I loved train rides as a child. The views, the open skies, the wind in my hair and the differences in terrain, people, customs, dialects and food would amaze me. To an eight year old, who's world was confined to roughly a ten square kilometre area in the city, train rides were portals to another world.
At nights i would sit up near the window and observe the black night and it's inhabitants.Electric wires running parallel to our train would run a marathon with us, going up and down, forming a crest at a transformer or a pole, and then descending into a gentle trough, then up again.... You could see blackened silhouettes of trees, poles and buildings passing by and the train lights reflecting on the ground whooshing past us. The moon was a co-passenger, tied to one of the bogeys with a really, really long piece of thread. The only thing constant were the stars and the soothing rhythm of the train chugging on slick rails. Rattle, rattle, rattle, rattle.
These sights, repetitive they might be, were an experience for young minds who look at the world with different eyes. Adult eyes don't see such things. Adult eyes only see things as they are.
Some years later, I became an adult and in the process of gaining the knowledge and capacities of a full grown mind, I lost my imagination and I had no way of finding it, till my daughter was born.
In her vivid imagination, there's little difference between the real and the imaginary. Bananas are telephones. Her toys have lives, preferences and names just like real people because her toys are real. Her cup of milk has chocolate islands. And Humpty Dumpty is someone to be scared of.
Everyday is a new discovery along with Anika. Everyday I look at things anew. It's like I'm living my life with Anika-colored-glasses so that everything looks new, possible, sparkly and good.
On your birthday, my darling little girl, I hope and pray that you never lose this capacity to imagine and believe. That you never fall prey to the obstinacy of a limited mind. That you always look and find wonder and ceaseless possibilities in the most mundane of things.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABY GIRL! ππππ€
New short story on the blog, folks!
Immorality is not confined to a person or a place. Be it a temple a church, a mosque or any other place of worship, heinous and lesser crimes will be committed as long as man breathes.
This story is a satire on ritualism in religion and the obstinacy of human wickedness.
Please head to the blog to read, like, share ann comment.
Link in bio.
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#shortstory #creativewriting #fiction #ritualisn #flashfiction #ontheblog #ontheblogtoday #writingcommunity #writersofinstagram #writersofig #writersofindia #igwriters #igwritersclub #writergirl #amwriting #bloggerstribe #bloggergirl #amateurwriter #fictionwriter #religion #humanity #immoral #rituals #evil #wicked #satire #funny #humour #comic #faith
Well, we all in dark when it comes to the other world. We can only see what’s in this world. What if the world is indeed better in the”other” world?
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You’re right but in that case for the departed, it wouldn’t be a loss at all.
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Absolutely. I think we humans have been living with stories. Stories created to keep the faith going. Stories about the other world a. We have been fed with the stories of how we can earn good karma by being religious and ensure that it brings riches to those who run such clans.
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I believe in the exact thing. There is no afterlife. There is just this here and now that we have. That’s all. Thanks for reading and for discussing it Arv π
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ππ
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Very meaningful Pradita.
Also, very happy to see you back π
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Thanks KJ. So glad to know that you’re happy to see me though I’m still far from ‘being back’. Just wanted to share this thought with the readers. How have you been?
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I am doing good Pradita.
I will wait for my favourite blogger to be fully backπ
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Thank a tonne KJ. You always make my day
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After given no rest and peace of mind when they were living; strange indeed, the ways of the world…Great thoughts, Pradita.
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Thanks a lot Sir π
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Well said, Pradita. The ways of the world are very strange indeed, stranger in death.
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True that. Thanks for reading π
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π
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Welcome π
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How profound. Pain is no longer the domain of the departed set free. It couldn’t get better for today my bua passed away after long list. I feel she is in a much better place, Pradita.
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I’m so so sorry for your loss, Vishal. The pain of a departed only the ones left behind can feel, and I feel for you. R.I.P.
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Thank you Praditaπ
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Welcome dost
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