Conception winds
A mother’s clock
To care for life.
Category: Nature (Page 2 of 2)
In the village of Karmapur, there stood a young mango tree in a small farm. In the ten years of its life, the mango tree had never flowered and borne fruit. It was deemed an an infertile tree by the villagers. Nobody paid attention to it after a point, and it grew forlorn at the edge of a farm.
The farm belonged to a young farmer named Ramakant. He was facing a difficult time in his life. Repeated crop failures and famines had forced him to borrow from moneylenders at a huge interest. In hope that monsoon arrived on time, he sowed his crop and waited patiently. This was his last chance to get himself out of the debt trap.
The monsoon was delayed by two weeks already. Every passing day robbed him of a little hope. One evening, as he was strolling on his farm, he looked at the parched earth on his land. He looked to the sky but there wasn’t a single cloud in sight. The mango tree on his farm stood at a corner witnessing all of this.
A dejected Ramakant went to his house and got a rope. He climbed onto a branch of the mango tree and tied one end of the rope to it. He made a noose out of the other end and slid it around his neck. Tears were streaming down his eyes. He thought he had no other choice.
He had decided to end his life.
He jumped down from the branch he was sitting on, hoping to hang himself to death. But as soon as the rope got tense, the branch of the mango tree snapped. Ramakant fell down on the grown, injured his ankle and lost consciousness.
Soon, the villagers found Ramakant and rushed him to the hospital. He was unconscious for the whole night. The next morning, he woke up to the sound of deafening thunder and rain. Even though he found himself with a plastered foot in a hospital bed, he was happy to be alive.
The rain gave him hope.
After two weeks, he was able to walk on his feet again. He strutted slowly to his farm. To his delight, all the seeds he had planted had germinated after the rain. His little farm was bursting with a hundred shades of green.
He walked a bit further and stood under the Mango tree from where he had jumped.
What he saw took him by surprise. At the place of the broken branch where he had fallen from, ten new branches had shot out with great vigor. Tender leaves had appeared in place of the wound. The tree displayed the spirit of fighting to the very end.
Ramakant bowed down to the tree in gratitude. He had learned a profound lesson. As a mark of respect, he started to water the mango tree everyday.
Owing to a good monsoon spell that season, Ramakant’s farm got a bountiful harvest. He was able to start repaying his debts little by little.
In spring time, he got another wonderful surprise at his farm. The mango tree that was thought to be diseased and infertile by the whole village, bloomed with flowers for the first time ever in its life !
Ramakant was delighted to watch his mango tree flower. That summer, when he harvested the first mangoes from his tree, he was taken over by a deep, satisfying happiness.
‘Thank you my mango tree’ he said sitting on a branch.
The mango tree swayed with the summer breeze. It only sacrificed one branch to save Ramakant’s life. But that was enough to trigger a favourable turn of events.
For the rest of its life the mango tree gave plenty of shade and bore thousands of mangoes every summer. Ramakant watered it everyday and enjoyed its reassuring presence.
Impregnated by the sun’s warm touch,
The Earth gives birth,
To Life.
We are living in a challenging time in history. Yes, there have been times in the past when life was much more difficult, life expectancy was low and there was a constant threat of invasions, battles and bloodshed.
That was a part of evolution of the human psyche.
But, never before in history have we heard Mother Earth being endangered by any species.
Us.
Times have changed.
The appalling desecration our race has perpetrated on our planet is beyond question.
Is there a way we can bring about a shift in our global consciousness?
I believe there is.
We, as humans, regardless of gender, need to embody the spirit of motherhood.
A mother is an epitome of unconditional love, integrity, resilience, foresight, character, care and concern.
Is there any problem that seems too big to surmount if there’s a motherly spirit around you?
Sadly though, our mainstream culture is witnessing a global shift towards a masochistic aggression.
World leaders are rolling up hatred and divisiveness to get elected in office. And they seem to be winning at the moment.
This cultural shift gets imbibed in the spirit of the young boys, the leaders of tomorrow.
But is there one problem we are facing that we were able to address or solve with this attitude?
We cannot go on like this.
I believe the road to cultivating more motherhood in our society has to infiltrate from down to up, from our little homes to the big offices.
Let me cite an example.
A little boy has no qualms about picking up a puppy, feeding it and cuddling with it all day. It is absolutely comfortable with loving and caring like a mother.
But past a certain age, boys refrain from doing the same.
Part of it is hormonal, but surely part of it has to do with societal conditioning.
Even fathers dissuade young boys from being a ‘girl’. Friends reprimand each other to ‘man-up’.
The societal precedent for manhood is not well placed, neither for the heart of the man, nor for the spirit of the world.
We need to make men believe that having a soft, caring and compassionate heart is not being effeminate,
But it is being motherly.
We need the spirit of motherhood in our offices, in public and environmental policy, in administration, in the government.
As reality stands today, majority of workforce comprises of men.
If we open our minds and welcome the motherly spirit in the hearts of our men, the world will see a discerning positive change.
And if we have the whole world embody a caring motherly spirit rather than just half of it, there will only be a mellifluous harmony in our collective existence.
Mother Earth would welcome our motherhood.
In the end,
I believe that a man of great character is one who has the heart, to have the heart of a mother.
Let us foster motherhood.
Together.
Picture : via www.lifeisanecho.com
It was a winter morning. A shaft of warm sunlight shone on an old and mighty tree.
Ready for the day’s play, a clan of monkeys, squirrels and sparrows frolicked from branch to branch.
But they all noticed something odd.
The mighty tree that would usually sway to the breeze stood still, brooding.
It looked sad and pale, quite unlike its usual lively self.
Bali, the leader of the monkeys hushed up all the clamouring creatures. He sat next to the trunk of the tree and asked,
‘What happened my good friend? You don’t seem like yourself today. Is everything all right?’
The tree kept mum, as if holding a secret inside that it wished it never knew of.
‘Please tell us what’s wrong. You are in the company of friends’ muttered Shilpa the squirelle.
The tree heaved a sigh and spoke,
‘ My dear friends, I overheard a terrible news today. The owners of the house across us is quite miffed with all the leaves and seeds that fall during winter time.’
‘But that’s only natural !’ exclaimed Bali the chimp.
‘ Not only that Bali, he was angry with the monkeys for jumping on his brand new car’
‘But that’s parked on our playground !’ retorted Shilpa the squirelle.
‘And he was upset about all the droppings on his car from birds and squirrels.’ said the tree.
‘But that’s where we’ve been going all these years. It was his choice to park his car under our toilet !’ reasoned Salma the Sparrow.
‘He is considering to chop me off so that there are no more monkeys or birds or squirelles to ruin his car, no leaves for him to clean from his front yard.’
They all fell silent.
They could be losing a friend, a playground, an abundance of food, a place they called home.
‘I wonder what will happen to my future generations. There is no way my seeds will sprout on the concrete pavements that I am surrounded with, no way for rainwater to reach the aquifer so that I can quench my thirst. My roots grew deeper and deeper in the search of water and now that I stand firmly on the ground, the owner wants to just behead me!’
‘I tried to tell this to the owner, but before I could enter the house, he shut the doors’ shared Vayu the wind.
‘Why is this human divorcing himself from nature to this extent?’ they all wondered.
Watching the tree and the animals in plight, the owner’s dog came out to the front porch.
‘No need to worry my friends’ he spoke,
‘I overheard my master speak to his father this morning over breakfast.
He is much interested in buying a new house advertised in the newspaper this morning. His father agreed to the suggestion as well. I think they will move into this new place next month.’
There was a sigh of relief from each of the members of the tree’s brethren. They all danced around, jumped from branch to branch, the sparrows fluttered in the sky and landed back in utter joy.
Their lives are safe they all thought.
‘But where are they moving to?’ asked the old tree.
The dog said,
‘I couldn’t read the fine print when I took the newspaper from the gate this morning.
The ad said in big block letters that the new homes were built in the lap of nature. I think that’s what sold the idea to my master.’
Oh the irony !
The tree and the animals wondered whether to celebrate for the safety of their lives, or to feel sorry for the nature’s lap that will soon be desecrated by an inveterate human.
I see a solitary ant, carrying a sugar cube huge,
Marching on to its colony, its homely refuge,
Oh this tiny being, what a wonder !
Never does it let out even a whimper.
I see a little sapling with leaves but two,
Fighting its way up, to a world bright and new,
Oh this son of a seed, brave with no fear,
Never do a rustle from the hustle do I hear.
The wind and the waves, riding on time,
Travellers forever with no reason or rhyme,
Oh these vagabonds, to every man’s intrigue,
Never do they speak of a weariness or fatigue.
Spinning and revolving around the sun,
Maybe ever since time had begun,
Mother of seasons, with a tilt, so busy,
The earth doesn’t ever speak of being sunburnt or dizzy.
Never is the sun too hot, or the moon too blue,
Hidden somewhere, there’s a subtle clue.
Look at life and work from another lens,
Let the music to your work be but silence.
Why shout, in stillness should you rejoice,
For in that silence will your work, find its own true voice.
Don’t let work be loud, let it be loved instead,
Toil in silence and have the heart to leave things unsaid.
To foster grace, let that be your purpose sole,
And work shall find harmony with the song of every soul.
Do you remember the day you touched a puppy for the first time?
The cutest one in a litter of three?
It would have been a long time ago, maybe a year before you lost your first milk tooth.
Remember how gingerly you would place it on your lap and watch it sleep? Its feeble heartbeat that you could sense on your palms, the caressing warmth of its supple skin?
Remember how when you touched it, it let a whisper of a shriek , touched you back and nibbled on your finger ?
And that feeling when you realized that something that you touch , touches you back with equal affection?
Chances are that you gave the puppy a name.
Tuffy, is it?
The touch was momentary, but the memory lives on.
Over time, there came new experiences of the touch.
Maybe you remember when you touched someone you loved for the first time.
The contour of their palm is etched in your memory forever.
When you touched them, they touched you back in equal measure. That was when the circuit got complete.
You felt a connection.
Chances are that they are not around anymore.
The touch was momentary, but the memory lives on.
Do you remember the first time you touched the earth?
Chances are that you don’t.
Do you remember the last time you touched the earth?
Chances are that you don’t.
I am not talking about the casual touch, the brushing of sand against your skin on a beach that you wish to sanitize as soon as possible.
I am talking about digging your hands into the earth, feeling the warmth of freshly dug up soil, picking up that deep, rich earth with absolute reverence.
When you touch the earth like that, just as the other instances,
The earth touches you back,
Welled up in the emotion of homecoming of an alienated son.
The first puppy, the first lover have gone far away from you.
But the earth has been waiting forever, in no hurry, holding a reserve of faith, that in time, your fingers will caress her.
Today, I ask you,
Would you touch her?
Maybe the circuit will complete.
And you will feel, a lasting, undeniable,
Connection.
Today is the day.
Roll up your sleeves, get on your knees.
She’s been waiting for far too long.
A butterfly’s wings
Feebly though
Applaud each moment
Of its brief, colorful life.
The December wind, once a mighty gale,
Is feeble, warm, lifeless and pale
Carefree still, it flows ruminating,
It is happy after all,
Just being.
The icy mountain, what a blow it felt,
Painfully slow did the snow cap melt,
In between states of matter, still contemplating,
Is is happy still,
Just being.
The earth, a theatre in dilapidation,
Torn apart by borders, ideas of a nation,
Still it moves, silently reflecting,
It is happy after all,
Just being.
The sky a kaleidoscope of universes afar,
Today is a haze, without a single star,
A silent screen, it gets itself thinking,
It is happy still,
Just being.
The last song bird, it calls for a mate,
It will never hear back, a sorry fate
Still it finds solace in the singing,
It is happy after all,
Just being.
The wind, the ice, the earth, the sky,
Just as a sparrow and a butterfly,
Without a worry, they exist,
They’re so good
At just being.
While I, a human,
riding on destruction,
Am only good,
At just being sorry.