Carve out your space

Protesters

Picasso and Ionesco were protesters. Monotony and cliche's were root causes for any protests. Some times the decay and decadence found in the cycle of life make people to protest And the twp protested in two different fields of art. Picasso, to painting and Ionesco, to theatre. Their protest began in France, the motherland of many protests .There were many, might be more and more, successful ones and unsuccessful ones to be mentioned.. But protest is their main point. A protest is a craving for more space and newer space under the suffocation an individual feels as her/his conception of her/his own space. Space and time have their eternal conflict or one may call it as an eternal game. But a newly created space later on becomes suffocatiing to other new comers. Space strives to understand itself fully but it needs time. And energy with its limited capacity fails to help them. Picasso, Ionesco and many more persons tried and try even now to help the space.

Littleness saves

Ants

Ants, I think, belong to the species of the most disciplined living beings in the universe. They move in a queue always, hunting for food and sharing them. Industriousness, uncaring Karma Yoga like living Tireless progress, many qualities they have. They march on in an order, surviving for thousands of years maintaining a rigid social order. There might be struggles and wars among them. Wars fought. Wars won and defeated, but not totally individualised.The delinquent ants too rush on to join the order after a brief secession. I have noted it from my childhood. They keep up the same order even now. I presume that they are tuned up to some kind of Order in nature. I was told, it was imbued in their little brains, carried on from long ago, from the beginning of the birth of ants. An order is a mystery. One cannot reveal the force lying behind it or ruin it with any of the most powerful device. The ants might react like they have obeyed. It is momentary. Annihilating the race of ants from the Universe? Impossible. They will forever. Littleness saves

Game gang

Twirl of a top

The top has almost become out of date; it lost its role as a toy. Once children used it as a fantastic toy and also a weapon to attack and deploy another top. I have seen many top fights around the street corners. Weapon like toys and toy like weapons are sold now to attract children. The swing of a long rope encircling the bottom of a top would throw it down on the land, making a great thrill. When the top lands down along with its twirl, well maneuvered by a talented hand begins some magical moments of rotation. I used to connect it with a rotation of a planet in my mind. It is a pleasure as well as a meditation to notice on; the top rotating like performing a standing penance. If the top is set down to roll on over the different floors; of sand or concrete or soil, its nail-point would sing different tunes. Then the top becomes a musical instrument. The nail over the surface would sing. The top, the rope, the swirl, the tunes all of them depend on the skill of the player. There were some great top snatchers; they would throw down the rope and hook-up the rotating top with the pull of the rope from the ground to their palms. For any interested audience, they would transfer the rotating top from their palm to them. I know great many top- twirlers. Some were dead; some are living. And they were great in their own way. Just you need to remind the living on how they twirled the top in their days. They would smile briefly. Forever they would be remembered by their selective fans. A day may come and top would regain its glory.

Tender coconuts and three cuts

Look before you drink

When summer arrives in an already hot city the scene changes around.Tender coconuts are sold on the road side. People stand near the coconut vendors, or park their vehicles beside or before them, observing the heaps of tender coconuts piled and demanding one or two. It is nice to listen at the knack of their cutting with a half-moon shaped knives. They cut the upper portion in pyramid shapes while rotating the coconut with ease putting it on their palms. The cutting hand and swirling palm have a synchronic rhythm. Within two or three cuts the shape attains a sense of beauty. One evening I ordered for one where a middle aged person was selling them. I watched the swirl of the palm and the force of the knife. When he was about to open it at the top Iprevented the vendor from piercing a hole into it. I am not in a haste to drink the sweet cool water inside. I asked for the coconut without an opening. The big, heavy coconut came to my hands. I loved looking at the cut and the uncut portions. I rotated it in my hands. It was the work of an artist, so shapely done. I raised my eyes.The vendor looked at me strangely. I smiled. We exchanged some kind of appreciation and thanks. Then I returned it for getting tapped on the top. He tapped and put a sipper into it. I looked at the water inside to have a final glimpse and began sipping.. I felt the water going inside me was waiting for a drinker, like the pyramid shape cut was to get appreciated by a listener. Trivial musings. The thought followed.What if? Life's moments are constitued by little acts and simple moves

Highway vehicles

Empty bottles and shouting Children

Watching passing vehicles on a high way is a good pastime, if you find time to pass on. Varieties of Wagons, trucks, lorries and other sorts of four wheelers move on, day and night. Two wheelers like bikes, mopeds and bicyles pass on. Each vehicle is a separate entity.Each one has a separate face I hope, even a separate history. They have started from somewhere and journey towards somewhere. I thought of their owners and the manners of their purchase and maintenance. When I observed closely I found that each one has its own tune and sound peculiar to itself. Suddenly my thoughtflow was disturbed. A truck was passing on. Empty bottles tracked in racks travelled in that truck. On every jolt over the uneven road they tinkle. A rare music is heard. They sing a tune of vacuum, the joy in the freedom. It reminded the giggle of little girls coming out from schools. Singing the song of freedom. If you happen to pass a school after the closing bell is heard, you too can listen. Peals and peals of liberated joy. May be the bottles and the children are scheduled to undergo deliberated conditioning. .From vacancy to deliberate conditioning and deliberate conditioning to vacancy, the routine runs on; making the interval delightful. The highway gets a brief rest when no vehicles pass on. Though the truck with the vacant bottles had passed I heard the sounds of the bottles. They were there, and they would be there for a brief moment.

Jungle trees and timeless birds

Millennium after millennium

This jungle has lot of trees like any other jungle. Sitting on a rock closing my knees with hands I pass time. Not because I don't have any engagement, but toengage myself with the inner harmony of the jungle I sit there. I just watch, with no comments and no preoccupations and no cloudings of the mind. I see many birds flew down to rest upon the trees. They keep on spilling seeds when they shit. They let the seeds to choose their own spaces to rest, enter the soil and grow. I saw three or four seeds around And they may grow later or might die. Who knows? Who planted the trees all around the Jungle I watch? How old was this practice? Might be m millennium after millennium, this practice continues. Then after some time these birds I watch and the trees I observe would vanish to spare space for others. Time would erase them. But Time could not break the system. Newer birds come to spill newer seeds to let grow the newly trees. Spaces on the earth are old but very concerned. They encourage a new life. They let birds to fly and spill seeds wherever they wish

Beach-walker

Walk along with

I love walking along with the waves on a beach. Sea waves sharing the secrets of the deep.Foams, the left-overs, begin breaking their mysteries at times over my feet. A delight thrills me. It is an embrace of delicacy. I have grown old, not to laugh aloud for any thrill. It is the status reached for becoming old. Yet the foms thrill you to laugh aloud I shared the joy of meeting the foams on my feet. A child came running opposite me. She looked at me with laughs. The laughter reflected the mirth bloomed at the feel of the foams covering its feet. The child was curious just anticipating me to share its joy .I offered a smile. The child awarded me a laughter in response. This time the child within me demanded more to react for. I laughed loudly. When we shared our laughter I thought of two big mirrors put just opposite to each other showing many more reflections .The child understood the child within me; it was an assurance of a pact between both of us to remain as child for some moments.