Old New Stories

[Originally written between January 30 and February 26, 2011]

This is my promised, short blurb for friends who promised to pause, and listen briefly. As some of you may have noticed, it’s a repost from my Facebook notes. I don’t have unlimited time, energy or brain power; hence, some repeats.

But I promise I’ll do my best to do my best. 

This debriefing is about the current affairs of my mind: a journalistic mission to investigate deep into the unreported world of a fragment of my consciousness. Objective, unbiased, and unforgiving…true virtues of honest journalism. Plus, it’s not for profit. You can’t beat it.

So, are you interested? 

I dive through the apparent-calm, motionless surface of my outer self (a dear friend just called it “poise,” only if she ever saw me screaming 🙂 — deep into the hurricane-wave of an inside that nobody can ever fathom. It’s the Neverland where the most precious gem waits in a most precious coral case, only to greet me with a near-indifferent smile, once in a while. Even I do not get to see it, unless the magic stone chooses to see me. I get called. I pay a visit. It touches me…and I see magic…scenes of my life…one scene at a time…precious stories I kept to myself…only to tell…in small fragments…to my precious, select friends.

That is, if they’re interested to listen. If they are, then, borrowing Tagore, “baki ami rakhbo na kichhui…” (I shall leave nothing spared.)

Life moved on. Life evolved. Life unfolded – like a ball of wool, slowly knitted away by the indifferent artisan – one threadwork at a time. The ball dropped from her lap, and slowly rolled away a few feet before she paused her needlework, bent over, and picked it up to put it back together, and kept knitting away. My life is that small, brisk, focused motion of the woman’s threadwork needle tips. As if it’s an ever-played tick-tack-toe. Tick-tack, tick-tack, tick-tack-toe…tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-toe…tick-tack…tick-tack…

Get it? Nothing special, nothing complicated, nothing exceptional. Yet, very precious. Very, very precious.

I’m singing songs today. Songs of life…sung by hundreds of thousands of me…millions…across the world…across the seven seas and thirteen rivers…searching, yearning, searching…

The woman is focused on me…on my life…like a ball of colored wool…on her lap…she wouldn’t let it go, unworked. She’ll make something special out of it.

There is my hope. My life will be somewhere…something…some day.

amar aponare dekhte dao tomar majhe…”

(Let me see myself…in you — Tagore, again.)

Peace. Justice. Dignity. Freedom to think, and to act.

Let’s think and act. Together.

Sincerely writing,

Partha

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2 thoughts on “Old New Stories

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