It’s okay, I suffered from some sort of depression. I had to go to a doctor. We chose a doctor too. I went to his house. It was quite a scene. The waiting room was full of patients. The verandas of adjacent houses were crowded with people. I had no prior appointment. I had to wait as the numbers were being called. A person accompanying a very young girl was helping her into the toilet. It’s not abnormal to see people shouting, crying, screaming, muttering or rambling. All were suffering from some kind of psychological disorder. There only I heard people talking about the doctor, a psychiatrist. And came to know that he does not take a single rupee for treatment and he sits there till he has checked all the patients. I was utterly surprised at this. The newspapers are full of stories about doctors who are responsible for the death of patients because the poor people could not pay them their fees, even in government hospitals. I entered inside. The first thing my eyes fell on was a beautiful painting of a woman. There was a bed for patients too. I really couldn’t believe that a doctor has kept two rooms in his house for the treatment of mentally ill patient, he spares his time for them, and doesn’t ask for a single pie. His only joy is his work, his desire to help people who need help, and also people who don’t have the capacity to pay the doctor. The patients who were waiting outside were talking about the doctor whom they considered God who never cares about money. I was astounded by the patience and love with which he investigated the cases. He sat there, writing prescriptions, advising the patience and often scolding them lovingly. Can anybody imagine that such doctors exist in a time when doctors have turned into vampires and sycophants who never care about a patient who cannot pays their fees. News channels and print media everyday report about doctors who have made it a trade and turned themselves into money-making machines. Innumerable people through out India die or suffer because they cannot afford the fees of the doctors. Do such people have the right to call themselves as doctors? They are insensitive Shylocks who wait for their extra pound of flesh because their greed and their wants are greater that human lives. Bur that day I felt humbled and thanked God when I saw a doctor treating people and reprimanding them with affection, treating them as his children and taking responsibilityfor them without any expectation from. He quoted from Engish novels and chanted poetry while writing prescriptions and pointed at the painting he had put up in his chamber. He was a philosopher in the guise of a doctor. May be he would be neglecting his family, may be neglecting his own health, but there was a joy of celebration on his face, the joy of giving and loving the larger humanity. God had given him an opportunity and he had made use of it. We are living in a time when no body cares about human values. People who swear that they would serve the people are later driven by greed and are transformed into blood-suckers. But looking at that man, I thanked God that still there are good people on this earth. The world is still made beautiful by the efforts of people who have compassion and love in their hearts and they never shirk from their responsibility ofspreading it. Such people make the world worth-living, they are the hope for the poor and the downtrodden.
It was just after a good shower that I looked through the window.The world looks somewhat fresh and pristine after rain. The outside looked beautiful, as it looks after rain, especially if there are a lot of trees and greenery. Suddenly my eyes caught a sparrow. It was still drizzling, and it was unusual that instead of finding a shelter in some tree it was out in the open, getting wet. What was abnormal was that it's feathers were all ruffled up, as if it was very agitated. I wondered why. Then I noticed it. Under a bush, there were two tiny sparrows. They were really small, not yet ready to fly. How they came there was a surprise. It was the mother sparrow who was so worried about the safety of its young ones. It was a wonderful feeling to see the mother being so protective about its children. It was nothing extraordinary, yet it was so exciting to watch the scene.In today's life, we remain so preoccupied with our life that we forget to see the beautiful, tender miracles nature has bestowed the world with.
The red cloth at
The neck of the side mirror
Fluttered in the wind,
The speed was maddening,
The darkness was penetrable to
The distance of the head light’s glare
The rest of the world was
Enveloped in darkness
Voices chattered nevertheless
Human voices ,
Happy and critical of other humans,
The weather and the daily business,
A stranger inside me
Shivered in fear
Dark and inexplicable
The residue of something dying
Was trying to settle down
At the bottom of the soul.
It was neither nonchalance nor indifference, just a passive mood. I looked at the people and their words fell on my ears alright, but I paid least attention as there was enough of struggle going on in my mind. The din in passenger trains is inescapable A hawker came, another came, they kept dropping in as they usually do, in trains. One was talking convincingly; trying to sell some item which he claimed was very cheap in comparison to market price. I forced myself out of the indolence that had set in sync with the movement of the train and my lack of interest in the world around me, and saw that the lady sitting before me was holding a golden coloured watch in her hand and was turning it over and over to checking it was genuine or not. The article looked quite pretty and I was quite surprised to know that it cost only se4venty rupees. Then only my eyes went to the sell or when he told the lady that the watch will last at least one year and she could throw it afterwards. There was such honesty in his voice and manners that I turned to scrutinize his face closely. He looked a perfect gentleman and was neatly dressed. His face belied nothing; no joy, no sorrow, no anger or mockery.
When the lady showed enough interest in buying the watch, he took out many other articles like bangles, imitation ear rings, ear buds, pens, mirrors etc. In that compartment full of people, articles, which, otherwise, would have appeared completely lacklustre, looked divine. And he kept the surprise up, by bringing out articles one after the other. Bargaining is an inevitable thing. The man disarmingly relented yet, told that he didn’t make a lot of money so the customers should be reasonable while buying. The lady’s husband asked him how much he made selling things in trains. He told that he made around sex thousand from the trade and had other petty sources too. He further told that recently he had a misfortune that beat him down or his business was going on pretty smooth. On being insisted , he told that he lost his wife recently in an accident. He escaped alive from it but his wife died on the spot. The people in the compartment were shocked to hear that , because nothing in the features of the man revealed that he had had such a terrible loss. He was calm, and went about his work in a very matter-of-fact way. Unconsciously, I kept staring at the man in awe. He looked at me and looked away. There was still nothing in his face to tell that he was sad, only an empathetic heart could see the tears that never flowed or the pain and anguish the person had bottled up inside him at the terrible turn of fate. He was a living example of patience, forbearance, and quiet acceptance of life’s unpredictable twists and turns,
WE often are knocked down by the blow of fate, we wail, grumble and whine that God has been very unkind to us, but there are people among us, very ordinary people, who have nothing extraordinary to claim, yet they face life with extraordinary quietness and courage which most of us lack. They are not beaten by the thorns, they stretch their hand towards the rose, and they bleed, yet strive for the flower. Whether they get the rose or not, that’s immaterial. Their immeasurable faith in life is what makes them unique.
I recently heard the pathetic story of a known person who died of cancer. He was in teaching, taught in government college, had a wonderful family with two lovely daughters. At one point of time, the wife died. He became very lonely but managed to live as the daughters were there. One day he came to know that he was suffering from cancer. Doctors told that nothing much could be done except prolonging the pain with the help of treatment. He chose to keep his disease a secret and never revealed anything to the daughters until two days before his death. The daughters were shocked.
They stayed in a rented house and none of the daughters was married. There were no relatives to fall back on. But the father's time had come and he died leaving the girls orphans, left to fend for themselves. Till date they are struggling to make a proper living and move around asking for monetary help from little known people.
I was shocked to hear the story.Shocked at the way life can toss people about, making them playthings of fate.
Not only the professor and his daughter, so many people suffer in numerous ways, without any fault of theirs. We can say, they should have done this or done that, would have planned better.But above all our plans there is another planner who holds the cards. So, what are we to do? Should we give in and suffer unending, or gather our faculties and rebuild our lives. Suffering in life is inevitable. Disappointments are a part of life. Through it , we would have to go into silence for a while, and understand our actions and our purpose of living. From this silence, when light descends on our heart, darkness has to go. And once we are standing in the light, our actions will be exemplary, in love, in bearing, in courage. We are divine beings. We only need to understand what we are.
For the last fifty years or more, Goddess Laxmi is paying her customary visit to Dhenkanal starting with the day of Kumar Purnima. No, the people of Dhenkanal are bringing her to her earthly abode for an eleven days long stay in the small town that turns crazy in her presence. Starting from Govindpur, a roadside village in the outskirts of the city till Station Square, the city is decked like a bride. An unbroken chain of colourful lights illuminates the city as soon as darkness falls.
Goddesses sit on decorated pandals in their full glory. The atmosphere seems so intoxicating that some residents of the city wish that the celebrations never ended.
Dhenkanal , being a small town has a straight road running through the market. And unlike any other city in Orissa, the main attraction of the Laxmipuja celebrations is that you can the whole distance on foot with family or friends and go on watching the idols, the decorations etc without break. The experience id really heady, you feel like being in the light and the crowd the whole night.
An ORMAS(ORISSA RURAL DEVELOPMENT AND MARKETING SOCIETY) fair iS organised every year by to sponsor and help the rural businessmen and weavers who get ample business during the puja. Varieties of household items are bought and sold in the stalls starting from edible items to carpets and clothes. The fair is helpful especially to the women SELF HELP GROUPS who market their products produced throughout the year by their members.
Numerous small businessmen line the streets, either sitting on the ground with their products or vending in their stalls opened specifically for the puja. People are drawn to these stalls as flies to the fire. Besides people of Dhenkanal, people come to see the puja, from other cities as well.
When the Goddesses is immersed in water, and the decorations have been taken off, the city looks like a widow. But the people of the city go through their daily grind with the hope of the Goddess's arrival the next year.
The Laxmi puja celebrations in this hilly town of Dhenkanal are one of their kind.
The Puja brings a wondrous joy in the life of people who get relief from their monotonous, routine life and roam around in a mad frenzy and rare abandon these eleven days.
Evening had already come down on the beach by the time we reached. It’s not great to arrive at the sea at sun down because you lose the real glory of the rolling waves and the monstrous gray water body stretching for miles, the awe-invoking splendor of the unfathomable. In the evening the sea turns into a stranger, you don’t dare to go near it and it was also one day behind a full moon night.
Young people and children threw illuminated plastic balls into the water and the waves put them back to the shore gentle after a few tosses and turns. I thought the sea is losing its poetry because I felt nothing; no wonder, no respect, no joy or excitement. The timing was wrong, yes. Go in the early morning and you will come closer to an experience of realizing God.
The next morning the news channels announced the death of Jagjit Singh. Though the maestro was ailing for sometime, just like any other news we refuse to believe easily, it was heard to digest that the mellifluous singer was dead. I didn’t feel any sorrow, but I felt like losing a soul connection which was bearable because he had reached the twilight of his life. He was a singer whose voice held honesty and goodness in a strange combination that he immediately touched you whenever you tuned in to his song. I myself am used to humming his rendition from SATH SATH- Tumko dekha to yeh khayal aya, jindegi dhoop tum Ghana sayaa….His songs not only fell on the ear like honey but they touched somewhere very deep inside. The lyrics of almost all his songs were unmatchable and the lines had truths lying scattered here and there, reminding one of the pains and suffering that streak human existence. His eyes had the honesty of a true man, a simple, uncomplicated soul who seemed to carry on his rendering of life’s journey, love, separation, heartbreak, disappointment, hope, mild sarcasm, an invitation to come and join the brigade of optimists and a thousand of other emotions and stirrings. In his death, one more connection broke.
That night, two women lay in bed in adark room listening to unforgettable songs, lost in their own thoughts. The music was soul stirring and the tears that ran down the faces were different. One’s heart cried for the lost love of her roots, the other for the lost love of a soul-mate. The night grew older and older, the music persisted until they fell asleep.
