Oporajito

Dear My Blog Readers,

It was a perfect date. The date was 11th March. And I was with my love, enjoying the cool shades of the trees of the beautiful little park. My hand was in her hand and her hand was in my hand. And my thoughts floated around her and hers floated around me. We were together and we were one. And then it came out of no where. It broke the chain of my thoughts. It took me to another world…a world that was built by the idea of perfection. It was supposed to unlucky. But it was the greatest talisman that could have been there.

The shalik landed gracefully among the fallen leaves and stood still for a while. And then it turned towards me and I towards it. And we looked at each other, transfixed.

And then I said to my love, ‘Look, sweat heart. That is the most amazing bird I have ever seen…’

And she asked, ‘Why do you say so?’

And I answered, ‘Look at it carefully and you shall know.’

And she said, ‘Shubho…’

And I replied, ‘Look at its leg.’

And she said, ‘But…’

She looked closely and exclaimed, ‘Shubho, it has got only one leg.’

‘Yes… yes… it has only one leg and yet it is standing still.’

And, indeed, it stood still. The bird turned and hopped. I wondered whether it would be able to maintain its balance. I had tried it many times in the past, in my childhood, when I used to occupy myself with such one-legged hopping games (popularly known as ‘kit-kit’) and I knew that it was likely that one would lose his/her balance after such a jump.

But the bird was stronger and more stable than any human could ever hope to be. It negated my premonition and landed swiftly and gracefully once more. Then it bended its leg and lay flat on its breast. I wondered why it had done so.

Was it taking rest?

Was it building up the potential energy that would be required during the next jump?

It pecked on the ground and lifted something into its beak. And then it leaped once again…and again…and again…

Not even for once did its leg tremble; never once did it double hop to regain its balance. It seemed as if the bird was the embodiment of the word perfection. It was a bird from the heaven. It was a bird of light. It was a bird that can not be beaten.

And I asked my love, ‘I think that we should name the bird. What do you suggest?’

And she answered, ‘Oporajito.’

The finality in her tone echoed my thoughts. ‘Yes’, I said, ‘Oporajito will be a perfect name for a perfect bird.’

There is so much to learn from the bird’, she said softly.

‘There is so much to wonder about it’, I reflected.

The bird hopped around for a while, steadily going away from us, minding its own business in a way that suited it; and it minded its business more carefully and precisely than any other bird could have. May be its handicap had to do something with it. But then I thought, would that bird not be so perfect but for its handicap. I did not presume to know the answer. May be it would be, may be it wouldn’t. These presumptions were irrelevant. What mattered was that it showed me what can be achieved in life only if there is a will and an indomitable spirit.

The bird hopped and with each hop it defined the divinity of creation. And then it spread its wings. And within the span of its wings it held the universe, for the universe was not without it. It flapped its wings, its leg firmly placed on the ground. The storm that it created propelled it skywards, towards infinity, towards its home…

And I stared at its wake, feeling alive all of a sudden. I looked at my palm. The bird was hardly any larger than my palm and yet it could give shelter to more courage and determination than that this six foot tall body of mine can ever dream of.

I said in my mind, ‘Goodbye Oporajito, king of birds. No eagle can ever challenge you; no hawk shall ever defeat you… for you are the messenger of God. You are the light to the lost souls. Show them the way. Help them to live. Teach them never to give up. Teach them to stay still as you can stay still. Teach them the meaning of perfection. Teach them the meaning of your name…’

This was the story of a bird named Oporajito. This is the story of so many Oporajito s around us who try and try and try till they die. Even if they fail they are never defeated.

This is directly to you, My Blog Reader: do you know any such Oporajito? If you know then can you honour me by beautifying my blog with tales such Oporajito s? Their stories deserve to be told.

Regards,

Shubhabrata

The best birthday gift...

Dear My Blog Reader,

It is my birthday today. Ah, yes, today I turn nineteen. Now I think of it, nineteen years of my lifespan is already spent—what memorable nineteen years they have been. It has been an all round package! Nineteen years full of dreams. Now I will have them back only in my dreams. Do not think that I am feeling depressed; I am not that old yet!

Now, let us come back to our original topic: the best birthday gift that I have ever got. Take a guess, please. What? You don’t know? Oh, how foolish of me! Of course, how would you know?!

Enough of play acting, I guess. Let us become serious once more. I received the best gift on 10th January, 1989 at 7:47 am; that was the time when I breathed freely for the first time in my life. I am thankful to my mother for giving me this gift of life. Nothing can surpass the gravity of this gift.

This was a very short post.
Why?
Because it was never meant to be a long post.

Love,
Shubhabrata.

Being an adult...

Dear My Blog Reader,

It is a long time after which I am posting something on my blog. I thank you for being patient with me.
I had written this piece on 25th April, 2007, while relaxing on the parapet of the roof of my house at around 3 at night. The philosophies and ideals I had till that night have not changed a bit and so, I thought that it would be nice to share them with you.


Before turning eighteen I often wondered why an age limit of eighteen had been set to distinguish between a child and an adult. I confess that I have not found an answer yet. I have always believed that whether a person is adult or not is decided by the level of understanding his or her brain has attained. A wise man had once told me that there are three types of boys in this world—‘under matured’, ‘perfectly matured’ and ‘over matured’. These terms had been coined by him. I understood what he meant by ‘under’ and perfectly’ matured, but I failed to grasp the meaning of ‘over matured’.

Doesn’t the term ‘over matured’ carry a hint of derision? Does it mean that a person should not attain a certain level of understanding capability before reaching a specified age? Doesn’t this remark of his imply that he feels insecure because he cannot match the youngsters with thoughts having frequencies much higher than his? This is not about a single wise man, this is about hundreds of other wise people around us who never seem to come to terms with the fact that the little boy is now an adult and that he has a thinking process that might be radically different from theirs.

We live in a highly conservative society (especially, the so called middle class society); even though we may call ourselves XYZ generation, deep within ourselves, the ancient black hole continues to pull us back. We call that black hole ‘culture’ to hide its grotesque and destructive nature. I would like to ask all those liberal people (parents and children included) who contradict me, why do they feel ashamed to discuss sexuality? It is not as if the young generation will not be drawn towards exploring the individual sexuality. Why, then, do they not explain every bit of this unknown quantity to their children and why do even the young genext feel ashamed of asking questions?

We shout our throats hoarse about equality of women and men. How can they be called equal to men if both sexes do not get equal opportunities? Why, again, are most women married off as soon as they reach a marriageable age? Why do the women accept such outrageous decision? Do they not have any dreams and ambition which they kill off to admit themselves docilely to some screwed vision of few people? We are indeed living in a black hole where a father announces that if ever his daughter runs away from home she will be welcomed with a gun, if she ever comes back, where a father does not hesitate to rape his daughter; where a death sentence is brought down to a level of public entertainment; where street dogs eat little babies, lying helplessly on the roadsides with no one coming to save them; where it is a crime to fall in love but it is normal to urinate in front of everyone.

It is not just about sex and marriage and oppression of women, it is about transformation. And this black hole which we live in, does not allow this transformation to occur. A person, who has turned eighteen, is expected to have gone through a series of mental developments and is ready to venture in to the final stage of transformation of mind. He or she is expected to be capable of handling all the responsibilities that an adult can handle. This transformation must result in the building of character by which the child metamorphoses into an adult and becomes self reliant and self decisive and responsible for him/herself and those around him/her.

Being an adult does not only mean that the person is eligible for voting, having a driver’s licence or watching ‘A’ rated movies. It means that it is time for the parents to step aside from being the rule makers to an advisory role. It is time to start analyzing what you like or dislike, what is right or wrong, to create your own beliefs, to discard all the unnecessary compulsions which stop us from being who we really are. This is the time when the already matured soul becomes truly independent.

One thing that is commonly, and not wrongly, associated with adulthood is career. It is high time to form a clear picture of what you want to become in life and remain inflexible on your decision. Remember that it is your life and only you have the right to decide what you want to make of it. Most people, whom I have met, are absolutely clueless about their goals. These sorts of people end up becoming wrong person at the wrong place. Being adult means that it is time to get off the merry-go-round and take firm steps towards your desired destination.

This is the time when you should take TOTAL CONTROL of your life. I used the word control, not anarchy. Staying out late at night to enjoy the perks of ‘adulthood’ is utter nonsense and ‘unadultish’. Being an adult means that you become responsible—responsible for yourself and for the few people you care about. Unfortunately, this transformation is hard to achieve and most people fail to achieve it. They eternally remain children. They may drink bear, smoke Havana cigars, drive race cars and have a lucrative job but they are no better than children lost without their parents.

Taking control of one’s life is to start understanding the meaning of freedom. Freedom—it is the most important thing that a person can achieve in his/her life. It is the quest to understand the soul and how it is related to the body. It is freedom of mind that has to be achieved. It is the state where we can proclaim loudly and confidently, “Even though I was born in this prison with my hands and legs bound by iron shackles, my soul flew freely over the mountains and clouds and seas and forests. I saw everything, I learned everything, I peeked into the human soul and understood the purpose of its existence… and even now, as my body dies in these shackles, I can say freely that I was never a slave…”