Symphonies of a curious mind

With excitement that knows no bounds, I present to you my first book.
The beautiful cover has been designed by my younger brother @kumar.shrey95 who has adorned this hard work of mine with his art.
This book is the result of endless sleepless nights and my thoughts that have come to me over the years.
Symphonies of a Curious Mind will be my first book and I need all of your support and blessings for the same.
Coming this 2020.
Thank you.

My first love…..

My mother lives in a dream,
Everyday she wakes up,
She watches me run for her ankles,
For they bleed of her smiles,
That she lost while bringing food for me,
Only to create castles in stone,
The foundation of which her desires,
I will always be her prince,
The one true worthy of her love magnanimous,
But I sometime wake up,
From slumbers of years,
The inertia that pulls me down,
And growls at me when I wear my shoes,
I work with all the force thats left in me,
For I want her smile never to fade,
And widen with each passing day,
She will be the first love,
Always be and till the eternities,
Till I can remember,
And do the stars,
The castle she etched in stone,
And the dreams she cast in thrones…..

My eyes shall always see,
The hero of my dreams,
The one that carried me in his arms,
And took me to places high,
I rode his shoulders,
And sometimes his heels,
I was his princess and will always be,
He brought me daisies, tea pots and ponies of wood,
The little escapades away from the school,
And cried when my heart broke alongwith the doll,
He carried me and my dreams,
On his shoulders wider than the world,
He will be my love the first,
The one who could never break my heart…..

For a boy his mother is and will always be his first love. The one who understood him even before he could say anything. She cared for him when he wasn’t easy and when he might have taken her for granted. No one can replace that position. A mother will never ask anything in return. Just a smile and her day is made.

For a girl, her father is and will always be her first love, her hero, her prince charming. She will always measure the amount of love that she gets from the world by how her father portrayed for her. No one can love a girl more than her father because he never expected anything from her.

From my experience, if both the partners can understand this simple fact, life would be so much easier for them. A girl can never take the place of her partner’s mother and a boy can never love a girl the way her father did. They can only try to replicate what they get from each other and if one is lucky, maybe she gets a man raised by a queen and he gets a girl honed by a lion. Just respecting, taking each other’s parents as their own will do the trick. Together they write the perfect love story, imperfect though perfect. Loyalty comes from both ways and it stays if we work for it, put in effort, sometimes easy as saying that I love you and sometimes difficult when the real, true face without any masks, any mascara, uncensored, real comes knocking you out. But we stay, for our mothers and fathers taught us, good things come when you work for them. Rome wasn’t built in a day….

Me with my mother..

Can we really call ourselves human?

Saw this today while scrolling through my news feed. This is one of the many news items that i have come across especially in these grave times. People harming innocent, dumb animals just for fun, just for some godforsaken video that may get them views. This is heartbreaking and depressing for some one like me who tries to appreciate the life itself. I have been an animal lover since the time I can remember. But this act, animal lover or not is a disgrace to the human kind. This elephant was fed a pineapple with firecrackers stuffed in it. She was pregnant and upon eating the fruit, her mouth and tongue were damaged to an extent that she couldn’t bear the pain and stood in the river damping her mouth in order to ease the pain. She died without harming a single human being, without breaking a single home.

How can we justify taking life of anybody when we cannot give a life. How is that amusement for some people is harming others. Is this what humanity come to.

If this is the case, maybe Corona is the antidote. Maybe this is what animals would feel like for humans. A deadly, insensitive, sinister virus that takes lives because it cannot do anything else.

I have tears in my eyes as I write this. This is unacceptable. If there was God, this is ungodly. Maybe there isn’t heaven or hell. Maybe we don’t need heaven or hell. Atleast the humans, they don’t because they have the weapon that can lay wrath to anything but themselves or maybe sometimes their own. Maybe the human cannot be trusted with this power, this preposterous, illegitimate filth that we humans boast of. Every life is precious, animals or humans, blacks or whites, hindu or muslims, Dalits or brahmans.

Hope someday we could all learn.

Rest in Peace you Majestic Animal. We didn’t deserve you.

Who is your God? 

God, the mighty creator of the world. The one force we all look upon to guide the drowning ship of our lives to paradise,  The one we wish things to become reality, the one we adore, the one we respect, the one we fear. Is God a being, a force or something else? 

Some days ago in the night around 11 my father’s phone rang. A patient he had operated in the day had gone serious. My father told us this and said that he had to go see the patient. He was too tired so I went along with him and took the steering wheel. Our house is about 15 kms from the hospital so it took us sometime to reach. It was cold so my father ordered me to come along with him. We parked the car and went inside. The family of the patient was already too stressed as I could see. My father was calm and asked them not to worry. His junior came upto him running and they started talking something I had no idea about. I took a seat in the hallway. There was silence there except the occasional phone call that the family was receiving. People were sleeping on the floor, some were sitting on the chairs talking maybe about themselves or maybe the people that they had in mind. There were people who brought cups of tea for the family that was present there, some even shared a laughter on a newspaper clipping, while some indulged themselves in heavy doses of self proclaimed nationalism. I was fast falling asleep as I had a sumptuous dinner and the tiredness of the day was getting to me. I closed my eyes and slept only to be woken up by my phone. My mother had called me to inquire what had happened. I slept for two straight hours! I told her that my father was still in the operation theatre. Time passed, slowly for the family of the patient. After six hours he came out. The family was curious about the condition of their beloved. They encircled him and were curiously listening to him. 

He will be okay.” he said and all of them had a smile on their faces. One very young man almost the same age as me came upto him and said, “Sir, if you were not here, I would have lost my father. You are our God.” he came and touched my father’s feet. The whole family followed suit. He didn’t like and tried to resist but he was overshadowed by their love. 

He will wake up in the noon. Take care of him. And I am just a normal being. I just did my job. ” he said and asked for permission to leave. He came upto me and said,”  Sorry Son you had to wait because of me.” “No problem Papa. I had my sleep.” I said. 

We went to the car while he talked to his juniors and briefed them about what had to be done. I started driving and he slept on the seat next to me. We reached home, it was the crack of dawn. He went in his room and slept. I went to my room and immediately dozed off. I woke up after sometime to check on him. He was already at his work back at the hospital. 

This whole incident did something to me. 

God, the mighty creator of the world. The one force we all look upon to guide the drowning ship of our lives to paradise,  The one we wish things to become reality, the one we adore, the one we respect, the one we fear. Is God a being, a force or something else? 

Life began on earth some 3.8 billion years ago. It was rather simple, single celled organisms that had first made earth their habitat. More complex forms of life followed to the present, now forms of life we see all around. At the start of human life, it was mainly dedicated to gathering and hunting for food. Their day would start with the Sun and would end with the Sun. Survival was the sole purpose of their lives. The invention of fire brought a new horizon to the then humans, who before fire were living just like their other animals counterparts. Eating raw. Fire allowed them to cook and their play with food began. Fire also allowed them to be awake in the night as now they had their own Portable Sun. Done with the daily agenda of the day(in this case hunting, gathering, eating) they would have sat and tried to have a conversation (although understanding their language would be very difficult, I shall try to, with improvisations on their language. 😉 ). 

Man 1– hoo hahaa jrr hohoho heee ha. 
(bro, I think we need to clear the cave of the  big rocks) 
Man 2– okokok wiii ka napa  kaaaa hoo.
(It takes a lot of time. And my wife wanted me to get her a new leopard  hide. It’s new fashion.) 
Man 1– eeeee vaaa nnaa. 
(oh bro I understand. I’ll think of something. Don’t get eaten up bro.) 

Those big blocks of stones couldn’t have been moved if not for the invention of wheel. With wheel, men, material, ideas and ideologies traveled to far off places and humans would have felt that they want to do something other than just gathering, hunting and eating. There would have been times when they would fear something. The roary weather, lighting or days when they couldn’t find food, faced an issue with health or lost someone they adored. That’s when they would have started to believe in something that existed not among them -a power that would help them when they sought out to it. Something undefined, supernatural. They would have prayed to it and the weather would have cleared, naturally or they might have found a dead animal to eat or a simple vomit would have cured them. They would have attributed this to some extraordinary power as they would have thought it responded to their grievances. 

A saying from a mouth reaches the other ear with the many additions from every ear it enters. Just the way the concept of God would have come into existence. God is the Creator, Destroyer of the world. He is omniscient, omnipotent, eternal, universal and absolute. He created man in his image. God is this universe. He has created this world. Everyone ends up in God. He punishes you for your sins. He will cast you to Hell if you don’t respect his disciples. He  watches over you. God is ultimate. God is true.

Where is God? More importantly what is God? 

Experiments of man with the God brought up the many traditions we see around. The growth of all ideas, the spectacular structures we see around, the rich heritage, the scrolls, the books, art and what not. Even birth of  Science can be attributed to the concept of God. God is the universe. The process of Thesis and Antithesis brought many changes and many developments to the now grown tree of knowledge which once was an unplanted seed. 

Philosophers of all times and ages have tried defining God. But what I think, God is subjective. He or she or maybe it,  varies from person to person, place to place, time to time. 

Human tendency is such that we tend to put the blame of our problems or sticky situations to sometimes destiny or maybe sometimes the God. We try finding a source of happiness, an approval to our actions by attributing those actions as the will of someone supreme, God. Think this. How many times have you thanked the God for a wonderful day or a wonderful meal that’s on your plate. How many times have you asked him to absolve you from your sins, your sickness. 

For the people who don’t believe in God, this concept is really termed as amusing. As how can people trust someone or something they can’t even see or perceive. They believe in the moment, pleasure although not only physical pleasure but a more happiness causing one,  being their only motive. People like Carvaka who dared to think this in the 6th century were looked down upon and were mocked, even prosecuted by the self proclaimed disciples of God. 

If God had existed and if he was the one just and loving, why would he want something he had created to perish. If he wanted them to let them live on his conditions, why would he had given each of us an independent mind, different body structures, capabilites and talents. Don’t you think world would be mundane place with all the similarities? 

Sometimes in my home, when my mother recites a hymn or reads to me a scripture considered auspicious, I just listen, to admire the  amount of work the writer had put in. My parents know that when they would ask me to bow down in front of the statues in temples, I may refuse because they know I am little too logical. But I don’t revolt because as I did say already. Concept of God is purely subjective. I do that just to please them. I would be highly dishonest if I say that I am not frightened or sometimes I am not down, needing a ray of hope. Those are the times I seek some force to calm my inner self. Music, writing, my pen is a big relief in times such as these. But the best medicine is the image of my parents and my brother that just creates an explosion in my mind. A very happy explosion that just casts away all the darkness.

My conversations with God are an extended version of my conversations with myself for I believe if God was to exist, he would have existed in every atom of the universe. When I am down, I curse myself to be in that situation for that much time. I believe in the present. Past as an instrument to mock someone would be wasting the precious moment. Nobody knows what conditions lead to something or the other and above all who are we to judge a person by their past. If past had to be used as an argument, Ravan, the highly intelligent, the wise and the mighty wouldn’t have gathered a more maligned image than the one he has in Ramayan. 

Whenever joy, my still to grow Labrador sleeps, I see his legs moving, sometimes he barks at objects in his sleep. What would he dream of? Who would his God be? The answer would become very clear the next day when he in the morning seeing my mother move, he jumps on her and wakes her up. His universe is our home. His God is mortal. 

My faith in God dwindled when I saw my grandmother dying infront of me. She was the strongest woman I had seen. Medical science had lost hope. To God I turned. And then she went away from me. 

We all are mortals. We will turn to soil someday. Why waste time in believing in something that doesn’t exist? That’s what I thought. 

But then God is purely subjective. I may sound as an atheist. Not believing in the will of God and the theory of karma or anything else. But I seek positive vibes which everything or anything or any person gives out. I find solace in the peaceful surroundings of a temple that is perfect for meditation, to have a conversation with yourself, to listen to yourself. I am fond of these places because of the energy they give out. People say that karma exists and that you will reap what you sow. But I believe why should one think of things that they have already done. Nothing can be done about it. The only thing that matters is how you act in the present which definitely should be done to avoid the mistakes done earlier.  Do good not to please anyone but to come home after a long day of work and be able to look in the mirror. The world doesn’t care what have you done or what will you do. They all have problems of their own. But the only person that matters the most is the one person in the mirror. Do good things so that you don’t get to say, I could have done that thing or I could have been an agent of change.

Be the change you want to see in the world. 

Now the question this article asks. Who is your God?

My answer is quite simple. I don’t think except my parents and my brother anyone or any God  can give anything more. So for me, every day to whom I come back home to, they are my God. And that’s the religion I will always follow. 

If you are ready to answer, go ahead. Ask yourself. 

Who is your God? 

For you!

Happy Father’s day Papa 

An ode to my Hero.
An ode to my Father.

The Crimson eyes and the merrying rows,
The wish that slept in the whistling brows,
The water that went straight down the Gullying cheek,
The sparkle that rose the brave from the meek,
The only thing kept us going,
Was papa you and your indomitable spirit of always moving,
A step away, 
A distance fade away,
Time is what it all takes,
For you to make us grow with sakes,
Another day, another night,
Papa your presence makes it alright,
We fear, we fall,
Always we try to call,
With eyes of affection,
With ears of calculation,
Papa you hear us,
Without any reason,
Without any constitution,
The days when the thunder was too loud,
The days when the low was the new shroud,
You covered our ears,
Said son see the dancing bears,
All of this will be over,
Nothing lasts forever,
And we would hide in your shoulders,
Just like the moon,
Skips a night,
Hides in the fluffy sky,
And the day would rise,
Papa you would carry your own sunshine,
You tell the world my moon is the brightest,
Try to harm it and see my darkest,
You would boast of things still so little,
The drawing we made, the cake we almost strangle,
You carry us when we drop,
How do you do that,
Each time, every other day,
You stand up, even when your legs don’t permit,
You are never tired,
Never do you lose the composure that we all crave,
You told us stories of fairies,
Of heroes who won over territories,
But every day we saw a hero,
Dress up, Prepare for a battle,
And even after a tiring battle,
Would come to home,
And ask son let’s build a new home,
He would move his hands over us,
Only to let us enter the realms of thoughts contagious,
And close the door behind himself,
He is my moon,
I would hear him say every time to himself.

Spare them

Human tendency has always been to preponderate that has been in existence to evolve something new. This something although evolved from the very basic fabric of human survival has become an object of displaying dominance, pride and more sadly to frighten those for whom it was created in the first place. Human tendency has to change or the time is not far away, when the only thing that will remain relevant will be survival, the human soul might fade away and the animal instinct will take over.

The only Girl I knew

Exigencies of situations sometimes warrant an action that may seem too immature, too gullible to be apprehended by any one who is not part of the frame under consideration. These actions may be harsh, may not appear acceptable. But the voices in one’s head when become too vociferous, possess the capability to harm the normal functioning.

She was the only girl I ever knew and seeing the actions, I suppose she will be the only girl I ever would know.

All I can say to her, although I have exaggerated the exigencies of the situation, made some comments that cannot be taken back, indulged myself in vicious thoughts that have crowded my mind, frightened me to my very core, I feel relieved that I could say whatever I wanted to say. This time I did not try a character to tell you what the impatient, immature, gullible, emotional mind that controls me thought about the Girl I ever Knew.

Hope you understand because that’s what best you do.

May life reward you with the people that value you the most.

All the best for a prosperous life…….


Sometimes crack appear on the canvas of life. Actions done with the best of intentions may result into something not desirable. Hope whatever has been done does not become a cause of crack in the canvas of life. Hope that actions do not become a cause for exaggerations of the crack. Hope that cracks fade away. Hope cracks were never there.

Hold them tight

Life is a phenomena. A phenomena where the only catalysts are the various things we see around. Relations, expectations, desires, friends, foes and our very own nexus of ambitions and goals that keep us working hard. But, sometimes the not so obvious but very important are taken for granted and seldom we are reminded of their presence in a very painful way. So, don’t let that painful way to remind you of their presence. Call them, Hear them, Tell them you love them,

Hold them tight…..


Seldom we meet people, they are strangers. Destinies some time have unexpected in store for us. The rotation of wheels of time is a powerful process. It converts magnanimous mountains to dust, creates mature from the immature. Strangers sometimes becomes so close, their thoughts so meaningful that you want to unfollow all those people who you know the best and follow the strangers. Sometimes strangers become your only accomplice, your well wishers in a situation which demands the righteous actions…..


Nature bewilders, mind astonishes, body frails, soul reincarnates

This story is about something we tell to ourselves each day. The conditions of the not so milky, but very colourful galaxy of ours make living on this speck of land a privilege, yet taken for granted. Everyday we prepare ourselves to fight the disappointments that come our way, believe that the day begins with the end of night, clouds clear to a bright sunny day, life evolves, belief strengthens.

The small city of Marshallow was a place well knit, closely connected, deeply rooted within the residents who with all their passion and hard work strove towards creating better futures for them and the city as a whole. The majority of the population was involved in the centuries old tradition of weaving which was the trademark of the city. The weavers were demanded everywhere, the places of the excess and the places of paucity. Tomes of praises were written about them, they were celebrated with utmost gratitude, respected immensely, craved for their art. Their huge stature undermined the other arts that tried flourishing under the not so nutritious, not so encouraging administration of the city. One of these arts was pottery.

Pottery that once stood well above weaving was marred due to the advancement that proved to be a boon for the weavers who could meet the demands but wreathed havoc for pottery whose supply didn’t catch up. Earthen utensils were replaced by more fashionable steel, potters by pressing machines.

The Mayor of the city once said,” The city of Marshallow amalgamates art with tradition, history with the present, people with culture.” This statement had lost its relevance with the passing time, written in the annals of history, gathered dust, lost, unheard.

The current trend of surveys and let me tell you surveys are something that we avoid most of our lives but whenever something flashy, something gathering eyeballs breaks the news our cognitive system listens to it with the concentration of a saint that has joined the other world, escaped the decay, to analyze the results of the surveys that the surveyors claim to have been conducted by ‘reliable sources’ . The same surveys had termed pottery as a thing of the past and suggested the already minimal expenditure of the government on the art to end. A widespread debate was started, people started drinking coffee along with the hot, crispy news, media generated hue and cry, processions were held, administration was targeted with jibes, the government overthrown, elections started, manifestoes were made, weavers won, art perished.

In the aftermath of all this, an expert committee was set up to look into the matters as proposed by the survey. The committee was quick in its judgment, termed pottery as repugnant, declared weaving a National Heritage. Actions were followed by reactions and the schemes providing incentives to the weavers of clay were taken away, left to fend for themselves.

The artists of the earth now were faced with a situation of survival- fight or perish. They tried everything right from organizing processions, talking with the administration, to more grave acts of suicide that could just reach the page 4 of the newspapers.

Gossip became more important than art, Breakups more important than deaths.

Determination holds onto you until the realities of the world do not creep in. The potters lost all hope, the wheels of meals stopped, earth was no longer dear to them, their hands no longer created joy, starvation pulled hands, fear of losing out seemed more legit. Potters broke from all determination started looking for jobs out of their comfort zones. The few among them decided to meet for one last time, meeting was fixed with the administration, hopes created, prayers conducted, belief strengthened.

A representative group of 10 were selected to put up their cause. Each of them was dressed in their finest attires, fed up the entire conversations into their mind, hair was combed, perfume sprayed, belief strengthened.

They arrived right on time to the place where even their dreams did not allow to go. The entrance to the secretariat itself indicated that something special, untouched by common hands resided in the magnanimous structure that was festooned by a garden rich of all exotic plants and bore fruits that could fulfill all temptations. “Are you here to see the Mayor?”, a voice as soulful,  as serene as the garden asked the group. “Yes, we are here to see the Mayor”, unanimously the group declared its intentions. ‘Follow me”, the lady dressed better than the best of the group told them and just like a magnet all of them were attracted to the lady whose walk reminded one of a peacock who was burdened by the beauty of its assets. “Please have a seat, the Mayor will see you soon”, the lady told the group and directed them to the benches laid for the petitioners, for the needy, for the commons to wait, to wish, to believe. With the obedience of a child the entire group sat, barely uttering a word. The hall where they sat seemed like infinity. The drapes, the carvings on the wall, the bookshelf that stretched the entire hall, the smell of the wood, the chandeliers, the carpet, everything was perfect, made for the hall, to be experienced by few. All of them were so lost in noticing the nitty gritties of the hall that time flew away and the same lady called them to meet the Mayor. Goosebumps, pumping blood, vibrating body were natural when a task so great was to be accomplished. The group saw each other and went inside the room where the Mayor sat on a chair far too big and at a far great height than his own body. His room was decorated with the collection of items foreign to the city, his table rather small compared to the greatness of the room, but had no chairs for the group. They all stood humbly, waited for the Mayor to finish his donut that appeared to be made of white gold, decorated with jewels, soft like a feather, tasted divine. “So, are you here for charity?”, the Mayor asked, indulged in his meal. “No sir we are here to claim what belongs to us.” The leader of the pack, Sean cleared the air. This itched the Mayor, he stopped eating, looked at them and said,” What belongs to you?” they were surprised by this question, perplexed, they poked Sean, but Sean calm and composed like a priest said something unimaginable yet commendable, ”For years we have been making whatever people demanded with the efforts that are put by a mother to create the son she wants from a baby innocent yet unknown, with the religiousness of a bird that builds her nest in spite of failing, with the love that a father swings his child onto a sky of dreams. We took our profession as a gift of God, tried breathing in life into the earth, tried bringing joy through horses of clay, imagined new creatures, burned hands, scorched the body, defied the lines of luck, forgot where we belonged, enjoyed what we did. We never demanded any monetary help as we thought we could self-sustain. All that we ever demanded from the people was Recognition of what we did and how we did it. But, alas this was rejected to us simply because we could not deliver. The punishment was too severe. We have been casted into oblivion by this hypocrisy of that has born from intentions cruel, unjust. Sir, with due regards and faith in our administration I want you to give us back our respect, our art, our hands, our lives.”

The Mayor put away the donut he was eating, pushed back his chair, stood up and took something out from the drawer of his huge desk. It was a photo frame that looked to have origins in the past. The Mayor came close to the group and held the photo frame up high. To their surprise the photo frame was empty. Confused by what just happened, the Mayor told what he intended to show. “My father gave me this frame. He told me whenever I did something that would make me believe that I have done something that fills me with the feelings of joy and ecstasy, click a picture and remember it forever.” The group thought that the Mayor did not understand what he was saying. The Mayor continued, “Your art is something that you need not claim, it is your birthright. I will give you an opportunity to bring back the glory to your profession and by bringing glory to your profession I will fill this frame. But what steps you want to take you have to decide them yourselves, right here, right now.” The group was taken aback. Their aim was to talk with the Mayor, not to draw up a stratagem. The group looked upto Sean who was already devising the battle plan. Sean quickly called everybody and arranged them in a circle. He uttered the following,” My friends this opportunity that Our Mayor has given us should not go in vain. Let us challenge our other counterparts to a competition.” The group nodded and everything was told to the Mayor. “Very well then, you could have your competition on the first of the coming month. All the best.” the Mayor said and directed them to leave.

The group never had such an experience in their life, walked with heavy foot, thought about the ways in which they would explain what just happened, feared for the future but believed in their decision.  They were confronted by their peers when they came out of the secretariat. Curiosity knew no bounds and questions started flooding in. What did he say? Are we going to get back the incentives? Why you are not telling anything? What happened? Why are you numb? The group waited for them to finish, then said what was being cooked in their minds. “ We have asked the Mayor for a competition between us and the others and we hope to win it.” There was complete silence, nobody moved, no lips bend, no eyes blinked. They continued,” forever we have been living under this threat that our only source of income would fade away and we would be left helpless. We never worked to see ourselves play a bigger role. So, here is our chance. Let us show the world what we can do.” There were tears in eyes, determination took over, belief strengthened.

The evening news was rather very encouraging.

Battle of arts. Prepare to be dazzled.

A marketing campaign was launched by the weavers in view of the competition. Sponsors bid their money on the stronger, people stayed with the glamour of the battle, media highlighted the strategies of the parties, armies of weavers and potters were prepared and the battle started.

A previously decided condition of the competition was that only a single piece of art would qualify for judgment.

The Day of Judgment arrived, the parade ground was dressed up for the competition, huge tents, enormous stage, variety of stalls, fence, VIP lounges, lighting, microphones, speakers, everything was arranged with precision.  The judges were some of the eminent dignitaries from the fields of science, art and the Mayor himself.  People started coming In through the great doors shaped in the form of castle doors, entry fees was charged, people enjoyed the food on the stalls, magicians lured the kids, swings rose high enough to scare the adults, joyous cars bumped into one another, cotton tasted better than candy, photographs were clicked, memories preserved, laughter spread, happiness grew.  There were two camps created for the battling teams, one for the weavers, one for the potters. Nothing was known about the preparations of both the teams. The huge speakers installed in the premises declared the initiation of the event and asked the state of jittery to stable down. People occupied seats so as to get a clear view. The host for the event was a famous TV actor John Mimmings. The actor smiled in a way that his entire set of dentures , well maintained and shiny like a full Moon was visible, his voice stronger than a rusty wind, his stature bigger than reality. He was dressed in a black suit. People became ecstatic the moment he climbed on the dais. The heavily built men used their strength to stop the females from creating an uncontrolled situation. John announced the beginning of the event and asked the first team, i.e., the weavers to display what they had made. The crowd cheered them with an applause that had a sound greater than the sound of all the battle tanks combined, they screamed –


Then came their masterpiece. A piece of cloth that turned into a display of art. The vibrant colours, the stitching, the heavy embroidery work, the amount of work that was put, clearly made its mark. The cloth that was yellow in colour, had alienated its identity owing to the work of the weavers. They had made a scene of a Sunny day, flowers, bees nectating on flowers, birds nesting, trees cooling the ground, water running across the length, insects, twigs, every detail was so perfectly put that it made many cry, the scenes were so beautifully portrayed that mouths remained open, hearts were filled with joy, nothing seemed beautiful, nothing seemed so divine. Nobody believed that anything better than this can exist.

The weavers cleared the stage and made way for the crew that started preparing the stage for the other team. The crowd settled down and the host John declared the entry of the potters. Their entry was rather sober as compared to the welcome received by the weavers, there was an occasional applause. Nothing was expected from them, people had already decided their winner, judgment was just a formality. But, then something happened that made people stand on their heels to witness a fine example of art, a fine example of determination, a fine example of belief. The potters showcased the History of the city of Marshallow with a means never ever used to describe a story-earth. They made a scene wherein everything was made of clay, houses, carts, mountains, water, people, animals, flowers, rays of Sun, so serene, immaculate, unending, deeply intriguing. The scale that they used was perfect, details unlimited, colours taken from the rainbow, but the element, the very own soil. They started with the creation of universe, showed the wheels of time revolving and brought the scene to a standstill when the city was formed. People had become restless, they wanted to see more, wanted to feel the earth, wanted to see history unfurl. The potters again started but this time their intent was something different. They showed the development of the art of weavers as a National Heritage,  told the tale of its magnanimity and forecasted its future in a way that aroused sentiments of every soul that witnessed the entire display of something that was nothing short of a miracle. The act was coming to an end and then it ended. The potters came on the stage and destroyed all that they had made. People were astonished, taken aback, Why would one destroy such a piece of art? Somebody stop them, Wait! Wait !!! Before anything could be done there was a complete mess on the stage. The potters had lined up on the stage all holding hands, breathing heavily, some even crying, but determined, their belief strengthened.

Sean came up at the front and said the following words,” World has always been a place where the fittest has survived. It has always been cruel to the one that could not mould itself in the changing designs of the world. Nobody has the power to determine the design of survival as design is something that has been left to the almighty. But, human tendency has evolved, managed its surroundings, tried to survive, tried to live, tried to exist. We have been trying to exist among you for the time immemorial, tried telling you that we have gone nowhere, soil still needs to be cured, it still can be shaped, it still can bring joy to many. But Alas, I think that we were wrong in our thinking. All that  we want from you people is to give us a second and for years of toiling hard in the soil we think we do deserve a second chance. Our art may seem repugnant, it may not be colourful, it may not decorate beings, it may not be wearable, it may not sustain for long. But let me remind you that land is of utmost importance to us, without land there is no life, and we play with land, and the one who plays with land is someone to be respected.


Thank you” Sean stopped.

There was a silence of a cold, midnight, nobody moved, tears rolled down cheeks, suddenly a clap was heard. This initiated a chain reaction and the entire gathering was standing and clapping like crazy. They were cheering the potters.


The judges stopped the crowd and the Mayor addressed the gathering.

In life there are moments that test our endurance, they test the very fabric of what we are made up of, they challenge the ideals that function us, they interrogate the soul. These moments sometimes very difficult to pass are something that need to be cherished as they bring out the best in you, prepare you for a future that could be even worse. Everybody lives their life, pass these moments and then leave the world with nothing but the memories of the time spent. This time spent itself is a journey, a journey where we form new relationships, break inhibitions, experience pain, enjoy rejuvenation, laugh till it hurts, learn new things, work, earn, sleep, eat. Everyday we leave our homes in order to earn the bread that satisfies hunger of all our loved ones. This could be different for different people. A clown in a fair, a waiter in a restaurant, a driver of a bus, your teacher, your Mayor. But, when this job is jeopardized we focus all our energies to save it. The potter today have done a commendable job in claiming what they sought. They had asked for respect and I believe after what they have done here on this stage none of us needs any proof of what they are capable of. Am I right people of Marshallow?

The entire ground rose in a thundering Yes!!




The Mayor had found the perfect picture for his photo frame, a picture wherein all the artists of all art forms were performing on the same stage without any personal vendettas, just for the sake of art. The potters were recognised for their art and were now a part of bigger things.

For every disappointment we face, every failure we generate, every opportunity missed, there lies a belief that there will be a tomorrow, there will be sunshine at the end of tunnel, life will regenerate, people will move on, time will pace forward. Whatever we do it is our belief that keeps us going, keeps us energized to work for long, help us bear the pain, make us break records.

Down went a frog, couldn’t get up

Down went a frog, couldn’t see up

Down went a frog, wanted to go up

Down went a frog, believed to go up

Down went a frog, saw the sunlight go up

Down went a frog, climbed a rope go up

Down went a frog,  found a way up

Keep believing, keep working.