Literary Vibes - Edition LXI (27-Mar-2020)
Dear Readers,
In the times of lockdown practiced by 1.3 billion people in India, the following anonymous poem brought a glow to my heart :
EVERYTHING IS NOT LOCKED DOWN
Sun is not locked down
Season is not locked down
Relationships are not locked down
Love is not locked down
Reading is not locked down
Learning is not locked down
Music is not locked down
Devotion is not locked down
Imagination is not locked down
Creativity is not locked down
Conversations are not locked down
Kindness is not locked down
Hope is not locked down
Everything is not locked down.
And may I add,
LITERARYVIBES IS NOT LOCKED DOWN
Today's edition includes a special section on Corona. I have myself written a piece to pay tributes to the thousands of brave hearts who are risking their life to serve the people. For them we have the claps, the conch and the cymbals.
We will return next week with more poems and stories to keep your minds busy at home during the lockdown. Meanwhile please share this sixty first edition of LiteraryVibes with all your friends and contacts through the link: http://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/289
If you want to read more poems and stories from the old editions of LV please visit http://positivevibes.today/literaryvibes wherein you will get all the previous sixty editions of LV, as also three anthologies of poems and short stories of Sharanya Bee, Prof. Geetha Nair and Mine.
Wish you happy reading.
Please take care, be safe and stay blessed.
Mrutyunjay Sarangi
Table of Contents
- ROSE AND THE LARVA Prabhanjan K. Mishra
- THE EXISTENTIAL DIL.. Haraprasad Das
- CYCLONE: THE TIMID.. Kamalakanta Panda (Kalpanta)
- UNEASY PEACE Geetha Nair G
- LAID BARE Krupasagar Sahoo
- ABSENCES Dilip Mohapatra
- FORBIDDEN LOVE Dr Ajay Upadhyaya
- POEM OF NOTHIN.. PravatKumar Padhy
- I WISH EVERY DAY PravatKumar Padhy
- A SPORTIVE POEM PravatKumar Padhy
- THE LESSON Sharanya Bee
- BALANCE Molly Joseph
- SIMPLE Molly Joseph
- A FEW WORDS .. Anjali Mohapatra
- FOREIGN INVASION Sheena Rath
- THE SAKURA IS HERE.. Hema Ravi N
- HAWAII - THE LAP OF .. Setaluri Padmavathi
- CORONA SPEAKETH Prabhanjan K. Mishra
- CORONA TIME, ROM… Prabhanjan K. Mishra
- NO PLACE TO GO Dilip Mohapatra
- COVID COVE Nikhil M. Kurien
- LOVE IN THE TIME.. Bichitra Kumar Behura
- COVID-19 Dr. Samrat shah
- A DREADFUL MOMENT Setaluri Padmavathi
- JEEVES DEALS WITH .. Writer: Anonymous
- CLAPS, CONCHES.. Dr. Mrutyunjay Sarangi
Anonymous
amid the anonymity,
I await the welcome fingers
to peel me open,
reveal
the clean organ,
my interior, my inner
defenceless-self,
the jewel,
mine, and of my solitary self,
supine, languid,
bedding together with the rose.
The translucence
of the window pane
brings in diluted stars, and
the slice of moon, excuses,
reflect our lonesome nudity,
shriveled, bent; a dark larva
helplessly crawling to the dry rose,
would they together ignite a fire?
Red and live,
in a ballroom’s haze,
oozing, pulsating pheromones,
an UFO takes us home.
Prabhanjan K. Mishra writes poems, stories, critiques and translates, works in two languages – English and Odia. Three of his collected poems in English have been published into books – VIGIL (1993), Lips of a Canyon (2000), and LITMUS (2005).His Odia poems have appeared in Odia literary journals. His English poems poems have been widely anthologized and published in literary journals. He has translated Bhakti poems (Odia) of Salabaga that have been anthologized into Eating God by Arundhathi Subramaniam and also translated Odia stories of the famous author Fakirmohan Senapati for the book FROM THE MASTER’s LOOM (VINTAGE STORIES OF FAKIRMOHAN SENAPATI). He has also edited the book. He has presided over the POETRY CIRCLE (Mumbai), a poets’ group, and was the editor (1986-96) of the group’s poetry magazine POIESIS. He has won Vineet Gupta Memorial Poetry Award and JIWE Poetry Award for his English poems.He welcomes readers' feedback at his email - prabhanjan.db@gmail.com
THE EXISTENTIAL DILEMMA (PASHCHIMA)
Translated by Prabhanjan K. Mishra
Can I handle a thing here
freely; claim it as mine?
Not even unwanted scraps
that lie around in squalid abandon –
a lone cymbal from an old pair,
a string of discoloured kaaincha*,
or a piece of broken chalk!
No, I am not allowed.
Have I even the right
to sweep the scrap together,
make a heap of them,
dispose them to a waste-bin.
Without any right,
why do I stay around here;
another dumb piece of scrap;
lips sealed?
In helpless frustration
I keep twiddling thumbs,
vent my anger by ravaging
my fountain of joy;
wrench away
from under her veil
the sparkling nosegay,
my gift on our first night.
Am I sure,
why I keep my peace;
do I fear, her hypnotic eyes
may lose the twinkles?
Am I worried, the westerly star
may stop rising after the sunset
from the other side
of our half-built trust?
(*Kaaincha – dry smooth shining colourful seeds from the dry pods of the Kaaincha creeper, a weed found in Odisha. Using the dry shining seeds as beads, Odia women in rural Odisha produce decorative items including strings, worn as necklace.)
Mr. Hara Prasad Das is one of the greatest poets in Odiya literature. He is also an essayist and columnist. Mr. Das, has twelve works of poetry, four of prose, three translations and one piece of fiction to his credit. He is a retired civil servant and has served various UN bodies as an expert.
He is a recipient of numerous awards and recognitions including Kalinga Literary Award (2017), Moortidevi Award(2013), Gangadhar Meher Award (2008), Kendra Sahitya Akademi Award (1999) and Sarala Award (2008)”
CYCLONE: THE TIMID VILLAGE (JHADA: NAADAAN GAAN)
Translated by Prabhanjan K. Mishra
Seems, an uneasy calm
guards against the backlash
from the recent unwelcome visitor,
the super cyclone;
the love and affection
showered upon the sufferers
from all quarters, lie locked like relics
in the *aumbry of a sealed sacristy;
the same fate has befallen
the lavish aid from benefactors,
the goods cooling their heels behind
packed but locked warehouses;
after the cyclone’s genocide,
the deserted streets look for
known faces, eager ears keep waiting
to hear familiar voices;
the bereft bathing-ghats by rivers
stare at empty distances,
for women who had to come
for their daily ablution dips;
the riverbanks miss the hubbub
on *Kartik Purnima, its ritual boats
carrying lighted lamps at dawn,
symbol of legendary seafaring trade;
the green pastures miss
the grazing cows, their trampling hooves,
the frolicking calves at mothers’ tits,
as do the empty cowsheds;
the deathly silent school bell waits
longing for the hands that ring it,
so does the clean-rubbed blackboard
missing the scribbling hands with chalks.
The essential commodities
rain from the sky, dollops of compassion,
the scavengers loot them like vultures
before they reach the needy.
The young and agile miss the fish
with steamed rice; the betrothed brides
blame the cyclone for delayed weddings,
widowed women curse it for killing husbands.
People lose faith in gods who vie
with each other for attention
from devotees, the shaken weeds
in the wilds suffocate with death’s stench.
Most villages are unsure of
to where they existed,
their identity would henceforth be
only on maps in land records.
Footnote:- *Aumbry is a container to safekeep the chalice (having allusion to the holy grail) or other sacramental articles inside a church or its sacristy. *Kartik Purnima is the full moon day of the holy month of Kartik in Hindu calendar.
KAMALAKANTA PANDA (KALPANTA), a renowned Odia poet lives and writes from Bhubaneswar, the city of temples, writing over the last forty years. He is often referred to as Kalpanta in Odia literary circles. He is a poet of almost legendary repute, and if one hasn’t read Kalpata’s poems, then, he hasn’t read the quintessence of Odia poetry. He is famous for a quirky decision that he would never collect his own poems into books himself. However, one may not find an Odia literary journal, or an anthology not enriched by his poems. (He can be reached at his resident telephone No.06742360394 and his mobile No. 09437390003)
( For a short Anthology of Geetha Nair's stories, Click - http://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/276 )
The sea is closed;
The waves in stasis
Hold fishes in translucence.
Ants alone hurry hurry;
Scurrying, hoarding zealots.
Our towers of silence sleep now;
For how long?
Will smoke billow soon,
Build steeples here
And pierce the sun that dims in fear ?
It is an uneasy peace.
Ms. Geetha Nair G is a retired Professor of English, settled in Trivandrum, Kerala. She has been a teacher and critic of English literature for more than 30 years. Poetry is her first love and continues to be her passion. A collection of her poems, "SHORED FRAGMENTS " was published in January' 2019. She welcomes readers' feedback at her email - geenagster@gmail.com
That day the calling bell rang quite early and Verma Sahib went to open the door. When he saw Raju there he felt like embracing him with delight as if he was his own brother who had been lost all these months. He showered such warmth on Raju that anybody would have mistaken Raju for his brother and not his former bungalow peon. Raju put down his bag and then said namaskar hazoor’ with folded hands.
Verma Sahib called him inside. Raju took off his shoes and kept them on the verandah. He put down his suitcase on the floor in a corner of the massive, lavishly decorated, drawing room. Verma Sahib was being too generous now and his happy smile spread from ear to ear. Then Raju asked him, “I don’t see Memsahib?”
“She is not at home now. She has gone to see her parents".
“Then you must be facing a lot of problems. Shall I make you some tea, sahib?”
Verma Sahib, who was feeling so relaxed seeing Raju all of a sudden immediately said, “O yes, I have not tasted the tea you make for a long time.”
He sat on the sofa now and began to glance at the newspaper as Raju entered the kitchen.
When Verma Sahib was posted at Kolkata, Raju had served him at the bungalow. He hailed from a hilly region in Himachal Pradesh. When he came to Kolkata, he was very lean and thin. And was around twenty-two years of age. Initially he assisted the peon Nathu for a year and when Nathu got a job in his office, Raju took his place. While Nathuram was very untidy and lazy, Raju was just the opposite; he was always dressed neatly and had a permanent smile. He was intelligent and quickly mastered the household chores. In a very short span, he won the hearts of his master and mistress. He became an expert cook of Chinese, North Indian, South Indian and other dishes, too. He was adept at every household chore. Verma Sahib’s bungalow, built in British style, was known as Lalkothi. Seven years passed very quickly. Verma Sahib rose to become the head of his department and retired as the General Manager of his Kolkata railway office. After retirement, he settled in Delhi. During the past five years, everybody forgot him. But Raju remembered him and would always visit him whenever he went home via Delhi. Verma Sahib was moved to tears with his gratitude and servility even after his own retirement. He was touched by Raju’s love and devotion for him. Although his eyes were focused on the newspaper, the letters seemed blurred because the eyes had filled with tears of happiness.
Raju came with a glass of water and a cup of steaming tea on a tray and kept it on the side table. Then he asked, “Shall I make you some breakfast, Sahib? Why don’t you go and have a bath in the mean time?”
Verma Sahib had a large bungalow in the posh locality of Sarojini Nagar in New Delhi. There were two huge gulmohur trees flanking his house as if extending their flower boughs in an embrace. There was a small lovely lawn in the front, lush with exotic grass. There were croton and bougainvillea bushes planted along the hedge, manicured into various shapes. In his house, there was expensive wooden furniture made of rosewood, mahogany, and teak. His house reeked of affluence. But despite living in such a beautiful and lavishly decorated house, Verma Sahib was feeling uneasy and claustrophobic. Since his wife’s parental home was in Delhi, she frequently visited them. Once he was the General Manager of one of the biggest public sector undertakings where there were many people attending to him all the time. Now, after his retirement, only the servants came and in time went away. He himself had to do many chores like paying the electricity and telephone bills and often had to act like a watchman, too, because there were too many burglaries reported in that locality. Life seemed to be a burden to him after retirement.
For a long time, he had no connection with the outside world. When he was in service he had taken disciplinary action against many of his colleagues and that is why after retirement even though he knew there were his office people in Delhi, he did not have the courage to visit them and ask about their well-being. Without his entourage of servants, he could not dare to go sightseeing too. He had not gone to his club for a long time either. Of late, a number of theft and burglary cases in his locality was also a cause of concern for him. Aged couples were easy targets and were often robbed and murdered. He could not leave his house because of that fear. But how to while away his time? For how long could he read books, magazines and watch television or even listen to music? He was disgusted with everything of late and boredom had become his only companion.
Raju’s unexpected arrival lifted his sprits as if it was a whiff of cool and fresh air when the hot breeze had made his life miserable. As if someone now tickled his mind, which had lain dormant for long locked in a pin box. He was longing for fresh air now. After having a bath, he took out a tee-shirt and shorts; wore his sports shoes and put on a cap. He thought it was a lovely weather to venture out. It would be great for outdoor games, he mused.
Suddenly he remembered that his car was in the garage. How could he go to the club then? He rang up his friend, Sharma Sahib.
“Good morning, Sharma!”
“Very good morning!” A very sleepy voice answered from the other end yawning lazily.
“Are you still in bed? It is such lovely weather outside today!”
“Really? I am still in bed now. It was quite late last night when I returned home and had a heavy head.”
“Let us go to the Golf Club this morning. You will feel refreshed.”
“No, dear, I have some work at the court today,” answered the voice from the other end, showing his reluctance.
“I am not forcing you. But think again. There would be Mrs. Malhotra today. See if your lawyer can manage the court thing today.”
“Did Mrs. Malhotra ring you?”
“No, no, I rang up to enquire about her programme for the day”, lied Mr. Verma.
“And what about Lily Chatterjee?”
“She is a regular. We will pick her up on our way. Have you decided then? Today I will pay for the drinks.”
He had to resort to lies and temptation to turn Sharma Sahib’s reluctance into consent.
“Okay then”, said Sharma Sahib.
“My car is at the garage. Will you pick me up then?” asked Verma Sahib.
“Time?”
“Exactly at ten o’clock”.
He handed over the keys to Raju and gave him instructions. “There is no guarantee of memsahib’s return; she can come any time like a tornado. I am going to the Golf Club. You will cook dinner. Keep this hundred rupee note. Find out what you will need in the kitchen and, yes, there are many burglary cases here these days. Don’t leave the house unattended for long.”
Lily Chatterjee was a well-known social worker in Delhi. Although she was middle aged she was a spinster. Of late, she had developed a fancy for golf.
The golf Club was located on the outskirts of Delhi and it took about an hour to get through the tiresome traffic jams. But Lily Chatterjee's company made that journey quite enjoyable.
Mrs. Malhotra drove the car herself. Her husband was in the export business and remained away from home for long periods on foreign tours. Mrs. Malhotra, therefore, kept herself socially active and flitted from clubs to social gatherings and hopped from party to party like a butterfly to add colour to her otherwise drab and monotonous life. She had chosen Mr. Sharma to give her company on such occasions.
She was waiting for Mr. Sharma standing at the edge of a pond at the Golf Course.
She was wearing a salwar kameez and looked like a multi-hued croton bush in the green backdrop of the vast lawn. In the sun her henna-dyed hair gleamed. When Sharma Sahib arrived, they exchanged a few words of greetings and then they walked away arm-in -arm to the other side of the pond. Verma Sahib had Lily Chatterjee for company and headed for the lawn to teach her the game. The couples decided to meet for lunch at the club lounge.
The whole day was spent with lots of fun. And the day finally came to a close. In the horizon, the sun was getting ready to sink behind the edge of the acacia jungle and the babul trees. Mrs. Malhotra became restless wanting to go back for her daughter would have returned from college by then. Without Mrs. Malhotra, the club had no attraction for them. That was the reason why everybody got up to leave.
Verma Sahib saw a rustic boy guarding the gate. When he was about to enter his house, he stopped him saying, "Who're you? Where are you rushing to?"
Verma Sahib was astonished and surveyed the boy from tip to toe. He decided not to spoil the day by losing his temper and said amiably, "I'm a TV mechanic. I repair TVs and radios." He was being very patient and tried to have some fun now.
"TV mechanic?" He had doubts when he saw the intruder with a head cap, half pants and banyan and a sling bag hanging from his shoulder. Could he be a petty thief and had come there knowing that there won't be anyone at home at that time? He said in a sober tone, "There is no one at home now. Raju Uncle did not say that any TV mechanic would come."
Verma Sahib poured some water from the bottle in his bag and then asked, "Where is Raju by the way?"
"He has gone to the market. His sahib has gone out to have some fun and has told him to keep watch at his house. He said lots of burglaries are taking place here and not to allow anyone inside the house."
"And he himself has gone to have fun instead, posting you at the gate?" Verma Sahib asked sarcastically.
"Do you know my uncle?"
"Yes, he is my friend. It is because he told me, I have come to repair your sahib's TV. Are you from his village too?"
"Yes, we are from the same village. And also from the same family."
"Why have you come to Delhi?"
"I have come in search of a job. Raju Uncle had told me that he would find me a job after telling his master about me."
"Does his master give jobs?" Verma Sahib became curious and wanted to probe further.
"Yes, he is very benevolent. He has given employment to many people. There are at least ten to twelve people from our village who have got jobs through him. Before he retired he gave jobs to hundreds of people in his company. Raju uncle's brother and nephew too got employed by him."
"Who else have got jobs?"
"Tell me, who did not? Raju Uncle told me that the maidservant who was working at Sahib's bungalow also got a job. The woman who was looking after Sahib's daughter when she was pregnant also got a job. The one who used to take his dogs for outings in the mornings and evenings got employed too. Sahib's barber, who used to shave his beard and trim his hair and gave him a weekly massage, also got a job. Sahib's driver also got a job. Like this an army of neighborhood boys who lived in the slum areas near Sahib's residence also were given jobs by him."
"That means the Sahib is very magnanimous and very powerful person. Tell me now, did you have to cough up for this."
“Raju uncle has taken 30,000 only to give his Sahib for this.”
Verma Sahib now became very disturbed and asked in surprise, "Really?"
After such a prolonged discussion, the boy had become a little friendly towards the intruder and allowed him to rest on the verandah. He was sure that the man could not be a thief. "There are mosquitoes now, let us move to the lighted area", he said.
They went and sat in the verandah near the lamp. Verma Sahib was curious to find out more about his trusted former employee. He asked, "Did Raju say anything about his master other qualities too?"
"No, he had said all good things about his Sahib. He says, Sahib is a very large-hearted man and very generous. He would ask my uncle, 'Do you need any money? Your mother is not well, take this money.' He used to give his money for shopping but never asked for the expenses list and the balance money."
"Why, did he never return the balance money to his Sahib?"
Now the boy laughed loudly. "Who would not cheat if one is so careless? Besides, the Sahib had a failing too. And Raju Uncle used to take full advantage of that."
"What was that?"
"Nothing much, but like the fish loves to be in deep water, his Sahib used to drown himself in drinks every evening. With his drinks, he loved to munch mixture, salad, chops, etc. and he loved to listen to music at that time. And he would hum too when he would become thoroughly sozzled by the drinks. He would sing very beautifully and loudly then."
"Really? Sahib sang songs too?"
"Raju Uncle told me that once during Holi he got very drunk. Have you seen the film, Silsila where Amitabh Bachchan was paired with Rekha and he had poured a bucketful of paint on her when he had had lots of bhang? I cannot remember that song now. O yes, now I remember, 'Rang barase bhige chunar wali, rang barase'. Sahib also sang that song when he got up and poured a bucketful of water on the wife of his secretary. What a nuisance that was, really!"
The boy burst out laughing now. Verma Sahib turned crimson in anger but then he controlled himself. And asked him, "Okay, tell me now, did your uncle drink, too?"
"Can he let go of his habits? Even before Sahib would start drinking, he used to have a taste of the drink first. When Sahib would go off to sleep he would finish the rest of the bottle. He was telling me it was something called gin or champagne, I don't remember the drink."
"Acha! Your Raju Uncle told you all these, too?"
"Only this? He has told me that his Sahib was also philandering a lot. He had lots of female company. Memsahib would be very upset with him for this. Once my uncle told me that he had even entered the house of one of his friends when he was away. Next morning, he had acid thrown on his head. That is why there is a bald patch on his head."
Verma Sahib had now become livid and pulled down the cap a little lower. His blood was boiling now. And he looked pitiable.
"Why is he taking so long? Mechanic Babu, please sit here for a while; let me go and relieve myself." The boy went behind the gulmohur tree to pee.
Verma Sahib was trembling and seething in anger. With much difficulty, he got up and sat on the jhoola on the verandah. "Namak hararm ! Haramzada!" These words spilled from his mouth. He was once upon a time the General Manager of such a big company; his power was endless. He could sack many at his will. But now he could do nothing because he no longer enjoyed any power. He was feeling miserable. He was shaking from head to toe and feeling as if he was impotent. He could do nothing about being so pathetically exposed.
Krupasagar Sahoo is a leading name in contemporary Odia literature. With twelve collection of stories and six novels to his credit he has created a niche for himself in the world of Odia fiction. Many of his works have been translated in to English and other major Indian languages. Drawing upon his experience as a senior Railway officer, he has penned several memorable railway stories. He is recipient of several literary awards including Odisha Sahitya Academy award for his novel SESHA SARAT.
The bouquet of yellow roses
that was delivered the other day
on our wedding anniversary
with a note from our daughter
and that adorned the crystal vase
on our mantelpiece is gone.
I can see it no more
yet I know it was there
and I feel its faint fragrance
in every breath that I take
which perhaps will remain for ever.
Your slender fingers plucked
the strings of the tanpura so very softly
in repeated rhythm
levitating me into a
limitless rhapsody
and now in your arthritic numbness
as you see it standing silently
in its glass case in the corner
I still feel the soundless notes
weaving the sonic canvas
on which the ragas are waiting to be inscribed.
The stars appear to have disappeared
behind the layers of clouds
yet I can see a flying Cygnus
or Cassiopeia reclining on her chair.
The sparrows are gone and so are the mynahs
and the cuckoo no longer coos
with the sprightly spring pushed away
by an oppressive summer
yet the familiar tweets echo in my ears.
The hourglass gets turned
upside down
again and again
on and on
and the deaths continue
to complement the lives.
Dilip Mohapatra (b.1950), a decorated Navy Veteran is a well acclaimed poet in contemporary English and his poems appear in many literary journals of repute and multiple anthologies worldwide. He has six poetry collections to his credit so far published by Authorspress, India. He has also authored a Career Navigation Manual for students seeking a corporate career. This book C2C nee Campus to Corporate had been a best seller in the category of Management Education. He lives with his wife in Pune, India.
Chakaa Dolaa Bidyapitha is my Alma Mater. Like most schools in Odisha, it is a vernacular school, named after Lord Jagannath. It boasts of many achievements; it is one of the best managed Schools in the state, it churns out “Best tens’ (the top ten high scorers in the Annual State-wide Final School Leaving Examination) periodically, to name a few. For me, of course, such considerations are secondary.
This is the High School where I spent a chunk of my life, substantial in length and significant in associations. Unsurprisingly, its attraction has remained undiminished and, on every chance, I have gone back to it to revisit my childhood.
On each visit, the first enquiry would be about the teachers from my time. It has been so gratifying to meet some of my old teachers; so, pleasing to see the pride on their faces. The next item on the Agenda is usually an update on my batch mates and their contemporaries. The current staff would generally rattle off the batch mates’ achievements and speak in glowing terms the high positions they have attained in their chosen careers.
And, then comes a tour of the school, walking down the main corridor, peeping into some class rooms, to relive memory from a bygone time. After sharing a cup of tea and posing for a photograph with the staff, usually I would depart.
As all such visits were made without prior appointment, it was luck of the draw as to whom I met on each occasion. Nonetheless, the sense of contentment was sufficient to draw me back to the school on my next visit to India.
As expected, over the years, number of old faces from my school days steadily declined. Commitments in my professional life as a physician and demands on my spare time from the domestic front precluded my visit to the school for almost the next twenty years.
This visit was after such a long gap that I had given up hope of finding any old faces. In fact, I was in two minds about making the tedious road journey to my school. After some prevarication, the draw of a trip down the memory lane eventually proved irresistible. ‘Perhaps, it would be my last trip,' I told myself.
The School looked different. Although the main building looked much the same, the surrounding structures had a different get-up. The slope and the length of the path from the main road to the school had changed so much that the school building projected a different face.
But the welcome by the school staff was warm and cordial as ever. For a change, I did not find any familiar face, which did not surprise me. I had to introduce myself: I studied here a long time ago, so long that I had lost count of the years. I am now settled and working as a Physician abroad.
The Head Master, a man in his forties, dropped his scheduled activities to attend to me; ordering a cold drink for me and giving me a tour of the school. Soon, we were talking about the teachers from my childhood, many of whom had passed away. On our ritualistic round of the school, we met a few other teachers, who were too young to have anything in common or any connection with my time at the school.
On the back of the school, we had the school pond, which I was eager to see. To my utter dismay, the pond had gone. It was converted into a playground.
I could visualise the pond, with trees on three sides, and remember spending our recess times on the bank. The thrill of plunging into its water, stealthily during holidays, which was forbidden during school hours, rekindled memories from the deep recesses of my mind: I could feel the excitement overflowing into the forecourt of my mind. Transgression has its own charm!
Simply watching the reflection of the trees, fragmented by the ripples of the pond before dissolving in the water, was a joy. Certainly, a playground is more functional than a pond but it’s also devoid of any charm. Its dullness marked a sharp contrast as it had none of the pond’s magic.
The Head Master was busy talking about the changes in the school over the years. I was unsure how to respond to his tone of frustration, while narrating his hurdles in the job of running the school. ‘At least, by lending him a sympathetic ear, I was letting him vent his pent-up emotions’, I told myself. Perhaps, it had an unburdening effect.
He then zeroed on the problem of unfilled vacancies in teachers' posts in the school. That took me back to my school days.
‘So, the problem of teacher shortage has not gone away,' I said, I emembered, in my days here, at times there were not enough teachers to cover all the class periods in the Time Table for the whole school. I was one of the few students, who were regularly sent on teaching assignments in junior classes. English and Mathematics were my forte and these were the subjects, I taught to my junior pupils.
After going around the school we sat in the Head Master’s office for a cup of tea. Our conversations had dried up and I was about to say good bye, when a lady walked into the office. The Head Master stood up in deference and bowed respectfully to welcome her.
She had grey hair and gold rimmed spectacles but she wore them well. She had donned an orange sari with dark green borders. She had a confident but gentle stride and overall cast a dignified presence.
‘Namaskar Madam,' the Head Master addressed her, ushering her into his office. ‘Please come in and take a seat’.
She lowered herself into the chair on my left. I glanced at her and caught her right profile. Who is she, I wondered? Do I know her? I scratched my brain to place her. Despite a vague sense of familiarity, I struggled to fit her face to the stock of people, I could locate in my memory.
‘Madam is a retired teacher. She was one of our finest teachers of English. After her retirement from the prestigious high school in Puri, she taught here for a few years. But finally, she decided to call it a day and now she is fully retired'.
‘What brings her to school today?’, I asked, while still working out why she looked so familiar.
‘She is here to collect her service records from this school’.
‘He was a student in this school in 1960s. He is a Doctor, working and settled in England’, The Head Master introduced me.
‘’Hello,' I said to her, when she turned her face towards me. The sense of familiarity grew, but I was still unable to place her.
‘Oh, I was also a student around that time, she said, when did you do your matriculation?’
‘It was a long time ago, in 1966.’
‘So, I was three years your junior.’
‘Ah, I have seen you before; I was wondering why you look so familiar.’
I introduced my name into the conversation and went on to give a brief account of my life’s course, ending in my current position in London. All along, my mind was searching for the old memory of faces from my school days.
My thoughts were interrupted by her next words, ‘Sir, you may not remember, you took some of our English classes’.
I looked at her face again. While I was still straining my memory to recognise her, she went on, ‘I am Mridula. You taught us some English lessons, when our English teacher was off sick.'
‘And, your teaching was my inspiration, which shaped my life’s goal.'
‘Ah, I feel flattered,' I said in an embarrassed tone: 'I did my best when I was sent on such teaching assignments. I had no idea if I did a good job at all.'
‘But I remember the very period in English you took for our class and you taught us English Grammar. The topic was Parts of speech. After covering the basics, such as noun, verb, adjectives and adverbs, you said something interesting. And, I still remember it.’
‘What was so interesting?’
After giving examples of verbs, you said, sometimes things are a bit more complicated than these simple examples. For example, you know Swim, Swam and Swimming are examples of verbs.
Then you asked, ’In this sentence, ‘Swimming is a good exercise’, what part of speech is
Swimming?’
I had my gaze fixed on her face but my mind had wandered off.
‘I answered from the class, ‘It is a noun here and it is called gerund’. And, ‘your generous compliments at my answer made an impact on me.’
Now, I could see the slim face of young Mridula, from ages ago. Her face now looked fuller, making it rounder. Her eyes now sat amidst wrinkles but had not lost the sparkle. And her sharp nose and her thin lips still looked as if they were chiselled by a gifted sculptor.
I was a lanky shy adolescent in my school days. On such teaching assignments, I used to be a nervous wreck; I simply could not look directly at the pupils in the class room. Generally, I would look straight ahead, into the air, while teaching.
But there was one face, which often grabbed my attention. She had her hair tied loosely back in a bun but a few unruly strands of hair dangled across her face, while she spoke. Her hair had greyed with time but had not lost their shine.
Gender segregation at school, those days was complete and there was no chance for private encounter. Even if I had got a chance, I was too awkward to say what I wanted to tell her. Perhaps, I would have been tongue-tied, or even worse, blurted out something totally inappropriate.
I lacked the courage to show her how I felt, nor did I have the vocabulary to put them in words. I could not boast of handsome looks. Would a pretty girl like Mridula care for me? My worst fear was that she might reject my overture outright. But all this remained as mere possibilities because there were few opportunities for secret meetings. Well, until now; when I was squarely looking at her face from close quarters.
I was overcome with emotions and my eyes welled up. I was at a loss for words; just could not think of my next sentence. All my mental resources had been used up in holding back tears. I could feel my voice choking. I quickly took out my hankie to wipe my face, hoping in the process to dry my eyes before anyone spotted them.
At the same time, I was desperate to say something complimentary to Mridula. I have finally got a chance, never mind how late. I quickly gulped a sip of water from the glass in front me to clear my throat, ‘I am so glad, you took up teaching.’ I continued, ‘I feel so emotional today; it seems I wanted to pursue teaching as a career myself but failed to do so. But my dream of being a teacher did not die. It lived on through you, thank God.’
On my way back from the school, my mind was flooded with images of Mridula. I wondered if she had any idea of my feelings for her, let alone reciprocating them. At least now I was alone in the back seat of the car. I was relieved; I did not have to check the flow of emotions nor hide my moist eyes.
Soon, my mind wandered off, back to my current home, England. I remember, when the law about teacher pupil relationships changed, some years ago, making some liaisons between teacher and pupils, a criminal offence. Of course, it has its own logic. Feelings of erotic love between teacher and pupil is frowned upon in eyes of man - made Law, but not before God.
Dr. Ajaya Upadhyaya from Hertfordshire, England. A Retired Consultant Psychiatrist from the British National Health Service and Honorary Senior Lecturer in University College, London.
When there is nothing
To ink my pen
To shape a poem
I wonder through
The smokes coming from
The chimney to the sky.
Collect waste matchsticks
From the streets,
Pile up the ashes
From the crematorium instead of
Immersing them in the Ganges
And look to the wind
Sleeping on the leaves.
Publication Credit: Prevalent Aspects of Indian English Poetry, 1983-84
I wish every day
In dream
To see a tiny lovely dove
Flying over the blue sky
With green leaves in its mouth.
I wish every day
The flowers afresh
To look back to the world
Doomed in anguish and anger
And
Elate the rough mankind
To learn to smile
For a while.
I wish every day
The ecstatic dance of peacock,
Cause of hide and seek play of deer
Render the sense of love and peace
To the world frighten.
I wish every day
The yonder stars
To pour rays of
Oneness over this world divided.
Lastly, I wish every day
To pen a poem of peace
And sing through my
Drawing room window
For mankind
Embodying with beauty nature
And bewitching creatures.
Publication Credit: Anti-War Poems Anthology, Vol. II, 1986, Canada
We assemble here
With a pledge
To love each other.
The mascot from a distance
Greets us with gaiety.
Inhales its pleasure of life
From the smiles of our lips.
It dances around
Embellishing Seoul, a jovial ground.
We march on
Paving the track for peace and bright.
Our creation fulfills
A complete circle
Clubbing each other: black and white.
The sky flies high
Into the abode of peace
Along with sweet and smiling doves.
Let us run all along elating the air
Chanting the songs of freedom everywhere.
Publication Credit: Pancontinental Premier Poets: The Tenth Biennial Anthology, 1987-88
Pravat Kumar Padhy, a scientist and a poet from Odisha, India, has obtained his Masters of Science and Technology and Ph.D from Indian Institute of Technology, ISM Dhanbad. He has published many technical papers in national and international journals. He is amongst the earliest pioneers in evolving the concept of Oil Shale exploration and scope for “Ancient Oil Exploration” (from Geological very old strata) in India.
His literary work is cited in Interviews with Indian Writing in English, Spectrum History of Indian Literature in English, Alienation in Contemporary Indian English Poetry, Cultural and Philosophical Reflections in Indian Poetry in English, History of Contemporary Indian English Poetry, etc. His Japanese short form of poetry appeared in various international journals and anthologies. He guest-edited “Per Diem, The Haiku Foundation, November Issue, 2019,” (Monoku about ‘Celestial Bodies’). His poems received many awards, honours and commendations including Editors’ Choice Award at Writers Guild of India, Asian American Poetry, Poetbay, Vancouver Cherry Blossom Festival International Haiku, UNESCO International Year Award of Water Co-operation, The Kloštar Ivani? International Haiku Award, IAFOR Vladimir Devide Haiku Award, 7th Setouchi Matsuyama International Photo Haiku Award, and others. His work is showcased in the exhibition “Haiku Wall”, Historic Liberty Theatre Gallery, Oregon, USA. His tanka,‘I mingle’ is featured in the “Kudo Resource Guide”, University of California, Berkeley. The poem, “How Beautiful” is included in the Undergraduate English Curriculum at the university level in India.
He is credited with seven literary publications of verse, Silence of the Seas (Skylark Publication), The Tiny Pebbles (Cyberwit.net). Songs of Love - A Celebration (Writers Workshop), Ripples of Resonance (Authors Press Cosmic Symphony (Haiku collection), Cyberwit.Net, The Rhyming Rainbow (Tanka collection), Authors Press), and The Speaking Stone (Authors Press). His poems are translated into different languages like Japanese, Chinese, Serbian, German, Romanian, Italian, Irish, Bosnian, Spanish, Arabic, Hindi, Punjabi, Telugu, and Odia.
He feels, “The essence of poetry nestles in the diligent fragrance of flower, simplicity of flow of river, gentle spread of leaves, calmness of deep ocean and embellishment of soothing shadow. Let poetry celebrate a pristine social renaissance and beautiful tomorrow of the universal truism, here and beyond.
( For a short Anthology of Sharanya Bee's poems, Click - http://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/285 )
Stranded within a loop of flames that mock me, blazing spikes and waves,
Within its open mouth, they don't swallow me yet, the hot air -
their exhaled breaths prep me up,
They gulp down my pouring sweat, savour the scent of my swelling fear,
Courage-eroden, I shiver and tremble,
Uproar of the fire alludes to many a faint visions,
What a clever trap, the smoke waters my eyes as well as smogs the sight ahead,
My head refuses to marvel, yet ponders on 'what's and 'why's...
A sinner in punishment or an innocent in testing...?
Belief strengthens in me, I am undeserving of this catastrophe,
Enraged by injust, the fire in me burns fiercer than any,
It only gets harder, only more scorching
Fire can never put out fire
I sink in surrender, chastise myself for every moment
I squandered in rage,
Fury was never the answer, I realize,
A gust of cool wind encircles me,
a shawl of snow twirled round and round, the surrounding fire dies down
I am safe, I am free, this blanket of comforting chill settled around me
Eyes open, there was no fire, no flame, no sign of calamity
But the relief, the lesson of realization, the ultimate serenity, still stay with me.
Sharanya Bee, is a young poet from Trivandrum, who is presently pursuing a Bachelor’s degree in English Literature in Kerala University. She also has a professional background of working as a Creative Intern in Advertising. She is passionate about Drawing and Creative Writing
Strike a balance
between
panic and
precaution...
after all
life is such a
short sweet
game
we need
to play well...
challenges
we have
overcome
from
primeordial days
days..
the caveman,
the nomad
fighting
the adverse
be it inclement
weather
nature wild
or antagonistic
tribes...
yet
we survived
those trying times..
sans science...
sans technology...
now with
all these in hand
and faith in
ourselves
and faith in
the force
above
why turn
frenzied
in misery..?
man the marvel
will out live
all...
the embodied
cosmic energy
of ours
can transcend
even the plains
of death
to perennial
heights...
and life
the interlude
let it turn
an oasis
of solace
no uncertain
epidemic
can dry up..
How simple
life flowed
those days,
with no walls,
walled up
mindsets..
neither phone
nor
power run
gadgets..
people
growing
their own
food..
fishing
or milking
cows..
sparing
ample
for the
calf first..
sleep
came
blissful
after
a day's
toil...
food
tasted
sweet
fresh
from soil..
earthen
floors
bamboo
roofed
huts
turned
havens
on earth..
if one
home
lacked
food
the others
would
serve..
if one fell
ill
many
there
around
would make
her well..
ha!
gone are
the
days
of yore...
at least,
these
corona
days,
let us
slow down
our pace
tuning
ourselves
to those days
of calm
with awareness
so firm...
Dr. Molly Joseph, (M.A., M.Phil., PGDTE, EFLU,Hyderabad) had her Doctorate in post war American poetry. She retired as the H.O.D., Department of English, St.Xavier's College, Aluva, Kerala, and now works as Professor, Communicative English at FISAT, Kerala. She is an active member of GIEWEC (Guild of English writers Editors and Critics) She writes travelogues, poems and short stories. She has published five books of poems - Aching Melodies, December Dews, and Autumn Leaves, Myna's Musings and Firefly Flickers and a translation of a Malayalam novel Hidumbi. She is a poet columnist in Spill Words, the international Online Journal.
She has been awarded Pratibha Samarppanam by Kerala State Pensioners Union, Kala Prathibha by Chithrasala Film Society, Kerala and Prathibha Puraskaram by Aksharasthree, Malayalam group of poets, Kerala, in 2018. Dr.Molly Joseph has been conferred Poiesis Award of Honour as one of the International Juries in the international award ceremonies conducted by Poiesis Online.com at Bangalore on May 20th, 2018. Her two new books were released at the reputed KISTRECH international Festival of Poetry in Kenya conducted at KISII University by the Deputy Ambassador of Israel His Excellency Eyal David. Dr. Molly Joseph has been honoured at various literary fest held at Guntur, Amaravathi, Mumbai and Chennai. Her latest books of 2018 are “Pokkuveyil Vettangal” (Malayalam Poems), The Bird With Wings of Fire (English), It Rains (English).
A FEW WORDS FROM THE PERSONAL DIARY OF A LAWYER
It was a cold morning, cloudy and gloomy. Far away, distant mountains were shrouded by clouds, birds were thrumming around the sky. However, the small town and its inhabitants were full of life! Particularly, the young school children in that town, were as fresh as everyday at their school. They looked like fresh blooming flowers! Their tiny brains were fully loaded with history, geography, civics and so on…When the school hours were over, they were back to their home.
Once, a young boy came home after the school and asked his mother enthusiastically, ‘Mom, what is ‘law’?’
She smiled and said, ‘Why, honey?! Suddenly this question? Were you taught about ‘law’ today in the school? Law in general means- rules, but Law is blind!’ Then immediately, she tuned her voice, said, ‘It varies, which law are you talking about?’
‘Um, whatever, tell me mom, does everybody obey laws?’
His mom grinned at him, stroked his hair, said, ‘Honey, you are only ten years old. You know the general common laws like: traffic rules, school rules, so on…am I right? When you will grow up, you can come to know what exactly the other laws are!’
‘Do you believe in ‘law’?’ the boy asked again.
‘Of course, honey! But my answer is yes and no, both.’
‘Oh! Why so, mom?!’
‘Because, there are two types of laws. One is Natural law and the other one is man made. ‘Natural laws’, I do believe in them. They are so systematic and well organised. About man made laws - forget it, it can never be the same always, nor anybody follows the law in its true sense!’
‘But, mom, I heard people saying ‘law is blind’, even you said the same thing a minute before. Is it true?’
‘Honey! I don't know about which ‘law’ you are talking about? I know only this much for sure that when you become a lawyer, hopefully you can define the term!’
The young boy was implacable, he dredged up with the same thought again and again.
With ticking of clock, the young boy grew up into a smart handsome young adult! He wished to fulfil his long desire to be a ‘lawyer’! Eventually, he enrolled himself in a law college. After finishing his normal course, he went abroad for a higher degree of Law. He retuned to his home land and started his practice as a lawyer.
*****************************
In due course of time, the young boy became a prominent lawyer. A remarkable figure that nobody could forget, especially in the court-room!
'Once he appears in the case means winning is a must', this was the general view. His calm face, heavy voice, way of talking, mild behaviour, sometimes stunned others how it could be possible for such a nice person like him to argue so vehemently. Not only that, once he started his arguments the opponent lawyer had no words to counter attack. In other words he was unbeatable!!! He was truly unrivalled.
Yes, one thing was sure, he used to take his cases selectively. Irrespective of money, sometimes clients' genuine request or some other factors compelled him to accept the case. He was confident that whether right or wrong, he would hand over the winning card to his client what may come! That much of confidence he had! The most amazing part was; whatever money he earned, he was contributing one fourth of it for the poor people, or for the person who lost the case. Obviously, it depended upon the status of the person to whom he was sparing! So many extremely rich lawyers were there! But everybody was not like him, he was exceptional!
He had already reached a high platform! Nothing more he wished, but yet he couldn't leave his profession only because he didn't prefer to sit idle. He was absolutely devoted to his work. Most of his time was spent in his personal office, either shuffling the files or interviewing the clients about their problems.
Once he was busy consulting with a land dispute file of a very, very rich person. He looked over the file and few minutes later kept it aside. For a second he leaned back on his huge rocking chair, looked at the ceiling, deeply engrossed in his own thought. Past memories flashed back in his mind.
************
Few months ago, a poor old man came to him for his help. The old man heard about the lawyer’s generosity and kindness. He knew that he couldn't afford to hire this lawyer, yet he hoped to consult with him. At least, if the lawyer would know the truth, he might consider his case. But, his junior talked to the old man before the elderly man could approach the lawyer. Time passed, but the lawyer couldn't come to know what was the conversation between the old man and his junior. In fact, he forgot to ask ask about it to his junior. Eventually, the old man left the place. He saw the man through his window, but he was so busy that he couldn't discuss about it with his junior. That chapter was closed over there, he won that case and he forgot about it. The client had given him a lump sum money as per the deal.
Two three days passed. But everyday at night, while he was trying to sleep, that particular old man's face flickered in his memory. He thought about his own father. He felt uneasy, even he himself was not sure, why his intuition forced him to re-look that land dispute file again. He opened the file, read it again and again. This type of land dispute case was not new for him. He had already solved hundreds of cases like this before. But, this time, even though the case was over, he was not mentally satisfied. Unconsciously, the old man's pitiful face appeared repeatedly. The after effect of the case was definitely too hard for him to bear!!
He couldn't forget the day when the argument was going on in the court, his opponent lawyer was discussing something with the same old man. He noticed that while they were engaged in discussion, the old man's eyes were welled up with tears. He didn't react or said a word to his opponent lawyer, but left the court with a strange feeling! Seriously, he felt bad for the poor old man, who lost his battle only because of him!!!l Two three days later, he asked his junior to contact that old man. Literally, the poor man had lost everything!
Next day, the lawyer gave some instructions to his junior. The junior lawyer was cool, he smiled and carried out his boss's order, because it was not a new instruction for him. So many times his boss had already done similar acts. He registered a new plot for the poor man and gave him some financial support. Junior murmured, 'Oh, Boss! You are incredible!!!'.
After a heavy day of work, once the lawyer sat in his office for a long time, then took a pen and opened his personal diary, turned few pages, looked at some lines which were written in beautiful loopy cursive, then taking a deep breath he started writing again..................
'November 30..
Sunday
11:15 p.m
I don't know, why my intuition has forced me to write something about my past, which I never disclosed before. Maybe, life is uncertain! Anytime anything can happen. At least, my personal diary would be an eyewitness for the future generation.
My father was a poor farmer, lived in a remote village of a state. I was his only child. He had a high aspiration for my future, but poverty and illness dragged him so badly that he faced untimely death. He had borrowed money from landlords and couldn't repay it. Eventually, whatever land or any asset he had was snatched away from him. Under pressure, he had a heart attack and he died of that!
Mom was all alone with me. Anyway, she was definitely a bold lady! Somehow, she arranged something, and we shifted to a small town, where my education began. She worked as a part time labourer, worked hard to collect the money for my higher education. She never let me know any problem of her. With God’s grace, I completed my academic career with a good percentage. As I told you, from my childhood, I was haunted every time to know the truth behind the maxim, ‘law is blind’. So I was determined to be a lawyer and joined the law course.
For higher degree in law, I went to England with scholarship from the government and that also I completed with spectacular result! What I learnt from the inner circle of my colleagues are unforgettable!!
However, by profession I am a lawyer and I am happy with that!! I have chosen it with my heart and I am satisfied with it! Out of hundreds of options, I chose this line, because I loved it and drastically wanted to be a lawyer. I wished to know the truth behind the version 'law is blind'. Especially, my mom used this ‘proverb’. My tender mind never understood the complication of these words. I passed my graduation, since then my enthusiasm for law slowly became stronger and stronger. I became too interested to test the justification of those words. From the a small lawyer, slowly I picked up and became highly successful. Obviously, it is my hard work and proficiency in accurate argument. Well, I am not defending myself, I never regret what I do. I succeed only because I count my pace and then step forward. I do my work sincerely.
After so many years of practice, I concluded that truly 'Law is blind!' You know why? Because, I know what exactly is going on around our society! The culprit is moving around in the open while the innocent is convicted under the law, suffering heavy punishment! There is no doubt that for this type of situation, we, the lawyers are also responsible. However, the maxim 'Law is blind' has double meanings. Either the guilty, whoever it may be, rich or poor, known or unknown, would be punished, sooner or later, or, with money and power, just the reverse would happen and law would be blind! Whatever it maybe, I think, nobody will deny this truth! This has become a Universal Truth! Even though, I accept the cases selectively, yet I feel, somewhere something is wrong. But, I can do nothing about it! Our hands are tied.
It's not greed, but the urgency and demand of necessity! I am not a saint, simply a common man, trying my best to defend my client, right or wrong. I am well aware of my work, I know what I am doing! Neither I feel guilty nor I become emotional for any such cases! I just want to be honest in my work. I want money because I have to run my family! Hopefully, that's not a crime.
Often my conscience puts me a question 'What about you?.' At that time, I answer, 'I don't know about my fate, but I do know that my case would be filed in the Court of the Almighty Lord! At least, over there, there would be no question of 'Law is blind'. No money, no power, no partiality!!! Justice and only justice will be given to the convicts, whoever they may be!!!' I have no clue what verdict will be given by Him against me, but definitely I will get true reward, that is for sure and guaranteed! I just pray to Him everyday to give me strength to carry on my work! And be sure that there is no ‘Injustice’ in His ‘Court Room’!!!
Yes, this is purely my own, personal analysis! I don't like to criticise others.Time out, it's going to be 1:00 a.m... I will continue tomorrow.....
Ms. Anjali Mahapatra is a retired teacher from Mumbai who taught Mathematics and Science to students in Ahmedabad, Bhubaneswar, Lucknow and Mumbai for more than thirty years. She took to writing after her retirement and has penned close to a hundred stories so far. Her stories have appeared in Sunnyskyz and other magazines. Two of her collection of short stories, 'An Amazing Letter to Me and Other Stories' and 'Granny Tales' have been published in Kindle Unlimited.
Mumbai, Delhi, Odisha lock down till 31st March,and slowly the rest will follow. As of now all districts of Maharashtra are shut down, borders sealed. But our special children are so innocent, they are not aware of anything that is happening around them, in a way good that they are away from stress and anxiety. Rahul, my son is a little anxious and is wondering why Mama is refusing to step out of the house. I have no words to explain anything to him, have only mentioned that it's too hot ???? ????, hence we shall remain indoors. Words like Janta Curfew, Lockdown, Social Distancing, mean nothing to them, their needs are small and the smallest of things can make them happy, of course it goes without saying, food forever is the biggest motivation for them to complete any task. He is also asking for his ???? ???? car rides, we are trying to keep him indoors, if we fail then we are left with no choice but to take him out for a short drive. Lockdown till 31st March, keep yourselves busy with work, stay away from watching videos on coronavirus all the time as it can be disturbing. Ideal time for indoor games, cleaning cupboards, cooking your favorite dishes, catching up on your sleep, home made face masks, oil your hair, pamper yourself, watch movies, exercise and meditate, read a book, sing, paint on canvas etc etc, choice is yours and no one to disturb as your door ???????? bell wouldn't ring. As for Rahul I make sure he washes his ???? ???? hands every now and then. Next couple of days will be tougher. Call up your friends and families ???? ???? and cherish your conversation with them. This shall also pass by. Prayers to the Almighty we have to learn to coexist along with nature. Nature has always warned us through various forms of natural disasters like Fani, Tsunami, Fire, Floods as we have exploited nature in every way possible. ???? ???? Earth is fighting for its survival and it has a power to take over that is beyond us. Humans have always thought or considered themselves as an outside force to dominate and conquer nature. Mother Earth is trying to heal itself, trying to restore harmony and balance. Let us understand our role in the world. We have extracted the soul of nature for our financial gains, harmed it, we have not even spared the birds and animals .
If we do not stop, we will become extinct.
Coronavirus is nature's missile to influence civilization in the coming years.
Sheena Rath is a post graduate in Spanish Language from Jawaharlal Nehru University Delhi, later on a Scholarship went for higher studies to the University of Valladolid Spain. A mother of an Autistic boy, ran a Special School by the name La Casa for 11 years for Autistic and underprivileged children. La Casa now is an outreach centre for social causes(special children, underprivileged children and families, women's health and hygiene, cancer patients, save environment) and charity work.
Sheena has received 2 Awards for her work with Autistic children on Teachers Day. An Artist, a writer, a social worker, a linguist and a singer (not by profession)
In the Spring sun, she stands
a blossoming riot
amidst gorgeous companions
A lone cardinal rests
as the gentle morning breeze
rustles his feathers
Conspicuously absent are
the Hanami lovers
who click away endlessly
in self-infatuated delight
from dawn until dusk
They are in quarantine
with pollen-sneeze!
The colourful display
and sounds of Spring
continue undisturbed....
Sakura- flowering cherry tree
Hanami: the practice or custom of viewing cherry blossoms when they are in full bloom
Hema Ravi is a freelance trainer for IELTS and Communicative English. Her poetic publications include haiku, tanka, free verse and metrical verses. Her write ups have been published in the Hindu, New Indian Express, Femina, Woman's Era, and several online and print journals; a few haiku and form poems have been prize winners. She is a permanent contributor to the 'Destine Literare' (Canada). She is the author of ‘Everyday English,’ ‘Write Right Handwriting Series1,2,3,’ co-author of Sing Along Indian Rhymes’ and ‘Everyday Hindi.’ Her "Everyday English with Hema," a series of English lessons are broadcast by the Kalpakkam Community Radio.
Ravi N is a Retired IT Professional (CMC Limted/Tata Consultancy Services ,Chennai). During his professional career spanning 35 odd years he had handled IT Projects of national Importance like Indian Railways Passenger Reservation system, Finger Print Criminal Tracking System (Chennai Police),IT Infrastructure Manangement for Nationalized Banks etc. Post retirement in December 2015, he has been spending time pursuing interests close to his heart-Indian Culture and Spirituality, listening to Indian and Western Classical Music, besides taking up Photography as a hobby. He revels in nature walks, bird watching and nature photography. He loves to share his knowledge and experience with others.
Millions of watery creatures, constantly
wander in and around the island, boldly,
Small and big colourful fish swim freely,
Beautiful birds fly, to and fro endlessly!
The bluish watery body all over the mountains
welcomes flora and fauna with love and affection
Sea turtles, albatrosses and birds from many lands
arrive at the enriched island of Hawaii, very grand!
Some species make it their homeland
and a few make it as their shady land
‘Tis shelter to several dreadful animals
One kills the other in this wonderful island
Dreadful birds watchfully hide here and there
some of them fly and swim in the blue waters
Creatures like shark give no way to them ever
Tiny or big, they gobble them like a Gannet!
How lucky the beasts here are!
Chivalry is their weapon there
Roam about the island, where
Nature gives its lap to you and me!
Mrs. Setaluri Padmavathi, a postgraduate in English Literature with a B.Ed., has over three decades of experience in the field of education and held various positions. Writing has always been her passion that translates itself into poems of different genres, short stories and articles on a variety of themes and topics.
Her poems can be read on her blog setaluripadma.wordpress.com Padmavathi’s poems and other writes regularly appear on Muse India, Boloji.com and poemhunter.com
Should I speak, or shouldn't I ?
Origin China, resident of the world,
failing the cut-off-year 1914
of the sacrosanct amended CAA 2019,
no chance of gaining Indian citizenship,
have to be deported today or tomorrow;
a tryst with God, not with country's usurpers.
But the prevailing eerie-calm so relishing!
Never knew so vast is my power,
never knew I am as good as the goddess
of pandemic epidemics: Small Pox,
or Cholera; or as bad as priapic babas.
Killing scores, I spread my dark wings;
my fond precincts are malls and theatres;
I love my cool comfort, having a fetish
for the old flesh, no sexist or racist please;
'am secular, democratic, equal to all
in my deathly services, in welfare (whatever
that may mean, I speak my own jargon,
my lexicon, and trust me, I don't fake).
I give death, lifetime peace, don't panic,
no god of death staring into your eyes,
it's also me who give you leisure to return
to your thoughts, wife, children and parents.
I give you back your walks along
tree-lined avenues at golden sunset hours
in solitude and serenity, devoid of crowds;
and your own home's forgotten warmth.
Death? What's so special? The great equalizer,
best tranqilizer, exemplary pacifier;
the absolute truth of life, today you,
tomorrow me; I have come, I have to go;
but after reducing your brimming population,
giving you immunity from my onslaught;
making you a showpiece, a torch-bearer,
a news-maker, perhaps a Pulitzer winner.
Bless you dears, bless you my darlings,
with wings to your intellect; if a poet,
write a poem; if a historian, record events;
and if an incorrigible politician,
barter your mother in bargain with me,
dangle me at the hustings for votes;
I know, if I don't purge you, you would
sell me as butter for the poorman's bread.
So, my darlings, before my house visit,
write your will, kiss your wife, hug your children, bow before parents, settle your rancour and debts... peace be with you!
You won't sleep tonight, restless you would shift,
restive you thrash, but if clean,
you are spared, if with a black cinder heart, you're fired,
you're under watch.
CORONA TIME, ROMANCE IN LOUVRE
Paris these days
hides indoors, cooped up in her room,
doesn't move out to operas,
parties or for socializing.
Corridors of Louvre
has no footfalls,
silent and dust-free,
solitude takes rounds here.
Leisure worn as anklet;
the rare collections,
invaluable and antiquated,
relax, smug on mountings.
The museum keepers stand guard
expecting a visitor or two, now and then,
to justify the bread they eat if not butter,
but, by closing time, thumbs down.
Mona Lisa, in her tom boy avatar,
spreading her lip-corners
to do a Salvador-surreal
is out of her Leonardo-Enigma;
putting a leg loosely wrapped
in a kaftan over another,
loosens her stately posturing,
leans back with hair undone.
The doors are closed and sealed
after the newest sculpture
received and mounted in her
glass case, the Goddess Corona.
The beauties and knights,
the artists and the heroes
climb down from pedestals,
walk to the central hall,
gather around Goddess Corona,
offering obeisance, kowtowing on knees;
ending with 'Amen', but who is
this laughing fairy, standing behind,
craning her pretty neck,
though a little vain, a bit vague,
a lot proud, and loaded with mystery,
clueless about herself, Corona in person!
Overwhelmed, the gathered hosts
fall into steps, shake a leg, go tizy,
dance in singles, doubles, in chains
in her honour, as she takes a dervis whir.
A sight for gods - Leonard dances
a fox trot with Mona Lisa, and Venus
does Salsa with Cupid. Madam Victory
and madmosseil Liberty join across centuries.
As I rock on my recliner
and browse the news
to gleam through
the debates and discussions
that pervade almost all channels
in multiple formats
advisories
bulletins
statistics and trends
do’s and dont’s
even the philosophical
interpretations
merging with spirituality
songs
and poetry
even some humour
and lampooning
all around
the vicious
virulent virus
that slowly spreads across
like a black ominous
cloud of plague
I seek some respite
and look for a break
from the confines of my home.
I switch off the TV
and then I sit for sometime
lost in my thoughts of
the unimaginable to come
of the revenge of the bats and the fowls
while knitting the sullen air
into scarves of silence
to wrap around my throat
that suddenly appears to be sore
and then you suggest
why not plan a visit to the mall
to stock up few provisions
and take a bite in the food court
and then may be a movie at the PVR cinema
to take our minds off the
morbid thoughts
about the end of the humans.
But alas the malls are closed
and so are the restaurants
and the movie halls too.
No flights
no trains
no parks
no beaches
no exhibitions
no nothing...
we are prisoners of our own home
with no place to go.
Then my eyes sparkle
and we sit together
your hands in mine
and I look into your eyes
perhaps after eons
I don’t even remember
when did I last delve into their depths
to see the windows opening up
to a verdant vista
leading to the deep blue sea
cool and calm
it’s ripples reflecting million suns
and far beyond the horizon
a flash of light
beckoning hope and promise
for a better world
and then suddenly
I couldn’t control
a compelling sneeze
that shook us up from our
short magical dream
and you push my hands away
and drag me to
the guest room
to be quarantined
indefinitely.
Are those days gone
When I could ‘ahem!’
To clear my throat,
When I could cough twice
To catch a person’s attention,
When I could sneeze and
People around bless me.
Now I can’t sneeze, sniffle,
Or cough and spit my phlegm.
Already those in the cove have
noted me for coughing and
sneezing twice, ‘cause of the
pungent refuse strewed across.
Iam cautious now.
One more of those natural reflexes
Of mine, which are beyond restraint,
Well! I will be quarantined,
till tests prove against Covid.
Dr. Nikhil M Kurien is a professor in maxillofacial surgery working in a reputed dental college in Trivandrum. He has published 2 books. A novel , "the scarecrow" in 2002 and "miracle mix - a repository of poems" in 2016 under the pen name of nmk. Dr. Kurien welcomes readers' feedback on his email - nikhilmkurien@gmail.com.
Locked in the house
Calm and quiet
Away from the public
Staying among the sick
May be, it is time to think
About the remedy
That can heel,
More than the body,
The bruised heart,
Which, I dearly seek.
It is the love,
Always, kept on pending list
In the pretext of work ethics
Driving the professional goal
Riding the ladder
And, reaching the peak.
We have come closer
In spite of the isolation
We feel the touch
Though constrained
To be in separation.
Finding each other
In the heart of our hearts,
We find love’s new definition.
We talk through eyes,
The only part of our face
Unhidden by the mask
Conveying through glances
Worth more than thousand words.
With the end of pandemic disease
Life will be at ease
Quite different
From what it has been.
Love will definitely flourish
With emerging of new prospective
That life needs to be lived
Not in tits and bits
But in continuous flow of love
In full awareness
Enjoying every moment
As no one knows
What happens next.
Corona ..corona everywhere.. all the public places closed .. no where to go .. cozy afternoon at home .. scribbled this poem .. remembering the great novel by Gabriel Garcia Marquez..
This morning, peeping out of the window
At a distance, I saw a meadow...
Sighted the laughing tree -
Birds chirping and flying free,
Making a mockery of our treachery.
Reminding me of my locked- in state
With an arduous path in my fate.
World caged in a colossal prison -
Virus being the pandemic reason.
War enforced across the human race,
Enemy , with no face or shadow to trace.
Nuclear weapons not required for this fight;
Self quarantine only rescue to our living right.
Finally social distancing will have some intensity,
Self awareness and right intentions clears all perplexity.
Again humans will mingle in a spree,
Our clipped wings soon to be set free!
Dr Samrat Shah, MD internal medicine, consultant metabolic specialist and internist.... affiliated with Jaslok, reliance foundation hospital, saifee, bhatia, elizabeth hospital.
He is a consultant internist to the Governor of Maharashtra and writes poems on social aspects as a hobby. His email address is drsamratshah@gmail.com, if you are interested to share the feedback directly.
O dear! Don't move out, rest and rest
It's time for the world to face a real test;
One side, curfew, on the other, no peace
It's time for the firms genuinely to cease!
Let's stop working at the sea and farm, a little
Let's show concern for all, and be committal;
Let this threat also pass like a passing cloud
Let's avoid wedding, parties and a big crowd!
Be home, be safe, and work from your dwelling
Together we combat for gloomy days, dispelling;
We faced the times of both the world wars, cruel
Ignore not, the power of virus corona, instinctual!
Prevention is better than a cure of any disease
It spreads everywhere, though began overseas;
Beware of measures before this fearful attack
Awareness channels tell us to know a right track!
JEEVES DEALS WITH CORONAVIRUS ?????
(Acknowledged with thanks Author - Unknown but Brilliant)
As ever, Jeeves entered the room at the exact time. Neither too soon or too late, but just when I was about to begin to open my eyes, the honest man shimmered into view holding the salver with the invigorating cup of morning tea.
‘Good morning, Jeeves’, I said.
‘Good morning, sir’, said Jeeves.
‘What’s the weather like, outside?’
‘Extremely clement, sir. A balmy afternoon can be expected.’
‘Just the thing to encourage a chap to go for a constitutional around the park after breakfast, preparatory for a good lunch at Simpson’s, eh, Jeeves?’
‘Under usual circumstances, most definitely, sir.’
There was a clearly unhappy undertone in that. Almost imperceptible to the untrained ear, but definitely there. I decided to probe further into the matter.
‘Is anything the matter, Jeeves? Is the park being drilled for oil? Is the Serpentine being converted into some sort of dam to generate electricity for the Metropolis?’ I inquired.
‘Not exactly, sir. But circumstances have arisen that will prevent our leaving the flat for some time.’
‘Surely not, Jeeves. An Englishman’s right to roam the land of his birth is sacred. Am I being stalked by some malevolent aunt wanting to use me as an instrument of her devilments? Are we are surrounded by bailiffs clamouring for the settlement of unpaid bills or some such nonsense?’
‘No, sir. No aunts have presented themselves at the door, and neither have any bailiffs. And all the bills have been satisfactorily settled.’
‘What’s the snag, then? Why can’t we leave the flat? Have our basic liberties been rescinded?’
‘Rescinded is not the right word for the present situation, sir. Suspended would be a more apt choice of word, if I may say so. And only in the case of venturing outside, sir. For one’s own health, sir.’
‘Come, come, Jeeves. I think that this massive brain of yours has sprung a leak. There’s nothing healthier than the bracing air of the Metropolis on a fine day. It has been proven time and again, eh?’
‘The metropolitan air is now filled with a new strain of virus, sir. It is called Coronavirus, and hails from China. Its effects are most unpleasant and human contact must be kept to a minimum to avoid its dissemination and contagion.’
I was jolted by that. I sat up in bed as if my spine had become a switchblade and the steaming cup was nearly flung across the bedroom in the process. But I composed myself and pressed on with the questioning.
‘Are you trying to tell me that we are facing some kind of Spanish Flu, Jeeves?’, I asked, clearly alarmed.
‘Of a kind, sir. But I have been reassured by an article which appeared in The Lancet that if all the proper precautions are taken, there is not much to be concerned about.’
‘Dash it, Jeeves. Confound it. Of all the bally things that could have been sprung upon is, this is one of the balliest, eh?’
‘It certainly disrupts one’s normal life, sir. But one must also look upon it as bringing some measure of not unimportant rewards.’
‘And beyond remaining in proper form to take part in the 02:30 Sweepstake at Kempton Park on Saturday, what rewards might those be, Jeeves?’
‘Well, sir, you will remember telling me that you urgently needed respite from Mrs. Gregson’s constant campaigns to affiance you to a suitable young lady.’
‘I do’, I replied pensively.
‘Also, the chances of encountering Miss Honoria Glossop will be most slender’.
‘They will’ said I cheering up considerably.
‘Not to mention Lord Sidcup. And Miss Madeline Basset...’
‘And her blasted father, Sir Watkyn Basset!’ I added, now positively positive about the whole thing.
‘Indeed, sir.’
There was definitely a hopeful, even cheerful note about the whole thing ringing in the air. The dark gloom lifted from the atmosphere, which became instantly light and suffused by golden hues. I could gladly face a bit of domestic incarceration if I could be protected from that Oriental virus and the aforementioned human pests.
‘Well, Jeeves. There certainly are some compensations in all this, eh? Besides, I have recently stoked up on records and music sheets, as well as a dozen or so of the ripest detective stories available. And I am sure that you have made arrangements for a decent supply of victuals for the flat and books for you, also, eh? Espinoza’s latest and all that, what?’
‘Precisely, sir. And I have been fortunate enough to secure on loan from Lord Yaxleys’s wife her book of recipes for cocktails, a memento she kept from her days at the Criterion.’
‘Have you now, Jeeves? I have heard that some of them are legendary and have never been tasted ever since she retired’.
‘And there is one more thing, sir. I fear I have been remiss about not having advised you sooner about it.’
I knew it. Just as I had cheered up in the face of such news, Fate was there, about to wield the stuffed eelskin once more. But we Woosters are made of stern stuff. I braced myself for the blow.
‘What is it, Jeeves?’
You will remember, sir, that yesterday the Junior Ganymede Club hosted a dinner for Monsieur Anatole, for his services to culinary excellence.’
‘I seem to remember you mentioning it before you left to go there, Jeeves’.
‘When the ceremony ended, I offered to escort M. Anatole to Paddington, to catch the last train to Brinkley Court. But, alas, the taxicab developed a mechanical problem and we were unable to reach the station in time, so I took the liberty of offering M. Anatole a bed in the spare room.’
‘You mean to say, Jeeves, that Anatole is here for the duration?’
‘Yes, sir. And he is so grateful for our hospitality in the face of this virus that he has committed to cook for us on a daily basis for as long as he is prevented from returning to Brinkley Court.’
‘You mean to say, Jeeves, that on top of being free from pests of all imaginable sorts, having more than enough reading and musical material and being able to taste once more cocktails that have gone into legend we will be having Anatole’s culinary wonders for breakfast, lunch and dinner’?
‘Not to mention tea, sir.’
The beauty of the plot dawned on me. Jeeves had done it again. That gigantic brain had found the perfect solution for a tricky problem once more.
‘Jeeves’, I said, ‘Did you know about this Coronation virus, or whatever it is called before the curfew was announced?’
‘My copy of the Lancet arrived here, as ever, three days ago, sir.’
‘So can one also take it that the problem with the taxicab was not altogether due to chance?’
‘The fact that the driver is married to one of my cousin Albert’s nieces cannot be wholly discarded from the equation, sir.’
‘Jeeves, you’re a wonder.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
( For a short Anthology of Mrutyunjay Sarangi 's stories, Click http://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/277 )
The sky was opening up to a glorious riot of colours when Indrani returned home, tired and sleep deprived. Soon it will be bright, but at this precious hour of dawn everything was quiet, not a soul in sight. She had never seen such claty in air, had never bathed in such pristine purity. And for a girl of twenty one, walking all alone to her home would have been unthinkable, except in such times when the city was under a lockdown, no one was allowed to come out into the street. Yet she walked home, a rare joy filling her heart like a pitcher filled with holy water.
When she had left home last evening she didn't know she would spend the night at someone else's home. She had locked her one room house in the slum and left. She was not supposed to stir out, but already two of her clients had called, they were getting impatient. They had pleaded with her, begged her to come. If Indrani didn't attend to them they would starve. At any other time they would have walked over to the nearby Indradhanu market and got some food packed, but after the lockdown due to Corona everything was closed, not a single shop was allowed to open.
Indrani, who worked as a part time cook in four homes had hesitated, but the third call had clinched the issue. It was Balram Bapa, the Octogenrian and a widower, he was a patient of asthma. She heard him wheezing into the phone, "Indu maa, won't you come?" In that single moment Indrani forgot the call of the Prime Minister to stay indoors, she knew there were calls of duty to her four Bapas and Maas, all past their seventies, which transcended her own safety. She asked Balram Bapa whether she could finish cooking at the other three houses and come after that. He replied, 'yes, but come early.'
By the time Indrani reached Balram Bapa's home it was past eight and quite dark. It felt eerie to walk on empty streets with no one around. When the old man opened the door, he was having difficulty in breathing, she asked him whether medicines were to be purchased. He wrote down a few medicines and an inhaler cartridge, she ran to the shop in Indradhanu market to buy the medicines. Balram Bapa had developed some fever also. She gave him the medicines, cooked a few chapaties and a plain aloo matar sabji. He had asked her to make some extra chapaties for her also. They ate, Indrani cleaned the utensils, she knew the maid had been given leave.
She wanted to leave and called him to lock the door. There was no answer. She saw him lying on the bed, writhing in pain and high fever. She knew he had already taken the medicines and it might take some time to work. She touched his forehead, it was burning hot. She ran to the kitchen, brought a bowl of water and a piece of cloth and started giving cold compresses. The fever subsided, he opened his eyes and saw Indrani sitting there continuing the cold compress. He held her hand and went off to a quiet, restful sleep. Indrani didn't have the heart to snatch her hand and go away to her home. She spent the night sitting on the chair, watching her Balram Bapa sleeping and probably dreaming about his late wife and his children and grand children who had settled in some far away country. He got up at five, his usual time, and saw Indrani sitting there watching over him. His heart flooded over with love and kindness for this young girl who had spent a sleepless night to nurse an ailing old man.
She went to the kitchen to prepare tea for him, his favourite cardamom tea. He washed his face and went to the Pooja room, got a conch and started blowing it. Indrani was startled, what was Bapa doing? Why was he blowing the conch? Surely he was not doing Pooja before taking a bath! She gave him the tea and asked him why he was blowing the conch! The old man sported a mischievous smile, "It's for you!". Indrani stood there frozen, has Bapa gone mad? Has the fever come back? Was he in delirium? Bapa blew the conch one more time, loud and clear, 'Hasn't the Prime Minister said we should thank the brave hearts who are working for others selflessly? For me you are my selfless angel who sacrificed a night to bring me back from high fever and delirium'..... The old man would have said something more, Indrani opened the door and ran away, her heart filled with boundless joy and a wee bit of embarrassment. This Balram Bapa! Quite a dramabaz, prone to overacting, but isn't he an adorable old Bapa?
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Five kilometres away Sunanda was getting ready to leave for the hospital. She had to go and relieve the night time nurse at the paediatric ward in the hospital. Her husband Vikas had got up and had prepared two pieces of toast and a cup of steaming tea for her. She had packed last night's left over paratha and sabji for lunch. She would be back only after six. They have been asked to work extra hours because many nurses who had gone on leave for the first day of Navratri had been stranded - no bus, no train to return to Bhubaneswar.
She picked up her purse, and the key to the scooty. Vikas came and gathered her in a tight hug, "Sorry, you have to work so hard, even in these difficult times. We could have deferred the purchase of this flat, now we are stuck with the mortgage payments. And you are exposing yourself to all kinds of risks at the hospital." She smiled, "Don't worry, nothing will happen to me, we will overcome this, just as the whole country will do. Take care of Mini, poor thing cannot go to her school, must be missing her friends..." Startling them a small voice chimed in, "Yes Mummy, I miss my friends but Papa doesn't let me feel alone. He plays ludo with me and carrom also. And you know what Mummy, I play like a champion, I always defeat him in every game. Papa gives me a chocolate for every game I win. He is a good Papa, he is my best Papa, and you are my best Mummy!" She came over and clung to their knees. She wanted to tell her Mummy not to go to the hospital and stay at home, but she knew there are others who needed her Mummy, wasn't she an angel in a nurse's uniform?
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The Police Control room was crowded, a cacophony of noise drowning all other sounds. There was constant ringing of phones, attending personnel picked them up and tried to answer the queries of people. Ninety percent of the requests was for issuance vehicle pass. Nirod, the constable who was known for his suave talk and decent manners took most of the calls.
"Police control room Bhubaneswar, Constable Nirod here, how can I help you Sir?"
"I am Narottam Das, a senior citizen, I need to go to the hospital for terrible pain in my right ankle, can you please issue a pass to me?"
"Yes Sir, what time you want to go and to which Hospital?"
"I want to leave by eight. I usually go to AIIMS"
"Sorry Sir, all OPD services have been suspended in AIIMS at present. Would you rather go to Capital Hospital?"
"Yes please, thank you. I am amazed, you are so helpful! But you sound so tired, how long you have been on duty?"
Nirod's voice choked with emotion, a policeman hardly gets a nice word from the public!
"Eighteen hours Sir. Yes, I am tired, and I am thinking all the time of my six year old Jhuni who had running nose and fever when I left home yesterday. But our Commissioner Saheb is very good, he has arranged a medical team with a doctor, a nurse and some other staff to visit all the colonies from where policemen and lady constables are on duty, in control rooms, and on the streets, trying to check traffic and enforce the lock down".
"Are you not able to talk to your wife and kids?"
"Yes Sir, I talk to them, my daughter is restless, her fever has come down, but she is asking for me. I always get some Cadburys and Kurkure for her when I return from duty everyday. She is missing me and her favourite snacks. But today I can't go Sir, we have shortage of staff here. Not everyone has the patience and tact to talk to people. And most people are not like you Sir, some of them lose their temper and abuse us if we refuse pass to them on the ground it's not urgent for them to step out."
"Where do you live?"
"In Unit Four Police Colony Sir. Let me confirm your number - 9437029299. Right Sir?"
"Yes, how long will it take for the pass to come?"
"Just a few minutes Sir, it will be in your WhatsApp message"
"Thank you."
"You are welcome, I pray to God to heal your ankle soon Sir."
With tears in his eyes Narottam Das replied,
"And my prayers are with you and your families. May God keep all of you safe to serve the people. You are our real heroes."
His eyes moist, Nirod kept down the phone and it started ringing immediately.
Narottam Das made a note to come via Unit Four Police Colony on the way back from Capital Hospital. There would be a six years old Jhuni in one of the houses pining for a bag of Cadburys and Kurkures he would carry with him.
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Three hundred kilometres away, as the clock struck ten, Dr. Arun looked at his wife Sasmita and the new born daughter. In the commotion that usually follows a child birth in the labour room, there was hardly any scope to talk. But the middle aged doctor knew there was no more worry. They had waited eighteen years for a baby and now she had arrived. The Gyenacologist, his class mate from Medical college, had warned him that the delivery would be diffiicult, very very difficult and there was considerable risk to the mother, but she had promised to do her best.
And she had kept her promise, the delivery had been done successfully, a tough Ceaserean birth and he looked up to God in heaven and thanked him. Now he had to leave, he had promised the Chief Medical Officer he won't stay beyond a minute after the child birth and returned to duty at the Capital Hospital, at Bhubaneswar. More and more patients were getting admitted, suspected of Corona virus, they had to be quarantined and tested for the virus if they developed symptoms of fever, dry cough and breathlessness. As the Medicine Specialist he had a big responsibility and he could not run away from it.
He went near his wife and took her hand. She looked at him and his tired eyes. They were filled with immense love and gratitude for her, for giving him a child after eighteen years of marriage. They had already given up hope, all prayers at temples, promised bribes to Gods and Goddesses had failed, till one day hope and faith found their place in the small, petite body of Sasmita and grew, to the limitless joy of the parents.
He had promised her he would be with her for at least a week during and after childbirth. She wanted to remind him of that, but she knew, there was no use. He had never neglected his duties. But couldn't he stay at least for a day more, just to see the mother and the baby shifted to the special cabin? She held his hand and pleaded with him to stay for just one more day. He sighed with a deep sadness and shook his head, No, the deadly Corona virus won't wait even for a day, fatalities are rising all over the world, the call of duty is inviolable. He had to leave, he would come back later, to take Sasmita and the baby to Bhubaneswar, but today he must leave.
He had given a promise to the boss and he must keep it. This is a state where the Health Secretary had performed the cremation of his father at Puri and retuned to duty on the same evening, burying his sorrow in his heart. Dr. Arun was at least taking leave with joy and relief! Sasmita looked at her husband and her daughter. She knew in the heart of hearts, here is a daughter who would be proud of her father and shine in his reflected glory for eternity.
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In another part of the town with the lunch hour approaching, Bablu got more and more restless. The ten year old knew his mother Sunita may or may not bring something from the few houses where she worked as a maid. On the day the Prime Minister announced the lockdown she had hoped her masters may ask her to stay at home. And that would have been heaven, some well deserved rest! But the ladies of the apartments where she worked talked among themselves and decided that twenty one days' rest for Sunita would be too much of a luxury. So she should keep coming to work unless she fell sick.
Bablu knew some days his mother would bring some left over food, but most of the days she would come back and cook for her husband and Bablu. In normal times Bablu would be at his school during lunch time and his father Hari would be at work in the bucket making factory. But with the lockdown no one was allowed to step out of home. And although Bablu's family managed to get some food, his three friends Moti and her two kids went hungry. They were the ones who would accompany Bablu to and from his school every day. They never expected Bablu to feed them, because they had enough to eat at the road side eatery from the leftovers and throwaways. But right from the first day of lockdown all eateries had been shut down, all restaurants, food carts and big hotels were closed. Bablu's friends went hungry, standing near his house, wagging their tails and whining. Bablu knew his Bapu was in tension, with his work gone his wages have vanished and they found it difficult to buy their daily requirements. Today on the third day of lock down, Bablu decided he will collect the lunch in his plate, the four rotis and the sabji and take it outside to feed Moti and her two kids.
When he got up with his plate, Sunita asked her where he was going. Bablu thought he would tell a lie, that he was going to eat outside in the fresh air. But his mother had taught him never to tell a lie and he would never defy his mother, who was his earth, sky and universe rolled into one. So he told her that he was going to give his share of food to the dog and her two kids. His father looked up from his plate, Bablu waited for a scolding from his stern father. Much to his surprise Hari's face softened, he asked Sunita to prepare some food for the dog and her two puppies every day. "They also have to survive the Corona like us", he said. He called his son and patted him on his back. He knew he had a gem of a son in his humble hut, one that shone bright in the dark days of Corona.
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PS: When I was writing this article last night till two thirty, my wife woke up and asked what exactly I was doing sitting up so late? I gave her an innocuous reply, "Spreading Love at the time of Corona". She quizzed, "You think your friends would be doing the same? Spreading love?" I replied, "Yes, they will, when they read my article."
Now dear readers, I am sure you will rise to the occasion and prove me right! Please do write some words of love and appreciation for the brave hearts all over the country fighting Corona on our behalf. Please post them in the Comments section of LiteraryVibes (at the bottom of the page) or send them to my email at mrutyunjays@gmail.com I will publish them in the Sixty second edition of LiteraryVibes next week.)
Dr. Mrutyunjay Sarangi is a retired civil servant and a former Judge in a Tribunal. Currently his time is divided between writing short stories and managing the website PositiveVibes.Today. He has published eight books of short stories in Odiya and has won a couple of awards, notably the Fakir Mohan Senapati Award for Short Stories from the Utkal Sahitya Samaj.
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