Circle

I didn’t like maths very much. I didn’t like geometry either, but I used to love shapes… triangles, squares, rectangles and circles.

My favourites were squares, circles and triangles. When I started loving shapes, I had started loving geometry as well. But that was it. That was the only part that I loved about maths.

Circle is not only a shape; it is the shape. It is the objective of life. To me it is the motion of life and death.  It is all that is within and without. It is binding and non-binding too.

A circle even if drawn clumsily by a kid still remains a circle. Strangely enough, it is circles and lines that we start drawing at an early age rather than squares, rhombus, diamonds or any other shapes. May be even as we are children we notice the shape of a circle easily in nature that surrounds us than any other shapes.

I therefore think, that circles are not just round shapes, but they are the meaning of life. It is the beginning and the end of life. It marks the continuity of any energy cycle.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/circle/

Partnered to serve

This is a story for Friday Fictioneers, which is hosted by Rochelle. Every week you are challenged to write a 100 word story based on a photo.

Thanks to J Hardy Carroll for this week’s photo and also to Rochelle for hosting the challenge.

A special thanks to all the readers for their time, too. I came with another story and couldn’t stop myself from sharing it. Hope you enjoy!

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

Days of searching, now stopped. My partner and I stood against an old abandoned building.

“Should we go or wait.”

“Why wait? Let’s g….”

A screeching siren had interrupted us. It came from inside the place.

“Do you think, somebody….”

Jerry started moving, and I followed him like Mary’s lamb.

Terror was walking in the air. Something was hanging in the dark against the wall. I neared it.

I heard a sound from behind. It was the cracking sound of my skull.

I turned around. The light was fleeing the scene. The door was taking me in. The case — CLOSED.

A Sunday

This is a story for Friday Fictioneers, which is hosted by Rochelle. Every week you are challenged to write a 100 word story based on a photo.

Thanks to J Hardy Carroll for this week’s photo and also to Rochelle for hosting the challenge.

A special thanks to all the readers for their time, too.

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

“Honey, I’m so excited. Thanks!”

“Sure, no problem honey.”

We stop in front of a building. The gates are locked.

“Are you sure… this, is the place, honey.”

“Yah! It says, ‘you’ve reached your destination.’ Jump out! Let’s just check.”

“Are you sure — this is — the transport museum?”

“It’s ok, maybe we are earrl….”

Oh My God Honey! Just check this out. It says: Trespassers Will Be Shot Without Notice. LET’S GO!”

“But…”

LEAVE! your stupid… transport.”

The car is in motion. Silence is now seated with us.

“Anyways… thanks! for spoiling my Sunday.”

A Journey To My Garden

I was inspired to write this post after reading Andrea’s thoughts at Harvesting Hecate on celebrating the harvesting season. This is my post in celebration.

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It’s almost October. I sit and try to look at the past. At first, I don’t see anything of relevance, but then I stare harder and see good memories taking shape in the invisible before me.

A year has moved in this house, but I miss the old place. I miss the vicinity which had multiple parks in it. The parks always invited me with their cheerful flowers. I had adored their companionship and their beautiful space.

The new home is good, however, concrete blocks surrounds the place. I like whites but I miss the greens of the nature.

“Charity begins from home,” they say. So I thought, why cry about something that I can’t do anything about; why not focus on something that I can do, instead. And so, a thought of a terrace garden germinated in my mind. But there was only one problem — I’m no gardner, I told myself. Having zero knowledge about gardening, I dropped the idea and didn’t even bring a single plant home.

In March of this year, my mom visited us. She surprised me with a pot of fully grown aloe vera plant. I was both happy and angry. Angry, because she had travelled a long way and all I wanted from her was to travel light. Happy, as my subconscious mind had intelligently played and surprised me with this gift. So, I accepted it with great happiness.

Every action has a reaction. I had completely failed to see the consequence that I had invited by adopting that one plant.

Misery loves company,” they say but I’m sure that my one plant was seeking for more green beings for itself.

It all starts from one tiny step, and so it started from one small plant. I went to the nursery and got some sturdy plants. Since it was March – April and we were proceeding towards hot Indian summers I needed some strong plants for my so-called garden.

I bought a reddish orange hibiscus and some green croton. I was happy. They were growing nicely.

my croton plant

When you have taken one successful step you need to stand firm and not run, but I did just that. My enthusiasm had captivated me and I bought two — one red and one white rose plants. It was a good purchase as they were in full bloom.

Disaster struck! And it didn’t happen gradually. One day I woke up to a horrifying scene. If plants could suffer from yellow fever then they were already in its tight grip. In two days, yellows too, had disappeared and given themselves to a bare brownish bush.

I’m not a gardner, but I wanted to save my new buddies. My desperate attempts made me seek help from the wise master Google. I also visited the temples of Youtube multiple times. I was losing time. Then a decision was made.

With nervous breath and a racing heart, I took a pair of scissors and did some light pruning on my friends. Just like a quack doctor I had complete faith in the survival of my patients but couldn’t guarantee the success of this surgery. Nevertheless, I was proud of myself. I had an exhilarated feeling, as if, I had extended myself to help a human being come back to life. I wanted to share this proud moment with my mom and so I called her. To my horror she revealed that I had committed a crime by pruning the roses in the months of April — the peak summer time. You see, it wasn’t a complete revelation to me because I knew that already, but I just wanted some consolation that I had taken the right step. Anyways, after the call had ended a thought stuck to my mind that whatever I had done was for the good of my plants, and I was surrounded by an illusionary belief that my plants would come back to life.

Days passed. Months passed.

My heart started sinking. “What had I done,” I thought. But the hope was still dwelling in my heart — I had not given up, yet.

Every morning at 6, I got up to water the plants. My eyes longingly scanned them for a different reality in them. Nothing happened.

My hope was now cracked.

And then, a change took place. The branches had taken a pale green colour. YES! Yes! I shouted with joy in my heart. But this time I didn’t want to share the news with anyone.

Some creepy idea crept into my mind and I started talking to them. Holding their feeble branches with my fingertips, I could recreate any scene from any movie where the doctor had advised to talk to a patient in coma for their (quick) recovery. I talked to them. I prayed to God.

Then, it was magic — when I saw, two- three green leaves had opened themselves to this world. My heart was filled with the warmth of an early morning sun and my eyes had become watery.

I Thanked God! A miracle had happened.

This time I was ready to call… my mom. It was joy. It was a victory for me. It was that moment to say… see, I was right and you, wrong, but I saved my breath from all that and when she said, “Hello!”

I said, “Mom my plants are alive. The rose plants have come back to life.”

white button rose

Months have passed since then. I look at my small garden of a countable number of pots. As one plant blooms and fades away another plant pops out its blossoms as if they are passing the baton to each other.

Looking at what I’ve achieved I’ve now become a bit daring. I’ve now started planting some herbs and veggies.

My first chilly plant, though, died suddenly like a plant heart attack of some kind. One day it was glowing green in health and the other day it had turned stiffly brown. Creepy! There was nothing to worry as I had saved some chilles from the plant. I sprinkled all the seeds. And then, it was magic, again. The chilly plant has reincarnated itself from the depth of the soil.

Baby chilly plant, veiled for protection against birds and (specially) pigeons

Now when I look at my garden, I surely feel that I’m no longer a beginner. I’ve connected well with my plants and that is all that matters.

Enjoy some pics on the way out of my garden. Thanks for visiting!

 

I’m trying to focus

I’m trying to focus, but right now everything is swirling before my eyes. When you have just one thing to focus at, all you have to do is focus at it. The problem is when you have too many things to focus at, then what do you do? Do you still focus? Or the better question is can you focus, still? Why do we lose our ability to focus when there are too many tasks or people needing our attention? Why do we have to choose then? I hate to choose; because at some level it also brings the question who or what do I care the most for.

I have been trying to focus on too many things and that’s why my eyes are dizzy and my head feels tight inside. Now all I want is my bed and my cozy pillow. I’m sure I’ll fall on my pillow like there would be no other sleep days for me.

You see at times like these, I wonder, if only we had super powers, and then there would be no problems and tasks needing our focus. But who knows, if that would be the end or the beginning of a new kind of a problem… new kind of a task…new kind of a focus.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/focused/

If only I could ask

When I had first listened to the song “What a wonderful world” I fell in love with it. It was not only for the way it was sung by Louis Armstrong but also the words that made me fall for it.

I love our planet…our world. It has many beautiful things to look at. It has people, strange and beautiful places and animals, too.

I wonder, if we could ever see the planets of our solar system — in reality… up close, I mean. I can only imagine what all the planetary sisters would look like in their solar home. All wearing different coloured robes, would spin ecstatically to their own beat round their master of light creating a wonderful symphony in the galaxy. What a spectacle it would be? Some would appear calm and some ferocious. But amongst the others, it would be our beloved planet, that would dance gently with blues and whites wrapped around it elegantly, as if, to please the father of light.

If only I could ask moon for a pendant, then I would also ask earth for a ring. It’s so beautiful that I would keep looking at it admiringly till I can, from any place that I’ll be.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/planet/

Image

Layered is always hidden

Layered is always hidden. What you see in the exterior may or may not be the same in its interior.

I wonder, how many petals are layered in there cozily.

I wonder, how many layers of time is hidden in the desert, and only mother nature can turn it upside down like an hour glass but till when shall it remain silent. Or is it silent at all, in the inside as well.

I wonder, if at all the layers of this gigantic mountain can be peeled off, and if so, how much time and effort will go on the part of humans and how much on the part of mother nature.

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/photo-challenges/layered/

Unwanted Things From Past

This is a story for Friday Fictioneers, which is hosted by Rochelle. Every week you are challenged to write a 100 word story based on a photo.

For this week’s photo, thanks to Sarah Potter and Rochelle for hosting the challenge.

A special thanks to all the readers for their time as well.

PHOTO PROMPT © Sarah Potter

While cleaning our basement, I found a lot of old stuff. What caught my attention were these shoes.  I could not recall whose these were.

My husband’s… no.

My father’s…sure not. He hated brown.

It’s so old that I can’t even tell their colour. Anyways, I pick them up and throw them in a box of “unwanted things from the past”.

As I throw them, I catch a strand from the past and everything reels before me.

“Grandpa!” How could I forget him? I remembered how I walked on his feet… on these shoes. Now I remember them right.

Not A Mighty Warrior, After All

I was not a mighty warrior like my brother. In fact I was happy not to be one.

It was the usual record, “Look at your brother! Learn from him.” my mom kept playing at me all the time.

I sat in between my brother and my mom, with a grumpy face. My plate was full. I hadn’t touched a single bit of the veggie, to be more specific — bitter gourd. My only (silent) question to my mom was, “Well, if you know that I hate it so much then why do you make it and even if you make it, why do you want me to eat it?” But I think, I already know the answer to it — it’s good for you, it’s good for your health.

But for toady spare me the fun, mom. I refuse to eat that thing today. I will not be the mighty warrior you want me to be. Silently I get up and walk towards my room.
My mom in an icy cold voice says, “Food or no food at all… seems you’ve decided.”

I shut my bedroom door. Take out my bag and grab a bar of snickers and savor each bite with delight. My small tummy will survive for today. After all what do I have to fear… I’m not a mighty warrior after all.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/mighty/

Art and Heart

This is a story for Friday Fictioneers, which is hosted by Rochelle. Every week over here, you are challenged to write a 100 word story based on a photo.

For this week’s photo, thanks to Kelvin M. Knight, and Rochelle for hosting the challenge.

This is my first story at Friday Fictioneers after a long break. I hope you enjoy the read and thanks for reading and visiting.

“Mom! Look at her. She is again playing with food.”

“George your sister isn’t playing. She is making art. Don’t trouble her. She is an artist in the making.”

One year in art school — Vanessa learned all about art and heart.

Two years in art school, and she aced in love… by making a run for it.