjoy the journey to have his bumper lot of happiness in one lot at reaching the so called ‘destination’.

Braving the stormy patch and keeping an eye on the next one is the formula to become a successful caption of your life. So simply be a journeyman or journeywoman. Quite ironically the destination is just being there on the path, simply journeying. Just look into the past and remember all who have died and try to recall how many reached the so called destination. The only fixed destination is death which is the most uncertain event (in term of its time of occurrence) for all of us. There is no such thing as ‘life’, the hard-fixed noun. All we have is a sweet-sour poultice ‘living’, the verb, the activity, the process, the journey. So do your deed, make your run, have your shots at your so called goals and the process of doing itself is your reward. Beyond that any idea of rewards and destinations is just like mirage in the deserts.

The Big Bang was a poetic moment

Without the seed of poetry there won't be any prose. Just like without the tiny seed there won’t be a tree. The canopy, the full foliage of the tree is just an extension of the dream lying with its realistic potential inside the small seed. The elaborate network of trunks, branches, twigs, flowers, fruits and leaves is nothing but a commentary on the small poetic seed. So all ye wannabe writers, nurture the poet in you, who understands the value of pause in life, who moves slowly to watch everything, sight and smell everything. Whose senses are open to the inclusive interplay of wonderful harmonies of the supreme song, the universe, the one song. Brushstrokes of poetry softly touch the soul without disrupting its restful muse and bring out the nuggets of love, compassion, harmony and peace. If you are a poet by nature then you have the potential to be anything because all these elaborate extensions of your life, your dreams, your professional and personal goals, your milestones, the world around you, all these and more are nothing but a reflection of that poetic pure seed. Being poetic is being the master of all the best-ever possible emotions as a human being. Poetry is the common soul of all art forms. It is impossible to visualize an unpoetic artist. Poetry is the womb that mothers all that has ever been loved and appreciated by the man and the nature. To be poetic is to love. You taste godliness by being poetic. The mankind has pictured heaven just as a huge poetic dream. All the myths, gods and goddesses are marvelous poet philosophers and poet soldiers. So learn to be a poet.  Love yourself as a poet.